After sizing them up, the red-haired girl sniffed, “That’s Dawnlighter.”
“And there’s a handle to be proud of,” Iridium said. Jet didn’t see her face, but based on the sound of her voice, Iridium was rolling her eyes. “So original, they should have called you Original Girl.”
Around them, a gossip of teens said “Oooh.” Jet fought an insane urge to giggle.
Dawnlighter smiled—it was a cold movement of her lips, and it would have looked at home on the face of Maleficent or Vixen or any of the other Code Red villainesses. “I’d tell you what they call mutts like you, with a rabid dad and no mom, but heroes don’t swear.”
Iridium’s hand bit into Jet’s shoulder. “Hey, bitch, I dare you to come here and say that to my face.”
Dawnlighter smirked. “What, you didn’t hear me the first time? Maybe you should be Deaf Girl.”
Iridium took a step forward, but Jet pulled her new roommate back. “Stop that,” she hissed. “You’ll get written up!”
“Who cares about that? I’m not going to let her talk trash about me or my dad.”
“What are you going to do,” Dawnlighter said, “hit me? They’ll put you down like the dog you are.”
“Rabid,” another girl said.
“Just like the dad,” said a third.
Iridium shrugged off Jet’s hand and took a step forward. “If they’re going to put me down, it’ll be worth it if I rearrange your face first.”
Dawnlighter blanched, then darted her gaze as if seeking the nearest exit. “If you touch me, you’ll be sorry.”
“I’m already sorry we’re breathing the same air.”
Another “Oooh” from the posse—and Jet noticed at least two other girls muffling giggles.
“Just like a mutt,” Dawnlighter sniffed, obviously trying to act nonchalant and failing rather spectacularly; Jet noticed the sweat beading on the other girl’s brow, the slight tremor to her pouty lips before she clenched her jaw. “Growling big, acting like she’ll bite. Some hero you’ll be, Mutt.”
Iridium cocked her fist back.
Jet flinched, expecting the fight and the repercussions … and that was when the plastiflor bulbs overhead exploded.
The girls squealed as shattered plastic splattered them, and their cries were echoed by others in line as every bulb in the hallway outside the cafeteria shattered one by one.
In the darkness, Jet covered her mouth with both hands to keep from screaming. We’re in the hall, she thought desperately, we’re in the hall and we’re safe and there are no voices here no voices it’s safe it’s safe—
A globe of white light cut through the blackness. Jet almost trembled in relief as she stepped closer to the ball of light emanating from Iridium’s hand.
“Freaking brilliant,” one of the other girls said with a snort. “Now the proctors’ll be on all our asses.”
Another girl hissed, “Way to go, Mutt.”
“It wasn’t me,” Iridium said, startled. “I was going to punch out Dawnie’s teeth. Had to be another Lighter.”
All the girls glared at Dawnlighter, who squawked, “It wasn’t me—she’s lying!”
Iridium rolled her eyes. “As if I’d bother lying about someone as lame as you.”
“Why, you little—”
“What is going on here?”
The proctor’s voice cut through the volley of threats, and all the girls hushed. The darkness seemed to creep forward until it became man-shaped, but maybe that was just the backup track lighting kicking in along the edges of the hallway, banishing the shadows.
One student whispered a prayer, the sound startlingly loud.
Jet’s eyes widened as she gazed upon Night—other than her, the only Shadow power at the Academy—who was lancing each of the students with his dark gaze. A black cowl obscured his face; the matching cape draped from his shoulders like a king’s mantle. The little she could see of the skinsuit beneath was even darker, shadows swallowed by a black hole. Around him, the very air seemed to still, as if it, too, was in awe of this one man who could repel light with a thought.
Part of Jet wanted to throw herself at his feet and beg for mercy. And part of her wanted to kiss those feet and worship him.
Hero worship, she thought wildly. She bit her lip to keep from giggling.
When he glanced her way, Jet gleeped, and stared down at her boots.
“Someone answer me.” Night’s voice was very low, and very cold.
No one said a thing. Maybe they were afraid of risking the ire of a proctor on First Night, or maybe they were uneasy about angering a full-grown Shadow.
Because everyone knew what happened when a Shadow power got angry.
Once again, Jet thought of her father, screaming her name as they’d come to take him away before he could hurt anyone else.
Well, Jet was a Shadow power too.
She cleared her throat and forced herself to speak. She couldn’t bring herself to meet Night’s eyes, but she did manage to look at where she assumed his chin was. “Well, sir”—but Jehovah, her voice was a barely controlled scream—“we were waiting in line to enter the cafeteria. When Dawnlighter started to harass me, Iridium stood up to her. They exchanged words, and Dawnlighter got very angry. Then the lights exploded.”
Modified truth; every heroine’s secret weapon. And she hadn’t even learned that in class.
The look of pure hatred Dawnlighter shot her should have flayed all the skin from her bones.
Jet smiled at her. She tried to make it sweet, but it felt sickly. “What? Heroes tell the truth. Don’t they?”
She felt Night’s gaze heavy upon her. Summoning all of her courage, she looked into his eyes—for exactly a half second before she quickly stared back at her boots.
Night said, “Is this true, Dawnlighter?”
A long pause, filled with the sound of someone swallowing. Finally, the girl replied, “Sir, it’s true that Iridium started mouthing off to me.” She must have remembered that her posse was there, because her next words came faster, louder. “Iridium started the whole thing. Jet’s just saying it’s my fault because she and Iridium are roommates.”
“I see.” Night turned to face Iridium. “And you, Iridium? What do you have to say?”
Jet risked a glance at her roommate, who smiled—sweetly, Jet noticed; she had to learn how to pull that off. Looking right at Night, she said, “Sir, when Dawnlighter referred to Jet as a ‘dirty Shadow,’ I had to let her know that sort of language is inappropriate for heroes.”
Night’s eyes narrowed, and he whirled on Dawnlighter. “You will come with me. You, too, Iridium. We’re going to find the Soothsayer to determine the truth of your words.” He paused, and the air vibrated with menace. “I sincerely hope for your sake, Dawnlighter, that Iridium was lying.”
Jet watched all the color drain from Dawnlighter’s face. The girl whispered, “Yes, sir.”
The two girls followed Night—but Iridium glanced back over her shoulder and winked at Jet.
Jet’s lips twitched into a startled smile, one that she quickly forced down. So what that Iridium had stood by her side, or that she had gotten in trouble because of Jet? The girl probably would have done the same for anyone who’d gotten picked on. That was what heroes did: They defended the weak.
But if Jet dared hope that the two of them would ever go from roommates to friends, she was kidding herself.
CHAPTER 9
IRIDIUM
I never met a supervillain who wouldn’t be better off with a superhero’s boot planted on his neck.
Road Rage, in an interview given after his defeat of Lava Man to Channel 1 in New Chicago
Iridium knew she had a problem when their self-defense instructor paired them off and she found herself face-to-face with Hornblower. Or, as Iridium and Jet had privately come to call him in the weeks since the Academy had been in session, the Boy Moron.
From the other end of the line, Jet gave her a sympathetic glance. She’d gotten
the skinny kid who controlled plants and sort of looked like a spindly tree himself. “Lucky,” Iridium muttered to herself.
“Listen up!” their defense instructor bellowed. He was the size of a small mountain, but Iridium decided he would have been a lot scarier without the cyber leg and a metal pin in the arm on the same side. “My name is Erik Taft, but you will call me Lancer! I am here to teach you that all of your powers and your so-called skills are nothing next to a gangster with a plasgun. Or a junkfreak with a Talon cutter. Or anyone, anywhere, who takes advantage of a moment of inattention from you!”
Iridium saw Jet wince. She wanted to tell her that Lancer was just trying to scare them, that her dad said he was a washout who’d gotten dropped by a gangbanger because he was busy posing for a reporter. But she couldn’t, so she stuck her tongue out at Hornblower instead.
“I’m gonna rip you apart,” he hissed.
“I’m soooo scared,” Iridium responded, flipping a finger at him.
“Two volunteers!” Lancer bellowed. “My nephew and his skinny partner. Front and center!”
Iridium was genuinely startled when Hornblower grabbed her by the sleeve of her uniform and jerked her to the mat at the head of the class. “You’re the coach’s nephew?” she said.
“The three Taft brothers are the triple terror of criminals everywhere,” Lancer rumbled, like two avalanches colliding.
“I heard one of you was a dud,” said Iridium. “No powers,” she elucidated, when Lancer turned the color of tomato sauce.
“Little lady,” he said, “assume the defensive position.” He clapped his nephew on the shoulder. “Hornblower, why don’t you demonstrate that move we practiced at home for the class?”
“Sir?” Jet stuck up her hand. “Shouldn’t the partners be equal in size for an effective demonstration of the technique?”
“What’s your name?” Lancer snapped.
“Jet, sir.”
“Jet, shut your Shadow mouth and let the class move along,” Lancer bellowed. “When I want any of your snot-nosed opinions, I’ll ask for them! Is that clear?”
“Yes, Lancer, sir,” the class chorused.
Then, without waiting for a signal, Hornblower lunged at Iridium. He was twice her size, and he moved fast for a stocky kid.
Iridium didn’t bother trying to use any of the physical techniques she and Abbie had practiced. She stuck out her hand, called her power, and strobed Hornblower in the face.
He fell to the ground, screaming and clawing at his skin as he rolled back and forth.
Lancer grabbed Iridium by the back of her collar. “What in Christo’s name was that?”
“He attacked me,” said Iridium calmly. “I defended myself. Was that not the point of this lesson?”
“You take a good look at this girl,” Lancer said loudly. “She is not a team player. The hero in this room who gets paired with her come Third Year is as unfortunate as my poor … underpowered … brother, Boxer. You mark my words.”
To Iridium he hissed, “Get your ass moving. You’re going to the Superintendent’s office.”
As she was dragged off the mat by her uniform, Hornblower moaned, “I’m gonna get you back for this, Iridium! I swear.” His face was lobster-colored from sunburn, and his eyes were watering.
“Next time you try and threaten me, don’t cry like a little girl,” said Iridium. “It cheapens the moment.”
“Move!” Lancer shouted, dragging her out of the classroom. Iridium saluted to the students at large and was gratified when she saw Jet smile.
CHAPTER 10
JET
Dreams are just that—dreams—until coupled with the skills and training that we are gifted with at the Academy. You should each and every one of you be thanking your proctors and Corp for the ability to protect and serve that they have given you. I know I am, because my dream to serve a greater good is finally reality.
Celestina’s valedictorian address, Class of 2099
Jet didn’t know she was screaming. Well, she didn’t know she was screaming in real life. In her dream, oh yeah, she was shrieking for all she was worth.
“Joannie,” the black thing that had once been her father said, “come out and give your papa a kiss.”
Jet … no, Joannie, she was Joannie, she was five and could barely make Shadow puppets on the walls … whimpered and shrank back to the farthest corner of her closet.
Outside the door, her father giggled. It was a wet, burbling sound that made Joannie think of the water in the big plastic jug whenever she pressed the button to fill her cup. Glug glug went the water; glug glug went Papa as he hic-cuped laughter. “Joannie,” he said, stretching her name into something terrifying. “Don’t you love your papa?”
Yes. But her real papa wouldn’t be scaring her like this. Her real papa wouldn’t have wrapped Mama in a black blanket and squeezed her until there was only a spill of bright, wet red on the ground and an empty thing that used to smile and laugh and call her “My precious Jet.”
“Go away,” she whispered to the monster that was her father.
“Joannnnnieeeee …”
“Go away!”
“You broke the rules, Joannie.”
She shivered, cradled her arms around her legs and rocked, wishing the floor would swallow her up. He was going to hurt her. He was going to rip open the door and grab her and shake her and squeeze her, no matter how much she cried for him to stop.
Stop, her mama had screamed. For the love of Jehovah, stop!
But he hadn’t, not even when Mama had used his private just-between-Blackout-and-Angelica names. George, her mama had shrieked, please! Stop!
And then came the crunching sounds, like leaves in the autumn, caught underfoot.
“You’re a bad girl, Joannie. You broke the rules, didn’t you?”
She swallowed, felt hot stabs of guilt and shame in her belly and her heart.
“Come out, girl, and take your punishment like a good Squadron soldier. I won’t hurt you.”
She covered her ears, thinking, Liar, liar, pants on fire …
The closet doorknob rattled. “Time to come out. Give Papa a hug.”
Like the way he’d hugged Mama, just before. Papa had wrapped bands of blackness around Angelica and squeezed. Maybe her mama had thought he was joking at first, and that was why she hadn’t fought until it was too late. Maybe, even as the inky strips had squeezed Angelica like a hungry snake, maybe she thought he was just kidding, playing Bad Guys the way they did with Joannie. Because Angelica didn’t cry at first, not even when the black bands squeezed too much—she’d waited, with a patient smile, as if she knew that Blackout would stop and everything would be okay, because he would never hurt her, not really …
At least, that was what Joannie thought her mama had been thinking. That was what it had looked like to Joannie, who’d been standing in the kitchen, sneaking a third cookie before dinner. Sneaking, like a thief. Taking something that she knew she wasn’t supposed to have.
Papa had seen the crumbs on the floor. And that was when he’d gone all scary Shadow and had started yelling at her. And when Angelica tried to calm him down with her Light touch, like how she’d do for Joannie when Joannie was a baby and crying when the things in the dark whispered to her, that was when Blackout let the shadows out and made them hug Mama.
Wrapping her arms around her legs, keening softly, Joannie understood, deep in her soul, that this was all her fault. If she hadn’t been sneaking, stealing, this wouldn’t have happened.
“Joannie, are you going to make me come in there?”
She swallowed, said nothing.
“Here I come, Joannie. Here … I … come!”
That was what he’d said to her after he’d dropped Mama to the ground—empty, misshapen, broken. Bleeding. Joannie didn’t even really see Angelica’s body—she was too busy scrambling for the Panic Button next to the comlink on the wall. She skidded in a pool of thick, red wetness and banged her small fist against the big r
ed button—the one thing she was told never, ever to do unless someone was hurt because the button was a Serious Thing, and if she did it just for fun, she’d get into so much trouble that she’d never sit down for a whole week.
Remember, Angelica had told her from the time she was little, no touching the Panic Button unless it’s an Emergency. She’d taught Joannie that “Emergency” meant they needed the heroes to come, fast.
She really needed the heroes to come, right now, and make everything okay. Make her papa not a monster and make her mama well again. Make her stop being so scared.
So she’d hit the button and run into her room and slammed the door, and she’d run into the closet and slammed that door, too, and she’d scampered to the very back and had hidden in the darkness, waiting for the nightmare to end.
There, in the darkness, with her mother’s blood staining the bottoms of her bare feet, the voices started to whisper to her.
lost so lost little girl lost little lamb
They sounded like part of the closet itself, like the walls had peeled away and stretched long and thin like rolls of paper and had crumpled into words pasted on the thick air. She pressed her hands against her ears and tried to listen only to the sounds of her heart thumping madly in her chest, of her ragged breaths, tried to convince herself that she was really very brave and not at all scared because she was supposed to grow up to be a hero …
… and then her father had found her.
“Here … I … come!”
The door ripped open, and Joannie screamed and screamed and screamed …
… and her father’s hand clamped onto her shoulder and she screamed louder, so loud that she almost didn’t hear Iridium’s panicked voice: “Jet! Wake up! It’s a nightmare, Jet. Listen to me—it’s a nightmare! Joannie, wake up!”
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