I’VE NEVER SEEN her in person. Like the Super Squad, our mayor stays on the other side of the TV screen. Most of the time, her appearances feature her getting dragged off screaming by the VC or returned, ruffled and rumpled, in the arms of a beaming hero. Having all five-three-in-two-inch-heels of her sitting within poking distance? Quite the trip.
I do the natural thing and blurt, “Holy shit!”
Mayor Darcy takes my unorthodox salutation in stride. She stands, presenting me with a soft hand that smells of lavender moisturizer. She’s a plump white woman, about forty, with wavy, shoulder-length blonde hair and cheeks a chipmunk would die for. Another girl might call her motherly, but from me, that’s hardly a compliment.
“Good morning,” she says. I half expect her to break out the milk and cookies. Or for Supremia to bust through the wall and take all of us hostage. Honestly, this could go either way. “You must be Javira.”
“Uh … Riley Jones. Here for emotional support.” I wave at Jav. “She’s Javira, aka the mastermind.”
Mayor Darcy diverts her hand accordingly. “Well, Miss Mastermind, it’s a pleasure to meet you. Mr. Caluna can’t be with us, but I was fascinated by what you had to say to him.”
Me and Jav exchange glances. I see my own confusion reflected in her eyes. I’m flattered the mayor would take time to talk to us about Project Zero, but I figured she’d be busy stopping world hunger or whatever. Still, we have uncovered a conspiracy at the heart of her city. Who knows? Maybe my fantasy about medals isn’t so far off the mark.
Lyssa slings herself on one of the two free office chairs and digs out her phone. Mayor Darcy’s eyes widen. “I’m sorry, but I’ll need to confiscate that for the duration of our meeting.”
Jav sits, too, frowning. “I have evidence on mine. Caught our whole conversation with the Flamer. Plus, I was hoping to record your comments for my podcast…”
“I’m sorry—I’d rather hear what you have to say first. Don’t worry, Javira; you can be my nine o’clock tomorrow morning. Official interview, everything on the record.”
Jav’s eyes glitter like we’re at the Academy Awards and her directorial debut documentary is up for nomination. Lyssa isn’t such an easy sell.
“Can I go outside, then?” she asks, pushing up, careful to center her mass over both legs. “I ain’t sitting here while you talk about boring shit. Not without my phone.”
I can’t believe her sometimes. “You realize this boring shit’s important?”
“You realize I don’t care?”
Ugh. She’ll only be a liability, asking endless questions about what’s going on. I warn her to stay near city hall and describe what I’ll do to her if she doesn’t (censored slightly, for Mayor Darcy’s delicate ears). We wait for the door to oh-so-slowly swish shut behind her.
The mayor leans back on Mr. Caluna’s plush leather chair. Her smile is smaller now. Cozier. Like we’re painting each other’s nails on a girl’s night out. Makes me feel more at home in this big fancy room, in this big fancy building where girls like us don’t belong.
“Your friend isn’t involved in this?” she asks.
“Nope. And she’s, uh, my sister, actually.”
The mayor doesn’t trip on the “but you look nothing alike!” trap. “Well, I envy her carefree attitude.” She extracts Mr. Caluna’s in-box tray from its wire frame. “Your phones, please?”
Evidently, when villains abduct you every other week, you get obsessive about security. Me and Jav’s phones join the mayor’s snazzy custom model. Then Jav opens her file and scoots the first grainy diagram of Bridgebrook—courtesy of the dodgy library printer—across the desk.
“We have reason to believe,” she starts, in her best Ralbury voice, “that the Villain Council is colluding with several of the city’s leading real estate agents…”
And away she goes, explaining how her district, our district, is under siege.
The mayor doesn’t interrupt or tell us we’re paranoid. She just nods, gasping at the appropriate moments, studying the charts and statistics Jav provides with as much earnestness as Jav herself.
Jav likes being listened to. She draws herself up straighter, raising her voice. “And then we have Dr. Lopez.”
I shut my eyes. It’s been almost a month since Amelia died, and it simultaneously feels like forever ago and yesterday.
I hope I’m doing what she wanted. I hope this is enough. And whatever my doubts regarding God, Jesus, and the life ever after, I hope that somewhere, somehow, she’s at peace.
“I’m sorry,” says Mayor Darcy. “Who?”
“Dr. Amelia Lopez.” Jav smooths the printed obituary on the desk, a tiny portrait of Amelia beaming at us from the top left corner. Her eyes look so much brighter than when I met her. Before Project Zero ate her alive. “A limnologist, killed during the Flamer’s attack on Andoridge Observatory. We managed to visit the Flamer in prison. He revealed that he was hired to take her out because of her research into rising pollution levels in Clearwater River.” She nods to her phone. “I, uh, kept it recording during our conversation. Everything’s a bit muffled, but you can hear the incriminating bits.”
I grin. That’s my bestie for you.
Y’know. If that’s something she still wants to be, after this. If I still want her to be.
The mayor scoots to the edge of her seat. “What about Miss Lopez’s research? Do you have this with you?”
Jav rummages through her duffel. “’Fraid not. It’s hard to piece everything together: Sunnylake University dropped the project and all records were wiped. But I believe some files are at the Super Squad HQ. We’ve spoken to Windwalker, who has reason to believe Dr. Lopez’s study focused on pollution from the Bridgebrook sewage works—I’m sure he’ll corroborate our story. For now…” Jav slaps a folder down on the desk. “Here’s my cross-comparison of VC attacks in Bridgebrook, as compared to other districts in the city, along with the concurrent increase of new, more expensive housing and retail units that take their place. Obviously, this could be coincidental. Two sets of statistics rising in tandem doesn’t necessitate a correlation.”
She’s using loads of big words. She does that when she’s nervous. I give up on trying to follow what she’s saying. It’s easier to squeeze her knee, over her leggings. Jav inhales like she just remembered oxygen’s a thing bodies need, every once in a while.
“But several of these development companies put in rejected offers to buildings that were later demolished by villainous activity. That gives them a motive. Connecting this to the murder of Dr. Lopez is a simple matter of following the money. If her report were to be released, property prices would fall across Bridgebrook. The firms involved want to sell off their new builds before the revelation. When Dr. Lopez refused to stay silent, they ensured she couldn’t blow the whistle early.”
Jav stabs one of her Excel charts. Blair Homes’s name is listed beside one of the color-key squares at the side. Not like I hadn’t guessed. Still, that confirmation—my home is a target—slams me with the force of a roundhouse kick.
“Individuals on the directorial boards of these companies are colluding with the VC,” Jav says. “They’ve ended countless lives and endangered way more. Amelia Lopez is the most obvious victim, but we can’t forget everyone who’s had their home and livelihood destroyed by villains and henchmen.” She studiously doesn’t look my way. “If you want to clean up Bridgebrook, ma’am, I’d suggest you start here.”
And she sits back, triumphant, and waits for the applause.
It doesn’t come.
The mayor’s smile widens, but it’s no expression. More like two pegs are stretching the skin back from her face. “That’s very good.”
My forehead scrunches. “We’re not joking.”
“Neither am I.” Mayor Darcy switches the cross on her legs, smoothing her pencil skirt over her lap. “What a pity. For such smart girls, you fail to appreciate the larger picture.”
Kill Bill sirens. I hold up both hands. “Is … is this the start of a villainous monologue?”
The mayor looks shocked. “How reductive of you. Good, bad … Kindergarten concepts. We pretend we believe in them, dressing our heroes in white and our villains in black—but in truth, morality is a human construct. It only exists in so far as we convince ourselves it does.”
“Yup,” mutters Jav. She snatches back the chart. “Villainous monologue alert.”
Fuck. I throttle the arms of my chair. Outside the window, someone—Delmar?—shouts instructions to the crowd. The whole point of this demonstration is to show our city that Normies aren’t powerless, but I don’t think becoming a villain is what the protestors had in mind.
Mayor Darcy takes her phone from the tray, taps twice at the screen, then puts it down again. Like that’s not suspicious. I scope the exit. The heavy fire door would take us a minute to open, and I don’t fancy a three-story dive from the window. All in all? Prospects: not great. “Uh, what did you just do?”
“Nothing to concern yourself with. Now, if I’m delivering a ‘villainous monologue,’ this is the part where I regale you with my motives, correct?”
“And we foil your plot, last minute,” says Jav as I reluctantly dismiss my thoughts of self-defenestration. She’s pressed against her chair like she wants to phase through it. “We’ve all seen heroes-versus-villains play out on TV.”
The mayor nods along. “Such a shame real life doesn’t work like that.”
“Duh. You’d have to be thick not to realize those battles are exaggerated for entertainment value.” Jav flips her braids over her shoulder. “Right, Riley?”
“Right,” I say, a beat too late. My brain spins soggily, doing a great impression of a flushed toilet-paper roll. The battles are staged? I figured theatrics were part of the Super-gene parcel. “Totally, one-hundred-percent guessed that, yup. Knew all along.”
The mayor makes the understandable assumption that I’m a dumbass and returns her attention to Jav. “You were surprisingly close, you know. Just a little overzealous. Not every clue leads back to gentrification.”
Jav shakes her head. “The Flamer told us we were right. Our theory makes sense!”
Outside, the protestors set up a chant: “We want to live! We want to live!”
The mayor’s smirk turns patronizing. “That doesn’t make it true. The truth is that while multiple housing companies profit from this arrangement, I laid down the terms. Sunnylake’s sewage system is old and faulty—the works, the pipe network, everything. If the scale of the problem was known, a complete overhaul would be our only option, resulting in a considerable tax hike.”
She mentioned the T word. My brain switches off. I can’t help it; it’s a knee-jerk defense mechanism to ward off impending adulthood.
Jav isn’t so afflicted. “And you’re starting your reelection campaign.”
The mayor nods. “No PR manager wants to work with ‘sewers down, taxes up’ as a slogan! I’m supposed to clean up Bridgebrook—that’s my brand. Not make the city—excuse my French—shittier.”
“So you need to keep all reports on the water quality of Clearwater on the DL,” Jav continues. She crumples her files as if she can mash this entire day into a ball and lob it at the nearest trash can. “Long enough to secure your next term in office.”
Mayor Darcy beams. “I knew you’d figure it out.”
This is all so wild. But while I struggle to compute what she’s saying, I know one fact for sure, and it’s that I want nothing more than to punch her upturned button of a nose until it’s concave.
“You don’t deserve to be mayor,” I spit. “You’ve done fuck all for Sunnylake.”
“Really?” She gestures to the disc on the side of my neck. “What about Hench—my little employment scheme?”
No way. “You’re our boss?”
A modest shrug. “Only of the local branch. Hench outfits have been operating in most cities since the VC spread beyond Sunnylake. They provide low-skilled labor opportunities to the impoverished, who would otherwise be lost to drugs and petty crime. Sunnylake has one of the largest agencies, you know? As a result, our employment rates are excellent, and we have a phenomenal hero response time, thanks to henchmen setting off the early warning system. It’s quite ingenious, really.”
“We want to live!” scream the protestors outside. “We want to live!”
“They don’t sound grateful,” says Jav.
“Yeah.” My nails dig into the foam arms of my chair, the windows in the observatory crashing down around me once again. “Try doing a hero’s job without Superpowers, for minimum wage.”
The mayor’s milk-and-cookies smile curdles. “You’d have nothing at all, if not for Hench.” She pivots toward the window, sunlight bathing her face. No dramatic shadows here. “Listen to me, girls. I’m not the villain of your story.”
“Really? You’re sure acting like it. Lemme guess: The only way we leave here is in a body bag?”
Jav elbows me. “Don’t give her ideas!”
The mayor rolls her eyes. “Such melodrama. I have no intention of killing you. I simply want to help you see.”
“See what?” Jav’s still wringing her file, knuckles bloodless. “That anyone who stands in your way disappears?”
“We did offer Miss Lopez—”
“Doctor,” I snap.
“—a generous sum to move her sampling station a short ways upstream, to the other side of the sewage plant. A shame she refused to see reason.”
“A shame she did the right thing, you mean?”
The mayor looks genuinely disappointed. “I told you to listen. Right, wrong … They’re not applicable to adult life, dear.”
“But they make for good distractions.” Bitter realization in Jav’s tone. She’s miles ahead of me; I’m still reeling over the fact that Mayor Darcy, Sunnylake’s most-kidnapped, isn’t the victim here. “Villains are an obvious enemy. They’re easy to hate. So long as we’re looking at them, we don’t pay any attention to you.”
The mayor golf-claps. “Very good! The Villain Council want to promote their slogans and gain publicity—but at the same time, the radical Superemacists among them could cause immense harm, if left unchecked. Thankfully, our Super Squad needs villains to justify their state funding, and I find it far easier to run a campaign when my constituents have something to fear. Nothing brings people together like a common enemy.”
“So that’s it?” I ask. Adrenaline is ice water, inundating my veins. More pushes through me with every pump of my pulse. “Everyone running this city is privately scratching each other’s backs, heroes and villains and everyone between? That’s the secret behind Project Zero?”
Mayor Darcy rolls her shoulders under the elegant blue princess neck of her dress. “I did suggest a far less dramatic name for our … mutually beneficial collusions. But—well. When working with Supers. You know how it is.”
“Oh, I got plenty of alternative names. Like … big evil circle jerk.”
The mayor sighs. She looks me over, adjusting her designer specs on the bobble halfway up her nose. “I once sat in your chair, Riley. I could’ve chosen to reveal everything—but I didn’t. Perhaps you can tell me why?”
“… Because you’re a shitty person?”
“No. Because it wouldn’t change anything.” Her smile is syrup, though I taste poison beneath. “You can’t fight the world. I’m only one part of this, Riley. The same as the VC, the Super Squad, the companies buying up Bridgebrook. We all have a role to play. There is no single enemy for you girls to take down. There is no mastermind. So.” She leans forward. “When you discover how deep-rooted the suffering in our world is, do you dig it out, destabilizing all that grows above? Or do you let it grow?”
I push up from my chair. “That’s a really nice metaphor, and I appreciate the work you put into it, but I can’t think of a snappy way to say ‘no thank you’ right now.”
Jav rises, too, wiping her eyes. “I get out my spade,” she tells the mayor.
“There! What she said. C’mon, we’re outta here.”
Jav’s words from the prison still fester. But as we turn for the door, united, it almost feels like things are back to normal again. Jav and Riley, Riley and Jav. We got each other’s backs, ’cause no one else does.
Then Mayor Darcy tuts. “Really, Riley? What about Blair Homes?”
Fuck. I stop dead.
“It would take a word,” Mayor Darcy continues, cheek pillowed on her soft, pale palm. “Just one word. Then Blair Homes diverts their attentions from 26 Sloan Street to … Say … 42.” A crinkle of those kindly blue eyes. “How would you like that, dear?”
My throat closes. If she can save my home with a word, she can destroy it with one, too.
“And you.” The mayor swivels on her chair, beam pinning Jav in place. “You have ambition—a trait I admire. How much easier would it be to climb to the top, if a hand reached down to pull you up?”
“That’s bribery,” Jav tries, but her voice lacks its razor edge.
“No, no. A leveling of the playing field—affirmative action.” The mayor sneers out the window, at the protest’s lurid heave. I hear the shrill peeps of whistles, the thud of speakers. Someone’s brought an air horn, which they blast with no regard for anyone’s hearing. I hope Lyssa stayed on the steps, where the crowd isn’t so thick. “So many children start this life halfway up the stairs to success. They have friends in high places, legacy parents—but you weren’t so lucky. Why not accept help when it’s offered?”
Jav falters, eyes covetous like she’s just seen a new shade of nail polish. But she shakes her head. “Affirmative action don’t come with a price tag.”
She’s right (as always). I wanna save my home. Course I do. But could I live with the cost? Could I wave at the Beauvaises every day and eat Hernando’s cooking, while another family came home to find a smoldering bomb site taped off by the Super Squad?
Fear of what the mayor might do to my little world still batters me, a cyclone trapped beneath my skin. But my world’s not the only one at stake.
“We pass,” I tell the mayor. “You’re not giving us a way out. Just a way to become you.”
The mayor doesn’t hurdle the desk and brain me with Mr. Caluna’s stapler. She squeaks back on her plush chair, still smiling, observing us from under pale lashes. “I hoped you wouldn’t say that. Still, your sister seems resilient. I’m sure she’ll overcome the grief.”
Blood drains from my face. “Uh, no. You said you weren’t going to kill us.”
“I also said I wasn’t going to explain my entire plan to you—but it made for such a good distraction.” Mayor Darcy checks her phone again. “Would you look at that?” She turns the screen to us, revealing the scrolling headline banner and the severe-faced reporter who ran the interview with Crystalis. “Breaking news! The Flamer escaped the supermax. And I bet he’s so eager for vengeance against the mayor who put him there.”
Jav pulls the shoestring fastening of her duffel bag tight as a garrote. “What does he have to do with this?”
“Tragic, really,” the mayor continues, like she can’t hear. She snaps her phone case shut, sliding it into her pocket. “Two young girls, dying in a villainous attack at the very heart of our city … I daresay you’ll become poster children for the Super Squad’s next funding campaign.”
I haven’t blinked in so long my eyes itch. “Wait, wait, wait. The Flamer’s coming here? To kill us?”
“Oh gosh, no! He’s screwed up enough lately. I’m not leaving this to chance.” Her sweet smile never wavers. “The bomb a couple rooms down should take care of things.”
“Bomb?” Jav whispers as I struggle to work my way around the enormity of the fact that we are “things,” and “take care of” is apparently code for “blow into itty-bitty pieces.”
“You’re framing the Flamer?”
Mayor Darcy shrugs. “He shouldn’t have told you anything. Perhaps this will be a good lesson for him.”
I don’t want to be a lesson or a victim or a fucking ad campaign. And I really, really don’t want to die. Bile climbs in my throat. Projectile vomiting on your enemy isn’t the most effective defensive tactic, but it would still be mighty satisfying.
Outside: the bass beat of helicopter rotors. Indecipherable chants from the crowd. And above it all: the roar of the Super Squad jet. Its engines drown out the protestors; its wings blot out the sun. Our heroes have arrived—but not to save the day.
“Everyone has three choices,” the mayor continues, tapping her nails on the desk’s beveled edge. “To join Project Zero. To look away. Or to be crushed. I made mine, and you made yours. Really, when you think of it like that…” She flashes us that bright, shiny, camera-ready smile. “I’m not going to kill you, girls. You are.”