Sidekicked (23 page)

The three Jacks jump down from the new hole in the ceiling, dressed perfectly for the occasion. When the Jack of Spades lands, the whole floor shakes. The third guard—the fairy godfather from the elevator—bursts through the door, his weapon ready, but another blast from a diamond eye sends him spinning to the floor, unconscious. There is suddenly a lot more screaming. I scoot a little closer to Jenna, who reaches for my hand.

“Everyone. Quiet. Please,” the Jack of Diamonds says, patting the air. His voice sounds a little like James Bond, the new one, not the old Scottish guy who everybody likes better. Suave, ponderous, but with a hint of menace. “May I please have your attention?”

The crowd is still frantic, guests scrabbling across the floors, skittering behind overturned tables, like bugs under an upturned rock. With a nod from the Jack of Diamonds, the Jack of Spades suddenly roars and lifts his shovel and brings it down on top of one of the tables, smashing it in two with a splintering crack. Everyone suddenly freezes.

“Thank you,” the Jack of Diamonds says. “Sorry to crash the party, ladies and gentlemen. We don't plan to stay long. We've only come for the guest of honor.”

The mayor is still pressed against the wall. The guard who had his gun knocked from his hand by the Jack of Clubs is standing in front of him. I can see his pistol about thirty feet away, though I don't imagine it would do him much good even if he could get to it. He'd be zapped, bludgeoned, or pulverized before he even got a shot off.

“We have to do something,” Gavin whispers.

“Sure,” I hiss. “Remember what happened the last time you faced off against just one of these guys?” I nod to the fissure of chipped white rock along Gavin's side. Even in this form, he still has scars. I turn back to Jenna, who is now crouched beside me. “Where's Kyla?” I ask, though she knows full well who I mean.

“I don't know,” she says. “She'll be here.”

“But soon, right?”

Jenna doesn't say anything. I can see that look in her eyes, though. She slips off her glasses and slowly sets them on the chair beside her, then kicks off her high-heeled shoes.

“Oh, no,” I say.

The Jack of Diamonds takes several steps toward the mayor, his hand extended as if asking for a dance. “The Dealer requests the honor of your presence, Mr. Mayor, so if you would please . . .” The Jack of Diamonds's artificial eye is glowing, a dull orange that pulses in rhythm with his heartbeat. In a blink, it could burn a hole the size of a grapefruit through any one of us.

The mayor doesn't budge. Nobody moves. The servers hide behind their silver platters. Those who are crouched next to doors eye them, calculating their chances. I hear somebody whisper, “Just go,” and see a man struggle to his feet and scramble toward one of the exits.

The Jack of Diamonds merely glances that way, and a beam of bright orange light tears through the room, hitting one of the ceiling fans, which comes smashing down at the runner's feet. The man freezes in place, paralyzed. The Jack rubs the temple beside his artificial eye, then turns his attention back to the mayor. “Please, Mr. Mayor, just come quietly. Otherwise, one of my colleagues will be forced to make an example.”

The Jack of Diamonds raises his hand, and the Jack of Spades reaches under a nearby table and pulls a young woman out by the neck like a baby kitten, lifting her effortlessly into the air, her feet kicking beneath her, her black shoes tumbling free. He really is gigantic—the biggest man I've ever seen. Even bigger than the Titan.

I press down hard on my fingernail. Just in case. Though at this point, I have no expectations. The Jack of Spades lifts the woman even higher. I think he's just going to snap her in half.

“Let her go.”

I look up to see Stonewall take two steps toward the three Jacks, his granite hands formed into small boulders by his side.

“You again?” the Jack of Diamonds says. “Haven't we been over this once already?” Beside me, I can see Jenna's muscles tense.

“Get ready,” she says.

That's funny, I think to myself. Just last week I found myself saying the exact same thing. Then I got trampled.

Except those were teenagers. These are the Suits. And we aren't even full-fledged sidekicks yet. But I can see the look in Jenna's eyes, and I know it makes no difference to her.

Stonewall takes another step. Jenna pulls herself up onto the balls of her feet, and I see the twinkle form in the Jack of Diamonds's eye.

Then there is that moment again. When I kind of see things just before they happen. Like the twitch of a finger before a gun is drawn or how somebody licks their lips before they are about to say something. I see the mayor about to stand and his guard about to crouch, ready to go for his gun. I see the Jack of Clubs raise his arm for a throw and the Jack of Spades lift the woman higher before tossing her aside.

And then there's a flash of white outside the window, and the moment suddenly shatters with the pane of glass, and everything speeds up again.

The Jack of Diamond fires and Gavin just manages to dive out of the way, collapsing into another table, breaking it in half. Jenna launches herself, full speed, in the direction of the mayor, the Silver Lynx's reflexes kicking in, dodging fallen chairs and crouching bodies.

I turn and see the Fox, the only Super left, swinging in through the broken glass, a blur of red and white delivering a swift kick to the Jack of Diamonds before drawing her sword and turning just in time to parry a blow from the giant's shovel. The Jack of Spades grunts as the Fox ducks and spins, catching him behind the knees, sending all four-hundred-plus pounds of him crashing down. All around us, the guests are back on their feet, running for whatever exit is closest, screaming at the top of their lungs, driving a spike into my skull with the sheer volume of it. Ahead of me, Jenna flips over a table and pulls the mayor out of the way just as another chandelier comes crashing down. I can't believe she can still move like that in that dress.

“Drew!” she yells.

“Coming!” I yell back.

I shake my head, trying to clear it, and then stand up and scramble after her. Everywhere, people are running, tripping, clawing, shouting. The sounds of explosions fill the air as the Jack of Diamonds fires again and again at the Fox, who backflips and twists her way around the blasts. I manage to make it to Jenna, who has pulled the mayor behind a table. There is an exit maybe fifty feet away.

“You have to get him out of here,” she says. She doesn't need to shout for me to hear her, but she does anyway.

“What about you?”

“Don't worry about me. Just take him and go.”

The mayor looks at us like we are crazy. His three armed guards have been replaced by two middle school honors students. I guess he doesn't feel like he has a whole lot of options at this point, because he stands up when I tug on his shirt and follows me as we bolt for the exit. Behind us, there is another explosion of glass as two more windows shatter under a shovel's swing. I see a blur of white and hear a splinter of bone as the Fox delivers a swift kick to the Jack of Spades's ribs. The exit beckons to us with its glowing green letters. And for a moment, I think we might actually make it.

Then I hear a familiar sound and skid to a stop, the mayor careening into me as a black baton whistles by and lodges itself in the wall beside us, stuck tight. I look up to see the Jack of Clubs walking determinedly toward us, his wicked mustache curled in on itself, one hand pulling a long, evil-looking knife from his belt. I threw a whole block of them at him just a few days ago, so I'm guessing this is probably some kind of perverse poetic justice. I stand in front of the mayor, frantically considering all my options. The Jack of Clubs raises his blade, and I just manage to step right, nearly tripping over my feet as the slash narrowly misses. A second strike almost scalps me as I duck. It's not too different from self-defense training with Eric, I think. Except Eric's not really trying to kill me.

The Jack lunges, and I somehow manage to not only dodge the knife but also to deliver a kick to the man's shin, though it only elicits a sneer and a growl. The Jack takes a step back, and I frantically run through the list of attacks I've learned, trying to pick the one I have the least chance of screwing up.

The Jack slashes with his knife again.

And I choose to fall on my butt.

Though I at least keep myself from being skewered, I barely manage to get to my knees before he is standing over me again, his twisted mustache curled twice over, his eyes like pools of black ink.

Just as he is about to strike, a rumbling black boulder bowls into him from out of nowhere. Stonewall has both blocky arms around his villain, and the two of them slam through several chairs before collapsing to the floor.

I stand frozen for just one second as Gavin drives one of his rocky fists into the Jack of Clubs's gut. “Go!” he yells to me. I turn and grab the mayor's hand again, pushing him toward the exit, following, quite literally, on his coattails. As we duck through, I chance one look behind me to see Stonewall and the Jack of Clubs back on their feet, trading blows, and Jenna somersaulting away from blasts from the Jack of Diamonds. And the Fox's sword cutting the Jack of Spades's shovel in half, those little blue electric bolts arcing between her eyes.

We practically collapse into the hallway, falling into the fleeing throng of panicked guests. It has only been a matter of minutes, but already the cops are in the stairways and on the elevators, flooding the twentieth floor behind their riot shields. I can hear shouting and sirens and alarms clamoring along every floor of the hotel. Two officers grab us, one throwing me against the wall, ready to arrest me before the mayor calls him off.

“Who are you?” the mayor asks.

I'm not quite sure how to answer that one.

“Nobody, really,” I say, but before he can respond, the mayor is quickly whisked away, taken by no fewer than six armed guards while the rest pour toward the banquet hall. Somebody else in a uniform grabs me and pulls me out of the way, down another hallway toward the stairs, where other OCs are being evacuated.

“It's okay. It's all right. I can go back, I'm a si—”

I stop myself just in time.

I'm not wearing my mask. I'm just Andrew.

“It's okay, son,” the man who grabbed me says, the same thing he probably said to everyone. “Everything's going to be all right. No need to panic.”

“I'm not panicking,” I say, though my eyes are wide and my breathing's heavy and I have a small cut above my right eyebrow and can feel blood trickling down my cheek. I'm probably the poster child for panic.

Still protesting, I suddenly find myself herded down the stairs with about twenty other guests, most of them slack-jawed, or sobbing. By the time we reach the first floor, there is another crowd of policemen and paramedics. The fire department, more SWAT, hostage negotiation, and about a dozen reporters with cameras in tow. Someone in scrubs dabs at the cut on my head once, seems satisfied that it isn't serious, and tells me to hold the gauze there before moving on to the next guest. There is sound everywhere, and I can't make out anything distinctly. I manage to snake through the crowd, down the hall, and out the emergency entrance into an equally flooded parking lot.

The flash of emergency lights hits me first, followed by the sharp sting of the night air. Staring at the top floor, I can see the smoke still drifting from the roof. I think I see someone moving, running perhaps, but even with my eyes, I can't tell who or what it is through the smoke. I make my way along the side of the building to the alleyway, wondering how I'm even going to get back up there, thinking that heroes who can fly have it easy.

I hear a door open and turn to see a half-naked Gavin stumble through the emergency exit, his shoes gone, his jeans torn, but his tie still around his neck. Save for last Wednesday's wound, which is still purple and swollen, he doesn't look like he's hurt.

“Where's Jenna?” I bark.

“It's okay. She's okay,” he says. “Come on. We've got to get out of here before someone realizes what we've done.”

“What have we done?” I ask him.

Gavin grabs me by the arm and drags me along. I'm surprised by how strong he is, practically lifting me off my feet. “We've saved the mayor's life,” he says.

We escape down the alley behind the hotel and then across the streets that are filling with OCs following the sound of sirens like the rats of Hamelin. Gavin points to my suit coat, which is dusted in glass and debris.

“Do you mind?” he says, looking down at his bare chest, no longer covered in granite but now, I see, covered in a few stippling hairs.

I brush the coat off as best I can and hand it to him. His shoulders look as if they are about to burst through the seams. Still, it's better than nothing. At least he stops shivering. I look back at the hotel.

“Shouldn't we go back?”

But Gavin ignores me. He points to a bus stop down on the corner. “You got any money?” he asks.

I nod. “You're sure Jenna's all right?”

“She's fine,” Gavin says, still dragging me along. “The Fox has everything under control. Besides, Jenna's the one who told me to find you, make sure you got out safe.”

I stop walking and look back at the hotel. There are spotlights dancing across it now. I can hear a helicopter approaching, though it could still be miles away.

Gavin looks ridiculous with his torn pants and bare feet, his too-short borrowed suit coat and no shirt. The starting left guard for the Highview Middle School football team and body spray connoisseur—who, I think, might have saved my life back there.

“Thanks,” I say, though I kind of mumble it. I'm not quite sure I said it loud enough for him to hear, but he must have at least read my lips.

“Did you just say what I think you said?” he asks.