The Vigilante's Handbook (Misfits #1)

Forty Five: Queen of the Misfits

Before you start I have two things to ask of you:

1) Leave me lots of comments! I'm emotional because this is the last chapter. Y'all would really be doing me a solid

2) Leave questions. About anything: TVH, sequels, the superhero universe, about me, whatever you want. I want to do a Q&A to wrap up this book in a week or so

Welcome to the end

I'd like to tell you all about the Conspiracy. How they came to clean up the powerplant. How they put handcuffs on Eleanor's wrists and led her to the back of a black SUV. How she looked back at me but I didn't notice because I was surrounded by my Misfits all unfrozen and well. I really wish I could tell you all about that.

But I can't.

Because I wasn't conscious for much longer. I was already fading in and out in the two minutes it took for a dozen of the Conspiracy's very official looking and very shiny SUVs to pull into the powerplant. I remember some painful pressure being applied to my abdomen, lots of people in office casual getting in position to make sure no one got hurt, and then a wave of heat as I thawed the world and passed out.

The next time I woke up came with a familiar sensation: an itch on my nose. I tried to swat at it, but every muscle in my arm yelled until I stopped trying to move it. The itch persisted. My eyes were as useless as my arm, as I soon found out. They refused to open. But my mouth was in perfect working condition.

"I hate all of you." Because there was giggling attached to the itch. It wasn't mostly different laughter than last time I had been shot and wound up in a hospital bed. Different people, same annoying friendship.

This time when I told my eyes to open, they obeyed.

And there they were: Miguel, Lucia, and Diana waiting at the foot of my bed, and Miguel was holding a corner of the bedsheet suspiciously near my nose. He dropped it quickly, but instead of looking guilty he grinned. "Don't try to tell me Elliot's dead this time. I know the kid is stronger than you three. If you're here, so is he."

Like a miracle, he stumbled out from behind them to my bedside. He looked pretty beat up. There were fresh burn marks along his arms and up his neck. They painted over his veins. Unlike the old scars covering his cheeks, these were still pink with new skin. I wanted to chastise him for not listening to me and pushing himself to the limit, instead I tried to scoot over so he could climb up on the bed next to me.

Miguel took pity on me and moved me over to one side of the bed, so Elliot could have half. Miguel wasn't looking too hot either. Not that he wasn't looking attractive, because he was. Sometime while I had been passed out and fighting for my life, he had taken the time to get his hair trimmed. And he was still wearing that grin that made me feel warm and fuzzy instead, but that might have been the painkillers.

What I meant was that he looked like he had been in a superhero fight. There was a bruise along his jaw and a cast on his lower leg. Even if he wasn't trying to, his eyes told me everything. Gifts hurt. Him more than anyone. In the past few days he had stretched his superpower muscles more than he had in the years I had known him. That was a hurt that reached deeper than skin level damage.

When he set me back down in my new position and tried to pull away, I grabbed his hand. I hadn't ever been nervous to grab his hand before, but this time I felt like I was going to puke. Might as well blame that on the painkillers too.

His smile got wider as he laced his fingers in mine. Yeah, the butterflies were definitely from the painkillers. With his free hand, he pulled over a chair and sat as close as he could.