Flash Fire by T.J. Klune

8

Cups. Make them move.”

Nick looked down at the glass cups she’d brought up from the kitchen. Jazz had set them down in a line on the attic floor. All were empty. Jazz said she didn’t get water because knowing Nick, if it worked, they’d both get wet and her sweater was dry-clean only. He had to hand it to her for having her priorities straight (at least for Jazz) in the middle of … well. Whatever this was.

“Okay, okay.” He shook out his shoulders, wiggling his arms and hands. “Cups. I can do this. They’re just cups. Little glass cups. Focus. Focus.” He took a deep breath, letting it out slow. And like his mother had, he raised his hand up, palm facing the glasses lining the floor. He crooked his fingers as he began to strain, teeth grinding together.

Nothing happened.

“Powers activate!”

Nothing.

“Invisible Glass Smash!”

Jazz started laughing. “What? Why did you say that?”

He glared at her, hand still outstretched. “The name of the move I’m trying to do. Everyone knows that when you perform a move, you say the name of it.”

“Oh, if everyone knows that, then keep going.”

“I would if you’d stop laughing. Hurling Cup of Death!”

She did not stop laughing. If anything, she laughed harder. “Oh my god, this is amazing. Say something else. Wait, I’ve got one. Flying Cup of Eternity!”

“Flying Cup of Eternity!” Nick bellowed, curling his hand into a fist.

The cups didn’t move.

Nick dropped his hand. “This is stupid. I don’t have powers, Jazz. You were right when you said we’d have seen something by now.” He was getting angry, but he didn’t know at whom. Maybe everybody. Dad, for keeping their shared history from him. Mom, for doing what she could and not being here to tell him why. Burke, for existing. Owen, for trying to kill him and his friends. Seth, for … well, for nothing, because Seth was perfect.

Jazz wasn’t laughing anymore. “Nick, calm down, okay? You’re starting to breathe fast again.” She placed her hand on his arm. “You’re okay. We don’t have to do anything now if you’re not ready. It might be better if we pump the brakes and think.”

He shook his head. “I need to talk to Dad. I gotta hear this from him. If he’s—” He swallowed past the lump in his throat. “If he kept this from me, I need to know why.” And there was his anger, bright and glassy. They should’ve told him. Secrets. It always came down to secrets, and Nick was sick of it.

A lance of pain burst through his head, and Nick groaned, bending over and wrapping his arms around his waist. The whisper in the back of his mind—that low, unintelligible voice—began to roar, and he felt it. He felt it down to his bones, a strangeness he couldn’t escape. He heard Jazz’s worried voice near him, but he couldn’t focus on what she was saying. He gritted his teeth as the headache came for him with a vengeance, pulsing slickly, causing his gorge to rise. He tasted bile in the back of his throat, and just when he thought he couldn’t take it anymore, just when he expected to be consumed by it, he grabbed hold of it. It wriggled furiously like it was alive, and Nick whispered, “No.”

His headache disappeared as quickly as it came. He blinked slowly as his head cleared, back popping as he pulled himself to his full height. He turned to Jazz, an apology on the tip of his tongue, but it died at the look on her face.

Her eyes were wide, her jaw dropped, bottom lip quivering. But she wasn’t staring at him.

“What?” he asked. “What’s wrong?”

She reached up and took his chin in her hand, turning his head toward the hatch.

The four cups were floating in midair. The one on the right spun in slow circles. The one on the left moved up and down, up and down. The middle two clinked together gently, the sound dull in the attic.

“You’re doing it,” Jazz whispered.

He watched as the cups began to spin in concentric circles, wider and faster. He took a step back when one of the cups passed right in front of him, whistling as it sliced through the air. “Ha, ha,” he said weakly. “Okay, I’m done now. Cups, fall down. Cease and desist! Cups, stop.”

They didn’t stop. They moved faster, but he managed to grab Jazz in time and pull her down as one of the cups rocketed toward them. Jazz gasped as it shattered against the wall. “Turn it off!”

“I don’t know how!” Nick shouted at her as another cup shot toward them. Jazz shoved him out of the way as the glass smashed against the ground where Nick had been standing only a second before. He fell to his knees as the boxes around him began to shudder and shake. A plastic tub flipped on its side, spilling out old books and papers. The books rose from the floor, the pages fluttering and snapping. He flinched when the broken television righted itself, the power cord whipping back and forth.

He pushed himself up, grabbing Jazz by the hand as the attic began to rumble. She moved quickly, following him as he pulled her toward the ladder. He looked back over his shoulder as he made her go down first.

Every single box and tub in the attic was floating inches off the floor.

He fell down the ladder to avoid getting hit in the face by the two remaining glasses. He landed on his back at the bottom of the ladder, Jazz standing over him, her hair hanging down around her face.

A loud crash came from above them, and he barely had time to recover when Jazz hooked her hands in his armpits from behind, pulling him away as the pile of Christmas decorations they’d gathered began to rise from the floor. The garland swirled. The lights blinked green and red and blue. The photographs hanging on the wall began to rattle.

“We need to get out of here,” Jazz breathed in his ear as a box fell down the ladder and split apart before its contents, too, began to move. “Go, go, go!”

They went, flying down the stairs even as the railing creaked and groaned, the wooden slats of the steps shaking. It felt like an earthquake, the very floor vibrating beneath their feet. Jazz jumped from the last few steps, and almost fell over when the rug leading toward the front door slid out from underneath her feet, twisting like a snake. He grabbed her before she could fall, and they both hit the door at the same time. She grabbed her coat off the hook, throwing one of Nick’s hoodies at him as he gripped the doorknob.

Outside, the cold air was a punch in the face. Nick immediately began to shiver as he slammed the door behind them. Through the frosted glass, he could see things still moving inside. He backed away slowly.

“We’re good,” Jazz panted. “We’re safe. It’s over.”

They both screamed when the rug from the hallway smashed against the inside of the door, causing it to rattle in its frame.

“Run!” Nick cried.

They ran.

They made it to the sidewalk as Nick struggled to pull the hoodie up and over him. He got his head through, ready to tell Jazz she was never allowed to have ideas again, when the alarm of the car closest to them began to blare. As did the SUV behind it. And another car. And another. And another.

And then one of the cars covered in a thin crust of snow began to bounce on its tires, the frame squealing. Nick’s next-door neighbor—a man with the amazing name of Percival Axworthy—came onto the porch, his car keys in hand. He frowned as he repeatedly hit the button to turn the alarm off. Instead of silencing it, the car—a 1982 Chevy Citation that Percival had lovingly restored for reasons Nick didn’t understand, given how ugly it was—launched ten feet into the air before crashing back down onto the road, the windows blowing out, glass spraying in glittering arcs.

“I’m sorry!” Nick shouted as Jazz pulled him down the sidewalk. “Call your insurance company and file a claim!”

Percival didn’t seem to hear him, staring, dumbfounded, as one of the tires of his beloved car deflated with a comical wheeze.

“Gibby,” Jazz was saying into her phone. “We have a—would you listen to me? Yes, I’m yelling! This is a perfect time for yelling! Where’s Seth?” They both almost slipped when the meters began spewing coins onto the sidewalk, people already taking out their phones and beginning to record the mayhem. “What do you mean he went out? Dammit, fine. No, don’t. Stay where you are. We’re going to go find Nick’s—” The phone flew from her hands. They watched as it flew up into the air and landed on the roof of the apartment building across the street.

“Um,” Nick said. “My bad?”

“Yeah,” Jazz said faintly. “That’s your bad. Daddy’s going to be pissed that I lost another phone.”

They began to push through the crowd that had stopped to stare at the destruction that seemed to follow in their wake. Too many people. Too many people, and they were stuck, they were stuck and—

A woman screamed as she began to slide backward, the tips of her shoes dragging along the cement. She stopped a few feet away on wobbly legs, looking around wildly, people running over to make sure she was all right.

“Train,” Nick gasped as they burst through the back of the crowd. “We gotta get to the train. Dad’s gotta be at the station by now.”

“Are you out of your mind?” Jazz asked. “I’m not going in a metal tube with you while you’re on the fritz. If you want to take the chance of getting stuck in one of the tunnels, then go for it. But I have too much respect for myself to have to wait to be rescued. We’ll walk.”

“That’s twenty blocks!”

“Then we better get moving,” she said grimly.

They did, even as more car alarms began to shriek.

By the time they reached the block the precinct was on, they were worn out and frazzled, Nick’s face covered in red marks after the strings of his hoodie began to slap against his face like they were alive. He’d pulled the string out and thrown it on the ground. It didn’t move again. They stopped in the alcove of a shuttered shop with boards on the windows and graffiti covering the wood in bright colors. Nick bent over, hands on his knees, panting.

“Did you see the guitar explode?” Jazz managed to say, sweat trickling down her cheek. “That poor busker. Who knew such a big man could scream like that?”

Nick grimaced as he stood upright. His body felt weak, and he was more tired than he’d ever been in his life. His thoughts were sluggish as he leaned out of the alcove, looking up and down the sidewalk to see if anything else would happen. Or explode.

Nothing. Just people hurrying by, paying them no mind, the street filled with backed-up traffic, horns honking as construction workers yelled back at them.

“Oh, thank god,” Nick muttered. “I think it’s over.”

“Are you sure?” Jazz asked. “Because that wasn’t exactly what I was hoping for when I brought up the cups.”

Nick groaned as he rubbed a hand over his face. “Stupid cups. Stupid powers.” He laughed hollowly as he looked up the street toward the precinct. “Why would—”

But he never got the chance to finish. Because the double doors of the police station swung open, and Nick’s father stepped out, mouth twisted into a scowl as he glanced down at his phone. Nick jerked his head back as Dad looked in his direction. He didn’t know if he’d been seen. He waited a moment before leaning back out. He saw his father’s back facing him as he walked in the opposite direction through the crowd. Jazz stood on her tiptoes, looking over his shoulder. “Where’s he going?”

Thinking quickly, Nick said, “Jazz, go home—or—go to Seth and Gibby. I gotta talk to my dad.”

She gripped his arm. “You don’t have to do this by yourself.”

He gave her what he hoped was a reassuring smile. By the look on her face, he’d failed. “I know, but I—I don’t know what’s going to happen, and I don’t want you caught in the middle of it.”

She dropped her hand. Looking perturbed, she said, “Are you sure?”

“I am,” he said firmly. “I’ll catch up with you after, okay? You good with getting out of here on your own?”

She rolled her eyes. “I can handle myself.”

“Don’t I know it,” he muttered. He laughed quietly when she stood on her tiptoes, kissing his cheek. “Thanks, Jazz.”

“Go,” she said, shoving him out of the alcove. “Do what you need to do, but be careful, Nicky. You don’t know what you’re walking into.”

“That’s what I’m worried about,” he said. “Later.”

He hurried down the sidewalk, glancing into the windows of the precinct as he passed it. He remembered what Gibby had told him—how he saw a badge and uniform and thought safety, something so ingrained in him that he took it as gospel truth when perhaps he should’ve asked questions. He ducked his head when he saw Officer Rookie inside, wearing an ill-fitting suit, holding a folder in his hands. Since Nick had last seen him, he’d apparently decided that a beard was the right thing to do for his face, which, okay.

He made it by the station without the Rook seeing him, and he continued on, keeping an eye on Dad so he didn’t lose him in the crowd. He thought about calling after him, but the look on Dad’s face when he’d exited the precinct rubbed him the wrong way. He didn’t know why, but he didn’t exactly feel like giving Dad the benefit of the doubt at the moment. He wanted to see where he was going, what he was doing. He wasn’t headed toward home. Maybe he was going back to Jazz’s and Gibby’s parents, though Nick didn’t think that was the case. It’d been hours since Dad had left, and he’d said he was going to work when he finished with them.

Nick flinched when a car’s brakes squealed on the street, sure his powers were coming back. He balled his hands into fists. Nothing happened. Everything was normal. Everything was fine.

Or, at least, that’s what he kept telling himself.

Dad crossed the street with the light, and Nick began to jog to catch up so he wouldn’t have to wait until it was safe to cross again. He made it across just as the walk symbol changed back into a red hand. Where was Dad going? And why were his shoulders hunched nearly to his ears? He looked stressed, angry. Was it because of the meeting with his friends’ parents, or something else? What the hell was he hiding this time?

A memory, then, unbidden but rising like a rocket in his head. Dad in the hospital, Nick next to his bed, both of them watching Pyro Storm and Shadow Star battle it out on the television that hung on the wall.

If someone who loved you lied to you, kept things from you, hurt you, but they needed your help, would you do it?

I would. Because I can never turn my back on someone who needs me. If I was lied to, if I was kept in the dark and my heart was breaking, I would still do everything I could. Sometimes, we lie to the ones we love most to keep them safe.

Nick brushed his hand angrily against the burning in his eyes. He would get answers, one way or another.

Ten minutes later, Dad turned into a small park Nick wasn’t familiar with. Bare trees reached up toward a gunmetal sky and a pavilion with empty wooden tables sat on a cracked cement slab. The ground was covered in dirty snow. The only other people in the park were a kid on a swing, laughing as a woman pushed her, causing the chains to creak as the girl shouted Higher, higher!

Nick hid behind a tree, watching his father go to the pavilion. Dad looked down at his phone, a furious expression on his face. He tapped the screen a couple of times before bringing it to his ear. Whoever answered, Dad didn’t greet. Instead, his mouth twisted into a snarl, teeth bared. Nick was too far away to hear what was being said. Dad began to pace, his back to Nick, his footsteps echoing dully in the pavilion.

Nick took a deep breath and stepped out from behind the tree, moving closer. He froze when Dad turned toward him, but he was looking down at his feet, shoulders stiff. He paced the other direction, and Nick rushed forward, heart in his throat as he reached a thick pillar at the edge of the pavilion.

He could hear his father now.

He wished he couldn’t.

—and where do you get off?” Dad snarled. “Who the hell do you think you are? I told you I’d do what you wanted. I told you I’d handle it. You can’t—”

Nick covered his mouth with his hand, his hot breath stinging his palm. The woman pushing the kid on the swing stared at him for a moment before pulling the girl off and walking away, glancing over her shoulder, eyes narrowed.

“I don’t give two shits what you’re doing,” Dad said coldly. “He’s not your son. He’s mine, and I’ll be the one to decide what he does and doesn’t know. You’re in no position to give me parenting advice, Simon. Not after what you did to Owen.”

Nick’s blood turned into icy sludge as he gasped against his hand.

Dad laughed bitterly. “That’s not what we agreed to. I told you I’d keep you in the loop when it came to the Extraordinaries, and I’ve done that. You know everything I do about Pyro Storm’s movements. And there aren’t any other Extraordinaries. I would know if there—what? No. Of course I don’t know who he is. He wears a mask. How the hell am I—no. He doesn’t know either. I don’t care what you saw on the bridge, he doesn’t know who Pyro Storm is. Listen to me, Simon, because I won’t say this again. Leave my son out of this. All the Concentra in the world doesn’t matter if you’re screwing with my child, and I’m telling you right here and right now: if you try to speak to my son again, I’ll kill you myself. Just because you found a way to suppress what’s inside Nick doesn’t give you the right to involve yourself in his life.”

Nick tried to move, but his feet were rooted in place. He couldn’t make his legs work, couldn’t do anything but struggle to breathe as his father broke his heart.

He’d known. Dad had known about all of it. Mom. Nick. The pills. The Concentra made by Burke Pharmaceuticals.

Have you taken your pill, Nick?

Don’t forget your meds, kid.

Did you take your pill, Nicky?

“I know,” Dad said. “But I’ll keep it going for as long as I can. I know what happens to people like them. I’ve seen it. And you did too; you saw how much it weighed on Jenny. I won’t let the same thing happened to Nick.” A beat of silence. Then, furiously, “She was targeted. They knew who she was the day they followed her into that bank, even though it’d been years. They killed her because of what she meant to the people of this city. If I’d known where that would lead, I would have begged her to never put on that suit. The city didn’t need her to be Guardian, we needed her to be alive and—”

Guardian.

Guardian.

The Extraordinary who’d watched over Nova City.

The hero who’d disappeared before Nick was born.

Nick’s phone rang in his pocket, startlingly loud in the quiet of the park.

Nick panicked, muttering, “Oh my god, no, no, no,” as he stepped away from the pillar, trying to pull his phone out, trying to make it stop. He didn’t even see who was calling as he jerked it from his pocket, hissing as his knuckles popped. He swiped his thumb across the screen, sending the call to voicemail.

“Nicky?”

Nick whirled around. Dad stood there, all the blood having drained from his face. His mouth hung open, the phone falling from his hand and bouncing on the floor of the pavilion.

Dad recovered first. “Nick? Hey, hey. What are you doing here?” He tried to smile, but it crumbled as he took a step toward his son. “Kid, what’s—what’s going on?”

Nick picked up his phone and took an answering step back, his mind viciously blank. He couldn’t form a single coherent thought, and the sound that fell from his open mouth was a high-pitched whine, broken and weak.

“No,” Dad said, hands shaking as he reached for his son. “Oh, Nicky. I didn’t—” His chest heaved, his breath pouring from his mouth in a thick cloud. “Please. Listen to me, okay? I need you to listen. We’re okay. We’re all right, I swear it. Let me explain. Oh my god, please don’t—Nick, no!”

Nick, yes.

He didn’t look back as he ran out of the park, his heart thundering in his chest, head spinning. He slid on a slick patch of ice hidden under the snow but managed to keep his footing with a few hard steps that jolted his knees. A thin tree limb slapped against his cheek, causing it to go numb as he picked up speed. He heard his father shouting his name, begging for him to stop, but he didn’t. He couldn’t.

Nearly blind with panic, he ran.