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In the days that followed, the heat wave that had held Nova City in its grasp for weeks loosened slightly, the humidity dropping to more tolerable levels, a bit of rain falling and breathing new life into the stagnant, heavy air. Forecasters warned it wouldn’t last, saying the Fourth of July promised to be clear and hot with little chance of the fireworks celebrations across the city being rained out.

Nick and Dad went back to the house midweek, looking at the damage. Repairs were already underway, but it’d be at least another week before they’d be able to move back in. He was surprised to find that it stillfeltlike his home, even with all that had happened. Patricia Burke had violated their sense of security, but that singular event was no match against the history of this house, the memories embedded in every inch of the floors and walls. This was where they’d lived with her. This was where they’d laughed and cried, where they’d argued and then forgiven.

“It’s coming together,” Nick said, watching construction workers rebuild the living room wall, the hole covered in plastic sheeting, the air thick with dust and plaster, so much so it caused him to sneeze.

“It is,” Dad said. He looked a little lost standing in the living room and startled when Nick bumped their shoulders together. “It may not be like it was, but maybe…”

“It doesn’t have to be,” Nick finished for him. “It might even be better. Fair warning: Jazz wants to handle the decorating once they finish. She says she hopes we like frilly pillows.”

Dad sighed. “It’s not like we can tell her no. I don’t want to get stabbed with a fork.”

Speaking of.

Owen Burke had disappeared but Nick didn’t believe he’d left Nova City. He was biding his time, just like the rest of them.

But for what, Nick didn’t know. He didn’t believe for a moment that Owen was on their side, or that they’d seen the last of him.

Dad wrapped an arm around his shoulders. “We’ll be all right.”

The days leading up to the Fourth were busy. Nick went to bed each night in the spare room at the Kensington house exhausted, mind unusually sluggish, body complaining about everything he’d put it through. While Jazz, Gibby, and Miles had worked on Matilda with Burrito Jerry—gutting the back of the van, installing shelving and power sources to keep the electronics running while Jo went through the secret lair, making a list of everything they needed—Mateo and Seth had worked Nick to the bone under the watchful eyes of Mary Caplan and Trey. Dad and Cap had a client list they needed to keep up with, Dad up and gone early in the morning so he and Cap could finish sooner and return to the Kensington home.

“You have powers,” Mateo snapped at Nick after he failed to block an incoming punch for the third time, sweat dripping down the sides of his face. “Why are you acting like you don’t?”

“I don’t want to hurt you,” Nick panted, bent over, hands on his knees. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Seth circling him slowly, waiting for Mateo’s signal to go again.

“I’m not telling you to hurt me,” Mateo said, eyes narrowed. “I’m telling you to protect yourself. Again. Seth.”

Nick managed to move in time when Seth hurtled toward him, ducking as his arm swung out in a flat arc. Seth didn’twait for him to recover, jumping on his back, arms wrapped around Nick’s neck, knees clamped against his hips.

“What do you do now?” Seth whispered in his ear.

“Hope the others will leave so I can take off your pants and mine?”

Trey snorted. “I don’t think that’ll stop Burke, but for all I know, his one weakness is skinny white-boy legs. It might be his kryptonite.”

“Gross,” Nick muttered, and then Seth used his weight to pull them both backward, flipping Nick over him, causing him to land on his back, blinking up at fat clouds hanging suspended above him in a deep blue sky. “Oh my god,ow.Why would you do something so awesome, and why did it have to be to me?”

Before Nick could recover, he heard a familiar crackling, and rolled quickly to the side as a bolt of electricity struck the ground where he’d been, singeing the grass. He lifted his head to see Mateo standing, hand outstretched toward him, bright-blue lines crawling along his fingers. It wasn’t a high voltage—Mateo had an envious amount of control—but Nick didnotlike getting electrocuted.

“Get up,” Mateo said. “We’ve still got work to do. If you’re going to claim to be an Extraordinary, it’s time you start acting like one.”

This was the third day of practice, and Nick had had enough. Muscles he didn’t even know he had protested angrily as he pushed himself off the ground. The spark in his head flared brightly, and as he pulled himself to his full height, he said, “Iaman Extraordinary.”

Mateo scoffed. “Really. Prove it.” He pulled his arm back and thrust it forward without warning, a bright-blue ball rocketing toward Nick.

A split-second decision—a single thought:Stop running, face it head-on, I can do this—and the spark in his head burst in a furious explosion. Without thinking Nick raised his own hands and thought of a stone wall, thick and unmoving. Theair in front of his palms wavered, then solidified as the electricity struck it. The ball exploded a foot away from his chest as if striking something corporeal. As it began to break apart, Nickpushedwith all his might. In wonder, he watched as the electricity—crawling up and down the invisible wall, illuminating his face—seemed topause,reaching a limit as to how far it could expand. He closed his hands into fists, and the ball reformed, floating in front of him. No pain. Without hesitating, he hurled it back toward Mateo, who caught it, even as it sent him sliding back through the grass, leaving divots in his wake.

“My word,” Mary breathed as Trey’s jaw dropped.

“Hellyes!” Nick crowed, pumping his fists into the air. “Did you see that? Holy shit, Icaught electricity.I am the best—oh my god.”

A tornado of fire rose up and around him, Nick in the eye of the storm. The flames were hot, spinning in red and orange, snapping, crackling. He panicked, but just when he thought it would overtake him, a wave of calm washed over him. “I can do this,” he whispered to himself. “I can do this.”

Around him, he imagined another tornado, only this one made of air. Wind began to spin around his feet, crawling up his legs, his hips, his torso, until it roared in his ears, hair whipping back and forth. He pushed again, harder this time, and his tornadoexpanded,hitting the flames, tearing them apart. The windows of the house rattled, and Trey and Mary fell back in their chairs, tipping over, legs and arms flailing. Mateo hit a pillar on the porch as Seth was knocked off his feet and thrown into a green hedge near the back of the yard.

The fire dissipated, leaving only the smell of smoke.