That I’d somehow, some way shattered the glass roof hundreds of feet above our heads. That was quite an accomplishment, even for me. Then, luck or not, my sense of self-preservation kicked in. I screamed and dove out of the way of the falling shards, sliding across the smooth floor. My power kicked in of its own accord, as it so often did, and the static field propelled me farther than I could have ever gotten on my own. Of course, I couldn’t get clear of all of it. I was lucky, not indestructible. I threw my arms over my head, even as bits and pieces of glass sliced into my skin. My blood spattered scarlet against the white floor, reminding me of the red rose on Debonair’s costume. Thinking of Debonair, I didn’t hear him pop! out of the way, but he must have, because the sweet smell of roses filled my nose, making my head swim. Well, that and the blood loss. The tinkling rain of glass stopped, replaced by the museum’s ringing alarms and a faint, whooshing sound, like I had water in my ears.
