Scorched

"And you're on board with that?"

"I have to be. What am I gonna do, go work for another secret crime-fighting family? Oh, wait, there aren't any." Adonis sounded resigned, like he'd already thought this over too many times. Didn't stop him sounding angry, too.

"But we're still equal shareholders, right? What about Chance?" Our littlest brother, with his cheeky surfer-boy smile and careless charm, was the only one Equity had any time for, probably because he made it easy for her to feel superior.

"You know Chance. Doing his own thing, as ever." Adonis's tone twinged sharp.

I understood his frustration. Chance didn't take the family business seriously. Sure, Adonis parties hard, but he'll drop it all in a heartbeat if there's work to be done. As a geeky teenager, I used to be jealous of Adonis's girlfriends, until I learned it's never the sister who gets her heart broken.

Chance, on the other hand, has talent up to his baby-doll eyelashes, but by Dad's standards, he's the family screw-up: instead of fighting crime, Chance prefers to use his lucky augment to risk his life at extreme sports, win the long odds at roulette and pick up girls.

Chance follows his heart; Adonis locks his heart away. I know who I trust more. "But what if—"

"It doesn't matter what Chance says, even if we could get the cocky little shit to turn up. The chairperson has the veto. Always did. You know that. Forget it, okay?" Adonis pushed me towards the bedroom. "Big sister awaits. Go get ready."

I chugged more OJ from the bottle and jammed it back in the fridge. "I am ready," I announced.

He eyed me critically. "Wearing that? You look like a hobo."

I snorted, glad of the change of subject. "Hey, they're your clothes. And oh, look." I patted my nonexistent pockets and frowned. "I seem to have misplaced my crime-fighter's spring collection while I was in the nuthouse. So sad. C'mon, we can worry about my fashion sense later."

"Just a sec." He vanished into the bedroom, and soon reappeared with a black suitcase, which he dumped on the table before me. "You might want these."

I unzipped it. Folded neatly inside lay my clothes. Some of them, anyway. My favorite blue jeans, soft from months of wearing. My T-shirts, even the wise-ass ones I knew he hated, and my leather belt. My old black lace-up boots, scuffed and charred from fighting. Even—bless him—a set of my knife-proof leathers.

And my mask.

I fingered the soft black leather. So familiar. My suit still smelled of flame and city dirt, a faint whiff of some perfume I didn't remember wearing.

All still here, even though I'd vanished. With this stuff, my brother had kept me alive.

My eyes burned. I was real after all. Or rather, the Seeker was real, and she was the important part of me. The Seeker was strong. Verity was weak. Nine months bolted into an augmentium helmet had proved that.

Without my power, I was nothing.

Adonis shrugged, sheepish. "They gave away your apartment after the memorial service. I couldn't keep everything. But I wanted… I couldn't just let you disappear."

I struggled to swallow on a lumpy throat. "You always were a sentimental idiot, Ad."

"You're welcome." He hugged me, one arm around my shoulders. "I'm glad you're home, Vee."

Home. It sounded good. I hugged him back, and his warm spritzy scent unleashed a fresh flood of memory. Only this time, they were good memories. I wasn't alone.

Adonis kissed my bruised forehead. “Go get changed. You don’t want to be late. Equity’s skipping a meeting, don’t you know?”

5 (#u7ec06da1-b29d-5425-b9ac-a6246f9e9543)

We stepped from the elevator on the top and fifty-sixth floor of the FortuneCorp building. The long fluoro-lit lobby with its pewter-colored carpet still looked the same. On the way in, we passed Illuminatus, Dad's younger brother. He looked like an older, silver-frosted version of Adonis, and he threw me a handsome grin as he passed. His superconducting alloy bracelets crackled with static charge. "Verity. Heard you were back. Good to see you, girl."

"Thanks, Uncle Mike. You too." I grinned back, but it soon faded. Illuminatus and Blackstrike. Sapphire City's original crime-fighting duo. They'd never fight together again.

A skinny receptionist wearing too much makeup sat behind a curved glass desk. Adonis flicked her a smile, and she picked up the phone, frowning. "Ms. Fortune? Mr. Fortune and Ms. Fortune are asking to see you. Adonis and… and Verity."

I laughed. "Yeah, right. Pretty please. Whatever." When this was Dad's office, any of his kids could just walk right in. And I felt fine and belligerent once more in my jeans and kicker boots. My black T-shirt read I'M ONLY NICE TO ONE PERSON PER DAY, and then underneath, it said TODAY IS NOT YOUR DAY. It pretty much summed up how I felt.

I strode up to the frosted glass door and turned the handle.

It wouldn't open.

Frustrated, I tried again, harder.

Adonis put a cool hand on my shoulder. "It's just security—"

"Security, my ass." I broke the lock with an angry flash of talent. The handle snapped downwards with a crunch, and I shoved the door open and stalked in, ignoring the receptionist's protests.

Afternoon sun streamed in the floor-to-ceiling windows. Below, the city glittered, the sunlight flashing on metal and glass skyscrapers, gloating over the flat summer waters of the bay. I squinted in the harsh glare, wishing I'd remembered to bring sunglasses. Equity has a natural affinity with light, and she likes it bright. The vast corner office was lined with ugly green plants that turned their faces sunwards, and at the far end, behind Dad's big blondwood desk, sat our sister.

She came around the desk to greet us. Tall and gangly as ever, she wore a neat navy-blue suit and heels. A rope of black pearls coiled around her neck over her white silken blouse. Her makeup was flawless, and she'd dyed her straight-bobbed hair, from plain old brown like mine to lustrous news-anchor auburn. She and I had inherited Mom's coloring. Like me, Equity would never be beautiful, but she looked elegant. Professional. Like a politician.

"Verity," Equity said, with all the warmth she could muster, which wasn't much. "Welcome back."

"Hey, E.," I replied grudgingly. If my ruined face shocked her, she'd hidden it admirably, and it cost me nothing to be pleasant. "Nice haircut. You look like President Palin. I'd vote for you."

Equity smiled, gracious. Obviously, she'd been practicing. "Adonis told me your tale." The smile vanished as quickly as it had appeared. "I'm sorry for what happened to you. That was a vicious attack. Quite uncalled for. I'm glad you're safe."

She sounded like she meant it. "Thanks," I muttered. "Listen, I want to get back to work—"

"Of course. Please." She ushered us to her little plush sofa arrangement by the sunlit window. A vase of silk orchids sat on the glass coffee table. Dad never liked fake flowers. I missed his big Chesterfield armchair, his smell of leather and cigarettes. When I was little, he'd play hide-and-seek with us, me and Chance and Dad's shadows. Equity had spoiled the game then, too.

I sat opposite her, and Adonis stood by the window, sunlight gilding his hair. Equity crossed her long legs, stockings gleaming. "How are you feeling, Verity?"

Dr. Mengele's blue gaze stabs mine like an iced needle. Her fingertips cool my fevered cheek. Static prickles in my hair, the stink of ozone and sweat. "How do you feel now?" she asks. My stomach knots in terror, and I vomit in her lap…

I blinked, dizzy. How the hell did Equity think I felt, after nine months in the loony bin? "I feel fine."

She and Adonis exchanged glances. "You've had a horrible experience," she said. "It's only natural you'd be suffering some ill effects—"

"So my head hurts," I interrupted, scratching my itchy palms. On the way here, I'd filled Adonis in on everything they'd done to me. What had he told her? "Yours would, too, if you'd had the Augmentium Helmet of Death bolted to your skull. I'm fine."

"Even so," Equity said coolly, "you should see a doctor."

"No!" I'd jerked from my seat before I realized I'd moved. My guts cramped, and for a horrible moment I thought I'd wet myself. "A shrink, you mean. No fucking way. Never again!"

Sweat stung my burned cheek. My palms hurt, and I realized I'd jammed my nails into them. I was shaking. Jesus.

Adonis touched my arm. "Steady, Vee," he whispered. "No one's making you. She's just worried about you."

I sucked in deep breaths, trying to quiet my screaming nerves. I stuck my hand in my pocket, where I'd shoved my mask. It felt smooth and warm, soothing. I gripped it tightly for a moment. Only one thing could put the howling horror in my soul to sleep: Razorfire, drained and dying at my feet. "I don't need a doctor," I insisted. "What I need is to get back to work. Dad's dead, and R—and he's still out there, spouting his burn-it-all bullshit. I'm gonna remedy that."