It took about three minutes before Martina started questioning why she'd ever thought this was a good idea.
Camille was carrying her piggyback style, her arms locked around their neck, as they flew in a dogged zigzag towards the boundary of the mansion where Imp had told them to land. Aviator might have been eight months pregnant, but she was fast, and was only keeping her distance because she wouldn't jar Heartbreaker's baby with sudden turns or stops. The wind ripped past them as they spiralled and doubled back once or twice to keep distance, and Martina's power meant she could feel Camille flagging, getting tired and cold.
Then they crossed the boundary of the mansion, and moved out of Anita's range. Suddenly Martina felt a rush of adrenaline and cortisol from her half-sibling, heart palpitations, and within seconds, hyperventilation. Panic attack. The agoraphobia was back.
She tightened her arms around Camille's neck and shouted, "Finish the fucking job, Cam. If you take me back there I'll fucking kill you."
They shook their head, slowing. Martina could feel the sweat building up over their skin, the tremors in their arms. She squeezed harder. "I won't be quick," she told them. "You know dad doesn't give a shit about you. I'll strip your skin off. I'll cut off your ears and nose and lips and gouge out your eyes. I can do all of that without killing you, with my power."
When there was no response, she dug her nail into their neck. At the right angle, she was able to pierce the skin in a flap, and did so slowly, so Camille would feel the tear. Nausea. Mild asphyxiation. She loosened her grip. Cortisol lessening. Adrenaline crash imminent. Energy dropping.
She craned her neck to see Aviator, who was gaining speed and closing the distance. Martina had just about resigned herself to getting caught when they went into a dive.
She tried not to scream as they headed fast for the broken skylight, and for several terrifying seconds she thought they weren't going to make it, until they were through, and Camille brought them to a sudden halt – or rather, Camille halted, their power protecting them from the inertia. Martina kept moving, slamming into them and then tumbling to the ground.
She spat dust from her mouth and sat up, rubbing bruises. They were in a large, airy loft with no interior walls. She was surrounded. Her power told her the exact number was six people, not including Camille. All a little cold and hungry, one injured.
Aviator landed seconds after them, sending a deafening crack through the concrete floor. The kids swamped her immediately, grabbing onto her arms and legs, and then Octave stepped forwards and tapped her on the arm. She went still immediately.
"Hi, Livewire," Octave said in his soft prepubescent voice. "No wait, shit. One sec." He tapped her again. "Hi, Aviator," he said in the same tone.
A blissful smile spread across Aviator's expression. "Hi," she said. Her voice was cracked with disuse.
"I need to go," Octave said, meeting her eyes and smiling in return. Martina winced at the expression; Octave's smiles were worse than even Anita, wide and thin with squinting eyes. "It's okay, it's okay," he said quickly as Aviator reached out to grab him, to stop him going. "Let me go. You can see me again if you go to the Guild HQ in Ottowa. You can fly there by tonight, right?"
She nodded mutely.
"Okay. You need to go straight there, or you'll miss me. You can't talk to anyone else, and if you get there and I'm not there, you can't hurt anyone. Okay?" He waited until she nodded again. Then he said, at the pace normally reserved for a toddler: "What are you going to do?"
A slow blink. "Fly straight to the Guild in Ottowa." Her expression twisted into a pitiful, helpless look of pleading, bizarre for an adult. "You'll be there, right?"
Awkwardly, he patted her on the arm. "I will. I promise."
He turned and walked down the steps. For a moment Aviator reached out a hand, as if to stop him. Then she blinked, shook her head, and took off. Once she was gone, Octave came back up.
Samuel took out a cellphone, dialled, and put it to his ear in the silence that followed, as the kids dispersed. "Hi, just a tip-off. You're gonna have a flier incoming later this evening. Name's Aviator. She's under a master influence. Two, actually. First one is Heartbreaker's. Nothing you won't have seen before. No, shut up, listen. The second effect is addictive. She's looking for Octave. Oc-ta-ve. That'll wear off at about," he checked his watch, "half nine. After that she'll be really fucking angry for about an hour, so foam her or whatever. Also she's pregnant." He glanced at Martina and raised an eyebrow, and she held up eight fingers. "Eight months. Yeah, Heartbreaker. Like I said."
He hung up before they could ask who he was, and looked at Martina and Cam. "Welcome to the, uh, warehouse. Imp will be here in a bit. She'd want me to tell you that you can do whatever, but if you're gonna commit crimes try not to get caught. She's got us food and stuff in the basement but she keeps the key because someone," he shot a glare at Neil, "keeps trying to stuff his fucking face."
Camille looked around, and headed for an alcove at the other end of the dusty great room. Martina could feel their exhaustion, the adrenaline crashing and leaving them reeling. There were a few camp beds around that corner, under the window, piled liberally with blankets. Some chairs. Bottles of water, snacks, trash, and a big sign upon which was handwritten, STAY OUT OF TROUBLE.
It was a shit-tip, she thought. But it was better than being at home.
Back at the mansion, Flor heard the commotion inside the west wing and texted Juliette. She swung by on her 'patrol' and stepped into the room just in time to see Livewire struggling to reach the phone on the sideboard. Before she could reach it, Juliette moved over and grabbed her ankle, eyes closing. For almost a minute she stood there, resisting Livewire's attempts to kick her off, and when she let go, Livewire blinked confusedly and turned away. Juliette let herself out.
"Nice one sproglet," Imp said, once the door had shut. "Now c'mon, I wanna talk to Nicholas again. Last time I think I almost had him, till you said that thing about Guillaume."
Juliette smirked. "Let me talk to him on my own. I can sort it out."
"Pfft. Go ahead if you think you got a shot."
[AN: end of arc two! I've got three arcs in total.]