Page 171 of Renegades

She reached the end of the tunnel and pressed her hand against the simple wooden crate that served as a makeshift door, shoving it aside just enough for her to slip into the cathedral’s tombs. Inside the door, a tray had been set with a meal for one. A goblet of red wine and a cloth napkin, a china plate holding a triangle of hard white cheese, a sprig of grapes, a hunk of bread. A white taper candle was burning in a silver candlestick. She could taste the sulfuric tang of a recently lit match, and the candle was tall enough still that Nova could guess the meal had not been left there for long. She wondered if Phobia had delivered it, or if one of the others had been making pilgrimages too.

She felt guilty that this was the first time she’d come since they had abandoned the tunnels.

Stepping over the tray, she passed the familiar stacks of old stone sarcophagi, their inscriptions so covered with cobwebs and dust they were impossible to read. She passed beneath an arched doorway that had words from a dead language carved into the top, past the wall of rubble and broken stones where Ingrid had long ago closed these tombs off from the cathedral above.

She arrived at the bones, stacked so thick and deep they made a wall from floor to ceiling. Mostly skulls, but there were other things too. Femurs and ribs and even the tiny little finger bones that, for whatever reason, had scared Nova the most when she was young.

Nova looked into the empty eye sockets of those countless skullsof saints and clergymen and warriors, or whoever all these people were. She found herself wondering, as she had countless times before, if any of them had been prodigies. If so, had they dared to use their powers, or had they kept them secret? In their time, had their gifts been seen as miracles, or did even the devout feel the need to disguise who and what they truly were?

That was one thing that everyone had to agree on when it came to Ace Anarchy. Because of him, prodigies no longer had to hide.

At least, most prodigies no longer had to hide.

Nova settled down onto the floor, folding her legs beneath her. She stared into the faces of death and felt death peering back at her.

She took in a shaky breath and said the words that seemed impossibly simple for all that they meant.

“The helmet isn’t destroyed.”

The words echoed in the chamber and though it was an almost imperceptible change, she could have sworn that some of the skulls turned to look at her with increased interest.

“The Renegades have it. They keep it locked up because… because it’s still intact, and they’re worried that someone will try to use it again. But I think…” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “I think I can get it back.”

The wall of bones began to tremble. Softly at first, enough to dislodge bits of dust. To send a couple of those tiny digits rolling across the floor toward Nova’s knees.

As one, the bones pulled back, like the curtains framing the stage of a grand production. They moved quietly, languidly.

The chamber beyond had little in it, but what it did have was luxurious. A four-poster bed draped in velvet. A writing desk stocked with linen paper and the finest pens. And books. So many books, the Librarian would have wept with joy to have seen them.

Though Ace had loved the cathedral, he had always felt happiest when he was down here. It was not so macabre as people liked to believe, he said. He liked the peace of it. The solitude and the quiet. He had told her once, his eyes twinkling, that being here kept him grounded.

And so, it was with some irony that Nova looked into the small chamber and saw Uncle Ace levitating three feet in the air, legs crossed and face serene. He reminded her of a monk in the middle of a meditation, except that his eyes were open, gazing at her with the same softness and warmth that had always served to remind her of her father.

“I knew you would do well,” he said, his lips curling into a smile, “my little nightmare.”