Shades of Gray - By Jackie Kessler & Caitlin Kittredge Page 0,25
floor, shielding her as best he can as he scans the room.
“Paul,” he shouts, “the bookcase isn’t bolted to the wall! Get closer to the door!”
Paul squawks and shuffles toward the front door. He makes it halfway before there’s a deafening THOOM!!! and the door implodes. Paul dives to the side just as the metal door sails past, thundering to the ground like a dying elephant.
Garth’s blood is pounding in his ears and the Brewer clan is shrieking and Mrs. Summers is praying loudly and Julie’s telling him to look Garth look and so Garth looks.
On top of the fallen door, a thin man in blue is scrambling to his feet. He’s battered worse than the door, all shaking limbs and torn fabric that’s almost fashionable. He ignores Garth and the others as he faces the naked doorway, opens his mouth, and screams.
Earsplitting noise, the sort that makes your bones rattle. Garth clamps his hands over his ears and bows down low, doing his damnedest to think. Daring a glance, he blinks away tears to see a tall man in prison grays stepping through the ruins of his doorway, a wall of light shielding him. The man calls out words Garth can’t hear, and a small, balding man slinks past him. Now the weasel-like man is throwing out his hand, and the screamer clutches his head.
Screamer, Garth realizes. The man in blue is Screamer, one of the Squadron-turned-rabids.
The noise cuts off, leaving Garth’s ears ringing like mad. Screamer is on his knees now, gibbering and crying and shaking. The weasel is standing over him, a gleeful look on his narrow face. He reminds Garth of every serial killer he’s ever seen on the vids.
“Enough,” the tall man decrees. “Just cuff him already. No need to make a show of it.”
Garth knows that voice—cultured, British, altogether commanding. He’s heard it on interview shows and on the news. He thinks of the light shield and puts two and two together.
Arclight’s busted out of Blackbird and is standing right here in his flat.
“Just one more minute,” the weasel begs. “He tastes so good.”
“Radar,” Arclight says in that movie-star voice, “do I really have to repeat myself?”
The small man licks his lips once, twice, then reaches into the pouch on his belt and removes a set of stun-cuffs. Screamer’s too busy bawling to notice that he’s been captured.
I want to throw up, Garth thinks as he unfolds himself and stands tall. “Here now,” he says, and his voice isn’t even breaking, “you can’t go barging into people’s apartments to do your fighting.”
Arclight turns to face him. His mouth is set in a bemused smile. “Seems like we already have.”
“Fear,” Radar whispers, crooning. “So very delicious.”
Damn straight Garth is afraid. But that doesn’t stop him. “There’s kids here,” he says quietly.
Arclight frowns, then darts his gaze about the place until it settles on the Brewer children, huddled beneath the dining-room table, clutching each other with desperate limbs. Something softens in the man’s face, but when he speaks again, his voice is hard.
“Take Screamer outside,” he commands. “Protean should have the Angle well in hand, but he may need some assistance.”
Radar grins, and Garth once again thinks of evil things who live to kill all manner of creatures. Very slowly. And very painfully. The small man leads Screamer out of the apartment, humming “London Bridge.”
Arclight watches the Brewer children for a moment, then takes in first their parents, then Julie, standing breathless in the kitchen doorway. He looks at Mrs. Summers, who’s peeking out from behind Garth. Finally, his gaze lands on Garth.
“I apologize for the mess,” Arclight says. “If these were different times, I’d put you in touch with the Squadron Claims division.”
“If these were different times,” Garth says slowly, “I’d think you’d still be in Blackbird and Screamer would still be a hero.”
A grin touches Arclight’s lips. “Touché.” With that, the villain—former villain? Hell if Garth knows—spins on his heel and parades out of the apartment.
For a long moment, none of them say a thing. Then everyone talks at once. Alex and Jacob are going on about this being the best day ever. Heather and Paul are falling over themselves asking if the children are okay. Old Mrs. Summers insists that, in her day, even criminals respected innocent citizens’ private lives and nothing like this ever used to happen.
Garth exchanges a look with Julie. “No,” he says. “It surely didn’t. Things change.”
Julie gets his meaning. She lets out a sigh and leans against the