Shades of Gray

by Jackie Kessler; Caitlin Kittredge

  “Well?” Lester demanded. “Do you want point, or shall I swoop in and dazzle the city like I’ve done a dozen times before? I favor your lead. Dazzling is rather humdrum when you’re as handsome, charming, and intelligent as me.”

  This close to him, Valerie felt a reckless part of herself that she rarely allowed off the leash break loose. Luster in real life was nothing like Luster in the vids or the briefing room at Squadron HQ. Here, he was relaxed. Funny, even.

  She smiled at Luster and squared her shoulders. “I’ll take him down. Call Night and Blackout for backup.”

  Lester snapped her a salute. “As you say. And Vixen?”

  Valerie turned back as she started toward the warehouse. “Yes, Luster?”

  “You look absolutely stunning in that outfit.”

  CHAPTER 8

  ANGELICA

  Aaron still insists that Angelica should be classified as a Mental power, not as a Light power. Frankly, I think he just wants the excuse to study her in every way possible. I’ve never understood his taste in women.

  —From the journal of Martin Moore, entry #7

  Holly Owens pivoted to look over her shoulder, flouncing her long, blond hair and billowing her white cape. She gave the cameras a wry smile—one that she knew suggested humor and (according to Branding stats) sexual prowess. Lights flashed and popped, and if she hadn’t been a Light power, she would have been momentarily blinded. But Holly loved the spotlight. Always had. It was a necessity if you were a superhero.

  “Brilliant, love,” the Glamique rep cooed. “You look delectable. A little more with the lips, please.”

  Of course—had to show off the latest lip color. “Mulberry Mischief,” it was called. Holly always read the names on the sample tubes she was given as freebies during her photo shoots for the cosmetics maker. She got a kick out of some of the product names—“Razzle Dazzle” eye shadow, “Ghostly Blush” foundation and matching powder; “Lay It On Thick” mascara. Some Squadron soldiers got the shaft when it came to mandatory sponsorships, but not Holly Owens, code name Angelica. She’d scored big when Glamique Holdings had selected her during her fourth year at the Academy.

  “Like that, love. Yes, perfect! That’ll have the ladies scrambling to buy Number 601 like mad.”

  “Angelica,” Jamie said, tapping his handheld. “You’re supposed to join Vixen for patrol in five minutes.”

  The Glamique rep squawked, “Absolutely not! We’ve scheduled you for the next two and a half hours.”

  “Sir,” Jamie said politely, “I’m afraid Angelica must fulfill her duties to the Squadron and the people of New Chicago …”

  “She must also fulfill her duties to her corporate sponsor.” The rep sniffed, looking down at the Runner. “Unless Angelica would prefer that Glamique cancel its contract with Corp-Co, I suggest that you remember which of her duties are a priority. There are a million other little superheroes flitting about this city of ours. Get one of them to do the dirty work.”

  That last bit annoyed Holly. Fighting for justice and the good of innocent normals wasn’t something to scoff at. Patrol was boring, but it was a necessity. It wasn’t like the bad guys advertised when they were about to strike. Usually.

  Jamie, flustered, turned to Holly for help.

  She smiled soothingly at him, pushing only a little bit of Light into it. As a rule, she didn’t like to glam her Runners too much—they tended to get a bit dopey if she overdid it, and a dopey Runner did her no good. “It’s okay, Jamie. Go ahead and comm in that Vixen should go ahead without me. If there’s a dire emergency, of course, I’ll come running. Okay?” she added, throwing a meaningful look at the Glamique rep—and this time, pushing significantly more.

  “Oh, absolutely,” the rep said happily. “If you’re needed, you’re needed. We at Glamique understand you have a responsibility to the city.”

  Holly grinned. “Well then. Let’s finish up here so that I can get back to heroing.”

  Three hours later, Holly strolled into Squadron headquarters. She peeled off her cape and handed it to Jamie—not the same Jamie as before; another Runner, this one a girl—and said her hellos to the handful of other Squadron soldiers lounging about the rec room. She paused to watch Speed Demon go a round of Ping-Pong with Velocity until she nearly got whiplash, then she bantered with some of Team Delta. Nothing wrong with encouraging them. They got a little boost to their confidence, and Holly got to practice her social skills. Everybody won.

  In the middle of a rather inane conversation with a rookie hero saddled with the unfortunate designation of Slimer, a pair of arms circled around her waist from behind.

  “Holly,” a man’s voice purred. “You’re looking sexy as ever.”

  Smiling, she turned to embrace Hal Gibbons, code-name Doctor Hypnotic. “And you’re a sweet talker, as usual.”

  By Jehovah, he was so gorgeous, between his black, black eyes that you could drown in, his dark hair that was a bit too long, and his jaw that was chiseled enough you could cut your fingers if you tried to trace it. To say nothing of his physique. Some women didn’t find muscular men attractive. Those women, Holly decided, were utterly insane.

  He pressed his lips to hers, and they shared a slow, delicious kiss.

  Slimer coughed and cleared his throat. “Um, we were in the middle of a conversation, Hypnotic.”

  Holly felt Hal’s mouth shift into a smile, then he broke the kiss. “You’re done now.” He said it in a tone that Holly recognized all too well—he was using his Mental power.

  Behind Holly, Slimer said, “Uh. Uh.” Then, blankly: “We’re done now.”

  “In fact, you shouldn’t talk to Angelica at all.”

  “I shouldn’t talk to Angelica at all.”

  “Now go back to your quarters and have a nice nap.”

  Holly didn’t need to see Slimer to know he was already on his way to the residential wing of Squadron headquarters. She frowned up at Hal. “You shouldn’t do that.”

  “Do what?” he said innocently.

  “Mess with his mind.” That she, too, messed with people’s minds didn’t bother her; pushing a bit of Light-inspired bliss wasn’t the same thing as forcing people to see and remember things that weren’t real.

  “I’m not,” Hal said. “I’m just giving him a picture of a different reality. Everyone can use a little escape from the craziness of the real world.”

  One that didn’t include Slimer speaking to Angelica. Sometimes, Hal’s possessive streak drove her a little crazy. “And what if I’d been talking with a group of people? Would you have given them all such an escape?”

  “So that I could kiss you whenever I wanted? Oh yes.” He did something with his fingers, and Holly’s belly fluttered.

  She shook her head, but couldn’t help smiling. “You’re a rogue, Doctor Hypnotic.”

  “And you’re ravishing, Angelica.” He bent down to whisper in her ear. “Care to come with me to my quarters?”

  “Mmm. I think—”

  “Excuse me, Angelica?” That was the female Jamie, standing in the doorway.

  Still looking up at Hal, she said, “Yes?”

  “You have a call, from the Academy.”

  Holly sighed, untangled herself from Hal’s arms. “I’ll come find you.”

  “Do that.” He stroked her cheek, sending a shiver of anticipation down her back.

  She squeezed his hand once, then followed Jamie to a phone bank. Sitting down at one of the stations, she tapped the screen. And bit back a groan when she saw the face of Dr. Aaron Moore appear.

  “Angelica!” the doctor beamed. “I’m glad to have caught you.”

  She inclined her head politely. “Doctor. What can I do for you?”

  “I wanted once again to implore you to reconsider my offer.”

  “Which offer would that be?” she said. “Oh, yes, that’s right. The offer to slice open my brain and putter around in there. Forgive me, but once again I have to say no thank you.”

 
“But Angelica, the tests wouldn’t hurt you. And they would help with my research immensely.”

  Angelica smiled tightly and bit back her initial response, which was to tell him to go to hell. Dr. Moore, the head of Corp-Co’s R&D division, was constantly looking into what made the extrahumans tick. It was no secret that Corp’s Executive Committee fawned over him and gave him all the resources he requested—no matter how insulting or insane those requests might be. So all Squadron members, for example, had to put up with countless hours of so-called therapy, which involved being hooked up to various machines that supposedly monitored their heart rates, their emotional reactions, their brain waves. Angelica hated being attached to machines, and she hated the required therapy sessions. The notion that she might volunteer her time to Dr. Moore almost made her laugh. “Sorry,” she said. “Not interested.”

  “I understand,” the doctor said amiably. “But once again, I have to press my claim that your own power is more Mental in nature than Light.”

  “And once again, I have to tell you that’s absurd. I’m a Lighter, same as my mother, same as her father.”

  “Angelica, if you would simply allow me to perform my tests, we would learn the truth about your power. That would be beneficial not only to you, but to all extrahumans in the service of the Squadron and Corp-Co.”

  “I hope they pay you every time you mention Corp’s name,” she said. “And the answer is still no.”

  “But Angelica—”

  “No buts, Doctor. I won’t agree to you invading my mind.”

  “But think of all the good it will do …”

  “Good-bye, Doctor.” She tapped off the connection before he could say another word. Christo, the man was positively galling. He just wouldn’t quit.

  She wondered how long it would be before Dr. Moore went straight to the Executive Committee to demand that Angelica submit to those alleged power tests.

  Suddenly chilled, she rubbed her arms.

  She was still frowning at the blank screen when she heard a commotion down the hall. Curious, she left the phone bank to see what was making such a stir, and was rewarded with a scene of the conquering heroes returning victorious: Luster grinning hugely, one arm wrapped possessively around Vixen’s waist—and didn’t that make Holly blink—and the two brothers in Shadow, Night and Blackout, shining darkly in stark contrast to Luster’s brilliance. Already, a crowd of other heroes and Runners had swarmed them.

  “It was no contest,” Luster was saying. “Professor Neutron didn’t have a chance, not with Vixen here leading the charge.”

  “You’re exaggerating,” Vixen said, blushing madly and looking flustered. “We all played our parts, were all necessary to the operation …”

  “She’s being kind,” Luster said. “We were backup, nothing more. Vixen had it all under control.”

  “He’s right,” Blackout said softly, and Holly smiled at him. She knew he had a small crush on her, and he was a nice guy. But he was also Hal’s opposite in every way: where Hal was tall and muscular, Blackout—George Greene—was smaller and slighter, more of a jockey’s build than a football player’s. Hal was confident and charming; George was quiet and brooding.

  Yes, Blackout was nice. Sweet, even. But he was no Doctor Hypnotic.

  “She did the right thing,” Night said, “calling for backup. But we weren’t needed. It was all Vixen.”

  Holly called out, “Sounds like you’ve popped your cherry, Valerie!”

  Vixen blushed even deeper, but Luster laughed richly. “She certainly has. About time that Team Alpha’s newest member stole the spotlight.”

  That made Holly chuckle. Maybe now Valerie would finally unwind a little and not be so standoffish.

  She was surprised to find herself excited about that possibility. She didn’t have any close female friends. And anytime she tried to get close to a male friend, Hal would bristle. If Valerie was really coming out of her shell, then Holly would finally have someone she could talk to.

  With that happy thought, Angelica joined the others in cheering Squadron New Chicago’s most recent addition.

  CHAPTER 9

  LUSTER

  Violence is no more a genetic predisposition than is a taste for spicy food. Violence is in the mind. Violence does not interest me.

  —Matthew Icarus, unpublished lecture

  to his genetics students at Yale University, 1974

  Lester Bradford grinned at the man facing him, then punched him in the throat. Vanisher gurgled and fell to one knee, his opacity flickering from invisible to solid and back again as he flopped on the practice mat like a hooked mackerel. “Damn it, Bradford! What was that for?”

  “You dropped your hands.” Lester dropped his stance and offered his sparring partner a hand up.

  “You’re a fucking Light power. You’re supposed to throw light. You don’t sucker punch!”

  “And you vanishing and tripping me was so sporting.” Lester withdrew his hand. “Get over it, Mark. Extrahumans don’t always use their powers, and villains don’t always do what you expect.”

  Mark struggled to his feet, rubbing the bruise forming on his neck like a giant hickey. “You’re a class-A dick, Bradford.”

  “I live to serve.” Lester snatched his towel and bag and left the practice room. Of course, he didn’t have to hit Mark Villanova in the neck, just like he didn’t have to call major news stations in advance when he knew there was a major battle going on, and he didn’t have to flirt with his cohero, Vixen.

  All right, that last one he’d do even if he got no benefit at all. He’d thought her just this side of plain and a bit dull when she’d showed up, fresh from being muscled off Squadron Orlando in favor of some teenage moron who threw glitter, but after the fight with Neutron … He smiled. Still waters and all that.

  The truth was, until Valerie joined Team Alpha, Lester had felt boredom threatening every hour of every day of his stifling Corp existence. News crews and spectacular battles made him a hero, but he had a niggling thought that the good he was doing was transparent at best and nonexistent at worst. He didn’t miss that the Squadron protected Corp interests—Corp banks, Corp labs, and Corp employees—before they even pretended to care about places like the one where Lester had grown up.

  The villains, at least, believed in something—even if that something was just greed. Lester hadn’t had that since he’d been taken for training. And it was beginning to wear thin.

  Which was why he had to be the perfect hero and stay far, far away from anyone with a Mental ability.

  A small sigh caused him to whip around, his heart thudding and his skin heating as Light gathered around him. Lester hadn’t experienced the sheltered childhood of a Corp extrahuman, and a few seconds in his neighborhood was often the difference between life and a bullet.

  “Take a picture,” George Greene muttered. “It’ll last you longer.” He looked dreadful, his skin pale and his nose leaking blood.

  Lester set his bag down, slowly. You didn’t make sudden moves around dangerous animals, or Shadow powers. His Light could burn, but it couldn’t choke the life from you. Lester had a healthy respect for predators higher in the food chain.

  With Shadows, you had to outsmart them, distract them. If you came at them head-on, you’d lose.

  He said, “You try to take on Behemoth again? Not smart, mate.”

  “I was practicing.” George sniffed and swiped at the blood on his face. “I want to use the Shadow to fly, like Night.”

  “Night’s a freak of nature,” Lester said. “Just be happy with what you have, is my advice.”

  “I can do it.”

  The snap in George’s voice made Lester pause. George was mild-mannered to a fault, so mild that he wouldn’t even speak up to Angelica and tell her that he fancied her to the point of pain. “All right, Georgie-boy.” Lester clapped him on the shoulder. “If you want a Shadow sled, you’ll have one. Out of curiosity, did the Shadow punch you in the gob as well?”

 
“I just … feel …” George’s jaw twitched. “I’m fine.”

  “Maybe you should see a medic,” Lester said. “You look like death, if you want my honesty.”

  “Well, I don’t!” George shouted. “And if you tell anyone, if Corp finds out about this and throws me to Dr. Moore to experiment on, it’ll be your fault, you Limey idiot!”

  Lester blinked, but before George could continue his rant he swayed and fell over, his head cracking against the metal lockers in front of him.

  “Bloody hell.” Lester bent over George, while he bellowed toward the practice room: “We need a medic in here!”

  George’s eyeballs twitched under his lids. His pulse was racing like a hover engine when Lester pressed two fingers against his neck.

  “Blackout. Blackout. George.” Lester shook him. “Come on, son. Wake up.”

  George’s arm whipped out and caught Lester by the front of his shirt. His eyes were full of Shadow, black like someone had spilled ink across them. Lester felt his heart twitch in shock, but he let George hold on to him.

  “Make them stop,” George hissed. “I hear them and they never stop. I can’t keep fighting, Les …”

  A medic crew burst through the door and moved Lester to the side, working on George with smelling salts and a portable cauterizer for the cut in the back of his head.

  “He lose consciousness?” one of the medics demanded.

  “For a moment.” Lester watched George’s gaunt face. “He said he was …” He bit his tongue just in time. “He said he was feeling dizzy.”

  The lie rolled seamlessly out. Lester’s father, a man obsessed with honesty to the point of lit cigarettes and leather straps, had impressed on him his need to be a superlative liar.

  Of course Lester should report George’s incident.

  Make them stop. I hear them and they never stop. I can’t keep fighting …

  Of course George needed help if he was hearing voices.