sanction capital punishment, which meant that neither did the government. No, they’d lock him away in Blackbird, medicated and insensible, in a cell in Maxi. Maybe even next to Doctor Hypnotic. For all intents, Blackout would be dead anyway.
Just like the wife. Angelica had deserved death for coddling Blackout instead of helping him fight against the Shadow.
Everyone who encouraged weakness was, in turn, weak. And everyone who was weak deserved death. Simple, really.
Night could give them death so very easily. His mastery of Shadow was specific: He repelled light. And people, whether human or extrahuman, at their core were made of light.
He could take that light away with a thought.
Next to him, Luster growled something and glared hatefully at Blackout, who didn’t notice.
Luster wasn’t weak. That was comforting, Night decided. There were so few people he could count on to remain strong in the face of the enemy—especially when the enemy changed masks so easily. Luster was steadfast.
And he’d saved the little Shadow.
A smile quirked his lips as he thought of the little girl Luster had coaxed out of the closet. She’d been surrounded by Shadow, using it to camouflage herself when her father had been looking to kill her. So early for such an ability. But then, stress tended to bring out the best in extrahumans. Unless it made them go crazy or killed them, of course.
The girl would be an asset.
He remembered the shocked look on her face, her dark eyes terrified, her mouth set in a silent scream as Luster had hugged her, telling her that she was safe now, that they were going to keep her safe.
But Luster was a Lighter. What did he know of Shadow?
No, that would be up to Night. He was practically the girl’s parent now; the two of them were the only Shadow powers on this side of the world. He couldn’t raise her, of course—she was already in the Orphanage wing of the Academy, surrounded by Runners and Therapists and others trying to help her adjust.
And keep her calm, of course. She was a little Shadow, which meant she was unpredictable.
Clearly, Night would have to become an instructor at the Academy in time to teach the girl. He had to; she had no one else to turn to for help with the Shadow.
He smiled grimly. Oh, he’d help the girl. He’d train her, make her the perfect Shadow power. And in turn, she’d help him rid the world of weakness.
Simple, really.
That was the moment the judge sentenced Blackout to life at Blackbird Penitentiary, no parole.
Next to Night, Luster muttered, “Better than the bastard deserves.”
“We all get what we deserve in the end,” Night replied.
Interlude
It occurs to Garth that there’s more to heroing than wearing a costume. He has this epiphany as he dodges Elephant Man’s tusks.
The deadly points arc past him, almost close enough to nick his whiskers. He falls backward, hitting the ground hard on his left shoulder, using the momentum to tuck into a roll. Somehow he gets onto his feet and scrambles out of the way as the Ram charges past.
Thankfully, the Ram has one direction: forward.
Garth, panting, stands in a loose ready position, elbows in by his ribs, legs bent as he faces Elephant Man. The massive extrahuman isn’t bothering to run at him again; instead, he’s picking up the two cartons he’d removed from Morse’s Pawn Shop.
“You’re under arrest,” Garth shouts out. “Put your hands up!”
Elephant Man rumbles a derisive laugh. “Whatever you say, mouse.” He hefts the two cartons onto his massive shoulders.
“Hey! Stop—” Garth’s about to add the classic “In the name of the law” line when the Ram crashes into him from behind. Now Garth is airborne, in massive pain, and feeling incredibly stupid for forgetting about the other former hero. Elephant Man is kind enough to stop his flight with a body block. Garth bounces off the marble-hard hide and slides down to the ground, dazed. And seriously rethinking the hero thing.
“You heard the wannabe,” the Ram snorts. “Put ’em down.”
“Get scorched. I was here first.”
“Oh yeah. I’m impressed.” The Ram laughs. “You were a second-stringer in the Squadron, and now you’re just a pathetic Earther in serious need of braces.”
Insults fly. And soon the cartons come crashing down as Elephant Man and the Ram fight tusk and horn.
Garth slowly picks himself up, shakes his head to clear it, and blinks as he sees the two rabids pounding each other into tenderized steak. This isn’t the plan, but then, he didn’t