CHAPTER 19
JET
Jet continues to display an aptitude for tactical instruction and heroic theory, but her social level is well below that of her peers. Branding may be difficult.
Internal progress report filed by Academy Assistant Superintendent Gabriel Graves
She dreaded this.
Standing outside his office for nearly two minutes, Jet forced herself to run through the new Focus sequence before she could summon the courage to announce her presence. Right out of Mindset Basics: deep breath, taking in the surroundings; hold it, absorbing the data and allowing the mind to make assessments based on initial impressions cross-referenced with knowledge and experience; exhale, reviewing possible next steps, textbook cases with examples. A second deep breath, picking a course of action; hold it, analyzing all probable outcomes; exhale, either selecting that action or rejecting it to review another. And again, until the next step has been decided. And then: Act.
Except, Jet realized, none of that really applied when it came to meeting your assigned mentor. There was only one course of action, and that was to press the door chime and wait for admittance. And then …
Beneath her Second Year jumpsuit, she started to sweat. How bad could it really be? He was a proctor, for Jehovah’s sake. A certified hero. His deeds were recorded for history; his dedication to fighting crime in all its forms was nothing less than impressive. Feared by his enemies, respected by his allies. Praised by the civilians and admired (so she’d heard) by Corp.
Even so …
A bubbling unease filled her belly, and she squirmed as she stared at the closed door. She’d only seen him a handful of times during First Year, and other than that one time on her first day of Academy, she’d never made eye contact with him. He wore intimidation like a skinsuit, and his shadowed glower was a thing of nightmares. The man completely terrified her.
And yet something about him was … compelling.
Just thinking about that made her palms itch and her breath quicken. What did he look like beneath his cowl? She knew he had a strong chin—she’d seen that much—but when he smiled, did it reach his eyes? Hazel, she decided. His eyes were hazel. She’d always liked the color, ever shifting between green and brown, with flecks of blue. Tamed wildness. Safe chaos.
She felt her cheeks burn. Jehovah, get a hold of yourself!
Let me hold you, Joannie.
She bit her lip, frantically thought: Go away, Papa!
Let me hold you.
She squeezed her eyes shut and pushed the voice that sounded so much like her father’s out of her head. The whispers had gotten worse in the past two months, ever since she’d started her Mental Preparedness units. Forcing herself to be aware of her own thoughts had made her realize just how much static was in her mind … and how, sometimes, that static formed words and sentences and started to speak to her.
When she’d first heard the voice, she’d almost asked her instructor about it. There was nothing in the textbooks about hearing things—other than a footnote about the warning signs of schizophrenia—and no one else in the unit ever mentioned such a condition. Or symptom. Granted, none of them were Mental powers; those rare individuals were trained in a quarantined section of the Academy. So Jet had little choice but to decide that the voice she heard had to do with being a Shadow power.
And everyone knew how that would go. Eventually.
Outside of her new mentor’s office door, she swallowed thickly. I’m not crazy. Not yet, anyway.
Let me hold you, Joannie …
Shut up!
Hold you hold you hold you squeeze you tuck you in at—
“Jet?”
Her eyes flew open and she gasped aloud. That hadn’t been Papa’s voice. That was something darker, colder.
“Jet!”
Something much scarier than her father ever had been.
“Jet. Snap out of it, girl!”
A flash of white, like a star shattering the darkness. The voice receded until it was an ugly memory, already fading to the stuff of nightmares.
Blinking, Jet realized she was crouching on the floor, her back against the wall, her cheek stinging … and Night was staring into her face, his hands firmly on her shoulders.
“Jet. Do you hear me?”
She squeaked out, “Yes, sir.”
He gazed at her, through her, and Jet dared to meet that gaze. Hazel, she thought, her mind locking on to those features and blocking out the hints of dark whispers. Definitely hazel. Not that she could see his eyes, but still …
Night nodded, then dropped his hands quickly, as if touching her had burned his hands right through his gloves. Standing straight, he said, “Good. Come inside. You’re late for our one o’clock.” Without another word, he walked into his office, his blacker-than-black cape billowing behind him.
Biting her lip, Jet followed. She jumped when the door slid shut behind her.
His office was stark to the point of being spartan. Other than his desk, his laptop computer and two chairs, there was nothing—just steel walls, a steel ceiling, and a plain dark carpet on the floor. No las-art or paintings hung on the walls; no holos decorated his desk. Just the standard Academy pledges, lased onto the wall: DUTY FIRST; PROTECT THE WEAK; PROFESSIONAL, POLITE, POWERFUL. He gave away nothing of himself here.
Jet nodded to herself; she approved. Showing personality also showed weakness. And Night was many things, but weak was not one of them.
“Sit.”
His tone brooked no argument. Her rear hit the seat in record time.
Night tapped on his keypad, then grunted at the computer screen. “Excellent grades.”
She brightened.
“For regular school.” Night snorted. “Figures. Time to get you moved into something where you can actually use your brain.”
Stung, she said, “I do use my brain. I’m a straight-A student. I’ve read all my textbooks already, have done all my assignments for the year.”
“There’s a world of difference between repeating information and actually having to think things through.” He glanced at her. “Are you a parrot?”
She swallowed, stared down at her boots. “No, sir.”
“You sure? You don’t want a cracker?”
A whisper: “No, sir.”
“Then learn to say ‘thank you’ when someone does you a favor. I won’t have you wasted, little Shadow. We have to keep that mind of yours challenged.” He paused, let the silence grow thick before he added, “You know what happens when your mind is too quiet, don’t you?”
Not daring to speak, she shook her head.
“Oh really? So what happened in the hall, Jet?”
“I … I don’t really know, sir.”
“Wrong answer.” The venom in his voice terrified her; she tried to shrink away to nothing as he spat, “What you mean to say is, ‘I slipped and hit my head against the wall, sir.’ Let’s hear it.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Of course you do.” Now his voice was quiet, a thing of pending doom, and Jet bit back a scream. In his very soft, very deadly voice, he said, “Because hitting your head explains the vacant stare you had when I found you in a heap outside of my office. Anything else would mean a full examination. And that would mean Therapy. And that would be very bad. Very, very bad.”
Her memory flashed to when she was five and the man in the white uniform was holding her, comforting her as he led her away from the closet and her mother’s body, away from where her father had tried to …
“Come on, Joannie,” he had said. “Let’s go, my girl. I’ve got you.”
“Where’s Papa?”
“He’s … he’s off to Therapy,” the man in white had said, his voice strained around his smile. “He won’t hurt you. I promise.”
Night’s quiet voice shattered the memory, blew it to dust. “Do you understand me, Jet?”
“Yes, sir,” she whispered.
“So, what happened in the hallway before?”
“I slipped. I think I hit my head.”
“Better.” He frowned at her, saying nothing as his hidden hazel eyes regarded her. Finally, he cleared his throat and turned back to his computer. “What do you do to keep them at bay?”
“To keep …?”
“You’re an intelligent girl, so I’ve heard. Puzzle it out, little Shadow.”
He meant the voice. He understood. He knew!
Did he have a voice too?
She bit her lip, then said, “Light. I keep the lights on. Or I use my goggles. The optiframes are good for sealing in the light, even after Lights Out.”
Night nodded. “A good distraction. White noise is better. Constant talk or background chatter also works.” He typed on the keypad. “And challenging your mind is the best technique of all. A busy brain doesn’t have the luxury of listening to things it shouldn’t be hearing. Effective immediately, you’re in the advanced units.”
“Yes, sir,” she said, her thoughts whirling. He’d said keep “them” at bay—did he hear more than one voice? If he did, what did they whisper? But Jet wasn’t stupid, so she bit back on her curiosity and held her tongue.
Night was a Shadow power. Night was a respected extrahuman hero.
Night wasn’t insane.
For the first time in years, she felt a glimmer of hope for her future.
He closed his laptop and turned to her, folding his hands across the desk. “As your mentor, I have a certain … perspective … that others lack. If you’re smart, you’ll treat our meetings, and what we discuss in them, as completely confidential. If you’re smart, you won’t tell anyone, not even a trusted roommate, the extent to which we discuss certain matters.” Night peered at her, his own face hidden, unreadable. “Are you smart, Jet?”
Translation: Can you keep what we discuss to ourselves? Can you keep this even from Iridium?
Meeting his gaze, she said, “I’d like to think so, sir.”
“Excellent.” He steepled his fingers. “I think you’re meant for great things, little Shadow. You understand the power of the dark. You know why people are afraid of what goes bump in the night.”
She nodded.
“As you get older, you’ll learn to use that fear. Let it do your work for you. Let your reputation as a Shadow power knock the fight out of your opponents before you have to raise a hand.”
“But sir,” she said meekly, “I don’t want people to be afraid of me.”
He smiled, thinly, and without mirth. “That will change.”