Shades of Gray (42 page)

Bradford was on him in a shot, two kicks to Night’s face. He went down heavily on his good arm, his jaw stinging, his left shoulder on fire.

“You should have left us alone.” Another kick, this one to his gut. “I never would have come after you. You were practically family.”

Snarling, Night lifted his face to glare at Bradford, who was standing over him like some warrior prince with a knife in each hand. “You think you were family? You think you could handle the Shadow swimming inside you?” He grinned suddenly, overcome by the image of Lester as one with the Dark. “Try it on for size. See if it fits.”

And the Shadow poured out of him, leeching onto Bradford’s face.

Night felt the sweat stinging his eyes, the pulsing agony in his shoulder. He ignored them as best he could, gritting his teeth as Bradford screamed.
Come on,
he thought.
Come on.

Whether he was silently urging Lester Bradford to yield or the Shadow to eat Bradford’s soul, he couldn’t say.

With a roar to rock the heavens, Bradford grabbed the shifting black mass on his face and pushed strobe after strobe into it. The Shadow repelled the Light, but with every blow its grip on Bradford’s face weakened until finally, the Shadow slipped off, twitching. His face frostbite yellow and streaked red with sunburn, Bradford slammed a bolt of light into the blot of Darkness. The Shadow, crippled, slunk back to its master and sank into his skin.

Shaking, Night forced himself to stand even as Bradford swayed heavily on his feet. Both men were panting, and staring at each other with equal parts hatred and respect.

“It doesn’t have to be like this,” Bradford said, rasping.

“It does. You’re a criminal. I have to bring you in.”

“You hate them just as much as I do.” Bradford’s eyes shone as if backlit by his power. “Be more than Corp’s lapdog, man!”

Night smiled grimly. “Even lapdogs have been known to bite the hand that feeds them.”

“Do it,” Bradford urged. “Walk away from them. They don’t deserve you.”

“They don’t.” Night almost shrugged. “But they’re what I’ve got. And you’re under arrest, Lester.”

Bradford stood straighter, a small smile playing on his lips. “You’ll have to drag me in, kicking and screaming.”

They circled, slowly, dance partners familiar with the steps but not the music.

“You had to go and taunt them, didn’t you?” Night shook his head. “You couldn’t just stay in the background. Always have to be in front of the vids, on the tongues of all the reporters and congressmen.”

“You expect a Lighter to stay in the shadows?” Bradford actually laughed. “Corp’s nothing but a bunch of wankers. They used us, made us their puppets. And when we break, they sweep us under the rug. Fuck them.”

“We’re not broken.”

“What do you call what happened to Hypnotic, then? To Blackout? To poor Angelica?” Bradford was shouting now, and his hands glowed. “That was all on Corp’s watch!”

“Hypnotic made his own choices,” Night said coldly. “Poor choices. And Blackout was weak.”

“Weak?” Bradford choked out a laugh. “I swear to Jehovah, you are an insensitive prick.”

“Charlie?”

The sound came from behind Night—a man’s voice, questioning and scared. Night didn’t dare to take his gaze off Bradford … who had tamped down his power so that his hands looked normal.

“Get back in your house, Jack.” Bradford’s accent magically evaporated, replaced with the flat cadence of New Chicago. “Everything’s fine.”

Night took a step to the left, and then another; Bradford went to his own left, and again. Circling like sharks. Now Night could see the man Jack, tall and gangly, uncertain.

Enough.

Night lunged right and got Jack in a headlock. The man was too surprised to struggle; he flopped like a landed fish as Night tightened the hold.

“Night. Let him go.”

“This man, who impeded an arrest? I don’t think so.”

“You’re not going to hurt him,” Bradford said impatiently. “You might as well—”

“Are you afraid of the Dark?” Night asked Jack. He lifted his free hand over Jack’s sweating face, let the Shadow dance along his knuckles. “Want me to show you what’s really in the heart of darkness?” He slowly lowered his hand, coming to a halt just over the man’s eyes.

Jack whimpered, squeezed his eyes closed. Night smelled the ammonia stench of urine. Jack, apparently, was a bit of a coward. Perfect.

“Rick, don’t do this,” Bradford pleaded. “You’re one of the good guys.”

“Even good guys have to improvise sometimes.” Night smiled grimly as he fished inside his belt pouch. “You want me to let him go? Put these on.” He tossed the stun-cuffs to his former teammate.

The metal bands landed at Bradford’s feet.

“What’s it going to be, Bradford?” He tightened his grip on Jack’s neck, and his hostage let out a pitiful gasp.

Bradford picked up the cuffs. Staring bloody murder at Night, Arclight growled, “You’re no better than the criminals you’re supposed to be fighting.”

For a moment, Night heard himself telling Blackout that he was no better than the criminals. Blackout had just broken Calendar Man’s back, and all he’d said about it was that crippling them made it less likely they’d come back for more.

Night had to admit that Blackout had a point.

“When a hero like you becomes a criminal,” Night said, “it takes another criminal to stop him. Put them on, Lester, or I’ll give this man nightmares to last a lifetime.”

Bradford said, “Let my girl go.”

“I can’t do that, Lester.”

The other man’s eyes narrowed. “Good luck getting her away from Valerie.”

“Thanks. Put them on, Lester. Now.”

With a heavy sigh, Bradford snapped the cuffs home. As soon as they closed on his wrists, he lost his balance and fell hard on his ass. The power inhibitor in the stun-cuffs wreaked havoc with an extrahuman’s balance.

Night loosened his hold on the hapless Jack. “Citizen, your role in assisting me with the capture of the dangerous criminal Arclight will certainly be reported.”

Jack, free, stepped backward, his hands fluttering by his neck. “Arc … Arclight?”

Night walked over to Bradford and yanked him to his feet. “Lester Bradford, aka Charlie Ryan, aka Arclight. Wanted for robbery, assault, and a host of other crimes.”

“Oh.” Jack’s voice was very small. “I’ll, uh, I’ll be calling the police then …”

“You do that.” Night dragged Bradford up the steps and tossed him into the house. He landed heavily next to one of the unconscious Containment officers. Night looked around the living room and sighed, shaking his head. Really, Bradford was such a drama king. He touched his comlink.

“Ops,” said a voice in his ear, so very different from the voices that whispered in his head.

“This is Night. I have Arclight. Send another Containment unit to the Ryan house. And send an ambulance.” He glanced around the room again and said, “Better make it two.”

Glitter Vixen and the so-called Code-Red Villainesses got busted robbing FreeMarket Financial Co. not even three months later. Night wasn’t on that collar. Valerie Bradford was sentenced to Blackbird, same as her husband. Her sentence, though, was significantly shorter. Night wondered if she’d seduced the judge to make that happen.

Calista Bradford couldn’t go in the Orphanage wing of the Academy; her parents were both alive, if rabid. Instead, she was placed in the foster care program, and one of the Academy Support workers, Abby Underwood, took her in.

No one took in Joan Greene. Night made sure of that. When the little Shadow came to the Academy to study, he didn’t want anyone else to have a place in her heart.

Night never visited Arclight, Blackout, or Doctor Hypnotic at Blackbird. Really, there was nothing to say.

He saw Valerie Bradford exactly once, just before he became a proctor at the Academy. She no longer went by either her married or her maiden name. She had turned her back on her past and had become a respectable citizen—at least, on paper. As for what she did quietly, behind closed doors, Night couldn’t prove and didn’t care to pursue. Valerie Vincent Bradford was no more. Night wondered if Arclight knew.

The two of them talked for a long time. It was an uncomfortable conversation, but in the end, he agreed to her request. When the time came, he would recommend that her daughter and Angelica’s daughter be roommates. He knew that Joan Greene wouldn’t remember her childhood friend; the little Shadow had been so emotionally scarred she was lucky she remembered her own name. And whether the Bradford girl recalled Blackout’s daughter from days past, well, that didn’t concern Night. The girls could become roommates. It was a small thing, one that wouldn’t change his plans in the long run. And if the two became friends, well, he would just have to use that to his advantage.

As far as Night knew, the woman who had been Vixen never did another thing for her daughter. Not that Night cared.

When Calista Bradford officially registered with the Academy on her twelfth birthday, Night was surprised by how much she favored her father in appearance. Maybe without Lester’s influence, Calista would grow up to be a by-the-book superhero.

But Night sincerely doubted it.

Interlude

P
anting, Garth rushes forward and jumps on the back of the hulking beast in the tattered remains of an expensive unisuit. He hooks his arms around the thing’s neck and shouts, “Now!”

Mary Janice snakes a hand out and latches onto the creature’s pant leg. Her lips peel back as she grunts.

The monster beneath Garth lurches forward, its hands clawing at its neck. Or it would be doing that, if its hands could get close—but something invisible blocks its way. Frantic, it starts bucking. Garth hangs on for dear life.

Slowly, the creature stops fighting. Its hands drop, and it crashes to its knees. Garth hops off before the monster falls prone.

Mary Janice keeps her carbon dioxide bubble in place for another thirty seconds before she lets it pop. Then she sways drunkenly. Garth catches her before she falls.

“Deadly, MJ,” he says, hugging her. “That was positively deadly!”

Exhausted, she flits him a smile. “Any more?”

“Not that I can see.” He flips open his radio and pings Terry at Command Center, otherwise known as the back room of Jose’s store. “Old man, tell Toni we need one more set of steel cuffs.”

“Scorch me, what’s that make—twenty-two?”

“Something like that.” Actually, it was twenty-six. He’d been counting. But he doesn’t bother correcting Terry.

“Where are you?”

“Corner of Third and Obama.”

“Toni’ll be there in ten.”

“So hey,” Garth says, still keyed up from the fighting. “You give any more thought to my proposal?”

“Absolutely.”

He doesn’t want to get his hopes up, but his stomach flutters all the same. “And?”

“And it’s going up for an official vote at the next meeting.”

Garth, elated, spins Mary Janice in a circle and gives her a hug.

“What is it?” she asks, breathless.

“We’re voting on it next meeting.”

She grins. “It’s crazy. I shouldn’t want it to happen, but I do, you know? After everything we’ve been doing … I want it to happen.” The grin melts, and she twists her finger around a lock of her blond hair. “Do you … do you think it’ll happen?”

“Oh yeah,” he says, feeling like he could fly. “I surely do.”

CHAPTER 56

JET

Phase 2 of Project Sunstroke under way. Ninety-eight volunteers this time. Have to start planning phase 3. Wonder if I can get into the city’s water supply.

—From the journal of Martin Moore, entry #299

T
his is the last of them,” Protean shouted. With a grunt, he tossed four unconscious mutants onto the ground.

“Careful,” Jet said. “Don’t hurt them.”

“
Them?
Christo, I think I wrenched my back …”

“Take a pill,” Iridium said, dusting off her hands. “Not like you’ve got sewer-mutant stink in your hover or anything …”

Between the Squadron, the Blackbird group, and Taser leading the Runners, they’d scoured New Chicago, tranq-gunning every serum-warped person they could find. Those who flew had taken to the skies, raining down sleep like a gentle god. Not including Nevermore, who’d cackled every time another mutant went down. “Like shooting babies,” she’d crowed. Jet had sincerely hoped the girl was exaggerating.