Analise frowned, making her whole face pucker. She wasn’t used to taking orders or listening to advice. She wasn’t used to waiting. But she nodded now, no wind left in her sails. She was broken. Celia hated seeing her like that.
The men had retreated to the command room, waiting for the next crisis. Celia didn’t think anything would happen during the day. The explosions always came at night. She wondered how Arthur and her father were getting along. Probably ignoring it, pretending like nothing had happened.
Robbie suddenly appeared in the kitchen. He’d run from the command room, followed by his trademark wind, which ruffled the women’s hair. To them, however, he just appeared.
“The Strad Brothers aren’t finished yet. Or maybe not the Strad Brothers. It’s a new MO. It could be somebody brand-new. It isn’t robberies this time—it’s bombs.”
Celia stood. Suzanne was already on her feet, but she stepped forward, an intent look on her face.
Leaving another breeze behind him, Robbie disappeared, back to the command room.
“It is the Destructor,” Suzanne said softly. “We should have known, no jail can hold him—”
But Celia knew that wasn’t right. She’d seen the Destructor, Simon Sito, a shriveled old man ranting in his cell. The three women followed Robbie to the command room.
On the view screens in the darkened room, Celia saw
the nightmare her parents had always dreaded, the vision of what would happen if they failed to stop the Destructor or any of the other ultraambitious villains who’d come along: fires burning, the city in ruins. Their city, her home.
One screen showed a map of the city. A half-dozen flashing red dots marked trouble spots. They lay scattered all over the city: one by the harbor, another by the university, a couple in the south end—one of them only a few blocks from her apartment. None of them was in the downtown area, near West Plaza. And none of them was in the northeast warehouse district. Those areas showed dark.
The other screens flashed between images captured on security cameras or broadcast by news teams. Fires burned everywhere. Flames engulfing buildings filled up the screens. Firefighters ran, lugging hoses. Water and fire retardant sprayed and arced toward the blazes, seemingly futile. The liquid droplets were so tiny.
“The bombs went off simultaneously,” Robbie explained, his voice steady and somber. “Incendiary, rather than explosive. Like whoever did this wanted to set half the city on fire, to keep us fighting all day rather than causing one round of damage and letting us pick up the pieces. This is about chaos.”
“We’ll help,” Warren said. “Suzanne, do you think—”
Her lips turned up wryly. “Fighting fire with fire? Maybe. Find out where the flames are spreading fastest and I can try to create firebreaks.”
“Me, too,” Robbie said. “Scare up a little wind, steer the flames back on themselves.”
Warren turned to Arthur. “Doctor?”
“I’m sure I can think of something.”
Typhoon stared at the screens without blinking. “I should go. This was made for me—”
Suzanne touched her shoulder. “No. You’re hurt, and you’re wanted by the police. Stay here, monitor the situation, stay by the radio. If we need your help, we’ll call you.”
Celia was shocked when, instead of arguing, Analise nodded and sank into the chair by the computer.
Warren had already marched to the hangar elevator.
Suzanne quickly smoothed back Celia’s hair. “Hopefully this won’t take too long.”
“Just be careful,” Celia said.
Suzanne and Robbie—no, Spark and the Bullet—joined her father, Captain Olympus.
Arthur hesitated. Without a word—without even a thought for once—he gripped the back of Celia’s neck and kissed her on the lips, quick and heartfelt. He drew away quickly, looking in her eyes before he turned to join the others.
The Bullet was sputtering. “Hey—what? What the hell was that—”
The elevator doors closed on the quartet before Celia heard the others’ response.
Her lips were still tingling.
“What happened to the cop?” Analise said.