Gats.

"Your supervillain stuff is boring, and you don't have to take me everywhere. Besides, if you get me any closer to Angelos I swear he's gonna shoot me with his bloody mind powers." 

Owl rummages through every room she finds, not just for Curtis, but for something that can be found in a desk drawer. "Those bastards," she swears every time, throwing furniture and tossing over bookshelves. She even tears the carpet off the floor, kicking free wood slats looking for...something.

She leaves me cuffed up as she looks. To a knob, a chest, a chair. She has enough lackeys to watch me without her getting her hands dirty. Tying up human soldiers only takes what? Twenty minutes? Her interest in me leaves me suspicious. 

Owl paces, clutching her hands behind her back. Her armored gloves flex and crunch as she clenches and unclenches her fingers. For the first time, she doesn't look like she's in control. Sweat glistens on her brow, her face paling. "Quiet. You destroying your friendship with my son is no concern of mine."

"It's your fault."

She snorts and wipes away a bead of sweat. "Don't blame me for your mistakes."

"Oh, ho. You're so innocent. Not like you threatened to starve me to death or anything."

Owl touches her chest. We're in a library. Behind us, sunlight slants through the stained windows, casting her in reds and yellows, blues and greens. The bookshelves are rich, stained the deepest shades of mahogany and carved ornately. Volumes, some modern, some crackling with yellow pages, hit the ground as Owl plows through the texts. The emptiness of the massive room makes me shudder and ease deeper into the couch. It's red silk, embroidered with lilies and lotus flowers. It looks as out of place as I feel, what with my ankle hooked up to the leg and all.

She looks up, as if asking guidance from some figure above. "I would've starved to death rather than betray my mistress."

"Well, bully for you." I stretch out, lolling an arm over the back of the couch and wiping my eyes with my free hand. "Except you wouldn't. Starve to death, I mean. 'Cause you're super. You could cannibalize yourself. Or just...not starve. That must be a superpower." 

Owl runs her fingertips over a book's deckled edge. She sighs. Standing there, her red armor blazing in the early sun, she looks like a band of fire. It makes my skin prickle. I don't want to be alone with her. I want to be with Heaven and Angelos.

My heart sinks in my chest. The thought of them feels like a punch in the stomach. This is my fault. Owl made me a puppet and I let her pull my strings. Now, I have to pay for my actions. And for being a jerk about them. This may be the strangest sentence I ever think up, but I really need to stop threatening to stab Angelos.

"They wouldn't keep any information here," Owl says. Her voice is a sigh. She rests her head in her palm, if only for a moment. "Looking through books is like... like looking through the tenth page of Google. Useless. And you're lucky if you don't catch a virus in one of  the pages of bullshit."

I roll on my side with my face tucked into my arm. "You're trying too hard."

"I'm eight-hundred years old, give me a break." She clenches her fist at her side, the only show she gives of her anger. The rest of her is stiff as a reed. With a harsh glance thrown in my direction, she sets her book on the couch arm. "Only Curtis knows," she tells me, as if I have any idea what she's talking about. "Besides, I promised to tell you who your parents are."

"Yes." I sit up straight, clinking my chain. My thoughts wander back to Angel and the hard anger in his face back at the car. It's true, what I said. I hate him and Hev tangling me up in this cursed villainy stuff, and all the same, I care about them. How can I not care about them?

I stare down at my hands, my wrists still pink under my shirt sleeves. I won't even ask myself what I've done, because I know I'll do it all again. Threaten Angelos? Betray Heaven? Only the first ticked boxes on a long to-do list, that's for sure.

Cold sweat collects on the back of my neck. In a swift motion, Owl clicks me free from the chair. She moves so fast I think her a blur.

I hesitate as she grips my elbow. Her armored gloves are cold and nip my skin with goosebumps. "But why do you care so much about me anyway? You have other prisoners, for sure. Why do you haul me around everywhere? I'm not your pet. Just because I look like a cat—"

Her grip tightens. "Yes, you're a cat. But that's not what matters. Now is not the time to whine about your insecurities."

I'm beginning, it seems, to get that a lot.

I can't escape her hold, but I hop off the couch and wobble toward the door anyway. She whistles in my ear, humming something about secrets. Out of the corner of my eye, she smirks.

It makes me nervous.

***

The capitol building, unsurprisingly, is huge. All of it wide, white, empty space. The air here is too chilly, smells too strong of antiseptic. It makes me sneeze and I have to remind myself what wafting is and how to do it.

There are paintings and pillars, but they seem like backdrops, shrines for the heavy silence. The place feels haunted, like it should be filled with the laughter and shrieks of the superheroes, and instead, it's filled with their ghosts.

Downstairs, people in black chatter and toast with their coms. They fistbump, whoop, and talk. The excitement rolls off them, electric. Owl hangs her free arm over the banister, puffing her chest up just enough for me to notice. She smiles, her smirk forgotten. "For henchmen," she starts, patting me on the head with the very fingertips of her gloves. "They're awful sweet."

The more I see Owl, the more I decide she's all wrong. She's a supervillain; her henchmen should be faceless, obedient drones. How can she care about them when she dragged them into this mess? When she threatened to kill them if they get out of line?

The cat ears clip back flat against my head, and when she drags me down the stairs, her henchmen fall silent.

The hostages are tucked flat beneath the stairs, facing out at the statue of the heroes. The heroes' gleeful figures feel like an extra punch in the already sore gut. Men and women, tied up and gagged, peer up at the light in the ceiling as if expecting a hero to crash through. When will they realize none will come? Have they already figured it out?

The henchmen fall on both knees, heads bowed. Owl's expression is hard, but she flicks up a finger, beckoning them to rise. "We're winning."

Bloody footprints cover the floor, smeared and dried brown. The smell is so sharp it almost knocks me off my feet, but none of the others seem to notice the terrible scent. Henchmen whisper, throwing free their hoodies to expose their cool black masks. The guy who talked to me at Owl's meeting catches my eye and even winks. For being such a sucky leader, Owl's right to praise her followers. They seem pretty okay, minus obeying her heinous commands. Especially Sarah and Ivy. I hope nothing's happened to them.

She leads me into a hall, where her followers meet her in a horde, heads bowed as usual. They say her earpiece broke and they didn't want to chase her in case she wanted privacy.  I fight back a grin to stay blank-faced. Angelos and his musical numbers. Together, they unnkowingly sabatagoued a network of supervillains.

With a hiss of agitation that makes the henchmen quiver, she steps into the otherwise empty hall. The walls are covered in portraits and plaques of superheroes. I swallow hard.

The villain tugs my sleeve and points to a single bronze plaque. My heart leaps into my throat, my eyes taking in the familiar style of armor, the fit of the visor, the star patterns on the gauntlets she has pressed up against her hips. "Would you look at that." She taps her pointer-finger to the hero's helmet. "Your girlfriend."

All of a sudden, I think I'll cry again.

Owl's eyes wander toward a portrait of Nebula. The hero, poised against a bookshelf. Her blue super suit shines, her tinted visor drawn over her face. Still, her eyes glow through the darkness, electric blue. Even in a painting, there's this raw sense of intelligence behind them, like she's unraveling the secrets of the universe as you look on. 

"Hmm." Owl flicks out her dagger, spins it a few times from hand to hand, and flings it at Nebula's heart. Bull's eye.

I wheel back. Her whisper cuts through the marble hall, unmistakable.  "Stay dead."

Behind the door across from us, the one the followers keep talking about with the words "accidental death," sound low, gasping moans. I wrench my arm out of Owl's grasp and creep toward it, my hands shaking around the knob. She catches me by the collar and I fling the door open.

The sky is purple.

Well, now you've done it, Angel. You changed the color of the freaking sky.

The windows are blown out, sheets of glass shattered into tipped-jags like icicles across the floor. The air is still. Heavy. It crackles with energy, and it makes breathing harder, makes me feel like I'm filtering sand out of my lungs with each breath. Only one velvet drape hangs from the curtain rod, scraps of the shimmering fabric wrapped up around a mummy-shaped figure. Henchmen with their hoods down cuss at it.

"Out of all the people we could've killed," a woman says, pushing her hair out of her eyes with both hands. It falls back against her neck in a shimmering yellow cascade, like golden thread. I know Angel would kill for hair with as nice of a shine factor. "Why this jerk?"

This is where the second hub of henchmen mulls, and it seems to be where they decided to keep their more important prisoners. Mayor Curtis, for instance. Tossed against the wall, a doll the henchmen didn't bother to play with. She's thin and almost a little skeletal, all pale, her eyes so dilated she must've seen something horrible. 

I met her once, at a fundraiser dinner. I only remember the thing because I had to teach Angel how to use his silverware and Heaven how to do up her bowtie. The clam chowder sucked, that too. The only consolation I got out of the whole ordeal was the chance to make fun of Heaven. In her tux, she looked like a little penguin, the cut of the shoulders and waist too boxy for her bitty frame. Even then, I found her adorable. It makes my heart clench, almost makes the mayor an afterthought, but I face her. She's silent. Not gagged or tied up like the others, just curled up, hugging her knees her chest. I peek beside her, and Storm smiles up weakly, clutching his stomach with one hand, spreading his fingers loosely over his bloody mouth with the other.

Jupes leans against him. I lunge in for a hug, but Owl yanks me back on my collar. It tears against my throat, but I hang in the air for a second, gasping and thrashing before she flings me into the wall. It's such an unexpected bout of violence from her I freeze for a moment before latching my claws into the flowery wallpaper for a handhold, the scent of blood and long-since-burned incense making my head spin. Outside, the wash of purple tightens into strings, breaking the sky into grid. I think of playing losing Battleship games with Angel, watching him guess with uncanny accuracy all the right coordinates of my ships.

Storm groans, stumbling to his feet. I'm gasping as I pluck myself off the wall. Owl doesn't even notice, and the henchman that brought in Juniper must've left the sword anywhere she could get rid of it in her hurry. There it is, shimmering in the middle of the room, thrown sidelong on the table. The tip glints over the edge. Muscles I didn't even know I had tense. Looking at the sword makes me think of the man who once owned it, a man who's long dead. It's just a weapon, a tool to stab my way out of here, I decide. I shouldn't feel so squeamish about it, especially when my guardians are in danger.

"Curtis." Owl dips her head to the mayor, ponytail swinging. My feet are like lead. The sword is mine, but do I want it? Am I willing to risk Owl's wrath when I betrayed both of my friends just to avoid it?

The henchmen won't risk anything like it, that's for sure. They drop to their knees as her shadow snakes across the squishy carpet, the extra cloth of their cloaks spread behind them like crow wings. Their fear hangs as heavy as the scent of blood in the crackling air. I clutch my hands together at my lap and stare at the sword in an attempt to quell the desperation to run back to June by contemplation. She and Storm can't save me here. Heaven and I are probably the ones supposed to be doing the saving, anyway, supers as we are.

A lump wells up in the back of my throat. The weapon glints. Sunlight scales the blade in white flashes up and down. It makes it look like it's laughing. I need to take it. Why won't I take it? 

"My favorite imposter. You wouldn't happen to know any reasons why I shouldn't crush all the brittle bones in your body, would you?"

The henchmen cuss softly at the bleeding body. Chatty villains and distracted henchmen, at least there's a few elements left in the universe to depend on. All the muscles in my body creak and throb from my earlier captivity, claws clicking in and out of their cavities. I creep toward the table on my toes. The room as dusty as it is, I have to breathe carefully. Too much of in at once, I sneeze, my cover's blown.

"You." The mayor's usual breezy tone is gone. So much hatred, so much disgust in her trembling voice, it's hard to believe this is the woman who runs this place. Who phoned in that message about trusting heroes and having courage. "You creatures are monsters."

"So rodents say of cats." Owl clucks her tongue, and though her back's turned, I can imagine perfectly her coy smirk. "Or owls, anyway. The cat here is no more monster than you, just a bother."

I snap my hands behind my back just as Owl turns to me, a single eyebrow arched. Even across the room, her smirk feels predatory, like she's just waiting to sink her talons into me. I shoot her a questioning mrow.

She should return her gaze (and her smirk) to Mayor Curtis, but she doesn't. She just stares at me. Her patch glows in the light of the woven grid outside the window. I take another step back, feel my gut fall into my shoes. I know what Heaven would do, what Angel would do. Fight, fight, fight. But everything inside me has gone slack, my resolve as weak as my knees.

They're supposed to be my friends, they aren't supposed to make me feel so terrible about wanting to live.

"This woman is lucky my son has bought me so much time."

Storm wheezes. He gives a sickening cough, black liquid splattering the floor by Owl's shiny boots. I want to call him an ambulance, but I know that's impossible. So I have to let my foster father suffer. Like I have to watch my foster mother suffer, my best friend suffer, my girlfirend suffer.

My throat is suddenly dry. I can't find anything in me to say.

Fight. Fight back. All I feel is my heart beating through my chest, my breath caught in the back of my throat. "Mew?" Good going, Gats. Meowing at a time like this. The sword glimmers in my peripherals, bringing thoughts of freedom and pain. 

If a real superhero couldn't save himself, then how can I? And why can't anyone see this? That we're just a bunch of little kids, fighting against immortal beings infinitely stronger and infinitely wiser. That's like fighting off vampires without a stake or even a clove of garlic. We're all dead. Or at least undead, like Heaven.

The world spins. I want it to stop spinning.

Juniper groans. She's trying to say something, but the sound is muffled and the words are weak. I strain and make out, "not...son..." My stomach knots that much more. Now that I'm actually fed, I have to worry about throwing up. Gut clenched, I draw in a long breath to ease the queasiness. The dust, blood-scent, and electricity makes me burst into another coughing fit.

Owl turns toward Juniper and Storm, her footsteps heavy. I reach out with an aching arm and snatch the sword by the hilt. On the table, it looks like an inflatable toy, oversized and so shiny it has to be fake, but when I pull it my arm almost snaps of out of my socket. The tip lodges in the carpet, thumping so hard I swallow back a cry. But Owl talks to Jupes and Storm, her tone sing-songy. "It's been too long, you two. I've missed having you in my employ, though I suppose you found yourselves a new boss." She shoots a pointed look at Mayor Curtis, who shrivels up under her gaze.

Both of my guardians incapacitated, the conversation is a little one-sided. Owl flourishes her hand, ponytail bouncing off her shoulder.

"But I miss you. Those of us who survived the battle ought to stick together."

I bite my lip. Poison called Jupes and Storm killers. He's a villain, he lies. But an eerie feeling makes me clench the hilt harder, all the muscles in my shoulders squeaking in protest.

"I know you're stubborn. And sneaky. Thinking you could keep my son away from me if he just came crying back to you." Owl's voice goes tight. She turns on her heel, her hand snaking on to her hip, where she keeps her lasso. Her eyes flick over me, the sword. The glimmer in her eye is gone, and her frown makes me shudder. "I never meant to take this boy. I only want what belongs to me."

"This capitol doesn't belong to you," I grumble. Owl's good eye flashes and she squeezes the lasso, the smell of blood suddenly dizzying. I didn't think the words through. Angel must be rubbing off on me. Fight. You're James Bond trapped in a high schooler's body! I can just imagine him saying it with a goofy smirk on his face, then the next line, the smirk replaced with a frown. Stab her. Stab her like you stabbed Heaven in the back.

Even in my imagination, that bit about backstabbing seems to be his favorite.

I blink innocently, like the helpless, uncomprehending creature Jay first mistook me to be when she stole me away. The hot fury in Owl's face cools in her tight smile as she looks back at Jupes and Storm.

"Maybe you should know how it feels to have your only surviving child stolen from you."

My pulse pounds against the blade. Only surviving child? Jeez. I thought Juniper and Storm couldn't have kids. Why else take in two boys who eat all your food and don't pay rent? 

Juniper lifts her voice, gasping to say something, but Owl shushes her with a finger to the woman's bloody lips. "Besides, doesn't he deserve to know?"

Fear pounds through me with each pump of my heart, cold and sinewy. I haven't felt safe for days, not a moment where the fear doesn't dog me. And yet, I can't help a growl as I slip out of the act. "Stop asking them questions if you don't want them to answer."

"Now you're disrespecting me?" Owl grins. It's the type of grin you have to learn, like a villain laugh. All dark, worse than a smile and even a smirk. It makes all the psuedo-courage shrivel up before it even brushes the surface. "Must be the food. I promise I won't let you have any more of that for a while."

I bite back a whimper.

Juniper makes another sound, angrier this time. Owl turns back around, and every muscle in my body itches for me to pick up the sword and lunge for the back of her skull. the blow may not cause much damage. She may leave me to starve, but I want the option. 

"Surely, you may set your lives on a web of lies, but you shouldn't raise children on them. She looks out the window, stretches her hands out in front of her. Her knuckles click, bringing a shiver to the back of my neck. "How easy webs fall apart."

The mayor raises her trembling voice. "I don't have to hear—"

"Shut up, woman. One more word and I'll tear you apart like a stuffed toy."

I flinch. The air is suddenly too thick to breathe. 

Owl wheels toward me. I ease the sword off the floor, my forearms shaking with the effort. My She glances down at the weapon, then back to my face. "Felix, you really want to know about your parents?"

Not if it changes anything, I want to say, but the wound itches. "Of course."

"They're the ones who made you who you are, oddities and all. They're the ones that let you go for so many years, parentless, homeless—"

"I know my own damned history!" Beads of sweat collect on my face. The sword shakes, the tip flashing in the brilliant morning light. Laughing, laughing, laughing. The villain whooshes back and touches her cool gloves to my neck, the chill making me shiver, inside and out. "Just tell me. One's an assassin, the other's a scientist. You think they're cool. And they left me. Tell me, damn it!" My breathing turns sharp.  For years, this same knife's been twisting in my gut, and Owl just pulled it out, held it to the light. I want her to put it back to stop the bleeding. 

She pats my hair down flat against the nape of my neck, the ears pricking against her touch. June looks up, flattened against the wall, her eyes big like discs. Storm's closed-eyed in intense concentration, white hair stained red with blood. He groans.

"They never told you. Your Juniper's experiment." Owl smiles sickly. "And her child."