More laughter from the heroes.
“Go ahead,” the suit said happily. “Turn them on. Tap once for white noise, twice to link into Ops.”
Sighing in resignation, Night tapped his device and heard the comforting rush of a waterfall.
In the back of his mind, the place where the Shadow constantly clawed and whispered and giggled, things … quieted.
Night’s eyes widened, and he let out a soft gasp.
Next to him, Blackout trembled. “Rick? Do you hear it? The silence?”
Elated, Night nodded. A smile bloomed on his face as he listened to the joyous sounds of Shadow-free white noise. And he thought that maybe, just maybe, the comlink was the answer to prayers he’d long since forgotten.
CHAPTER 22
VIXEN
We put safeguards in place to monitor the children. Puberty is often the trigger, although sometimes the abilities manifest earlier. My silent partners are very interested.
—Matthew Icarus, diary entry, undated
Luv?” Lester knocked on the bathroom door, which just made Valerie’s head hurt more. “Luv, what’s the matter?”
Valerie reached up from her hunched position and waved a hand in front of the flush sensor for the toilet. “I’m fine,” she croaked. “I must’ve eaten something bad at that City Hall banquet last night.”
“That, or you took Mayor Fujikawa’s speech to heart.” The door rolled back, revealing Lester in torn jeans and a T-shirt for some obscure twentieth-century band called The Who. “I swear, I’ve never met such a man for banging on about absolutely nothing.”
“That’s your sponsor you’re slagging off.” After a year of living with Lester, Valerie’s American English was peppered with Britishisms, much to the dismay of Corp and her sponsor.
The thought of her sponsor made her stomach buck again and she lunged for the toilet. “Oh, Jehovah …” Her voice cut off as a fresh wave of vomit spewed out.
“My sponsor can take a fast hoverbike to hell,” Lester said quietly, holding her hair out of the way. “Luv, really. Do you need to visit Medical?”
“No,” Valerie insisted. “It’s either food poisoning, or PMS. I get nausea sometimes at this part of the month …”
Though she hadn’t last month … oh.
Oh boy.
“Les?” she said, as he dabbed a cool washcloth on the back of her neck. She found herself incapable of looking anywhere except the white and blue tile floor of her and Lester’s shared quarters. That had been a media coup—the darlings of New Chicago, shacking up.
“What’s wrong, Vals?” His face furrowed with concern. “You going to keel over? Feeling dizzy?”
“I, uh.” Valerie straightened her spine. She’d faced worse situations than this. Though probably not more awkward.
“Les, I don’t think it was something I ate,” she said. “I just realized it’s been two months.”
“You’ve been nauseous for two months? Don’t tell me it’s my company, darling.”
“No, Les. It’s been two months since I last got my period.”
Lester’s eyes went wide, like he’d just spotted a hoverbike about to fall on his head.
Jehovah, why me? Valerie thought. Angelica and Blackout should be the ones about to embrace parenthood. Not her, awkward too-tall Valerie Vincent, who was still Valerie Vincent, for Christo’s sake, and not even Valerie Bradford. Her mother would have dropped dead on the spot.
“You’re pregnant?” Lester’s touch became warm as his power surged from emotional backdraft.
“Well, I’d have to get a test and make sure I counted right and go talk to a doctor in Medical and …” Valerie realized she was babbling and bit her lip. “Yes. I don’t see what else it could be.”
She’d never had to have the bun-in-the-food-unit talk with a man before, so she wasn’t sure what she expected. Maybe yelling, or accusations of cheating, or cold denial. For herself, she felt strangely calm. I’m pregnant. No panic at that. I’m pregnant with Lester’s child. Valerie felt herself smile a bit, hiding her face because she knew Lester was about to explode, get angry, ruin this moment of perfect peace …
Lester grabbed her and held her so tightly her air whistled out. “Valerie,” he whispered against her hair. “Valerie, Valerie. Valentine. You’ve made me the happiest bloke on the bloody earth.”
“Really?” Valerie said. It came out more like “Krumph,” muffled as she was against Lester’s chest.
“We’ll be a real family,” Lester said. “The three of us. And it’ll be a girl, so I can spoil her rotten.”
Valerie put her arms around him—carefully, because her own powers were feeling a little unstable with the swell of emotion in her chest. “Or a boy, who’ll be just as big a pain in my ass as you.”
“Quite.” She felt him smile. “Of course, now I’m going to have to marry you properly. Care to guess what our wedding photos will bring in?”
“Lester Bradford, are you proposing to me? Here? Now?”
“Bloody right.” He helped her up and sat her on the lip of the tub, then knelt down before her. “Valerie Edwina Vincent …”
“You wanker. You know I hate my middle name.”
“Valerie EDWINA Vincent, light of my life, mother of my child. Marry me.”
Valerie had to smile. Lester looked so serious, kneeling on the bath rug with his arm spread theatrically.
“Well?” he said, winking at her.
She nudged him with her toe. “Like you even have to ask.”
Once the initial thrill wore off, pregnancy, Valerie found, was the most boring condition on Jehovah’s scorched earth. At least she’d stopped puking once she’d hit her second trimester.
She watched Lester suit up from her position on the chaise, with a pillow under her feet, swelled to roughly twice their normal size. To think she had at least three more months of this. “I wish I was coming with you.”
“Yes, dazzle them with your pregnant tummy. That’d do wonders.”
Valerie threw a shoe at her husband. He ducked it. “Seriously, Les. I’m so bored I could chew the plastipaint off the walls. All I have to look forward to today is another exam, then a birth class. Me, Krakatoa, and Prismatic. All pregnant. In a class run by a suit.”
Lester shuddered. “Suddenly, taking on Mildew and his Rotting Crew doesn’t seem so bad …”
Valerie sighed. “You’re terrible.”
Lester checked himself in the mirror, his eye mask the only dark spot on his snowy costume. “Damn, I am a handsome devil.” He came and kissed Valerie on the forehead and started for the door.
“Your earpiece!” She held it out.
“Not likely. I hate that bloody thing.”
“Les.” Valerie sat up, with a little effort. Her stomach made it awkward for her to move, even with her superstrength. “You know what Corp said after last time. Wear it, or you’re on suspension.”
“One, I can’t think with that thing in my head and two, I’d like to see them try.” He grinned at her. “I’m the Hero of New Chicago, luv. I make the rules, not them.”
“Les …” But he was out the door. “Be safe,” Valerie finished, to no one but herself.
CHAPTER 23
ANGELICA
All Mentalists continue to resist comlink control. Results discouraging. May have to decommission the entire Mental power.
—From the journal of Martin Moore, entry #109
You look so gorgeous,” Holly Greene said wistfully, gazing at Valerie’s swollen belly. Every day she visited, Valerie got bigger and more beautiful, almost glowing with her pregnancy.
Her friend chortled, nearly spilling her water. “You mean for a bloated cow of an extrahuman, right? Thanks, Hols. Honestly, I can’t wait for the baby to decide to get out of my nice warm womb and into the cold cruel world with the rest of us. Christo, to have a solid night when I don’t have to get up to pee …”
“But won’t you have to get up to feed the baby?”
�
�Don’t make me kill you. I’d feel guilty for minutes afterward.”
Holly smiled and sipped her ginger ale.
“Three weeks to go. Thank Jehovah. So,” Valerie said, settling back into her recliner and setting her glass on her belly, “tell me how you and the others put away the Torrent Brothers.”
Holly rolled her eyes. “Come on, I know Les told you all about this.”
With a Vixen-appropriate purr in her throat, Valerie said, “A man’s version leaves something to be desired.”
“It really wasn’t that big a deal …”
“Come on, I’m bored out of my skull being stuck on bed rest. If I watch any more daytime soaps, I’ll go rabid and destroy all the furniture. Let me live vicariously. Tell me about the fight.”
So Holly told her all about the collar, emphasizing Les’s role for Valerie’s benefit. In truth, Luster had called the shots, but it had been Blackout and Night doing all the heavy lifting.
As for her part, Angelica had been on the sidelines, trying not to throw up. Remembering her own weakness, Holly bit back a disgruntled snort. She knew that lots of the Squadron would have sympathized with her moment of nausea—fighting extrahumans whose internals were decidedly on the external side of things made even the staunchest hero queasy. And using their own intestines for ropes? Utterly pukeworthy. So she didn’t tell Valerie about how she’d been sequestered behind a Dumpster, fervently praying that the contents of her stomach behaved.
And she hoped to Jehovah above that Les had opted for discretion when he’d told Valerie about the day’s events, let alone when he’d made his official report to Corp and the PR spinners. The last thing Holly needed was for rumors to fly about how Angelica had tossed her cookies after one look at the inside-out Torrent Brothers.
“You guys,” Valerie said with a sigh. “So lucky, getting to get out there and beat the snot out of supervillains. Me, I’m just getting fatter.”
“You’re not fat. You’re pregnant.”
“You’re not allowed to say anything about my not being fat, Miss Size Two.” Valerie shifted her weight. “I have about another minute before my twenty-fifth bathroom break. How’s all with you and George? Still experiencing newlywed bliss?”
Holly laughed. “Whenever we have a moment alone, sure. Our schedules have been insane lately. I think the last time I saw George out of costume was a month ago.” Actually, it was five weeks ago—thirty-seven days, if you wanted to get technical. Holly knew. She’d gone back and counted.
“But it’s all good?”
“Yeah.” Holly smiled, thinking of George’s hands, of his serious eyes and sensual mouth. “He’s charming and funny and loving and just wonderful.”
“Good,” Valerie said, toying with her glass. “I’m glad the two of you work so well. I’ve heard … well, you know, Runners talk. One of your Jamies mentioned in passing to my Reggie that Blackout had another … you know.” She made a vague circling motion with her hand. “A thing.”
“If you mean that George lost his temper,” Holly said primly, “yes, that happened. But so what? He’s only extrahuman. He’s allowed to get mad.”
“In front of a reporter?” Valerie asked, arching an eyebrow. “Hols, you know that the press eats that shit up. And the way Reggie said it, it was less getting mad and more of Blackout seething in rage. He threatened to make the reporter afraid of the Dark.”
“The reporter had gotten too personal,” Holly said. “Wanted to know about our sex life. George isn’t the sort of Squadron hero to tell such intimate things to the reporters.” A not-so-subtle dig, that. The sex tape of Luster and Vixen had made the digital rounds and back again. Both Valerie and Lester had laughed about it, with Les going so far as to track his favorability ratings for the month after the scandal hit the vids. Of course, his ratings had soared through the roof, and he’d been nominated as Sexiest Hero of the Year. Valerie had gotten a cover story on Extrahuman Weekly. Holly wondered which of the two of them had leaked the tape. Probably both.
“You don’t want to go threatening the media, Hols. Bad press is more dangerous than the most powerful rabid.”
“Look, it was one time,” Holly said, exasperated. “George is a quiet man. He doesn’t get angry.” Often. Sure, he had his moments when a black fury would possess him, and he’d rant and say horrific things. And do some horrible things. But the moods would pass, then he was sweet, funny, loving George again. As long as Holly was there to temper him with her Light power during those moments, everything would continue to be just fine. Her power soothed his savage beast.
The thought made her smile. Her man loved her so much that she could quiet his rages, hold him as he walked in the Dark. She knew about his fear of the Shadow—there was little about George Greene that she didn’t know—and as long as she could help him, they both agreed there was no reason for them to report his outbursts to Dr. Moore or any of his staff of Therapists—men and women hand-trained by Moore to work with Mental powers and … troubled … extrahumans.
Neither of them wanted that.
“Hey,” Valerie said, “I didn’t mean to get you upset.”
“I’m not. It’s just sometimes, it’s like people expect the worst from George, just because he’s a Shadow power.” Holly sighed. “He’s a good man, Val. I wish more people remembered that when they saw him.”
“People have a healthy fear of the Dark. It’s normal. Well,” she said cheerfully, “off to my favorite room in the suite.”
“I should go. I’ve got to be at the Academy by four.”
“Teaching?”
“No. Visiting Hal.” Her voice grew sad. “Dr. Moore says he does much better after I see him.”
“That’s just terrible,” Valerie said, shaking her head. “Even when the other Mental powers started slipping, I thought Hal would stay strong.”
Started slipping. That was Valerie’s diplomatic way of saying Losing their minds. Right after Corp had given out the Ops comlinks, the three Mental powers in the New Chicago Squadron—and, rumor had it, all twenty Mental powers Americas-wide—had to be permanently restrained. And that was a diplomatic way of saying Pumped full of drugs.
Dr. Moore had quickly assured the Squadron and Corp that it was a power feedback specific to those with Mental abilities. The doctor was confident that they’d isolate the source of the feedback soon, then the Mental powers would be back on active duty.
No one blamed Dr. Moore for the Mental powers, perhaps appropriately, going mental.
Sometimes, Holly would wonder about that. And sometimes, she’d think about how Blackout, too, had grown unpredictable since he started wearing the earpiece. But then she’d think about something else, and the notion that Dr. Moore’s comlinks had caused the Mental powers’ or Blackout’s instability would scatter like raindrops.
Holly looked down at her hands, telling herself that at least Hal wasn’t as bad as the others. He hadn’t tried to kill himself, or to kill others. That counted. Hal was by far the best off. And Holly still thought there was hope for him. Every time she pushed Light into him when she visited him in his cell, he seemed to come back to himself. “Hal is strong,” she said. “And I’m sure he’ll bounce back.”
“Me too.” Valerie hoisted herself out of the chair and walked heavily to the bathroom. “Ugh, my bladder. Be glad this isn’t you, Hols.”
Holly smiled, touching her own flat belly. Way, way too soon for her to feel anything, let alone show. Barely five weeks. She and George had both agreed that they should wait until they heard the heartbeat before sharing their news with Valerie and the others.
She just knew that once George was a father, he’d have a constant anchor to help him stand fast against the Shadow. Between Angelica and the baby, Blackout would never again lose himself in the dark. And then, finally, his rages would stop.
Yes, what she couldn’t do alone, she and the baby would do together.
And then everything would be perfect.
CHAPTER 24
NIGHT
Unexpected result of comlink: Traits have become amplified. The Lighters have, as a class, become more arrogant. The Earthers have become more stubborn. The Shadows—is it possible for the Shadows to have grown darker?
—From the journal of Martin Moore, entry #77
Night didn’t choke the life out of Angelica, though he dearly wanted to. Instead, he stood impassively as she put the ridiculous paper hat on his head.
“Pink’s your color.” She chuckled, tucking the elastic under his chin.
“The things I do for Team Alpha,” he muttered, which made her chuckle all the harder.
“You’re having a good time and you know it. And just think of this as practice for when it’s mine and George’s turn.” She pecked him on the cheek, then blew a kiss to Blackout. A radiant smile on her face, Angelica glided over to a group of other guests, whom she accosted with tiny pink hats. None would escape.
“Just breathe,” Blackout intoned, either to Night or to himself. Like Night, he was wearing a Little Girl Pink paper hat. “It’ll be over soon, then they’ll all leave.”
“You’re being extraordinarily positive,” Night said dryly. “I think we’ll be stuck here until the better part of next week.”
With the crush of people in the rented hall with them at the New Chicago Museum of Art, he probably wasn’t exaggerating. The Runners had done a spectacular job planning Vixen’s baby shower, making sure all heroes not currently on engagements were in attendance, as well as key members of the government—all standing around, hobnobbing and gossiping, acting like idiots. And with so many civilian celebrities, you’d think it was an awards ceremony. Even Corp made an appearance—three female suits, all wearing identical smiles and sporting identical haircuts (complete with the pink paper hats), all parroting the corporate party line and letting Vixen and Luster know how pleased Corp-Co was that a new generation of Bradfords would soon be joining the Squadron.
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