"Give it a rest, Glimmer. You know what I am. We're in the same game. How come we never met?"
He shrugged, but his black gaze darted away. "I keep to myself."
"Right." I flicked to the next image. Another Gallery villain, a stocky guy with long greasy hair, slamming his fist through a shopping mall's glass ceiling and freezing it to glittering icicles. "Awesome," I remarked. "My good buddy Iceclaw. Charming son of a devil. Nearly lost three fingers to frostbite one time because of him…"
I bit my tongue, appalled. Jeez, did I just share? What was this, a crime-fighters' coffee club? For all I knew, this Glimmer character was Gallery too, and playing sly tricks with me.
But I didn't think so.
Call me naïve, but some fragile instinct warmed my blood about him, and it wasn't just that he was sorta cute and smelled great and cooked like a punk-ass Jamie Oliver. He was good-guy material, no question.
And I had to admit, it felt good to be back in the game.
"Likewise," Glimmer said, either oblivious or pretending not to notice my discomfort. "Iceclaw's real name is Declan Finney. He doesn't have a regular job. Just hangs around the docks, crushing knuckles and collecting tribute money from the Dockside Boys."
I wrinkled my nose, disgusted. "Charming. One of those guys who just likes wrecking stuff. He giggles when he freezes things, d'you know that? Like an evil little boy killing ants with a magnifying glass."
The next image popped up, and I had to bite my tongue again. My uncle Mike, masked in silver, his bracelets alight with charge. He crouched on the roof of a trolley car, blue lightning crackling from his fingers.
I stiffened, unwilling to speak. How much did Glimmer know about our family?
"Illuminatus," supplied Glimmer. "With an augment like that, he could be a terror. I'm still figuring out who's who in the zoo around here. Luckily, this guy seems to be on our side."
I snorted. Fishing for information? Good luck with that. I wasn't about to tell him, for instance, that Uncle Mike was basically a human lightning rod, and that if he ever took those bracelets off, there'd be charred ground and broken glass from here to Oakland. "Our side?"
"Yeah." Glimmer slanted warm dark eyes at me. "Y'know. Truth, justice, freedom from violence. That sort of thing?"
"Uh-huh." I folded my arms, defiant. "Let me give you some advice, young Jedi. Be careful who you trust. You don't know me from a kipper. For all you know, I'm the Gallery's latest trick. What makes you think I give a damn for truth and justice?"
That quirky smile again. "I've had plenty of chances to hurt you, right?"
"Yeah, yeah, we've covered that. Thanks so much, and all. What about it?"
"Well, so have you, lady, and you haven't come at me yet. That's good enough for me." He tilted his chair back. "Now can we move past the Mexican standoff and get down to business? You have enemies, so do I. Maybe we can help each other. But if you want to leave, go right ahead. I won't stop you." He spun back to his screens, dismissing me.
In the screens' eerie glow, his shadow loomed on the wall, distorted, a stick insect with crazy hair. I dragged a hand across my chin, frustrated. He was right. At least he hadn't tried to kill me, or throw me in an asylum, at least not yet. And—be realistic—what other choice did I have?
I had no friends left. I couldn't trust my own family. Adonis's phone was probably tapped. And my power was erratic, at best. I was damaged. Until I recovered from Mengele's screw-your-mind tricks, I wasn't operating at full capacity.
Razorfire, on the other hand, was unharmed, and wreaking havoc unmolested. Apparently, I couldn't defeat him even at the height of my powers, let alone half crippled like this. Add to that his fanatical Gallery chums, augmented and normal, who'd cheerfully hunt me down in a heartbeat on his say-so…
Maybe—just maybe—I couldn’t do this alone.
"Okay." My mouth dried up like I'd just said I love you. Jeez, if Skunkboy went all welcome-to-the-team on me, I'd die of embarrassment.
But Glimmer just flashed that crooked smile at me over his shoulder. The pale stripe in his hair glistened silver in the screenlight. "Relax, tough girl. Doesn't mean we're dating, or anything."
Bless his cute little butt. I snorted, grateful. "Not in this universe, pal."
"Famous last words." He pointed at the image of Uncle Mike on the trolley car, and it sprang onto the virtual display, zooming into high resolution on a streetlamp's orange halo. "See? That faint oval shimmer under the streetlamp? That's Phantasm. A light-bender. He's hard to pin down. I only got that shot because of the three-angle shadows."
I peered closer, thankful to get down to work without any more friendly-ass fuss. Heh. So it was: Cousin Jeremiah. Wait till I tell the OCD little brat he's been made. He'll count toothpicks for a week.
Still, I fidgeted, memories dancing an elusive waltz. Uncle Mike saw me outside Equity's office. He could have set Mengele on me, though I had no idea why he'd want to. Hell, for all I knew, Phantasm-slash-Jeremiah was skulking about in Equity's office the whole time.
Thing was, I hadn't been paying attention. I'd been too damned angry at Equity to care.
I swiped the picture away too roughly, and the display skipped a few. Another pic flashed up, shadow piled upon shadow, a tall dark figure facing a towering wall of liquid fire.
"Blackstrike," Glimmer said, unnecessarily. I'd know my father anywhere, his spare frame, his black coat swirling, his long fingers fashioning those writhing plumes of darkness.
My throat hurt. I wanted to reach out, slide my fingers over the glass. Touch him, give him one of our rare, awkward hugs. Tell him I was sorry he'd died trying to save me.
Too late for that, old girl.
Maybe that was it. Uncle Mike and Dad had been inseparable. Maybe Mike was inconsolable, and blamed me…
"That's my last image of him," Glimmer continued. "Five days after that, he vanished. They say he's dead. I'm not so sure, but he covers his tracks too well. I don't have a real name to trace him with."
Clank! My jaw dropped, along with the penny. "You really don't have a clue who I am, do you?"
His eyes narrowed, midnight slits. "I know you're not Blackstrike, if that's what you mean."
I laughed, dazed. Glimmer didn't know me. Had no idea, in fact. About me, or Dad, or FortuneCorp.
About any of it.
My mind splintered, glitter-sharp. All just coincidence. Maybe Glimmer really did just stumble over me in that alley. Maybe he really had built up all this intel by himself, from nothing. Fact was, I wasn't sensing a single ounce of guile in my glimmery new friend.
Either that, or Mr. Tall-skunk-and-handsome was a most excellent liar.
"Dude, you have so much to learn." I shook my head, incredulous, and flicked to the next image.
Glimmer spoke, but I didn't hear. I stared, frozen, my vision soaked in crimson death.
Razorfire always wore red.
My pulse pounded. Sick heat washed over me, and I covered my mouth.
Just a sneaky snapshot of him, rounding an office building's corner with his sleek head cocked to one side. Tall, angular, graceful like a shark. He had a fetish for this long close-fitting coat in the Mandarin style, high-collared and shiny red. His hawk-like mask was dark and glassy, some heat-reflective alloy, a rusty color like dried blood. He stared directly at the camera, like he didn't give a shit he was being watched, and though I couldn't see anything burning, his eyes gleamed orange, the triumphant reflection of fire.
Glimmer