Black and White (17 page)

“Good girl,” he said, and for the first time in two years, he smiled at her.

She threw herself around him, hugged him tight. After a moment, he hugged her in return. He said something, to someone, but Jet didn’t listen. The only thing that mattered at this moment was holding on to Night, clinging to him as if he were her last shred of sanity.

Because the thing was, she was convinced that was spot-on.

She was going crazy.

Shivering against Night, she tried to believe that everything would be okay, that just because her father had …

Dawnlighter’s voice sneered:
Gone bona fide nutso and murdered your mama and tried to kill you, too, and he should have succeeded, you filthy little Shadow …

Jet took a deep breath, pushed Dawnlighter’s voice out of her mind. One day, she’d have to confront her, make her shut up about her father. Iri had been telling Jet that for almost two years, and Jet knew her friend was right. But still, the thought of telling Dawnlighter anything made Jet’s stomach roll.

One day
, she thought, and clenched her fists.

Night murmured, “You need to be strong now, little Shadow. Do that for me.”

She would. She would do anything for him.

Pulling away from him, she wiped her eyes, sniffled. He was frowning at her, but she could tell it wasn’t because he was angry or disappointed. No, he was concerned. The thought made her squirm.

Blinking, she glanced around the empty meditation chamber, then stared at the smoking hole in the wall. “Sir? What—”

“Nothing for you to concern yourself with.”

She whispered, “Iridium? Frostbite?”

“Both fine. Runners escorted them to their rooms.”

Swallowing thickly, she said, “Dawnlighter?”

“Off to Therapy.”

Jet took a shuddering breath. Part of her screamed,
Serves her right! Talking trash to me, about me and Papa! Hope they put you in a room right next to him! Have him teach you to be afraid of the dark!

But the rest of her was horrified. Dawnlighter was only thirteen. She was a snotty, self-entitled princess, yes, and she had enough attitude to make up for what she didn’t have in finesse, smarts, or ability. But none of that explained what had happened just now. What could make someone like Dawnlighter … slip?

And why did Jet feel guilty?

“Jet.”

She hiccuped, realized she’d started crying again. Grimacing, she brushed away her tears, looked up into Night’s face.

“What happened?”

Lifting her chin, she said in a monotone: “Iridium saw the threat and threw herself over me, knocked us both down to avoid getting incinerated. I must have hit my head.”

“No, Joan,” he said softly. “What
happened?”

She bit her lip, looked down at the mat. “They’re getting louder. Sir.”

A strained silence, then: “You’re getting straight A’s.”

“Not in Physics,” she muttered. Stupid, freaking physics! She didn’t care what the formula insisted, there was no way that one item could exist in two spaces simultaneously. That wasn’t physics. That was magic.

“Even so. I was going to wait until Third Year, for you and your roommate both. But sometimes things get moved up. Come with me.”

They both stood, and she followed Night silently, out of the blasted meditation chamber, down the hall, and through numerous corridors and one flight of stairs until they were in his office. He had her stand while he rummaged through a large box.

She waited, her hands clasped, staring straight ahead, chewing her lip as she wondered if she was in trouble. She read the Squadron declaration, lased into the wall:
DUTY FIRST
.

Finally, Night pulled something out of the carton and tossed it to her, with an offhand “Catch.”

Startled, she caught the package neatly, cradled it to her chest.

“For you, Jet.”

She looked at the transparent wrapping, saw the bundle of clothing folded into a soft rectangle.

“Go ahead, take it out.”

Her fingers numb, she pulled out the costume. The unikilt was a glossy black—not the dull blackness of an absence of light, but a true, rich ink that seemed to wink and shimmer—with bright white by the collar and a matching white belt.

Exactly like Iri’s, but reversed. Yin and yang.

She bit back a giggle and said, “Sir, it’s wonderful! But I’m not supposed to get fitted until Third Year. It’s procedure.”

He let out a sound that was suspiciously close to a snort. “Procedure for those not in the gifted curriculum. Optional for those who are. You deserve acknowledgment of how far you’ve come. But you missed part of the uniform. The most important part.”

Something else gleamed at the bottom of the plastic wrapping. Jet reached into the bag and scooped up a metallic earpiece.

“Tap it twice for white noise,” Night said. “Once to shut it off. You’ll need to charge it about once a month, so plan accordingly. When you’re old enough to go on missions, the comlink will connect you directly to Ops.”

Operations. She swallowed, blinked away tears. Only the front-runner extrahumans, the ones selected by Corp to join the Squadron and be the face of the Academy, got a direct connection to Ops.

Only the elite held such an honor.

“Sir,” she breathed, “I don’t know what to say.”

“‘Thank you’ will suffice,” he said dryly.

She squeaked her thanks.

“Don’t lose the earpiece. It should help you focus, even when you’re under a great deal of stress.”

Translation: It would help keep the voices away.

“Thank you,” she said again, stronger this time. “Sir … does that … particular stress ever go away?”

After a very long moment that felt like forever, Night said, “You’re thirteen, Joan. Your mother was a Light power. Anything can happen.”

“Oh,” she said weakly.

“Iridium was very protective of you today.”

“She’s my friend.”

“Yes.” He steepled his gloved fingers. “Is she also your confidante?”

Her eyes narrowed, and before she remembered that this was Night, her mentor and Academy proctor and someone who was altogether frightening, she said, “I didn’t tell
her anything I wasn’t supposed to. You told me not to, and I haven’t.”

They locked gazes, and Jet thought she saw something bright sparkle beneath his cowl, like a wicked thought. “A young woman of her word.”

“My word matters, sir.”

He smiled thinly. “That’s good to know.”

H
istory was the one thing that Iridium could immerse herself in, dive deep below the lines of text on her datascreen and forget that she was at the Academy. Which was the only reason why the proctor was able to sneak up on her.

Iridium felt the tap on her shoulder, and she shrugged away, throwing up her hands. “I didn’t do anything!”

Frostbite raised his head from the chapter on the Fourth World War, grinning. The other Light powers like Iridium, who were arrayed across the front of the classroom like bright, mostly blond suns, smirked at her.

“Calm down, Iridium,” said the proctor. Celestina, the only proctor other than Night who still pulled active duty
with the Squadron, never raised her voice to the class, which was why Iridium respected her. And she was the only proctor, in their Second Year, to not give Iridium detention—which was why Iridium liked her. Celestina’s purple eyes sparkled with concern as Iridium glanced up at her. “I’ve been instructed to have you report to the Superintendent’s office. You’re excused from classes and training for the rest of the day.”

Iridium felt her glare slip into confusion, so she quickly composed herself. To be summoned for something other than an infraction made a cold feeling start in her stomach. No one got called in to the Superintendent’s office for candy and balloons.

“I don’t know why,” said Celestina, putting her hand on Iridium’s shoulder.

“I wasn’t going to ask,” Iridium said, tossing her head as she shouldered her bag. She noticed that Jet was staring at the datascreen in front of her, but the text had stopped scrolling. She was listening.

“We’ll miss you,” said Celestina, with the smile that graced every Lyman’s Department Store in New Chicago. But their spokesmodel ads did not do justice to Celestina’s violet hair and amethyst eyes, just like her commercials for Whitecap Toothpaste couldn’t capture the mischief behind her smile.

“Whatever,” Iridium said with an affected sigh. She turned and strode out of the classroom, down the white hallways with their embedded screens that flashed the Academy logo along with the short, recorded messages from active heroes.

“Be true to the Academy,” declared Megaplex, a Light power like her, known for his illusions.

“The Academy made me what I am today!” said Fly Boy, the youngest hero on active duty within the Squadron. He was fifteen, and a supergenius—who still didn’t know enough
not to strike a ridiculous pose, an artificial wind billowing his yellow cape.

“The Academy stands behind its heroes, and heroes stand behind the law.” Night’s cool voice rolled out at her from a dozen screens as she walked the long hall to the Superintendent’s office. The words twisted, and now she heard an echo from her memory, pronouncing doom.

“Lester Bradford. You are hereby ordered to submit to the authority of Corp and appear before the Executive Committee on charges of robbery, fraud, and murder You are a criminal and are in violation of the law.”

“Move it, Iridium. You’re late.”

She jumped a little bit. Night appearing out of the thinnest slice of shadow was a trick only Jet seemed to find amusing. It still gave Iridium the creeps after a year.

“The Superintendent will explain.”

Iridium blinked. “Explain
what?”

After a pause, Night said, “The Superintendent has arranged a special meeting for you. Today. If you choose to accept it, that is. I’m to serve as witness to your decision.”

Some of it made sense then—the withdrawal from class, the quiet, quick appearance of Night, probably the only person in the Academy besides Joan, Derek, and Celestina who, as far as she could tell, gave a crap about her. As for the rest, what this optional meeting could be … Iridium felt a headache worthy of the ones Jet sometimes complained of grow behind her eyes.

They walked in silence, until they reached the Superintendent’s door. Night put a hand on her shoulder. It chilled Iridium’s skin beneath her uniform. “Think long and hard before you agree to the meeting.”

“Yes, sir,” she said, trying to act like she wasn’t burning with curiosity.

The Superintendent gave a resigned sigh when they entered his office. “You’re fourteen,” he said to her.

“Have been for two weeks now,” she replied.

He narrowed his eyes. “Watch your mouth, young lady. You’re eligible for visiting rights at Blackbird Prison.”

She could have sworn her heart stopped beating. “Sir?”

“You can see your father. If you decide to.” The Superintendent leaned forward in his seat and met her gaze. “Or you can decide not to and turn your back on that rabid part of your family. Show the Academy and Corp that you’re looking forward, not holding on to your past or on the path to throw away a brilliant future, like your mother.”

She thought about it for all of a nanosecond. “I want to see my dad.”

The Superintendent deflated. “Of course you do. I didn’t expect anything else from you.”

“So witnessed,” Night said coldly. “I’ve discharged my obligation here. I have to get back to work.”

The Superintendent glanced at Night. “How’s the reclamation coming?”

“Favorably,” Night said, bowing his head slightly. “I thank you for allowing me to turn the meditation room into my training capsule. The room never really served any purpose, even when I was a student.”

“Christo knows the last thing these children need is more time to contemplate their lot in life,” the Superintendent muttered. Then he remembered that Iridium was right there. He visibly shook his head and said to her, “Iridium, a prison transport is waiting for you on my landing pad. You are to be back in two hours.” He jabbed a finger at her. “Don’t cause trouble, or the next time you see your father will be when they carry his body out the prison gates.”

“I understand,” said Iridium. Her stomach flopped. Five years … how much had Lester changed? Would he even remember her?

The ride to the prison was a long blur. Once they arrived, Iridium was scanned and swept and patted down, and led
into a plain white room. One chair was normal. One had hookups for stun-cuffs.

“Inmate walking,” said a robotic PA. “Lester Bradford, formerly known as Arclight.”

Her father, when he came in, looked startlingly the same. His hair was even combed back in the old style that had made
Underground
magazine proclaim him the Sexiest Supervillain Alive just before he was arrested. Then he saw her.

“Callie?” he gasped, nearly falling against the guard holding his elbow.

“Dad!” she cried. For the first time since she’d left Abbie, Iridium felt something close to joy swell in her. She jumped up and ran to him, only to be held back by the guard’s baton.

“No contact with the prisoners.”

“It’s all right, my girl,” her dad said. “Sit down. We have ten whole minutes to talk.”

His sarcasm was not lost on the guard, who snorted and backed out of the room. “Freak.”

“Pay him no mind.” Her father smiled at her, the crow’s-feet around his eyes deep. “They let you come. I feared they wouldn’t.”

“I wanted to, for a long time,” said Iridium. “I miss you, Dad.”

“And I you. My stars, Callie, but you do look like your mother.”

“Don’t say that.” Iridium shifted uncomfortably. “Everyone at school says I look like you.”

He laughed. “And how is life in the world’s most posh concentration camp? Have they indoctrinated you to hate me yet?”