Black and White (5 page)

“No, thank
you
, hero.” This from the leader, still the grinning shark. “Me, I’m glad you’re here. I’ve got to make me a citizen’s arrest.”

“Oh?” She considered him in his blacks and heavily ringed face. He leered at her, all but undressed her with his eyes. But no matter how loud his bark, he was just an average human—no powers of which to speak.

In other words, not a threat. She said, “Whom do you wish to arrest?”

“You.”

That took her aback. “On what grounds?”

“The things you’re doing to that bodysuit have
got
to be illegal.” Shark wolf-whistled and slobbered as his friends high-fived and made kissy noises. And one of them pumped his crotch, miming sex.

Fighting back the urge to roll her eyes, Jet’s smile stretched painfully thin; her cheeks were still sore from all the fake smiles for the holovids before, and her jaw throbbed from where Iridium had punched her.

She got away
, Jet thought.
Again.

“What do you say, hero? Want to get down and dirty, Grendel-style?”

Jet prayed that her Runner would show up in the next thirty seconds, because otherwise she might let out some of her frustration on these kids. And not the frustration the gangbanger was implying, either.

“I’ll even let you be on top. I know you heroes like that sort of shit.”

She clenched her fists. Once she had her new comlink in place and Ops back in her ear, she could fly and scan the rooftops. Iri could still be in the area; it might not be too late to rectify her mistake. “I’m flattered,” she said to the teen, “but now I must be off. A villain is on the loose, and I must stop her before she hurts someone. Good day.”

She turned away, already concentrating to summon a floater to whisk her into the air for her to better see the Runner—who should have been here by now—but a fierce tug on her cap spun her around … and into Shark’s arms.

“No, Luscious,” he purred, his hands gripping her biceps tightly, “it’s going to be a
great
day.”

Stupid kid.
“Unhand me.”

“I don’t think so.” He grinned hugely, revealing smoker’s teeth and halitosis that would fell a rhino. “I don’t think you want to be heroing off just yet. I don’t think you’ve had a good time in ages.”

Planting her feet for leverage, Jet said, “Actually, you just don’t think.” Then she slammed her forehead into his ringed nose.

He screeched and let her go to cover his face. An upper-cut to his chin knocked him back. He fell against the alley wall and slid to the ground, hands still over his nose, blood gushing between his fingers.

There was the sound of metal behind her.

She spun to see three of the six Grendels holding naked blades—Hogans, she thought; what were they doing with
Hogans?—and two sporting plasguns. One had morning stars poised and ready to throw.

It looked like she’d get to release some of her frustration, after all.

A flicker of Shadow was enough to clog the barrels of the guns; a bit more concentration to ring the edges of the throwing stars and dull the blades into a child’s toy. All in less than a second; their weapons were rendered useless before the toughs even blinked.

The three with knives closed in, their blades shining, their eyes bright with the thought of violence. Jet let them come. The first one charged, swinging widely. She caught his knife arm and used his momentum to flip him over while knocking the weapon out of his grip. The kid landed hard on his back, his head connecting solidly with the pavement. He stayed down and didn’t move.

Before the thud finished echoing, his buddy struck, aiming to gut her. She easily spun out of his reach, then grabbed his wrist and karate-chopped his forearm. He squawked and dropped the Hogan. Jet grabbed his shoulders and rammed her knee into his belly, and he doubled over with a sad grunt. She sensed more than heard another gangbanger moving in, so she gripped the doubled-over kid and, using just a whiff of Shadow to float him, she pivoted fast, slamming him into another Grendel. The two boys collapsed to the ground, groaning, their knives gleaming on the dirty ground of the alley.

Four down.

The remaining three circled her, the two with their plasguns still not realizing their weapons were little more than paperweights. The Grendel with the morning stars must have seen his damaged blades, because the only weapons he held were his hands—but based on his stance, he’d had some formal training.

One of the gunmen pulled the trigger, and kept pulling
even after the dull
click.
The other followed suit. Then as one, they dropped the guns and charged her, one on her left, one on her right. Too easy. She leapt into the air, springing high thanks to a thin coil of Shadow—and the two teens slammed into each other, full tilt. Down they went. She landed on her feet, almost as gracefully as Iridium had before.

The last gang member motioned with his arms, made a “come-on” gesture. Instead, Jet blanketed him in Shadow. The thick bands of blackness swathed him completely, kept holding him even when his struggles ceased. After a full minute, she called the blanket back into herself and absorbed it—no more dissipation today; she was beyond her limit—and as she shivered from the cold merging with her body, the kid crashed to the ground, his skin pale, his breathing slow and steady in a Shadow-induced sleep.

Breathing hard, Jet scanned the litter of bodies. The seven Grendels on the ground were battered, and some were bloody, but none of them tried to attack her. Actually, most looked like they were unconscious.

Nodding, she blew out a tired sigh. She was done here; all that was left was to call in an ambulance to take the gang away, and file her report with the local authorities. And then get Corp PR in the loop to take it from there.

Someone clapped.

She whirled around, already calling up her power to raise a graymatter shield and let a blackball fly, but froze when she saw the civilian leaning against the alley wall, grinning like he’d just seen a terrific show and was applauding the players.

“Man,” he said, “that was terrific! I’ve never seen you work up close before, just on the vids and in the crowds. You took them down without breaking a sweat.”

Not exactly true, but she wasn’t about to correct him. “Thank you,” she said, remembering to smile as she let her
power settle down. Her left shoulder twinged sharply; her weak spot, acting up again. “But you really shouldn’t have approached until it was safe.”

The dark-haired man laughed—oh, Jet liked that deep, musical sound. A sexy sound. He said, “I wasn’t worried. After all, you were right here. What could possibly be bad about that?”

She felt herself blush from the roots of her hair down to her toes. No matter; he couldn’t see her face clearly. “What brought you into the alley before it was secure?”

“You did.” He held up a metal communications device that winked in the sunlight. “Ops sent me. I’m your new Runner.”

Jet’s tight smile melted into a genuine grin. About freaking time. She forced herself not to rip the comlink from his hand and stuff it into her ear.
Professional. Polite. Powerful.
A breath later, she said, “I’m really glad to meet you.”

“The feeling’s mutual. I’m Bruce Hunter. And I’m a huge fan.”

Still blushing like a schoolgirl, Jet took the comlink. As her gloved fingers brushed against his bare ones, she could have sworn she felt a tingle, like a hum of energy that danced over her body.

Nonsense; Runners were strictly normals. The feeling had to be all in her imagination.

If only the way her body was tingling was also just her imagination. Ignoring the warmth spreading through her, she said, “Thank you, Mr. Hunter. I appreciate you coming so soon.”

His blue eyes twinkled, and Jet noticed he had a dimple in his right cheek. “Please, call me Bruce. ‘Mister Hunter’ makes me feel old.”

“You can’t be more than twenty,” she said, then bit her tongue when she realized she’d said the thought aloud.
What on earth was wrong with her? First she’d let Iridium escape, and now she was practically flirting with a Runner?

Chuckling, he said, “Actually, twenty-three.”

A year older than she was. Jet felt the heat travel through her torso, making her stomach flutter and her breasts …

Oh, Light.

She shrugged her shoulders so that her cape shrouded her entire body. Her body hidden, she returned his smile, was fascinated by how his eyes seemed almost electric.

After a moment, he cleared his throat, and that was when it dawned on her that she’d been staring like a lovestruck teenager. She smiled broader so that she wouldn’t groan.

If Bruce saw her distress, he was too much of a gentleman to mention it. Instead, he said, “Want me to call these guys in for you, save you the hassle with the cops? I’m sure you’ve got places to be.”

She almost sighed with relief. “That would be terrific. You sure you don’t mind?”

“Hey, I’m here to make your life easier.”

That sounded incredibly nice. None of her other Runners had ever gone out of their way to do something without being asked; most, she thought, were afraid of her. Even the beloved Lady of Shadows was, after all, a Shadow power. Pushing that sour thought aside, she said, “Well, it’s a pleasure to meet you, Bruce.”

“Same here. I’ll see you tonight, then?”

Her eyes bugged before she schooled her face to impassivity. “Oh?”

He smiled again, and Jet found herself enjoying how his blue eyes seemed to ripple with mirth. “Um, to bring you dinner? Unless you’ll be on a mission tonight …?”

“Oh … right.” Of course he’d be bringing her dinner; that was part of what Runners did. They made sure that the extrahumans didn’t have to waste any of their limited
downtime by mingling with civilians to do mundane things, like order food. Or pay for it. “I’ll be home this evening. If there’s any change in my plans, I’ll let Ops know.”

Eyes twinkling, he said, “See you tonight at the Complex.”

She was in the air before she realized that she’d summoned a Shadow floater to fly her away.
Bruce
, she thought, his name reverberating in her mind.
Bruce. Bruce. Bruce.

It was five minutes before she remembered to put the comlink in her ear.

H
ey.” The boy standing in rank behind Iridium poked her on the shoulder. “Hey, you wanna have some fun?”

Iridium turned around and gave the boy a glare that would melt through securiplast. “Get lost.”

“What’s your handle?” he whispered.

At the front of the Academy auditorium, the Superintendent was droning through student orientation. “As members of the Academy, you are not children any longer. You will be held to a higher standard of decorum …” He paused to glance around the room, managing to meet every child’s eyes. Behind him, the row of twelve proctors stood in their costumes, or plain black jumpsuits if they were retired from active heroic service, silent and immobile as temple
pillars. Eviscerator, Night, Celestina … Iridium couldn’t be bothered to remember the rest.

“You will become the finest of a new generation,” said the Superintendent. “Powerful, brave, compassionate, and heroic. Make no mistake.”

“Hey, I’m talking to you!” the boy hissed. “What’s your handle?”

Iridium stared resolutely ahead, watching the Superintendent’s Adam’s apple bob up and down under his too-thin, too-pale skin. Not that she had any interest in what he was saying, but she wasn’t about to get busted out on her first day. She could just hear her old Primary School proctor’s voice.
Even rabid dogs have more self-control than you, Iridium …

“Bitch,” the boy muttered. “Think you’re so great? Well, my name’s Hornblower, and you just pissed me off.”

Iridium rotated on her heel to face him. The boy was big and blond, and looked like he should be in the sponsorship draft rather than here with children. He had bright, birdlike blue eyes under a prominent brow that made him look like a pit dog about to bite Iridium’s head off.

She didn’t let the boy see he’d bothered her, or scared her.
Never show weakness. Never show fear. Never let anyone smell your blood.
That was her father’s voice.

“My name’s Iridium,” she hissed at the jerk. “And my
real
name is Callie. Callie
Bradford.
You got anything else stupid to say, wasteoid?”

“Shh!” another trainee admonished from farther down the line.

The Superintendent was still talking, and now he was using holoslides. The Academy’s grid lit up, along with the forbidden hallways of the Mental power’s wing as well as the situation complex, where junior heroes went to train for field duty.

“The situation levels are strictly off-limits to all students
under the age of fifteen,” the Superintendent said. “And only those with the proper clearance are allowed to access the Mental wing. Any students discovered outside the designated Academy areas will be disciplined immediately and may be expelled. Your complete rulebook is downloading to your wristlets. You will be required to read this document before a comprehension test tomorrow morning.”