City of Legends: The Complete Series: City of Legends, #4

By Cheyanne Young

Maci Knight has grown up in the shadow of legends. Her father and her brother, Max, are Heroes, worshiped by humans and Supers alike for their strength and valor. All she's ever wanted is to follow in their footsteps, to fight villains and protect humankind. But Maci has a secret—one that could change everything.

Maci had a twin sister who died the same day they were born. In their world, one twin is always good, while the other always eventually turns evil. There's no way to tell which twin will go rogue . . . which means no one knows if Maci will suddenly become a villain.

 

The closer she gets to her eighteenth birthday, the more she has feelings she can't control: Violence. Rage. Revenge. Maci wants to be a Hero. But she may not have a choice . . .

 

The complete series in one book, City of Legends introduces a new superhero mythology and an unstoppable heroine.

This edition includes:
City of Legends
The Valiant
Empire Rising

• Language: English
• Publisher: Quinnova Press
• Release date: Mar 23, 2022
• ISBN: 9798201432317

Cheyanne Young

Cheyanne Young is a native Texan with a fear of cold weather and a coffee addiction that probably needs an intervention. She loves books, sarcasm, and collecting nail polish. After nearly a decade of working in engineering, Cheyanne now writes books for young adults and is the author of the City of Legends Trilogy. She doesn’t miss a cubicle one bit. Cheyanne lives near the beach with her daughter and husband, one spoiled rotten puppy, and a cat that is most likely plotting to take over the world.

Book preview

City of Legends

CITY OF LEGENDS

THE COMPLETE SERIES

CHEYANNE YOUNG

Quinnova Press

CONTENTS

City of Legends

Cheyanne Young

The Valiant

Cheyanne Young

Empire Rising

Cheyanne Young

CITY OF LEGENDS

BOOK ONE

CHEYANNE YOUNG

Copyright © 2013 by Cheyanne Young

All rights reserved.

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No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

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This is a work of fiction and any resemblance of characters to persons living or dead is purely coincidental.

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Cover Images © BigStockPhoto

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Published by Quinnova Press

www.CheyanneYoung.com

www.QuinnovaPress.com

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Previously published by Amazon Publishing and

Alloy Entertainment, LLC

In memory of my heroes,

Catherine Cunningham and Jeanette Young

ONE

The sun beats down on the zebra print walkway, sending scorching waves of heat through my body. If not for my white training suit and its heat wicking capabilities, the metallic power that courses through my veins might have already burnt me to a crisp. Texas summers are a nightmare. I much prefer my breezy underground home in Central, the Super city built beneath the Grand Canyon.

A lion roars and a toucan squawks through the speaker hidden in the fake rock next to me. It’s a little redundant because real life animal sounds can be heard even outside the gates of the Lone Star Zoo.

Hero Crimson Barlow stops next to a sculpture of a giraffe made with rusted strips of metal twisted and warped into something resembling the massive animal. Her blood red Hero uniform—a form-fitting body suit like mine but fifty times more badass because it’s made with Hero technology—shimmers in the sunlight. White strips of fabric start at her shoulders and dip down to her waist, the lines in the suit accentuating her already perfect curves. She throws a wave of white blonde hair over her shoulder and checks the Codex on the underside of her wrist.

As slim as a sheet of glass and curved to fit her wrist, the Codex is every Hero’s most important tool. It’s smarter than a smartphone and exclusive to only those Supers with Hero status. The rest of the Super people are stuck with boring mods, which are hardly any more advanced than a human’s cell phone.

Watching my best friend pull up her Hero mission on the Codex screen makes my wrist burn with the desire to have my own Codex, my own Hero status, my own missions.

Soon, I tell myself as Crimson motions for me to get closer, giving me a peek at the details of her top-secret mission. I’ve wanted my own Codex for nearly eighteen years and come tomorrow, I’ll finally have it.

I’ll finally be a Hero.

Here’s our suspect villain, she says, tapping the screen. A holographic projection appears in the air, displaying a three-dimensional photo of a man from the shoulders up. Tanned skin, brown shaggy hair, and piercing blue eyes. At the bottom of the holograph are the words Oliver Toca: Suspected endangered animal thief.

My best friend shakes her head slowly and her ruby red lips poke out in a pout. Oh, Oliver, how could you turn villain like this? Gorgeous eyes . . . bitter, hateful heart. She tisks. It’s a sad combination.

Why is he stealing endangered animals? I ask. I’ll be privy to information like this once I’m an official Hero. For now, I’m merely a Hero-in-training and Crimson’s shadow for the day.

She shrugs. Beats me. But it’s our job to stop him. Today he’s going after the Largetooth Sawfish, one of the last of its kind. She nods toward the entrance of the zoo, where the ticket booth now has a queue of humans waiting to get inside. Let’s head to the aquarium.

We bypass the ticket lines and I try not to let my ego overshadow our mission when a little girl in a princess dress pulls a drool-covered finger out of her mouth and points at us. Mommy! Heroes!

The humans in line all turn, bending around one another to get a look at the Legends of King City as we stride through the middle of the two lines. Crimson walks in front of me, shoulders back and head held high. I do the same. No point in telling them there’s only one official Hero in their midst. We’ll both be Heroes in less than twenty-four hours, so there’s no shame in me playing the part.

Because of our power, many Supers feel that we are better than humans. But we get along with them even if we don’t fully understand their unusual ways. We treat them as equals, at least as much as we can.

The aquatic life center is near the front of the zoo, set off to the side in an older looking building with walls covered in vines. Crimson and I split, each scoping out one side of the building to look for anything suspect. I hold my battered mod in my hand, ready to dial Crimson at the first sign of trouble. I am trained and ready to fight, but only she has the Codex and the ability to call for a Retriever once we subdue the villain.

Our perimeter check turns up nothing but a forgotten takeout box. I meet up with her at the back of the building and we walk together toward the entrance. My nose wrinkles. Humans don’t normally smell this bad, I say.

Crimson snorts. You’re smelling the animals. One walk through the gorilla enclosure over there and the stench will fry your nose hairs right off. She elbows me in the arm. Good thing we heal instantly.

You’ve been here before? It occurs to me now that spending the last twelve years in Hero training has left exactly zero time for me to have done anything out in the real world. All I know is Central, the underground city of the Super people, and how to fight imaginary villains in the training room called HQ.

Not this zoo, but one in San Diego. Remember that earthquake?

I nod, recalling how Crimson and my brother, Max, were dispatched to the same mission about a year ago. I had waited anxiously for them to get back and tell me all about it. Crimson and Max are two years older than I am. We all grew up together and spent thousands of hours in Hero Training at HQ. But they both got Hero status at the same time and since then, I’ve had to get used to training alone while they go on awesome Hero missions and continuously save the world. Now, finally, we will all be together again.

This is more of a passive mission, Crimson explains. She leads the way into the aquatic center and the cool dark air is a welcome relief from the sun outside. We’re surrounded by aquariums where fish of all colors and sizes swim around in their vibrant habitats. The best missions are the ones where you arrive on the scene and start kicking ass. She flashes me a devilish smile as we round a tank of neon orange fish. These recon missions suck. You’d think Central would let you go on a fun mission on your last day of training. Maybe they don’t want you to get worn out before your big Hero exam. She wiggles her eyebrows at me.

This is actually my fault, I admit. They were going to send me with Max but I asked to go with you instead.

Aww, shucks, she says, placing a hand over her heart. You’re such a good bestie.

I shrug. All Max does is lecture me on the rules of being a Hero. I’m so sick of being told to watch my back and feel the air. I make air quotes over the last part. Sarcastically, I say, Feel the air, Crimson! Feel the air!

She laughs. Hate on Max all you want, but that’s good advice. Super power often leaves a tingling presence in the air. Some of the petty villains haven’t honed their power much so you can’t feel them, but the really bad villains? You can feel their power a mile away. It’s satisfying as hell when they get depowered.

A shudder runs through me. Depowering is the process of ripping out the power veins in a Super—the silvery veins that pump power from our chest into our body. The details of the process are confidential, but everyone knows it’s agonizing. Depowering leaves the villain covered in spidery scars from fingers to toes, a grotesque shadow of their former selves.

Retriever hooks do the same thing with the power in the air, I say. I practiced hooking Hero Ernesto and his power immediately shut off. I didn’t even know his power was in the air until I couldn’t feel it anymore.

We reach an open area of the building where an albino alligator stares at us from his glass enclosure. A sign near the glass directs patrons to try out the new Glass Glove, which allows you to press your hand into the glass and feel the alligator. Cartoon images on the sign depict a child pressing their hand to the glass and having it bend and mold around his fingers, forming a pliable glove inside the wall.

I bet that alligator loves being fondled by his own cage, Crimson mutters.

It’s a Felix invention. I point to the King City crown logo at the bottom of the sign. Glass Glove was donated to the Lone Star Zoo by Felix of Felix Industries & Research.

That guy invents the weirdest things, Crimson says.

In just a few years, Felix went from being one of Central’s unknown research scientists to a human icon, practically worshipped by lovers of technology. He’s gifted the human race with medical devices, batteries that never die, and holograph projections that follow you around, complimenting you all day.

Someone clears their throat behind us. Crimson and I turn away from the alligator. Two girls stare at us, their hair in matching red ponytails tied with a blue ribbon bow that matches their blue dresses. They’re each holding a massive snow cone, one pink and one blue. If I had to guess, I’d say they were about eight years old.

The girl with the pink snow cone takes a cell phone from her dress pocket. Um, Miss Hero Crimson, ma’am?

Crimson bends to their eye level, resting her hands on her thighs. That’s my name. What can I do for you girls? She flashes a heroic smile and some of their trepidation melts away.

The girl holds up her phone and two identical sets of syrup-stained lips gaze in awe at us. Could we maybe take a picture with you, please? You’re our favorite Hero.

Are you a Hero, too? the other girl asks, studying me with furrowed brows. Wait, are you President Knight’s daughter?

I don’t know how to be light and charming like my best friend, so I just smile and nod. Yes, but I’m not a Hero.

But you will be? she asks.

I nod and she bursts into a wide, crooked-toothed grin. Can we get a picture with you, too?

Of course you can, Crimson says, taking the phone and pointing it toward me. I squat down, wrap my arms around the girl’s shoulders and pose for the camera.

Feels good to be a Hero, eh? Crimson whispers in my ear after she snaps a photo and hands me the phone, swapping places with me. I take their photo and give the phone back to the girls, who run to their parents to show off their souvenir.

We need to keep going, Crimson says, tapping her Codex.

I think that’s the first time I’ve seen twins in real life, I say, as we wander throughout the rest of the building. Twins are exceptionally rare in the Super community, and it’s for the best. Although human twins aren’t anything to fear, it is guaranteed that one sibling from every set of Super twins will turn villain. The last twins born to my species was over a hundred years ago and the only thing they taught us in school was that both of them are dead.

There are a ton of human twins, Crimson says, seemingly unaffected by the same topic that makes my stomach churn. "Just one more reason I’ll never have kids. The odds are really slim, but, ugh. Can you imagine?" Her perfectly arched eyebrows rise and she shudders.

I nod. Having twins in Central would be the saddest thing ever.

I know, Crimson says. I mean, even though one of them will turn villain, I’d hate to kill my own kid.

I don’t think you have to personally do it, I say, feeling the tightness in my stomach again. Pretty sure Central takes care of it.

She rolls her eyes. You know what I mean.

We both stop in our tracks. And it isn’t because we’ve finally stumbled upon the aquarium with the Largetooth Sawfish, an otherworldly fish with what looks like a terrifying hedge trimmer as a snout. It’s the atmosphere. That unmistakable feeling of power sizzling, radiating outward in the air conditioned air all around us. I never realized how strongly I could feel a Super’s power until I was surrounded by humans who don’t have it.

Crimson motions for me to follow her, taking cover behind a model shark. As we watch, a black man in a tailored suit approaches the fish’s tank, talking to a man wearing tan zookeeper’s scrubs—Oliver Toca. The power flows out of him in all directions.

It is imperative that I bring this fish to the aquatic center in Austin, Oliver says, glaring at his companion.

Sir, there is nothing about a relocation on the agenda, the man says. The fish goes nowhere without official documentation and regulation transport.

You’re making this very difficult, Oliver says in a huff. A muscle in his jaw twitches.

The other man shakes his head and reaches into his breast pocket, retrieving a cell phone. Oliver grabs the phone right from the man’s hand, crushing it into tiny pieces beneath his grip.

The man’s eyes widen in horror. Crimson looks back at me. Sorry this is such a boring mission, she whispers, then steps out into the open. That wasn’t very nice at all, Oliver Toca. You’ll be buying this man a new phone as soon as you’re depowered.

Oliver spins around to face her, his teeth gritted and gleaming in the spotlight. Crimson was right—his eyes are gorgeous, but his grimace and penchant for crime really ruin his handsome features. He swings a fist at her and she grabs it, yanks him forward, and slams her head directly into his nose. The few humans in the area quickly shuffle backward and out of the way.

I am Hero Crimson Barlow, she says with a practiced authority. And you know exactly where you’re going.

Oliver’s nose is flattened into his face and he winces while the power in his body works to heal all the shattered cartilage. Crimson grabs his wrist and twists, breaking the bones as easily as snapping a pencil. She takes a pair of Retriever hooks from the side pocket of her Hero suit.

These hooks are a Hero’s best friend. Made of magnetic material that temporarily paralyzes a villain on contact, they work like handcuffs. When a villain doesn’t cooperate, the hooks snap apart in the center, becoming two horseshoe-shaped throwing devices with very sharp points on the ends.

Difficult villains get the hooks shoved into their skin.

She dangles the hooks from her index finger. Want to do the honors, trainee?

I snap them up, eager to try my hooking skills on a real, live villain. I slap one around his broken wrist and then grab his other wrist, yanking it behind his body. He curses under his breath but doesn’t put up a fight. I close the other hook in on itself and step backward. Crimson scans him with her Codex and sends the word to Central. Soon, a Retriever will arrive and take the incapacitated villain back to Central where he’ll be depowered.

The man in the suit puts a hand over his heart. Thank you so much, ladies. I knew something was wrong when he demanded to move the fish so quickly.

I pretend to be humble. That’s what we’re here for.

Another villain off the streets, Crimson says, her eyes sparkling with satisfaction.

This feels better than I thought it would, I say, grabbing the center chain of the hooks and shoving Oliver Toca toward the back exit of the building.

Crimson throws an arm over my shoulder, the scent of her cherry lip-gloss briefly overriding the stench of fish tanks. So, Maci Knight . . . think you have what it takes to pass your Hero exam?

I know she’s not talking about the hours of training I’ve endured over the last decade and this last week of performing skill tests for the examiners to prove I’m ready. Crimson’s question goes deeper than that. She’s talking about the core of being a Hero. Placing my life on the line to save people I don’t even know. Throwing away the idea of a normal life, all to uphold an oath of protecting those who can’t protect themselves.

The Hero Brigade is the most elite group on the planet. I meet her gaze and the corner of my mouth twists into a grin. Hell yes.

TWO

Back in Central, I can hardly contain my excitement from going on an official mission with Crimson. My reflection beams back at me in the shiny glass wall to my right. Central is an underground city below King City, built into the Grand Canyon several centuries ago. Although most of the shops and residential areas are deep in the earth and void of any windows, the communal areas have floor-to-ceiling walls made of glass that offer breathtaking views of the deep canyon basins below.

I remember the day before my eighteenth birthday, Crimson says, throwing a quick wave to a woman who walks past us in the other direction. I was so psyched to get out there and take down villains, but one thing you don’t think about is the humans. Especially the King City tourists. She makes a gagging sound. The worst.

Above us, in the heart of the Arizona desert, lies the sprawling human metropolitan of King City. The Super people look a lot like humans; in fact, we evolved from them. Centuries ago, a group of humans broke off from civilization and began living in caves in order to escape the Alaskan cold. The caves were laden with Dysneodsium, the element compound that scientists credit with giving us our powers. But where the humans have fragile bodies and short life spans, the Supers have an extra set of veins that course through our body. Power. We live a few hundred years and we heal instantly. I lift an eyebrow. What do you mean?

So many of the humans are just obsessed with us, especially once you’re a Hero. Sometimes it’s hard to deal with your mission when you’re constantly telling tourists to get the hell out of your way. Crimson slows when we reach an intersection of tunnels that leads to her house. If Central was above ground, these tunnels would be roads. They span out in all directions like an underground spider web weaving around the entire world.

She rolls her eyes. I didn’t join the Brigade to be a celebrity, you know?

I nod. I can see how that would be annoying.

She checks the Codex on her wrist and then shoots me a smile. I’d tell you good luck for tomorrow, but you don’t really need it. She bends forward and gives me a quick hug. See you when you’re a Hero.

Thanks, I say, smiling like an idiot as she turns to go.

I need my Hero status so badly I can taste it.

At the stroke of midnight, I will officially turn eighteen years old. With twelve years of training under my belt, I’ve been cleared to take the Hero exam.

As the president’s daughter, I don’t have to do anything as a career. Most Supers start families and work jobs in King City and have lives that are pretty much like the humans. Although all of the Super presidents have been Heroes, none of the former president’s daughters chose the same profession. It would be easy, expected even, for me to just start a charity for humans and look pretty as I attend humanitarian events as a cherished member of the Super race.

There’s nothing wrong with that exactly . . . it’s just not me. I am determined to be a Hero. In just a few short hours, I will finally fulfill the destiny I have worked so hard to attain.

But for now, I have an appointment with Central’s suit designer. Pepper’s studio is nestled in a brightly lit corridor off the south side of the commons area between the elementary school and the Super daycare center. The presidential suite, aka my home, isn’t too far from the studio so I take the trip on foot, entering a polished stone corridor that leads deeper into the canyon. Pepper’s studio is so flashy you can see it from five minutes away. Two sterling torches with purple flames light either side of the massive steel entrance. Above the double doors is the word PEPPER in five-foot-tall neon letters.

The doors swing open soundlessly and Pepper swooshes into view, clasping her hands together in front of her chest. She’s a tall black woman, with broad shoulders and a slender waist. Her curly purple hair is piled on top of her head, secured with silver chopsticks. She wears a tailored pantsuit that is a shiny black at the bottom that slowly morphs into a deep royal purple at the top of her shoulders. Her tiny white Chihuahua, Chewy, dances at her feet.

Maci, my dear, she says. Right on time!

She steps to the side and motions for me to enter. As she moves, the color of her suit shifts in the light, seemingly bobbing up and down like oil on water.

Hey, Pepper, I say, following into her studio, a dome shaped room with white walls and a black granite floor. A circle of high beam spotlights are aimed straight at a raised platform in the center of the room and a glass wall doubles as a computer screen that Pepper uses to design suits.

Several cutting tables are to the right, piled high with scraps of fabric and behind them, rolling carts that overflow with bolts of fabric in multiple colors and textures.

Would you like a latte? she asks over her shoulder as we walk to the center of the room.

No, thanks.

Suit yourself, but I need a quick caffeine refill, or else my body will shut down. She winks like it’s a joke, but if I had to guess, I’d say fifty percent of her blood is actually caffeine. Be right back! she singsongs as she slips into a side hallway. Chewy and his tiny dog legs follow her.

Pepper is a suit designing genius. She designs work uniforms, Retriever suits, and all the boring training suits, like the one I’m currently wearing. But her true talent shines in the Hero suits. My dad’s suit is the most magnificent thing I’ve ever seen, charcoal gray with a royal purple chest plate, the King City’s emblem of a geometric crown emblazoned on top in silver. As the Super president, my dad is the only one who gets to wear that logo.

Prepare to be amazed! Pepper says as she floats back into the room, gripping a white coffee mug that has her name adorned on it in rhinestones. She flicks her other wrist and the wall lights up like a mod screen.

Do you have some ideas sketched? I ask, feigning indifference with a glance at my cuticles.

Girl, you know I can’t show you sketches yet. She shakes her head and takes a sip from her mug. You come back here tomorrow with a signed Hero contract and I’ll be happy to show you my ideas.

I fold my arms over my chest and sigh. It was worth a shot. Just promise you’ll make me something badass.

Pepper levels a cat-like glare at me. That goes without saying. But you have my word. She walks up to the podium and pulls my arms apart, placing them down and a few inches away from my body. She tilts my head slightly higher and straightens my shoulders.

Where’s your measuring tape? I ask. I can’t remember a time I’ve seen her without it hanging around her shoulders.

She motions toward the wall screen. I have been upgraded, thanks to Felix. With a flick of her wrist, the screen becomes a digital menu. I watch in awe while she pulls up my name—I have my own file—and tells the computer to add a new set of measurements.

Hold still, she says. Keep your hands flat.

I do as she asks and a thin white circle of light rises from the floor of the podium. The light scans my body to the top of my head and then goes back down again, disappearing into the floor. Wow, I breathe as the wall screen projects a three dimensional version of my body in blue. Pepper twists her hand and the model of me turns around three hundred and sixty degrees.

I look good. Not as many curves as Crimson, but still . . . it should be enough to catch a guy’s eye.

You’re all done, Pepper says, and the screen goes black.

I step down from the podium. Measurements used to take half an hour. Now it was under a minute.

The smell of hazelnut wafts across the room as Pepper sips from her coffee. Her eyes sparkle mischievously. You know, if someone were to guess what their suit design would look like and I happened to overhear it, I might accidentally say yes or no.

Is it sexy? The words are out of my mouth before I can stop them. Pepper’s eyes go wide and she chokes on her coffee.

Not particularly, hon. Your father would kill me.

I swallow and ask a more burning question. Does it look like my mom’s?

Pepper was my mom’s best friend. She died from a villain attack at the hospital the very day I was born.

Although framed pictures of my mom are scattered throughout the house, Dad hardly ever talks about her. I guess losing her is just too hard for him to bear. The only things I know about her is what I’ve seen in photographs: Sophia Knight was a beautiful woman with stunning blonde hair and the charming countenance of the Super First Lady.

Occasionally, Pepper will share stories of the past with me. If I get her talking when she’s in the right mood, she’ll reminisce for the rest of the day. The photographs and Pepper’s stories are all I have of my mother.

My predecessor designed your mother’s suit, Pepper says. I follow her to the nearest cutting table, where she holds up a piece of fabric, studying it. Pepper dons that gentle tight-lipped smile that she always gets when talking about my mom. Aurora’s designs were classic and warm, but mine are more . . . sleek. Sophisticated. She leans forward, setting the fabric on the table. I know Sophia would love the suit I’ve designed for you. It doesn’t look like hers did, but trust me, it’s gorgeous.

Gorgeous and . . . ? I wiggle my eyebrows up and down.

Nope. That’s all you get for now. She swats at me, turning her head away. Aren’t Heroes supposed to follow the rules?

I do follow the rules, I say with a groan. That particular topic is one of interest with my dad and Max. So what if my temper flares up every now and then? I’m a Hero in training and I follow the rules, dammit.

I pull out a barstool from under the tall cutting table and take a seat. I check the time on my mod: three-forty. There are still so many achingly long hours until my birthday. Tell me something to take my mind off the Hero exam.

Pepper lifts an eyebrow. Are you nervous?

I blow out air. "Are you kidding? I am so ready for it. I’m just sick of waiting so long."

She laughs. You’ve always been very confident in your abilities. And that’s what I told the Elders when they asked me for your recommendation.

I lift my chin, feeling strangely taller than usual. What did you say when they asked about Crimson and Max? Did I get a better recommendation than they did?

Pepper rolls her eyes. Yes, you did. But only because they didn’t ask me about Max or Crimson.

For some reason her tone makes my chest tighten. Why didn’t they get recommendations? You’re just as close with my brother, so they should have asked you, right?

She waves a hand, dismissing my question. Who knows why the Elders do what they do. You wanted a story, right? She points a finger at me and her eyes soften. "Sophia would be so, so proud of you for pursuing a position on the Hero Brigade. I can practically feel her excitement now, even eighteen years after her passing."

The anxious feeling in my chest disappears. Dad has always been supportive of me becoming a Hero but he hasn’t exactly been proud. More like anxiously optimistic. I lean forward. Tell me more.

"Your mom was a Retriever, you know. She was very big on bringing more women into the Hero Brigade and Retriever positions. When Sophia found out she was having girls she was ecstatic."

You mean having a girl? I ask, perplexed.

Pepper’s smile freezes. Right, right. Of course.

Something uneasy slithers up my spine. "Then why did you say girls? You make it sound like there was two of me." An image of those twin girls at the zoo appears in the back of my mind.

Pepper studies a shimmery red piece of fabric, rubbing it between her fingers. Mmm, no. No honey, you misheard me. It was just you. With a chuckle, she glances at me for a split second before averting her gaze. I was there, I should know.

Pepper’s lips thin out. I look sideways at her. Are you okay?

Of course. She takes her latté and crosses the studio. When she reaches the doors, she pulls them open. It was so great seeing you, dear.

She’s getting rid of me and I’m not ready to go. I put my hand on the door, stopping just before I step over the threshold. Pepper . . . What’s going on?

Another memory of my trip to the zoo flashes across my mind. I mean, even though one of them will turn villain, I’d hate to kill my own kid. Power jolts through my body. Chills prickle over every inch of my skin as the feeling of something unmistakably horrifying settles into my stomach.

My mouth is dry but I force the words out. Pepper, am I a twin?

Pepper’s lips tighten into a pinched, tight line. The silence stretches on for just a few seconds, but in the quiet I know the answer before she says anything.

Pepper frowns. Maybe you should ask your dad that question.

THREE

The jog home is a short one. My right hand punches more than palms the security screen on our front door and I nearly crash face first into the steel when the door doesn’t open. A growl escapes my lips. I don’t have time for this. I lean back and press my palm flat against the screen. It recognizes my hand even over the layer of sweat covering my palm. The door swings open and I step inside.

Dad! I call. I check the home mod in the front hallway. A glance at it shows me that Max is on a mission and that Dad is home. Dad! I yell again, moving toward the couch in the living room. I put a hand on the back of it to steady myself.

What is it? Dad appears in the archway that separates the living room from the hall. You okay?

At one hundred and sixteen years old, my dad doesn’t even look thirty, by human standards. He has surfer blonde hair and smooth, unwrinkled skin. He and Max share the same hair color and squared jaw. Though I look similar to them, my hair is dark and my jaw is a little more softened. Dad is a respected Hero and an honored member of the community, Super president for the last six decades. He wouldn’t lie to me, his own daughter. Would he?

Maci, what is it? Dad’s eyebrows draw together as he approaches me.

I stare him down, unable to find the right words to ask him something so unbelievable. Am I a twin?

A muscle twitches in his jaw but he doesn’t look away. Yes.

I step backward, tightening my grip on the back of the couch. The single word hangs in the air, sucking all of the oxygen out of the room. Whatever answer I was expecting, that simple one wasn’t it. Dad’s stoic expression crumbles. He runs a hand across his face, pinching the bridge of his nose. Maci, sit down. I’ll explain.

I shake my head in a violent no. I don’t want to sit, I say. The room spins. My hands and feet are numb. Even my nose is numb. I blink to clear my vision but everything is white, hazy and unfocused. What are you saying, Dad?

I’m saying that your mother gave birth to twins. The story you know, about villains attacking the hospital is true. He holds up a hand, as if predicting that I was about to question my entire life’s history. His gaze slides to the floor and the draws in a quick breath. They bombed the maternity ward and many people died, including your mom and your identical twin sister. Honey, please understand that I had to keep this from you. I didn’t want to, but you know the rules, Maci.

I can’t breathe. I drop to my elbows and lean over the back of the couch, gasping and choking for air. I need air. Why can’t I get air?

Dad pats my back. Breathe, honey.

I can’t! I manage to choke out.

You’re breathing right now, he says in a soft reassuring tone. His hand continues to pat my back. You’re panicking. That’s all.

I blink and allow him to lead me around the couch and we sit. I— I swallow and try again. How is this possible? How did Central let you get away with this?

Dad frowns. Well . . . that part is a little complicated.

Please explain it to me, I say, feeling a renewed source of sanity return to me. I sit up straight, like a Hero. Because I thought twins were killed at birth. On purpose.

He shakes his head. There have been many ways of dealing with Super twins in the past. Because one always turned villain when approaching legal age, Central had to take preventative measures.

I know, I say. What I want to know is why I’m still alive.

Dad nods. When I took office, I swore to put an end to killing twins. Instead I implemented new procedures. Depowering, for one. He sucks in a sharp breath. When your mother and I discovered that she was having twins, it became personal. I struck a deal with Central and we agreed to let you be born in secret, at a human facility. Central agreed to provide funding to determine if we could tell which twin would be the evil one before we had them both depowered. That way one of you could be saved.

I stiffen. Looks like being president has some perks.

Indeed. Dad’s features darken. The villain attack stayed in the news for weeks, and the entire world mourned the death of Sophia. But you were regarded as a miracle because you survived. No one knew you had a twin who didn’t make it, and Central and I decided to keep it that way. Honey, you don’t have to worry. Dad offers me a pained smile. Only the Elders know the truth.

And Pepper.

Dad’s lips flatten. I guess your mom wouldn’t have kept the secret from her best friend. I have no doubt that Pepper will remain trustworthy.

I stand and pace the length of the coffee table. I don’t care that the Elders can keep a secret, Dad.

Memories of my entire life flash in front of me—celebration dinners with the Elders, visits to Pepper. Numerous lectures about my temper. They all knew. They were watching, waiting for me to screw up. How am I supposed to handle this news? I ask, more to myself than to my dad. You’re acting like this is no big deal, but what if I’m the evil one?

My body stops pacing but my mind is a whirl. Warm tears pool in my eyes. Dad? I cry, my fingers trembling at my sides. Nothing in the world seems real anymore. What if it’s me, Dad? What if I’m the evil one?

Dad stands and grabs my shoulders, forcing me to look at him. "What if you’re the good one?"

I want to hate him. I want to be irrevocably mad at him for the rest of my life. But then he frowns and tiny lines appear across his forehead and I realize he’s in as much agony as I am.

I draw in a deep breath, lifting my shoulders. "I am the good one."

I agree. Dad’s jaw twitches as he tries to look normal. Is there anything else you’d like to talk about?

I want Max to know the truth. He’s my brother and he deserves to know.

Dad nods. You tell him when you feel the time is right. Then if you want, you can both come talk to me again.

Okay, I say as if the matter is all wrapped up, signed, sealed, and finished.

But it’s not.

It’s definitely not.

They were just babies, Dad says from behind watery eyes. His fingers trace the lines of the armrest next to him. I gnaw on my bottom lip, unsure if I really want to hear this. He heaves a heavy sigh. Newborns.

The word hangs in the air and he still doesn’t look up. Who? I ask in a voice as weak and jaded as my dad’s sullen expression. Me and my . . . twin?

The depowered twins after I took office. He glances at me for a moment but then diverts his eyes. Laws weren’t clear back then and some twins made it to sixteen or seventeen before the evil one revealed themselves and were caught for depowering. But by then, they had caused terrible damage and had often taken several innocent lives.

My mouth opens but no words come out. I watch the lines deepen on his forehead.

I changed the laws to have twins depowered right after birth, figuring it would save the world from one villain each time twins were born. Because with twins there is always a villain. Yes, the other twin would be handicapped for life, but it’s no different than the pain the good twin suffers upon seeing their best friend turn evil.

I shift on my feet. Why are you telling me this?

He keeps talking as if I’m not in the room. I’m not as noble as I sounded today. When your mother and I found out she was having twins, my whole world collapsed. I couldn’t depower my own child, especially the one who was good. And the evil one, well I was selfish. He slams his fist on the armrest and looks up at me. I had this idea that I could raise both children to be good. That they could choose to be good when they turned of age and their full powers developed. So I changed the law. I made an executive order and forced Central to go along with it. They all see the villain attack as a sort of blessing, for you.

A heavy pain fills my chest. My dad is the most noble person I know. Hearing him talk like this, revealing this side of himself, makes my stomach hurt. My fingers tap the back of the couch. "Would you still love me if I was the evil one?"

He looks up. I never thought that far ahead. When your sister died, I chose to believe you were good.

He pinches the bridge of his nose and runs his hand down his face, distorting his eyelids as he sighs. I should get to sleep soon. I had a long night. And you have a special day tomorrow. I expect a grade higher than a ninety-five, he says with something that looks like a smile.

Obviously, I say with a snort. Anything less and I’ll be stuck as a Retriever for the next decade until I could test again. Retrievers hold an esteemed position in the ranks because they’re the guys who come and collect villains that have been captured and bring them back to Central for depowering. There’s nothing wrong with being a Retriever . . . but do I want to be one? No thank you.

Dad makes no motion to get up and actually go to bed. I take that as my hint to leave him alone.

Goodnight then, I say as I head toward my room.

Good luck tomorrow, he calls out.

Thanks, I mumble, staring at my socks as I walk. Up until a few hours ago, I didn’t think I needed good luck. Now, maybe, I do.

You’re not the evil one. I barely hear it. At first I think I’m imagining it. I stand motionless in the hallway just outside my bedroom door, wondering if he wanted me to hear his whispered words. He lets out a long, defeated exhale. In the same hushed voice he says, Please don’t be the evil one.

Hours later, I lie in bed unable to sleep. The words evil and villain float through my subconscious, once words that made me eager to become a Hero. Now those same words might be embedded into my own being, waiting to strike and turn me into a monster. I roll to my side and bend my pillow around my head as I stare at the wall. Do villains feel evil? Do they fear it like I do, or do they welcome it? Would I know if it was me?

The clock on my nightstand says it’s not even midnight yet—a mere forty-five minutes after I forced myself to go to bed in preparation for my big day tomorrow. I draw in a deep breath then close my eyes. Minutes of sleep come like a crashing wave and then it crests, and I am awake once more. The house is silent. Still, something feels amiss. An entire three seconds pass before that sinking feeling of doom falls over me, heavy like a lead blanket.

I am a twin.

I was a twin.

I could be evil. But I refuse. I don’t care what the history books say. Fifty percent chance or not, I straight up refuse to be the evil one. I pull the covers up over my head and then shove them back down again, unable to get comfortable in my own bed. I twist my hands in front of my face, feeling the power resonate through each finger as chills prickle down my neck.

This isn’t the power of a villain. This is just me. I’m the same as always, and I’m going to be a Hero soon. It’s after midnight now and I am officially eighteen. I roll to the side. I’ve run out of pep talks to give myself as I lie in bed. Now panicked thoughts filter in between my longing for sleep.

What if it doesn’t work? What if I’m broken? What if the Hero alarm goes off and I can’t remember how to fight?

A sliver of cold dread shoots through me. What if I score below a ninety-five and fail the test?

I shake my head, roll onto my back and check the time on the Central-issued Codex strapped to my wrist. Powers don’t just quit working. They are a part of me; a part of every member of the Super race. Oh, and it’s one-fifteen in the morning, a whopping sixty seconds after I last checked the time on my borrowed Codex.

It arrived by a Retriever just a few minutes after my confrontation with Dad. Because the Hero exam is spontaneous, they assign the Codex a few hours before the day of the exam. It’s an older model, clunky and loose, with a black metal casing. The newest Codex is solid unbreakable glass, each one uniquely fitted to its Hero’s wrist.

I tap the screen and it lights up again, casting a blueish glow onto the floor-to-ceiling window to my right. I had pictured this moment as a little more exciting. Anxiously awaiting the Hero exam so I could hurry up and pass it with flying colors, becoming the newest member of the Hero Brigade in record time.

Now my anxiety is for wholly different reasons. Why did I have to discover my family’s epic secret the day before my Hero exam?

Happy Birthday Maci. You have a dead twin sister.

Oh, and you might be evil.

With a groan, I stare at the smooth white ceiling in my bedroom. I don’t know how I’d be able to sleep tonight under normal circumstances. This is the day I’ve trained for my whole life. But now all of my training could have been for nothing.

Do I feel evil? If I was, would I know it? Dad had once told me that a problem with handling villains was how they never considered themselves to be criminals. He’d said every villain considers themselves a hero.

I consider myself a Hero so where does that leave me?

Blurry images dance across my subconscious as I fall asleep—floating bits of dreams that disappear before I can fully grasp them. My wrist vibrates, emitting an all-familiar sound. My eyes snap open. The Codex displays the message I’ve waited eighteen years to see.

hero mission received.

FOUR

I’m on my feet two seconds later, mask lowered over my face, jaw set. Power courses through my chest, pumping though my body faster than the blood in my veins even as a chill traces down my fingers and toes. My confidence is faltering, overshadowed by a new sense of fear. I was a twin, and the Elders know that.

I twist the borrowed Codex around so I can view my mission details on the touchscreen. Messing with it will cost precious seconds, but I only have to put up with this one time. After today, I’ll have my own Codex.

After today, life will be perfect. I will be a Hero. My past doesn’t matter.

Just outside of our home is a tunnel of polished stone. I turn left, toward a main corridor that leads toward the Atrium. Thin rows of recessed lighting in the ceiling are dimmed in the early morning hours.

My footsteps echo off the stone walls as I run through tunnel after tunnel, following the Codex’s GPS indicator, a little blue dot that leads me to a set of steel doors in front of the Atrium. The circular lobby has many entrances just like this one—one for each tunnel that leads here from some other part of the world.

Words flash across the Codex and I commit them to memory.

save one human hostage. capture two villains.

High on adrenaline, I kick through the tall door. Instead of a glass-enclosed lobby that overlooks a three-hundred-foot drop, I see a . . . carnival?

These are two rows of carnival game booths with twinkling yellow lights and colorful painted signs. Gigantic stuffed teddy bears sway in the gentle breeze. The smell of deep-fried corndogs and sugary sweet cotton candy perfumes the air. A tinny musical jingle plays from hidden speakers, but its cheerful tune gives an eerie vibe to the abandoned space.

Then I hear it—the soft, steady sound of breathing. A villain.

I stop in front of a booth with balloons taped on a dartboard. Show yourself, I demand, my voice hard and unwavering.

The breathing stops. Prickles of energy dance up my left shoulder, hinting that he’s probably just around the ball tossing game booth to my left. Reaching into my hip pocket, I retrieve a pair of Retriever hooks and undo the chain that links them.

I said show yourself, coward. I move toward the source of the power, gripping the hooks at my side.

That’s no way to talk to your elder. My target steps out from behind an oversized scale with the words ‘guess your weight’ above it in blinking lights. A black muscle shirt clings tightly to his thin frame and I recognize him immediately. Bammer, the world’s most pathetic villain who typically picks on homeless humans.

I shoot my hooks through the air with a thwoop. Both land their target, wrapping around his wrists, their full magnetic power harnessing onto the power in his veins and bringing him to the ground. Bammer groans, either from the debilitating magnetic force or because his head bashes into the massive scale on his way down.

I walk up to him. He doesn’t move, but his glassy eyes look straight at me. My Codex blinks orange as I scan it over his body, sending word back to Central that there’s a rogue Super ready for punishment. My feet are on the ground but my mind is on cloud nine. I just bagged my first villain in under sixty seconds. It’s as if I’ve been doing this my whole life.

Time to capture the second one.

Sensing no other power in my vicinity, I jog through the game booths toward the carnival rides. Every ride is in motion, spinning in circles or flipping over and over. Lights flicker and swirl around each two-person cage on a ride called the Zipper. The massive steel circle of the Ferris wheel lights up in green, blue, purple, and red starbursts The clanking of metal on metal puts my senses on overdrive.

A scream bursts through the air. I spin toward the sound. A woman is trapped in a ride called the Gravatron. She’s in her early twenties probably, with dark brown hair sticking to the side of the wall, and she’s the woman I’m supposed to save.

That’s when I see the second villain manning the ride’s control board. My stomach drops as I take in his pearly white suit and bald head. Snapback is as cunning as he is strong. He’s evaded capture from more than a dozen seasoned Heroes.

Step away, I demand. You’re caught. Might as well give up.

Nice try, rookie. He presses the red button in the center of the control board, and the ride slowly cranks to life. The woman lets out another panicked scream, her arms flailing wildly as she spins around and around.

"Some evil plan you’ve got here. Putting a human on a ride that was made for humans? I snort. What are you going to do? Spin her until she throws up?"

When Snapback fixes me with an evil glare, I lunge forward and leap, grabbing the metal awning over the control board with both arms, pulling myself into the air. He grabs for my legs but I kick him in the jaw. He stumbles and I kick my legs backward, gaining momentum as I hang from the edge of the roof. Snapback shoves his jawbone back into place and I swing my legs toward him, landing a kick to his shoulders that knocks him backward. His back slams across the control board with a loud crack.

You bitch, he spits out, clutching his back with his left hand. I take his other hand, crushing the bones with my grip. He twists around trying to break free, but I wrap his own arm around his neck, pinning his back to my chest in the ultimate chokehold.

I grab his other wrist and squeeze hard, preventing the bones from healing properly. He smells like an ashtray and his body odor reminds me of the gorillas at the Lone Star Zoo.

What have you done to her? I ask, knowing that saving a human is more important than capturing a villain.

"Die," he says through gritted teeth.

Predicting your future, eh? I say, tugging his arm even tighter around his own neck until he turns purple from gasping for breath.

You can’t kill me, he says in ragged gasps. It’s the highest law of Heroes.

He has a point. We aren’t allowed to kill villains, no matter what abhorrent crimes they commit. And I have no good comeback. So I knee him hard in the kidney, bringing him to his knees while he’s stuck in a painful backbend and choking himself with his own elbow.

I lean over him, relentlessly holding onto his broken wrists. What have you done to her? I ask again.

"I’m just giving her a ride. His voice drips with sarcasm. It’s not my fault she didn’t put on a seatbelt."

Oh shit. The ride has reached its full speed, rising a good twenty feet off the ground. Any moment now, the tilting-at-sharp-angles part of the thrill will begin. And a human in the Gravatron with no restraints? Well, it’ll be like the time my brother put a plastic army man on the ceiling fan and flipped the switch.

There are no passing grades for rescuing a dead human.

With one last crunch of his wrists, I release my hold on Snapback. He stumbles forward, grabbing his wrists and trying to mold them back into shape. I launch a kick straight into his back, breaking his spine and sending him flying into a kiddie ride.

I go to the back of the control box but all the buttons are smashed. Every single one. I press hard on the cracked plastic of what used to be the stop button. Nothing happens. I break open the control box and rip out wires, hoping one of them will cut the electricity. But the ride spins on.

I curse under my breath. The ride has to have some kind of shut-off switch amidst the gears underneath the massive, spinning cylinder. Checking to make sure Snapback is still out cold, I drop to my hands and knees and wiggle my way under the ride.

And damn if I’m not a total genius. Three metal levers hang from the bottom of the Gravatron: two black and one red. I grab the red one and shove it down. The gears let out a frightening grinding sound as they shift into a new position. The metal floor tilts sharply on its axis, coming straight toward me. Something smashes me in the face.

Pain of this magnitude was never described in my training material.

My mouth filling with blood, I crawl out from underneath the ride, which is now spinning almost perpendicular to the ground. The woman is holding onto the edge of the ride’s wall. Her head hangs out of the ride, but her feet are hooked around a seat on the inside wall, keeping her from flying out. I hoped it wouldn’t come to this.

Let go! I yell. Blood gushes down my forehead and I wipe it away with the sleeve of my suit. I’ll catch you.

Brown hair flies wildly around her face. She looks at me and nods. Her body flies out of the ride and soars a dozen feet in the air. I run out several dozen yards, turn around, and hold out my arms. She slams into my arms like an oversized football.

Crouching by a ticket booth, I place her gently on the grass. I am Hero Maci Knight, and you’re going to be saved, I tell her and she cries deep, heaving sobs. Just wait here.

I pull the worn-out Codex off my elbow and twist it up so I can see the screen. I’m about to call for a Retriever when five fingers dig into my back and pull me backward, slamming me on the ground. Snapback’s toothy grin hovers in front of my face, the reek of cigarettes filling the air between us.

I leap feet first into a standing position and grab a wooden mallet from a Test Your Strength booth and slam it into Snapback’s ribcage. He hisses in pain and I swing it around again, crushing his spine.

He lunges toward me and I jump into a backward flip, landing behind a row of roller coaster seats at the base of a kiddie ride. And suddenly I know exactly how I’ll defeat Snapback.

Roller coasters have powerful magnets that enable the seats to travel up to the dropping point. My jaw clenches as I push the carts off the track, conveniently toppling them onto Snapback. I pry a large magnet off the rails. It isn’t a Hero-grade magnet but I think it’ll work.

The carts fly through the air as Snapback bursts from the ground, renewed with a healed ribcage. I let him take a step forward, allowing him to think he might have a chance of defeating me. His chest heaves with each breath and his grin stretches across his whole face. He reaches for me.

Here, have a parting gift. I shove the magnet straight into his chest. It presses against his sternum, harnessing onto the central location of his power. I let my own power rise from my toes and up through my chest, pushing everything I have through my arms and into the magnet. The scent of burning hair wafts off the magnet as Snapback’s eyes roll to the back of his head. His eyes go wide and he collapses.

Pressing the Retrieve button, I scan the Codex over his chest and rush to the woman who is still crouched by the ticket booth, clutching a wooden tent spike in her hand for protection. I pull her into a standing position, wrapping my arm around her, and press the call button on my wrist.

You’re going to be okay, I tell her.

The carnival rides sink into the ground, followed by the gravel roads and game booths and even Snapback’s jittery body, revealing the white marble floor of the Atrium. The starry night sky is now a vaulted stone ceiling. A large glass bowl lowers from the stone, revealing a panel of three examiners who have been watching my every move.

A woman’s voice echoes throughout the Atrium. Congratulations on your successful completion of Hero Examination Level One.

I smile, a little out of breath. So many nights spent dreaming of this moment and now that it’s here it doesn’t even feel real. Except the pain