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L OGAN G IBSON —known in superhero circles as Dr. Destructo, well-known villain and crackpot—had once given Matt his business card. The card read Mesmerist, alternative-dimension specialist, villain. No crime too small to commit, no hero too super to overcome . That was what had brought him down.
    Matt was new enough on the superhero scene that Dr. Destructo hadn’t recognized him as a member of the League of Justice, so he’d fallen for the sting the League had set up. It was a pretty crummy thing to do on a Christmas Eve, but the League had good intelligence that Dr. Destructo had been planning a diabolical act for Boxing Day, so that made Matt feel a little better.
    All Matt’d had to do was pretend to be in the market to hire a villain. He’d managed it, in spite of his pounding heart and sweating hands, and they’d nabbed Dr. Destructo in his lab. Matt tried to feel a sense of pride at the sight of Dr. Destructo held between Fiona (AKA the Elastress) and Adam (AKA Cat Man) as they marched him out of his undeployed escape pod and back into the main room. After all, he should be proud. It was his first mission, and a success. But he was still uneasy.
    Fiona’s face was calm, but Adam looked agitated. He’d been agitated since they’d been deployed on this mission. At first Matt had thought it had something to do with the fact that it was Christmas Eve, but now he wasn’t so sure.
    When Dr. Destructo looked at Matt, his scowl turned fierce. Matt swallowed, reminded himself he’d done well, and tried not to keep clenching his sweaty hand around the crumpled business card in his pocket.
    “Good job,” Jake murmured at him, and he said it like he was congratulating a dentist for pulling out a tooth all in one yank. If there was any inch of Matt not red with a combination of shame and pride, it was squeezed out of existence by the sound of Jake’s low, soft voice.
    Matt knew Jake hadn’t wanted him as a student, and hadn’t been happy about being forced to mentor Matt. He’d never made a secret of not liking Matt, and he never, ever gave compliments.
    “We woulda got him eventually,” Jake added, as if suddenly aware he’d broken his personal protocols. “I’m not sure if Dr. Destructo’s the smartest dumb guy I’ve ever fought or the dumbest smart guy.” He shrugged. “Doesn’t matter, really, as long as he can’t use his machine and you don’t look into his eyes.”
    Matt nodded and wished one more time that he was back at League HQ. It was evening and snow was falling, slowing traffic to a standstill, making the world soft and quiet and aglow with Christmas lights. If he had his way, he’d be on the couch in the common room, probably in sweats and a T-shirt, which would be substantially more comfortable than wearing his armored supersuit under his regular clothes. He’d have a mug of Fiona’s special cinnamon tea, and there’d be a classic Christmas movie on the TV. He’d be able to sneak a glance at Jake once in a while, just to appreciate his shape, his features, to admire from afar. It would be so much better than standing here, far too close to Jake and painfully aware that Jake seemed to think Matt was only marginally more useful than a hangnail.
    “You fools!” Dr. Destructo shouted again, at Fiona this time. “You will pay for this outrage!”
    Matt was new to the superhero thing, but he was pretty sure the only reason to shout you fools was to fulfill a contractual requirement for arcane and pointless postbattle banter, regulated by the Organization for the Advancement of Evil. That was the other thing on Dr. Destructo’s business card. He was secretary treasurer. Matt didn’t know much about them, but he knew there were rules about capes and haircuts and things you had to say when apprehended.
    “Okay, okay, okay,” Jake said, rolling his eyes. “You’ve done the crazy laugh, you did the raging, and you shouted ‘You fools.’ That’s it, right? You’re done for a