Shades of Gray - By Jackie Kessler & Caitlin Kittredge Page 0,118

Bradford said, stepping forward. “My daughter’s birthday cake, to be precise.”

“How is Calista?”

“Disappointed. Her birthday party was ruined when Corp rent-a-cops decided to crash it.” He was out of the doorway now, standing on the top step of the front stoop. Free to move. “Do you have any idea how long we’ve planned this for her?”

“I know you placed the order for the clown a month ago. I know all the guests invited were normals, their parents in the dark as to who you really are.”

“Been stalking us?” Bradford laughed, bemused. “How long’ve you known where we were before your masters allowed you to come play fetch?”

Nine months. Nine tedious months of waiting for the paperwork to play out, of waiting so very patiently for Corp to finally assign him to the Bradfords—specifically, to Arclight. Glitter Vixen was camera fodder, but Lester Bradford was truly dangerous. Nine months after pinpointing Arclight’s secret civilian identity, Night was finally allowed to bring him in.

Nine fucking months.

But Night kept that to himself—that would be something for him to hang over Corp’s collective heads, leverage for him to move up from instructor to proctor at the Academy. Instead, he hit Bradford where it hurt most: his pride and joy. “I know Calista’s been giving her first-grade teacher fits because she’s too smart for her own good.” Night smiled, showing teeth. “I know she loves the spotlight. Wonder which parent she gets that from?”

Bradford’s face hardened. “My little girl has nothing to do with this. This is between me and Corp.”

“The girl’s part of Corp,” Night said, twisting the knife. “You and Vixen might as well have signed up for the breeding program. They’ve already slated a spot for Calista in the Academy once she turns twelve.”

“Over my dead body.”

“Melodramatic.” Night sighed. “But then, you’re a Lighter.” With that, Night released the Shadow.

Bradford threw himself to the left just before the blast smashed through the front door. Night pivoted and the Shadow arced with him, hammering bullets of Darkness against the side of the house. Bradford was on his feet, hands out in a shooting motion, glowing white-hot. With a flicker of thought, Night had a Shadowshield before him. The Light missile bounced off, harmless. As did the second, third, and fourth.

“I repel light, Lester,” Night taunted. If he got the man mad enough, he’d expend his energy that much sooner. “Your fireworks can’t hurt me.”

“No, but they do a fine job distracting you.” Bradford pulled something from behind his back and hurled it—a knife, point gleaming.

Shadow could stop flying blades, but Night had to see them coming.

He saw the first knife. And the second. But after another burst of Light—a rat-a-tatting of strobes that went nova a second after Bradford released them—Night missed the third. It landed solidly in the meat of his left shoulder. He went down on one knee, grunting from the pain.

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