Stiletto hummed a merry tune as she and Max walked far behind Damian, Gene, Carlos, and Ollie.

Guided by a servitor who had taken charge of them outside of Strategos’ office, the four students up ahead wound their way through Prometheus Academy’s byzantine corridors. As with the parts of the castle Max had seen before, this unfamiliar part was a weird mix of old-world grandeur and high-tech advancements. The corridor they were now in twisted like a lazy corkscrew, its walls lined with marble statues and futuristic paintings with animate images.

Max fumed as he stomped beside Stiletto, pissed at himself and the world. He had been stupid to think appealing to the headmaster would get him sprung from this place. Strategos obviously was in cahoots with Stiletto. But why would these superpowered crooks concern themselves with a nobody like Max? It seemed crazy, like Max had suffered a schizophrenic break from reality when he tangled with Sheriff Barker. But this was all too real, not a delusion of grandeur making him think everyone was conspiring against him.

Why had Stiletto kidnapped him and forced him into this madhouse? It made absolutely no sense. What did she want from him? What did the school want from him?

Max abruptly stopped. Stiletto stopped simultaneously, as if she’d somehow anticipated Max’s halt. She probably had, darn her. The students up ahead disappeared around a curve.

“Why did you kidnap me?” Max demanded. “You know I don’t belong here.”

“Au contraire, mon frère,” she replied breezily. “You’re exactly where you belong. Among your own kind.”

“What’s that supposed to mean? You’re not my kind. You’re nothing but a—”

“Criminal? Yes. Just like you.”

Max sputtered.

“I’m not a criminal! I’ve never broken the law my whole life!”

Stiletto raised an eyebrow. “Really? You’ve been using your powers left and right. Where’s your Hero academy diploma? Where’s your Hero certification permitting you to use your powers?”

Max blinked at her.

“That’s different. I wasn’t using my powers to rob banks or impersonate the President. I was using them to help people.”

“People like Sheriff Whatshisname? He looked ever so grateful for your help while his face was turning purple, with your garrote around his neck, choking the life out of him.”

Had Stiletto secretly observed Max’s entire run-in with the sheriff? Exactly how long had she had Max under surveillance? Days? Weeks? “That’s dif—”

“Different. Of course it is.” Stiletto’s green eyes sparkled with amusement. “Opie, your probl—”

“Stop calling me Opie!” Max thundered.

Stiletto raised her gloved hands placatingly.

“Okay, okay. Yeesh! It looks like it’s someone’s time of the month. Your problem, Maximilian,” she said, pronouncing his name in an exaggerated fashion, “is one common to people your age. Namely, you have a Manichaean view of the world. That means—”

“I know what it means,” Max snapped.

“Really? Huh. Hurrah for the Mississippi public school system. But I don’t blame you for having a black-and-white view of Heroes versus Villains. The conventional world is awash in pro-Hero and anti-Villain propaganda. It’s no surprise that most people think Heroes always wear the white hats and Villains are always the mustache-twirling, black-hatted rapists and murderers. But reality is far more nuanced than the powers that be would have you believe.”

Max couldn’t help but listen closely. Stiletto had gone more than five seconds without making a dumb joke, so maybe that meant he should pay attention.

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She said, “When are you going to finally grok that this is not a school to teach you how to rob banks? Our esteemed headmaster probably alluded to that fact during his orientation speech. I wouldn’t know—I slept through it. He should bottle that speech and sell it to insomniacs.

“No, this school isn’t about robbing banks. Or about doing evil. Whatever ‘evil’ means. This school is about freedom. The freedom to use your powers how you want, when you want, without Big Brother with his hand up your rectum treating you like his sock puppet. Strategos has the same philosophy about the school’s purpose. He likes the smell of his own farts a little too much for my taste, but he’s right about the school’s purpose being to maximize its students’ freedom of choice.

“With that said,” she continued, “if you choose to use the skills the school teaches you to go out and rob a string of banks, have a party. Your choice. But I’d warn you there are easier and safer ways to steal than robbing banks. A lawyer in a suit can steal more money than a bank robber in a mask could ever dream. And do it under the color of law, to boot. But that’s neither here nor there.

“If you don’t want to rob banks—say, if you want to help people instead, though god knows why anyone would want to do such a thankless thing—this school is better equipped to give you the skills for that than any Hero academy in existence. All the Hero academies are tightly constrained in what they teach by the Unreal Council. It hobbles them, making them ineffective. Prometheus isn’t so hobbled. As a result, many of the third years here can eat an experienced, fully-certified Hero’s lunch. By their fourth year, they’re true forces to be reckoned with.

“By the by, guess how much a semester’s tuition here is.”

“I’ve no idea,” Max said.

Stiletto told him. Max felt his knees go weak.

“I know, right?” Stiletto chirped at his reaction. “You’re going to get an elite-level education and not pay a dime for it. You ought to be thanking me, not giving me all this attitude. Come to think of it, you also ought to thank me for saving your life. Twice. First from the sheriff, and today from the imps. Or is all that guff I hear about Southern manners just so much honeysuckled hot air?”

That took Max aback. His world had been so topsy-turvy, he never stopped to consider that the Villain had pulled his bacon out of the fire.

“Thanks,” he finally said. “For saving my life. But not for kidnapping me. I don’t care what you say—you didn’t do me any favors by bringing me here. What’s in it for you, anyway?”

Max got the impression Stiletto was beaming at him behind her mask.

“Finally!” she said triumphantly. “Finally you stumble upon the most important question. The one you should ask in every situation: What’s in it for the other person? Because everybody’s got an angle.

“Well, Max, I’ll tell you what I told our lord and savior, headmaster Strategos: I sense a lot of potential in you. I’d hate for it to lie fallow. Which is what it would do if I had left you to languish in that backwoods town you’re from.”

“You’re saying you did me a favor by kidnapping me? You did a good deed?”

Stiletto nodded happily.

“Don’t sound so skeptical. I’m famous for my good deeds.” She struck a model’s pose. “And for my sexy body. But especially for my good deeds.”

Max was still dubious. His father had always said that, when someone gave you something for free, be on the lookout for just how expensive that “freebie” was.

But he was also intrigued. Mirrorkin had also said he saw a lot of potential in Max.

“What kind of potential do you sense in me?” he asked.

“You can feel all the shadows around you, yes?”

Max was caught off guard by the apparent change of subject. “Yes. How did you—”

“What do they feel like?” Stiletto demanded.

Max considered it.

“Like when your eyes are closed,” he explained slowly, trying to articulate the sensation, “and someone gets really close up to you. You can feel their presence, even though they’re not touching you. The shadows feel like that.”

Stiletto grabbed him and shoved him backward, into the shadow of an imposing statue. Max thumped his head on the wall. Stiletto was close enough to kiss, and the sudden intimacy made it feel like she was about to do just that. “How does it feel now?” she purred.

“Um . . . uncomfortable. No offense, but I’m guessing you’re old enough to be my mother.”

Stiletto threw back her head and laughed.

“Ah, the arrogance of youth. Don’t flatter yourself, sport. I’m kinky, but not that kind of kinky. What I meant, weirdo, is how does the shadow feel? Now that you’re in it. Does it feel different than when you were in the light?”

Max thought it over.

“Yeah. It’s like the person I sensed almost touching me is now actually touching me. Very gently. My skin is tingling a little.”

“Focus on the shadow’s tingle, Max. Embrace it, feel it envelop you.”

Max furrowed his brow, a bit confused but intrigued. He closed his eyes, trying to connect with the shadow’s presence and its gentle, almost caressing sensation.

“Now, imagine the shadow wrapping around you. Like a cloak.” Stiletto’s voice was gentle but insistent.

Max did as instructed, envisioning the shadow as a tangible thing, wrapping around his body. The tingling sensation increased, starting from his feet and moving upward.

“Good, good,” Stiletto murmured. “Now, visualize yourself completely swallowed by your shadow cloak. So much so that you don’t know where your body ends and the shadow begins.”

Max’s skin slowly began to prickle more intensely.

Stiletto chuckled. “Open your eyes, Max.”

She pulled a small mirror from the folds of her costume, holding it before him.

Max gasped.

He was invisible.