to Branding about creating a new costume. This one made it hard to move when it was cold, never mind fight. She didn’t even have a cape to keep warm, like Angelica.
Valerie had been in New Chicago for two months, and none of the other Team Alpha members had so much as tried to speak to her at any length, other than in the field. The four of them had come up together in the Academy, just like Valerie and her classmates had back in Orlando Basin.
But that was all over now. One graduating class, one stupid twit who had powers that were more marketable than Valerie’s, and Valerie found herself here, in the biggest, meanest, coldest city in North America. She supposed she was lucky—she could have been bumped to Team Beta in Orlando instead, and forced to stand around watching Sparkle-Brite or whatever her name was lord Valerie’s old spot on the Squadron over her.
But at least she’d be warm.
She was also on patrol alone because Angelica was off with her sponsor, posing for the cameras.
To be fair, if Valerie was as petite and blond as Holly Owens, she’d probably be a good deal less shy. But she wasn’t. Valerie was broad-shouldered and dark-haired, and taller than one of the men on the team. She was good-looking enough to make the Squadron, but nothing to stop hover traffic.
Just plain old Valerie Vincent, with her plain old superstrength. No glitz, no glitter, just a rock-solid arrest record and three villain takedowns to her credit, which apparently counted just enough to get her transferred to New Chicago.
She wasn’t part of a matched pair, like Angelica and her Light comrade Luster, or Night and Blackout, brothers in Shadow. The press had been calling the four Black and White, Dark and Light.
Until Valerie ruined it by joining Team Alpha. She had never felt odd until she’d transferred to New Chicago. Now she felt nothing but, all day, every day.
The comm in her Corp hover pinged. It was an automated alert, sent out when one of the Squadron spotted a high-priority target.
Valerie flicked on her speaker. “Ops, Vixen.”
“Go, Vixen.”
Valerie breathed a silent sigh of relief that Crush was working Ops today. The Earth power had landed in a wheelchair after Demolition Man had brought a building down on him, but he at least didn’t treat Valerie as a second-class citizen.
“I got a ping. Something up in my sector?”
“Hold on.” Keys clicked. Valerie watched the faceless gray city slide by under her feet. “Yup,” Crush came back. “Looks like your boy Luster just engaged Professor Neutron.”
The WANTED file popped on her screen. Neville Marsh, a.k.a. Professor Neutron. A physicist who’d lost his wife in a supercollider accident; unstable; able to alter atomic structure. He’d created a small black hole outside Des Moines, and now was on Corp’s Most Wanted list. Ironically, he’d eschewed hero training and gone to work for them in R&D before his nervous breakdown. That had apparently not worked out so well.
And of course Luster had been the one to find him. Of course.
“Got it.” Valerie sighed. “Guess I’m the cavalry.”
“Luster can handle it,” Crush said. “You go bag yourself a nice mugger or two, make the price we pay to keep the hovers fueled worth it.”
“Squadron regs state that backup must be given priority one when confronting a supervillain,” Vixen snapped.
“You know they’ll just freeze you out more if you save their asses,” Crush said quietly.
Valerie flipped over to GPS, locking on Luster’s beacon. “Like I’m here to make friends. Vixen out.”
The hover banked as she took it off autopilot, and she dove deep into a maze of half-built warehouses, their rusting girders long abandoned. Wreck City, this place was called, and it wasn’t a stretch to see why.
She spotted Luster’s white uniform and piloted down to join him. Lester Bradford turned at the sound of her hover, a smile playing around his face. It was a fine face, made for vids, with just enough insouciance in the smile to hint at danger. Luster had the total package—black hair, snapping eyes, heroic height, and a smile that could blind you if you weren’t careful.
He was a package, all right—a package that, as far as Valerie could see, was full of crap. Bradford’s smiles for the vids were fake as Cupida’s breasts.
“You’ve got Neutron?” she said without any finessing. Luster thought of her just like the others—second-class all the way. Just because he wasn’t overtly hostile … and looked like a