Weaving around stools and counters, I hurry along the front edge of the room. Seconds later my stomach connects with the counter that lines the far wall. I lean forward, tracing my fingers up the tile until I feel the big, red button.
I smack my palm against the plastic. A whooshing sound fills the lab, so powerful it almost drowns out the alarm sirens. Faster than I expect, smoke gets sucked up and out of the room through the massive vent in the middle of the ceiling. As the haze dissipates, the shadow of a figure emerges. A man stands in the back corner of the lab, facing the vault.
And the door is wide open.
I’m too late. I’ve failed.
“No,” I whisper, terrified at what the villains might get their hands on.
I have to find a way to warn the League. Right now. The system automatically sends alerts, but there have been a number of false alarms lately. I don’t want them to dismiss this as another one.
I glance around wildly and see my cell phone charging on the other side of the lab.
Using the counter to push off, I launch myself into a sprint. Only I don’t take into account the stool I had pulled into the center of the room while working on the transcription earlier. I crash into it and send myself stumbling into the nearest lab table.
“What have we here?” a sneering voice asks with a crisp British accent.
I turn to the guy standing in front of the vault. Like Dark-and-Scowly, he’s dressed in all black. Must be the standard-issue villain uniform these days. Except that his shock of red hair—which is currently standing on end—and the look of surprise on his face make him seem more startled-matchstick than villain-capable-of-blowing-up-the-vault.
That is, until he narrows his eyes at Dark-and-Scowly, who has somehow appeared in the blown-out doorway. I have a moment to wonder how the hell he got out of the janitor’s closet before Matchstick hisses, “I thought you were supposed to take care of problems like this.”
“I am,” Dark-and-Scowly answers. “I’ve got everything under control.”
The other guy snorts. “Don’t look like it to me.”
“You’d better go,” I tell them, disappointed by the unsteady tremble in my voice. I’m still angry, but the fear is creeping back in. I’m trapped down here in this lab with two villains. The last time I was this close to the bad guys, my father was murdered and I…I was—
I cut off that train of thought before it can go anywhere. I’m not that helpless little girl anymore, and anyone who thinks otherwise is going to be in for a big shock.
“Leave now,” I tell them. “Before it’s too late.”
Matchstick starts toward me. “Why is that, sweetheart?”
“The guards are coming.” I steel myself for whatever comes next. “Their response time is less than thirty seconds.”
He starts laughing before I finish. Smirking, he says, “Your guards aren’t coming. Aren’t even in the building.” He steps into the center aisle. “They took an unexpected vacation.”
I don’t want to believe him—he’s a villain, after all—but the cockiness in his tone tells me that, at the very least, he believes the guards are gone. Besides, it’s been at least thirty seconds since the alarms started blaring. Help should be here by now.
Which means I’m on my own.
Calling the League is the only option.
I try not to think just how badly a confrontation with two villains can go as I glance at my phone, still twenty feet away, and then back at the redheaded villain. His eyes flick to the counter, and when his gaze returns to me, he’s shaking his head. He can’t have missed my hot-pink case against the stainless-steel countertop.
Matchstick spreads his arms wide, his fingers stretched to maximum breadth, and his palms begin to glow. And I stop breathing.
This isn’t going to be good.
Chapter 2
I freeze as the ball of energy, or whatever he’s building between his hands, gets larger and brace myself for impact. There’s nowhere to run. Nowhere to hide. But just as Matchstick lets loose with whatever badass concoction he’s cooked up, Dark-and-Scowly hurls himself at me, full force. We go down in a tangle of limbs as a firebomb blasts right past where I’d been standing.
“Hey! Get off me!” I shove at him as hard as I can, but he’s immovable. Maybe because he’s about six inches taller and fifty pounds heavier than me. But, again, that’s never stopped me before. I stand up to heroes twice his size all the time. Supers might think I’m weak, but I’m not.
Sometimes, being underestimated can be a real advantage.
I start to knee him in the nuts for the second time tonight, but he’s ready for me. His hand clamps above my knee and holds me in place.
“Will you relax?” he demands, his voice a lot darker and surlier than it was before I took my shot at the family jewels. “I’m trying to protect you here.”
Wrong thing to say, dude.