CHAPTER 21
JET
In my opinion, the patient will be a danger to all those around him until the day he dies.
Internal psych report circulated to the Executive Committee regarding George Greene, Code name: Blackout
She couldn’t keep them out.
filthy filthy Shadow filthy Shadow filthy
No matter how hard she pressed her hands against her ears, how she silently screamed the Academy Mission Statement and ran through the periodic table of the elements, their voices whispered to her, giggled their accusations and promised what was to come.
filthy and crazy and crunchy sweet
Shut up! Please, Jehovah, make them shut up!
But Jehovah either was busy or wasn’t moved to help, because the voices whispered, and giggled, and slowly got louder.
Hands on her shoulders—strong, comforting. A voice, his voice, soft and commanding, cutting through the dark echoes in her head:
“Jet. Joan. Hear my words, Joan. Hold on to them, Joan.”
Night, saying her name, her real name, over and over again the way that Papa did the way he did before he—
“Hold on to my voice, Joan.”
sweet and sickly and screams oh yes the screams she makes she makes she screams she
A burst of white, like a star going supernova behind her eyes. The Shadow voices hissed, receded.
And suddenly, like a switch had been flipped, Jet could think. Her eyes focused, and she gasped as she stared into Night’s hooded face.
“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.”