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crush on her, and he was a nice guy. But he was also Hal’s opposite in every way: where Hal was tall and muscular, Blackout—George Greene—was smaller and slighter, more of a jockey’s build than a football player’s. Hal was confident and charming; George was quiet and brooding.
    Yes, Blackout was nice. Sweet, even. But he was no Doctor Hypnotic.
    “She did the right thing,” Night said, “calling for backup. But we weren’t needed. It was all Vixen.”
    Holly called out, “Sounds like you’ve popped your cherry, Valerie!”
    Vixen blushed even deeper, but Luster laughed richly. “She certainly has. About time that Team Alpha’s newest member stole the spotlight.”
    That made Holly chuckle. Maybe now Valerie would finally unwind a little and not be so standoffish.
    She was surprised to find herself excited about that possibility. She didn’t have any close female friends. And anytime she tried to get close to a male friend, Hal would bristle. If Valerie was really coming out of her shell, then Holly would finally have someone she could talk to.
    With that happy thought, Angelica joined the others in cheering Squadron New Chicago’s most recent addition.

CHAPTER 9
    LUSTER
Violence is no more a genetic predisposition than is a taste for spicy food. Violence is in the mind. Violence does not interest me.
—Matthew Icarus, unpublished lecture
to his genetics students at Yale University, 1974
    L ester Bradford grinned at the man facing him, then punched him in the throat. Vanisher gurgled and fell to one knee, his opacity flickering from invisible to solid and back again as he flopped on the practice mat like a hooked mackerel. “Damn it, Bradford! What was that for?”
    “You dropped your hands.” Lester dropped his stance and offered his sparring partner a hand up.
    “You’re a fucking Light power. You’re supposed to throw light. You don’t sucker punch!”
    “And you vanishing and tripping me was so sporting.” Lester withdrew his hand. “Get over it, Mark. Extrahumans don’t always use their powers, and villains don’t always do what you expect.”
    Mark struggled to his feet, rubbing the bruise forming on his neck like a giant hickey. “You’re a class-A dick, Bradford.”
    “I live to serve.” Lester snatched his towel and bag and left the practice room. Of course, he didn’t have to hit Mark Villanova in the neck, just like he didn’t have to call major news stations in advance when he knew there was a major battle going on, and he didn’t have to flirt with his cohero, Vixen.
    All right, that last one he’d do even if he got no benefit at all. He’d thought her just this side of plain and a bit dull when she’d showed up, fresh from being muscled off Squadron Orlando in favor of some teenage moron who threw glitter, but after the fight with Neutron … He smiled. Still waters and all that.
    The truth was, until Valerie joined Team Alpha, Lester had felt boredom threatening every hour of every day of his stifling Corp existence. News crews and spectacular battles made him a hero, but he had a niggling thought that the good he was doing was transparent at best and nonexistent at worst. He didn’t miss that the Squadron protected Corp interests—Corp banks, Corp labs, and Corp employees—before they even pretended to care about places like the one where Lester had grown up.
    The villains, at least, believed in something—even if that something was just greed. Lester hadn’t had that since he’d been taken for training. And it was beginning to wear thin.
    Which was why he had to be the perfect hero and stay far, far away from anyone with a Mental ability.
    A small sigh caused him to whip around, his heart thudding and his skin heating as Light gathered around him. Lester hadn’t experienced the sheltered childhood of a Corp extrahuman, and a few seconds in his neighborhood was often the difference between life and a bullet.
    “Take a picture,” George Greene muttered.