Alex was right. Evie never wanted Tracker to be a sex symbol. She wanted her to be a role model.
She stared at the page, her words in the speech balloons, and smiled fondly. “If just one girl out there picks up the book, and it makes her think she can do anything, I’d be happy.”
Evie looked at the old covers. Tracker featured on all of them. One of the ongoing storylines focused on her, her coming-of-age, her increasing confidence in herself and her abilities. Through all the other storylines—Talon’s insubordination, the unit’s rebelliousness, the fight against terrorism—Tracker’s personal development played a part. Often, the progress was uncertain—two steps forward, one step back as some tragedy undermined her faith in herself. At this rate, the storyline could go on forever, with Tracker never developing much beyond where she was now.
No, Evie ought to do something about that. Tracker needed to become independent. She needed to become a leader. Talon’s equal, not his hero-worshipping subordinate.
“Is Bruce your boyfriend?”
“Hm?” Evie glanced up. Alex had a sandwich in hand, but he hadn’t taken a bite. He looked at her questioningly.
“The phone call. I was just curious.”
Evie rubbed her forehead. Not that it was any of his business. “No, he’s my partner. The artist.” She pointed at the comics.
“Ah, of course. That Bruc
e.”
“He’s called me almost every day. The book deals so much in current events, we try to tie in as much as we can. But things have gotten volatile. It’s impossible to predict what might happen anymore. We’ve had a couple of major storylines yanked out from under us in the last year. He’s mad at me because I haven’t been watching the news.”
“You’ve been busy.”
“Yeah,” she said with a painful chuckle. That was without telling Bruce about hypothetical Greek goddesses showing up on the doorstep, the basement full of mythical artifacts, or the strange man in the pea coat.
There’d been so much news to keep up with over the last few days. All of it bad, the conflicts so much greater than the third world clashes that had preoccupied current events over the last half a century or so. No one had to wonder if Russia had nuclear weapons or not.
“It’s so surreal,” she said. She shook her head, rearranging her thoughts. “Bruce was saying that this is playing like some messed-up war game. It’s like there are people—the people in power—moving pieces around on a game board. It makes you wonder how much of history is just people in power manipulating a game.”
Alex said softly, “That isn’t far from wrong.”
She stared at him. “How do you know?”
He shrugged and wouldn’t meet her gaze.
“Then what about Discord? What about that apple? What does it do?”
“One shudders to think,” he said.
Mab raised her head, her tail thumping the floor as it wagged. A moment later, her father’s door opened, and Frank himself appeared in the doorway. His hand clutched his side, but nonchalantly, as if he had put it there and forgotten it.
His brow lined quizzically, he said, “I forgot to ask: What are you doing here?”
Alex hesitated a moment, a stricken look briefly crossing his features before he lifted the sandwich and said, “Having lunch.”
Evie stood. “Dad—you don’t look good.”
He waved her away. “I’m fine. Is he bothering you?”
“No.” She debated about what to tell him. She didn’t want him to worry. He shouldn’t have to worry about anything but getting well. Or rather, not dying. But she could deny that anything was wrong, and he wouldn’t believe her, any more than she believed it when he insisted he was fine. So she didn’t say anything.
“Everything’s okay?”
“Yeah.” She nodded earnestly.
He didn’t believe it. He looked back and forth between them, his narrowed gaze accusing them of conspiracy. He finally pointed at Alex. “Don’t think you can use her to get at the Storeroom.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it, sir,” Alex said.