Author: Adrian Howell
Date: 2012-01-03 05:00:00+00:00
Keywords: Fantasy; Fiction; Paranormal; Young Adult; Science Fiction
Description: Despite his newfound standing in the Guardian faction, psionic destroyer Adrian Howell never imagined himself joining the Knights for actual combat missions. He would have preferred to live in peace, but the psionic war takes no one's preferences into account. And much to his own surprise, Adrian finds himself beginning to enjoy the thrill of the chase - until something goes drastically wrong. Now, even as the Guardians prepare for a major showdown against their primary enemy faction, Adrian finds himself trapped in a world of darkness that is slowly poisoning his heart and mind... drawing him
Publisher: Amazon Digital Services, Inc.

Adrian Howell’s PSIONIC

Book Three

Lesser Gods

Table of Contents

Introduction

Chapter 1: Security Breach

Chapter 2: A Birthday Request

Chapter 3: Double-Wild-born

Chapter 4: The Big One

Chapter 5: In Harm’s Way

Chapter 6: Voices in the Dark

Chapter 7: Lives So Changed

Chapter 8: Hope and Fear

Chapter 9: The Last Resort

Chapter 10: Terry and Laila

Chapter 11: The Last Sky Guardian

Chapter 12: A Finding-Day Surprise

Chapter 13: The Gathering of Lesser Gods

Chapter 14: The Arena and the Phantom

Chapter 15: Discovery and Decision

Chapter 16: The Crossing

Chapter 17: My Sister’s Keeper

Chapter 18: The Dawn of a New Age

End Materials

Introduction

From our most embarrassing, desperate desires to our deepest, darkest fears, in dreams, we have no choice but to be entirely honest with ourselves. I hate dreaming. The only good thing about dreams is that most of them fade quickly once the sun rises, and those dreams we remember with open eyes are fortunately censored by the mental filters we create to protect our sanity from childish thoughts and fears.

But even the worst of nightmares can never quite compare to the horrors that waking life can provide.

My name is Adrian Howell. At the age of fourteen, I shot to death an unarmed man. True enough, he did attack me first, but I was the one with the gun. That was the first time I had killed. There were others.

This is my third book, which picks up several weeks after my combat instructor, Terry Henderson, and I were made Honorary Guardian Knights for our actions that, in part, led to the successful recovery of kidnapped Guardian Cynthia Gifford. It apparently didn’t matter to the Guardians that Terry had helped the Angels abduct Cindy in the first place. Nor did it matter that we actually failed to locate Cindy. It was the Guardian Knights – the real Guardian Knights – that rescued Cindy before she was psionically converted into an Angel. I’ve no idea what Mr. Baker and the New Haven Council had been thinking.

Lost? Then you probably haven’t read the previous two books. Fair enough. Don’t read this one either. Not if you believe in valor or miracles or the power of good over evil. You will find none of that nonsense here, and my story does not end happily.

But if you continue reading, you will learn a bit more about us. You will learn that we really aren’t all that different from normal people like yourself. We love and we hate, we bleed and we die. Compared to that, the ability to fly is practically immaterial.

And if you are smart, you will also conclude that the best way to deal with us is to stay far away and mind your own business. I hope that you do, because someday your life may depend on it. The story within these pages is not a fairytale. We are not imaginary. If you go looking for us, chances are you will find us, and if you do so without good reason, you may not live to regret it.

And with that happy thought, may I humbly invite you to turn the page...

Chapter 1: Security Breach

My father peered out through the dining-room window, his eyes moving from the pale, overcast sky to the snow-patched backyard. He sighed quietly once and said grimly, “I guess we had better start getting ready. How many are coming, did you say?”

“Last count, twenty-four, and only two moms,” replied my mother from her seat at the breakfast table. Then she turned to my little sister, Catherine, who was stuffing her mouth with waffles. “Chew your food, Cat.”

Cat mumbled something, probably along the lines of “I am,” but it was impossible to tell.

I rolled my eyes and took another bite of my sausage.

The icy February weather showed no hint of spring yet. The air outside was still cold enough to warrant ear muffs. It either snowed or drizzled almost every evening, and trapped under a thickly overcast sky, our little town hadn’t seen the sun for an entire week. It was the kind of weather that sapped away your desire to get up in the morning, and while I enjoyed a good snowball fight as much as the next kid, I strongly felt that we had had enough winter for one winter.

The gloomy weather had absolutely no effect on my little sister, however. Her excitement had been steadily mounting as she counted down the days to her eighth birthday. Now that her party day was finally upon us, our parents had resigned themselves to sustaining serious property damage as almost every kid in Cat’s second-grade class – all of the girls and a few select boys, and, of course, their siblings – would soon be crowding into our living room.

The doorbell rang. My father, having already finished eating, stepped out of the dining room to answer it. A moment later, he reappeared with a small paper package under his arm and a square envelope in his hand.

“What is it?” I asked.

“It’s from my brother,” said Dad, peering at the envelope. “Looks like a birthday present for Cat.”

Bits of waffle shooting from her mouth, Cat cried out, “Let me see!”

She jumped up from her chair and rushed over to Dad, who quickly lifted the package and envelope out of her reach.

“Whoa there, Cat!” he said. “Don’t you want to wait till your party?”

Cat made an unsuccessful jumping grab for the package.

Dad chuckled. “Obviously not.”

“Oh, please!” whined Cat. “It’s already my birthday, isn’t it?”

“Oh, please, yourself!” Dad said with a grin. “Your real birthday isn’t for another three days. It’s still Saturday, you know.”

“But my party’s today!” argued Cat. “So today’s my birthday too!”

“Well, I suppose that makes some highly illogical sense,” agreed Dad, nodding. “You can open just this one, but only if you promise you won’t argue about any of the other presents until it’s time to open them.”

“I promise,” said Cat, all smiles again as she took the items from Dad.

I glanced across the table at Mom, who remained silent but clearly disapproved of these negotiations. When Mom said no, she always meant it, and I could tell that the only reason she didn’t voice her displeasure in how Dad handled this situation was because today was Cat’s birthday party. Thus I realized that even Mom could act illogically under select circumstances.

Ignoring the envelope, Cat tore open the package first.

“It’s a necklace!” she exclaimed, pulling out a delicate silver chain. “There’s a stone on it too.”

I gave a non-committal “hmm” as Cat showed off her violet pendant stone.

“It’s Cat’s birthstone,” said Dad, who had opened the envelope and was skimming through the birthday card it contained.

“What’s a birthstone?” I asked, just a bit curious.

Dad explained, “There’s a different stone for every month, so whichever month you’re born in, it’s different.” Dad knew about rare stones from his brother, who ran a jewelry shop. “February is the amethyst.”

“Ame-what?” said Cat, putting the chain around her neck and fingering the small violet crystal.

“An amethyst,” Dad repeated slowly, but Cat didn’t try saying it again.

“Is it expensive?” I asked.

“Not really. They’re pretty common in volcanic regions.”

I smirked. “With Uncle Bill owning that store, I would have thought he’d give Cat a diamond or something.”

Mom frowned at me. “Just because he owns the store doesn’t mean he’s rich, Addy.”

I frowned too. I felt that I was getting too old to be called by my baby name, but my mother still insisted on using it.

“It costs a lot to get the stones to his shop, Adrian,” said Dad. “Besides, even if he had a diamond to spare, I think an amethyst is better for a February girl. Diamonds are for April.”

“I like it,” said Cat, smiling at her birthstone. “It’s really pretty.”

Dad said, “Adrian, finish eating and help me clear the living room for the army.”

“Sure, Dad,” I replied, taking one last bite out of my waffle before standing up.

“And Cat can help as soon as she writes a thank-you note to Uncle Bill,” said Mom.

I usually had to help clear the dining table on days that I wasn’t rushing off to school, but today I was let off so I could help with the “man’s work” as Dad called it, dragging couches and sofas to the edge of the living room in order to clear a space for the impending invasion.

Cat came in when we were just about finished. She had taken her pendant off from her neck and was twirling the silver chain on her right index finger, spinning the amethyst around like a propeller.

Dad said to me, “We better get that stuff off the bookshelf in case someone crashes into it.” He was eyeing the neat row of decorated ceramic pots, vases and delicate plates resting on little wooden stands lining the top of a large bookshelf against one wall. Mom called them “china” but they were pots and plates as far as Dad and I were concerned. Pots and plates that couldn’t even be used for meals.

Eager to get in the way, my sister came and stood next to the bookshelf, looking up at the items as if she was about to scale the bookshelf and get them down. The bookshelf was quite tall, and even Dad couldn’t safely remove the heavier things from the top without something to stand on.

“Fetch me a chair from the dining table, would you, Adrian?” he said.

Cat’s silver chain, still spinning around her index finger, chose that moment to slip off, sending the pendant sailing in a wide arc across the living room where it hit the opposite wall and fell onto the floor. Cat scrambled after it.

I was about to go get Dad a chair when something about the largest vase on the shelf caught my eye. Had it just wobbled a bit? No, it was nothing after all, probably just a trick of the light. Shrugging, I turned toward the dining-room door, but then I heard a surprised cry from my father and spun back around. The vase had somehow slipped off the shelf. A split second later it hit the floor with a loud crash, shattering into a thousand tiny white fragments – right where Cat had just been standing!

Mom came rushing into the living room. “What happened? Oh my goodness!” she gasped. “Richard! Are you alright?”

But once Mom was convinced that no one was injured, worry quickly made way for upset. “That was my most expensive piece, Richard! Couldn’t you at least use a chair or something?”

“I didn’t touch it!” Dad said defensively, shaking his head. “I was going to use a chair, of course. I guess it just fell by itself.”

Mom eyed him with suspicion, and Dad said uncomfortably, “I know it sounds strange but... well, it’s true.”

Of course it just fell by itself, I thought to myself. What’s so strange about that? True, it was usually smaller and lighter things such as little picture frames or wall calendars that fell off their designated spots, but a vase was not all that different.

“Cat was just standing there,” I said quietly, looking down at the decimated vase.

Dad breathed a sigh of relief and turned to my sister. “Lucky your new pendent reached escape velocity in time, Cat. That vase could’ve killed you.”

“Very lucky,” I agreed.

“It’s my lucky pendant,” said Cat, smiling as she put the pendant back around her neck.

“I suppose it was lucky,” Mom grudgingly agreed. “At least no one was hurt.”

“Imagine what might’ve happened if it had fallen during the party,” Dad said quietly. “Let’s not keep our pots and plates on the bookshelf from now on.”

“China,” corrected Mom. “I’ll get the chair.”

“It’s okay, I’ll get it,” I said.

That was when the floor fell out from under me.

I yelped as my left elbow smashed against something solid, and then my back hit the floor hard, knocking the wind out of me. There was a carpet, but it didn’t soften my abrupt landing by much.

My eyes opened to the semi-dark bedroom that I shared with my other sister, Alia Gifford.

I heard Alia’s telepathic voice in my head say groggily, “Addy? Are you okay?”

Still winded by my impact with the floor, I just barely managed to croak sarcastically, “Fine, Ali! I’m just fine!”

Alia was used to that from me. “Did you hit yourself on my desk?”

“My arm,” I replied, breathing slowly and deliberately to get the air back into my lungs as I pulled myself into a sitting position.

“Let me see,” my sister said wearily, getting out of her bed and trotting over to me.

Unlike Cat, this girl who could talk directly into my head wasn’t really my blood relation. But some experiences can make a bond as thick as blood, and after what we had survived together, it was impossible to not consider her as family. Being three years younger than Cat, Alia was my second sister.

I rolled up my left pajama shirtsleeve to show her where my arm had made contact with the edge of her desk. I couldn’t see the injury well in the darkness myself, but Alia seemed to know what was wrong. She held her hands near my elbow, and a moment later, the sharpest part of the pain there receded.

“Now your back, Addy,” said Alia’s voice in my head.

I obediently lifted my shirt so she could get a look at my back.

“It’s hard to see. Could you turn on the light?”

I glanced over at the light switch near the door, and a moment later the room was bathed in eye-stinging light.

“Well, part of it’s turning a little purplish,” said Alia. “Did you hit your head too?”

“No,” I said. “Just my back.”

“Okay.”

My back didn’t actually hurt so much at the moment, but I knew that it would get a lot worse soon if my sister didn’t work her unique abilities on it. While I often wished I didn’t have to share my bedroom with a nine-year-old girl, I had to admit that there were certain undeniable advantages to living with a psionic healer.

Alia gave my shoulders a light pat and said, “All finished, Addy.”

“Thanks,” I mumbled, lowering my shirt and standing up.

Alia was the only person alive who still called me Addy, and I only tolerated it from her because she was younger than me. My old baby name didn’t carry a patronizing note when it came from Alia.

My sister let out a loud and deliberate sigh. “I’m going to get you a dog leash for your next birthday, Addy. If it’s a birthday present, you’ll have to wear it.”

“How many times do I have to tell you, Alia? I will not be tied down.”

Sleep-hovering was perhaps the worst side effect I had to my telekinetic power. I could move things without touching them. I could levitate things, including myself. I could use my power to hit things from a distance. What I couldn’t do was keep myself from occasionally drifting up out of my bed while I slept. Waking up in this condition usually meant a painful crash-landing. When I fell out of bed, I really fell.

Alia frowned, saying warningly, “You’re going to crack your head open one of these days.”

“That’s Cindy talking,” I said.

“Well, it’s true!”

Admittedly, that was a possibility, but I wasn’t about to wear a tether at night no matter what anyone said. Inadvertently using their powers while asleep was something specific to child psionics, and now that I was already fourteen years old, I hoped I would grow out of it soon.

Alia gave me a worried look. “Were you having a nightmare?”

“No.”

“I bet you were talking in your sleep again, though.”

Quite possibly.

Over the last year, I had learned that dreams were sometimes more than just snippets of our past, but internal psychological warnings that needed to be taken seriously. This one, however, was just a dream.

I didn’t often dream about my life prior to turning psionic.

Cat’s eighth birthday... That was more than four years ago. Assuming that she was still alive, she’d be twelve now.

I touched her amethyst on the leather cord around my neck, running my fingers along the edge of the smoothly cut stone. Two years ago, when I first discovered my talents, Cat had given me her lucky stone because she feared I would be taken away and locked up. I had promised her that I would return the pendant when things got back to normal. They never did. Our home was attacked that night. I saw my parents die, and Cat went missing. Was my first sister really, as I suspected, with the Angels now?

“Addy? Are you going back to sleep?”

Alia’s voice in my head snapped me back into the present. I glanced over at the window. Through the slit between the closed curtains, I could see that the early-June sky was a murky shade of violet, and daybreak was only minutes away.

“No, I’m awake,” I told her.

My sister yawned loudly. “Me too.”

School was not yet out, which meant an early start for the whole family, so there was little point in trying to get back to sleep. Not that Alia or I attended school. We were home-schooled by our semi-legal guardian, Cindy. Real school was for Terry – my combat instructor and live-in bodyguard, who was also a sophomore in high school – and she would need feeding in an hour or so. Given the choice, I’d sleep in, but Cindy insisted that we all eat together whenever we could.

“Cindy seemed a bit tired last night after her meeting with Mr. Baker,” I said. “Since we’re already up, what do you say we make breakfast this morning, Ali?”

“Sure!” Alia replied happily, and we quickly changed into our day clothes.

Alia picked out a flowery one-piece summer dress. Rummaging through my dresser, I pulled out a green T-shirt and a pair of navy-blue sweatpants. Then I changed my mind and swapped the T-shirt for a black one. I wanted to dress dark today because of something I had to do that afternoon. Something I was definitely not looking forward to but something that nevertheless had to be done. Fortunately, that was still hours away, and I forced the thought out of my mind.

“Addy, have you seen my pendant?” asked Alia, referring to the bloodstone pendant Cindy had bought for her a year ago.

“Aren’t you wearing it?” I asked. Like myself, Alia hardly ever took her pendant off, even at night.

“I think the cord snapped.”

I rolled my eyes. “Again? You have to stop playing with it, Alia.”

“Here it is!” cried Alia’s telepathic voice as she pulled her pendant, broken cord and all, out from under the giant fluffy white unicorn doll leaning against her bed.

My sister’s fondness for unicorns bordered on obsession, her side of our room infested by an army of horned horses in the form of toys, dolls, little ornaments, and a poster pinned to the wall above her desk. Even her pillowcase had little pink unicorns printed all over it. The biggest unicorn always stood guard by Alia’s bed, and I could only guess how the bloodstone had found its way under it.

I helped Alia replace the leather cord (we always kept a few spares) and Alia happily put the pendant around her neck again.

“That’s better,” said Alia, looking down at the polished bloodstone resting on her chest.

I forced a smile. I normally didn’t mind Alia mimicking me by wearing her birthstone pendant, but just occasionally it felt awkward seeing the small green stone around her neck. Alia was getting somewhat taller and, aside from her long walnut-brown hair, she was beginning to resemble Cat a bit more than I would have liked.

It was still a bit early in the morning to start cooking, so Alia and I first wasted some time sitting by our bedroom window and gazing down at the city below. From our fortieth-floor vantage point, the cars on the road looked like little toys, and I wondered how many of the early-bird drivers were Guardians as opposed to people who didn’t have a clue what kind of weird part of the city they were driving through.

This was New Haven.

Now, there are a number of towns named New Haven that you might find in an atlas, but I can guarantee that none of them would be the New Haven where I lived.

My New Haven was the world’s only psionic town, founded but a year ago by the second-largest and currently imperiled psionic faction, the Guardians, to which I now belonged. Our “town” was actually just a loose cluster of residential high-rises at the semi-suburban edge of a largish city. New Haven was our first and last line of defense against the ever-increasing threat of our rival faction, the Angels.

In a nutshell, the Angels wanted the Guardians destroyed so they could focus their resources on their ultimate goal of world domination. Not only did they outnumber us, but they were more committed to their cause owing to the fact that many of their members were psionically “converted” by a master controller. Converted Angels served their faction with blind, unquestioning loyalty. Master controllers were exceptionally rare among psionics and usually headed the largest factions, but currently only the Angels had such a master at the helm.

The Guardians’ last master controller, Diana Granados, had been assassinated years before I was born. And when the Guardians’ minds were freed from her control, the entire organization quickly fell apart, dividing into hundreds of breakaway factions which were subsequently hunted down one at a time by the Angels. Whenever they could, the Angels captured and converted these Guardians, thereby adding to their ranks in preparation for their planned war on humanity.

To restore the balance of power, the Guardians had founded New Haven last year as a place for the remaining breakaway factions to gather and seek refuge together from the Angel onslaught. Traditionally, even members of large psionic factions lived in fairly small groups scattered across the country in order to avoid detection by normal humans, so New Haven was a bit of an experiment in progress, and a potentially dangerous one at that.

But so far, while we admittedly had some close calls, New Haven served its purpose well. The Angels were kept at bay while the public remained blissfully unaware. Still, as I gazed down at the city, I wondered how many cars would remain on the streets if non-psionics were to someday discover what kind of place this really was.

Most of the drivers had turned off their headlights by now, and I realized that the sky was getting brighter and bluer. It looked like it would turn into a warm sunny day.

“If we’re going to surprise Cindy, we better get cooking,” I said, getting up from the window seat and leading Alia out of our room.

“What are we going to make for breakfast, Addy?”

“I’m kind of in the mood for waffles,” I replied as we walked quietly to the kitchen. “And maybe some sausages.”

“And eggs,” Alia said cheerily. “Lot’s of scrambled eggs.”

Having no way to know what we were up to, of course, Cindy walked into the kitchen as Alia and I were halfway through preparing breakfast.

“Well, aren’t we off to an early start this morning?” remarked Cindy, smiling broadly at us. “It smells great too!”

Cynthia Gifford, who would celebrate her fiftieth birthday next month, didn’t look quite that old. She was a slender woman with long silvery hair that extended down to her waist. Eternally forgiving and possessing an almost irritatingly calm demeanor, Cindy was the sole reason that our strange little family lived in the penthouse of the forty-story condominium building referred to by the Guardians as New Haven One.

Cindy was a psionic finder and hider, which meant that she could sense the location of other psionics from great distances, as well as conceal the presence of psionics from other finders. It was her power as a hider that made her uniquely important to the Guardians. Psionic hiders themselves weren’t all too rare, but only Cindy could create a hiding bubble large enough to cover all of New Haven.

New Haven One, or NH-1 for short, housed most of the families of New Haven’s ruling Council and other important people, while the other buildings around us, each similarly designated by a number, were home to an ever-increasing population of psionics from the former breakaway Guardian factions. Known as the “Heart of New Haven” to more than a thousand Guardian families currently residing here, it was Cindy’s job to make sure that Angel spies infiltrating New Haven wouldn’t be able to sense where individual Guardian psionics were, thus greatly increasing our security. I didn’t fully appreciate how important her job was until the Angels tried to abduct her back in mid-April.

All that said, as far as Alia and I were concerned, Cindy was our adoptive mother and home-tutor, as well as an excellent cook. The only real problem I ever had with her, aside from her over-protectiveness, was that she had the world’s worst fashion sense when picking out clothes for me. Buying everything from flower-patterned sweatpants to shirts with teddy bears and sparkly rainbows on them, Cindy insisted on dressing me like a little girl. Fortunately, that issue had been resolved several weeks ago when I finally put my foot down and told her that I would no longer let her choose my wardrobe.

I caught Cindy sneaking a glance at the sausages in my frying pan, and I was pleased to note that she didn’t comment. Cindy had been teaching me how to cook ever since we first met, and she could rarely refuse to make some helpful suggestion, so I took her silence as evidence that I was doing everything right.

Alia looked at Cindy for a few seconds, and Cindy smiled, saying, “Oh, did he?”

My sister had no doubt telepathically told Cindy about this morning’s crash-landing.

“Speak aloud or not at all, Alia,” I said, annoyed.

“Okay, okay!” said Alia, using her mouth for the first time that morning.

Alia, a telepathic from birth, had spent most of her life unable to speak coherently with her mouth, and only early this year learned to articulate words clearly enough to be understood. Aloud, Alia still spoke slowly and deliberately, often with horribly incorrect intonation, making her sound like she was mentally handicapped. Nevertheless, as Alia could only speak telepathically to one person at a time, politeness dictated that she speak aloud whenever there were two or more people in the room. Alia usually did just that, and I suspected her telepathic tattletale to Cindy was quite intentional.

“Adrian–” began Cindy.

But I cut across her, saying, “Don’t even start, please, Cindy. I’ve survived without a tether for two years, and I’m not about to start wearing one now.”

“I was just going to say thanks for cooking breakfast this morning,” Cindy said in a hurt tone.

“Oh,” I said embarrassedly. “Sorry.”

The three of us set the table, and then Alia woke Terry by calling to her telepathically. With some concentration, Alia could send her telepathy mild distances and through walls, so there was no need to go knocking on Terry’s door. Several minutes later, Terry strode into the dining room, eyes as open as if she had been awake for hours.

“Good morning, Terry,” Cindy said pleasantly.

“Hey,” Terry replied gruffly, and quickly sat down and started to eat.

We were used to that from Terry. Her manner was always blunt and direct, but unlike her grandfather, at least she had never tried to kill me.

Terry Henderson. Where to even begin...

I first met Terry a few days after joining the Guardians and moving to New Haven. The leader of the New Haven Guardians, Mr. Travis Baker, had assigned Terry to me as my personal combat instructor because Cindy had refused to allow a live-in security guard in the penthouse. Mr. Baker insisted that I learn how to fight since I was the only psionic “destroyer,” that is, someone who possessed combat-oriented powers, living with Cindy. Though only a year and a bit older than me, Terry was an expert in military-style close quarters combat, or CQC for short, and she had experience with almost every martial art on the planet.

Though I hadn’t known it when I first met her, in retrospect, I found it not at all surprising that Terry was the granddaughter of Ralph P. Henderson, the battle-hardened solitary Guardian Knight whom I had learned to fear and hate. Terry’s parents had been killed during a battle with the Angels when Terry was still an infant, and she and her older brother had been raised by members of Ralph Henderson’s former Wolf unit. The Wolves were a special, highly trained branch of the military dedicated to hunting down psionics, and Ralph had defected from them with three others when he discovered that he himself was psionic. It was these three co-defectors who had raised Terry and taught her to fight. Ralph himself stayed clear of Terry, which suited her just fine. I couldn’t blame Terry for hating her grandfather, not only because Ralph was one of the last people I’d personally want to be around, but also because I had learned that it was Ralph himself who had killed Terry’s parents when they were turned against their team by an Angel mind controller.

Born and raised as a Guardian warrior, it was nevertheless Terry who had been secretly helping the Angels all last year in their attempt to kidnap Cindy and convert her into an Angel. Terry had good reason to help them: Her brother, Gabriel, had been captured by the Angels and was being slowly tortured to death. Handing Cindy to the Angels was the only way for Terry to get Gabriel back alive. And yet when the time came, Terry, who by then had been living with us for months, couldn’t go through with the exchange. In the end, she betrayed the Angels and helped us rescue Cindy.

Words cannot describe how grateful I was that Terry finally sided with us, but she paid a heavy price for it. During our raid on the Angel hideout where we presumed Cindy had been taken, Terry got her left arm caught under a heavy steel beam, and desperate time constraints required me to amputate it just below the elbow to get her free. I got my right ear shot off during the same raid, but that didn’t quite compare to losing a hand. Nor was that the worst of what Terry got. I neither know nor care to know exactly what the Angels did to Gabriel in retaliation for Terry’s treachery, but what little was left of him was returned in a plastic garbage bag. Terry was one of the toughest people I had ever met, but nobody is that tough. When Terry vowed her revenge, I promised that I’d stand beside her.

“Pass the salt, Half-head,” Terry said to me.

“Here you go, Five-fingers,” I replied automatically, telekinetically sliding the saltshaker across the table toward her.

One of the coolest things about Terry was that she didn’t mind cracks about her newly acquired handicap in the least. In fact, she was usually the first to joke about it. And she certainly had the right: Even with only one arm, Terry remained undefeated even against seasoned Guardian Knights. The one and only time I tried to show respect for her condition and apologized for an insensitive remark during one of my combat training sessions, Terry walloped me so hard that it took Alia half an hour to heal my bruises. Terry didn’t like it when people felt sorry for her.

“Are you going shopping today, Cindy?” asked Terry as she salted her sausages and eggs.

“I wasn’t planning to,” said Cindy. “Is there something you need?”

“Just sunscreen,” answered Terry. “I finished the last bottle yesterday. But it’s okay. If you’re not going, I’ll stop by the store on my way home today.”

“Skincare is very important,” Cindy said with a smile.

Terry didn’t care about her skin. “If I get any darker, I’m going to need to get another hand to match. Sunscreen is cheaper, and I don’t want to keep bothering Alia for something as trivial as sunburn.”

She didn’t wear it at the breakfast table, but Terry had an artificial hand made of plastic and silicone that strapped onto her left stump and matched her skin color almost perfectly. It gave her the appearance, at least from a mild distance, of having a real left hand. Terry didn’t wear it to look good, though. “This thing is a real nuisance, but being lopsided makes it too easy for potential aggressors to spot me in a crowd,” she once told me. I found her caution quite amusing since all you had to do to find Terry in a crowd was look for a tall, athletic girl with short, abnormally bright red hair. I never asked, but I’m sure this near-neon red was her natural hair color since Terry never wore makeup or worried about her looks anymore than was absolutely necessary. If Terry really wanted to blend in, she needed a hat more than a hand.

Though I wasn’t nearly as lopsided as Terry, I had my distinguishing features too, the most noticeable of them being my missing right ear and the P-47 tattoo on my left arm near my shoulder. If I was sleeveless or swimming, I hid the tattoo with a large Band-Aid, but my hair hadn’t yet grown long enough to cover my ears much. I wasn’t particularly worried about being spotted in a crowd, but I had to admit that my torn ear was quite ugly. For the present, whenever I went outside, I wore a thick sports headband that covered both ears. It made me look like an idiot, but after two years of wearing clothes that Cindy had bought for me, I was quite used to that by now.

Once Terry finished eating, she returned to her room to strap on her fake hand and reappeared with her school bag slung over her right shoulder. The Guardians didn’t have a dedicated school. Most psionics didn’t gain their powers until after they were adults, so Guardian families sent their children to school among normal people. Terry was no different in that respect. She was just finishing up her tenth-grade year.

“Only two more weeks and I’m on holiday,” said Terry. Then she gave a wry smile and added, “Permanently.”

The only real downside to living with the “Heart of New Haven” was that we presented a security risk wherever we went. Alia and I were prime targets for Angel spies and saboteurs trying to gain leverage on Cindy. We had almost been kidnapped last year, and fearing for their own children’s safety, other Guardian families forbade their kids from associating with us. That was why Alia and I were home-schooled by Cindy. My sister didn’t mind not having friends outside of the house, but I did, and it irked me that the very Guardians Cindy was helping to protect regarded us as a hazard. Cindy had reasonably pointed out that parents couldn’t be blamed for protecting their children, but reason had nothing to do with how I felt about it. That Terry was living with us had been a secret until recently, but now she was under pressure from the Guardian families to drop out of school. Terry didn’t talk about it much, but I guessed she had lost a lot of friends during the last month.

Cindy gave Terry an apologetic look. “I wish there was something I could do.”

“It’s okay, Cindy,” said Terry. “We’ve been over this before. It’s not your fault. It was my choice to live here, remember? Besides, I was getting tired of being a student anyway. I’d rather be a soldier, and I could use the time to train more.”

“I’m sorry you feel that way,” Cindy said quietly.

“Me too,” I said, giving Terry a wicked grin. “I can’t imagine what it’ll be like when you’re here all the time.”

Terry cuffed me on my good ear hard enough to make it ring. Then, with a quick wave goodbye, she left for school.

As Cindy and I cleared the dining table, Cindy said, “You seemed a bit quiet during breakfast, Adrian. Is something the matter?”

I shook my head. I had actually been pondering my little mission for this afternoon. I hadn’t told Cindy about it (or anybody for that matter), and I wanted to keep it that way.

“Worried about Terry?” asked Cindy.

“Something like that,” I lied.

“Have you decided what to get for her birthday?”

I raised my eyebrows. “Birthday?”

“It’s this month,” said Cindy. “Didn’t you know?”

“Honestly, I never asked her when her birthday was.”

Cindy gave me an exasperated look. “Some friend you are, Adrian!”

“Well, you know Terry...”

“I know,” said Cindy. “But I still think she’d be happy to have a party. After all, she’s going to be sweet sixteen.”

I laughed loudly at that one, and Cindy chuckled a bit too as she corrected herself, “Well, sixteen anyway.”

“I’ve no idea what to get her,” I said honestly.

Terry was an exceptionally practical person with no interest in fashion or decoration, and she already had pretty much everything she needed.

“But I’ll go look for something later today,” I added. I needed to leave the penthouse alone today, and here was a ready-made excuse.

“We’ll all go,” said Cindy. “Alia can pick out the birthday cards, and I can pick up some sunscreen for Terry.”

Oops.

“I’d rather go alone,” I said with a slight stammer. “Besides, Terry will probably buy sunscreen on her way home anyway.”

Cindy smiled. “So you are hiding something. Hope it’s nothing serious.”

“It’s not!” I said defensively. “I mean, I’m not! I’m not hiding anything.”

Cindy’s smile only broadened. “If you say so...”

Cindy said no more about it and, as was usual for a school day, tutored Alia and me during the morning and early afternoon. Alia was finishing up her third-grade studies, and though I was trailing a bit behind the home-study curriculum guide in my eight-grade stuff, I was in no serious danger of missing summer vacation this year. While Alia studied at her desk in our bedroom, I spread my text books over the dining-room table, and Cindy moved back and forth between us. If Cindy noticed that I was sloppily double-timing it through my math and history so I could finish early, she didn’t comment.

With just under thirty minutes left to 3pm, I excused myself to “go shopping.”

Returning to my room, I pulled a large Band-Aid out from the top drawer of my desk where I always kept a few. My T-shirt’s sleeve just barely hid my P-47 tattoo, but it looked a bit windy outside so I wanted to cover up my mark properly just in case.

Seeing me applying the Band-Aid, Alia said, “Are you going out, Addy? I want to go too.”

“Not today, Alia,” I said.

“But where are you going?”

“Can’t tell you.”

“Addy!”

I should have made something up. My sister always got upset when she didn’t know where I was.

“I’m just going shopping,” I said.

“Liar.”

“I am not!”

“Then why can’t I come?!” demanded Alia, clearly not buying it.

“You just can’t. Don’t worry. I’ll be back soon.”

“Please, Addy.”

“I said no!”

I fitted my headband over my ears and left the penthouse before Alia could argue further. I had a 3pm appointment today that I couldn’t afford to miss. Cindy kindly didn’t ask which store I was going to.

I took the elevator down to the building’s lobby and jogged out the front exit. Technically, I was never supposed to leave New Haven One without my bodyguard, Terry, but the Guardian security guards in the lobby took no notice.

My bicycle, parked in the basement, had a flat rear tire that, had I any sense, I would have had mended so that I could ride today. Instead, I half-jogged, half-walked down the street. Glancing at my watch, which I wore on my right wrist, I saw that I was going to make it with a few minutes to spare.

As I slowed to a normal walk, I realized that I had somehow acquired a bit of a knack for getting myself into messes. Perhaps I could blame this one on Alia, since she was the one who crashed the kite, but then again, I was the one teaching her how to fly it.

It all started about a week ago on a windy Thursday morning. Cindy, who would usually have been tutoring us, was called to an all-day meeting with Mr. Baker and the Council which governed New Haven. Terry had bought Alia a red and blue diamond-shaped kite a few days prior, and Alia had been pestering me to take her kite-flying ever since.

There was a large park near NH-1. It was well within Cindy’s hiding bubble over New Haven, and Alia had learned to ride a bicycle there last year. We cycled out to the park with the kite tied to my back by its string.

This being a weekday and a school day, the park was mostly empty. A senior citizen here, a young mother pushing a baby-stroller there, but that was about it, so we had little trouble finding an empty clearing out of sight from prying eyes.

The last time I had flown a kite was years ago, and my father had put it in the air for me. After some trial and error, and with some help from my telekinesis, I managed to get the kite up, and then handed the string to my sister. She tugged, and the kite promptly did a spectacular nosedive into a tall fir tree.

The string was tangled in the branches and I could tell that pulling on it would only break the kite. I didn’t want to try telekinetically removing the kite either since it was caught near the highest branch. At this distance, I couldn’t focus my power on the kite well enough to not risk damaging it.

Now, I am not a complete idiot. I looked around very carefully before doing what I did next. Thick rows of trees hid the clearing from the walking paths, and there was absolutely no one in sight. I quickly levitated myself up to disentangle the kite for Alia, who was itching to try again. Human levitation took a lot of concentration, and I couldn’t stay airborne for long, but I got the kite down safely and without being seen.

We tried again, and Alia managed to keep the kite in the air this time for nearly ten minutes before crashing it again – into the same tree! Once again, I flew up and retrieved the kite for her. She didn’t crash it a third time.

And that was all there was to it, except that the next day, I found my bicycle’s rear tire had gone flat, probably due to a piece of glass or something that I hadn’t noticed in the grass. Then, yesterday, as I was out jogging before my afternoon CQC training with Terry, I discovered that the flat tire was the least of my problems.

Terry and I usually started our jogs together, but I still couldn’t keep up with her insanely fast pace for long. Our route, just over five miles long, took us in a half-arc around the edge of New Haven and returned through the park to NH-1. In the past, Terry matched her speed to mine. These days, wanting to train herself at the same time, she no longer waited, which meant that I always finished alone.

It was in the last mile, as my exhaustion had finally forced me into a brisk walk through the park, that I heard an overly sweet female voice call from behind me, “Hello there.”

I spun around, instantly on high alert. It was a young woman, not unlike the baby-stroller-pushing mothers I often saw walking in the park. She was dressed casually, and she was alone. Was this an Angel spy? Was she a peacemaker, or some other kind of psionic controller?

“Is it okay if I talk with you for a few minutes?” she asked.

“Sorry, but I don’t speak with strangers,” I said, turning to go.

“Then how can you ever meet anyone?”

“What makes you think I want to?” I said gruffly as I started walking toward the park’s exit.

The woman followed me, matching my pace. I didn’t want to run, just in case she really was a dangerous Angel, but I wanted to keep going. As soon as I was in a more populated location, it wouldn’t be easy for her to use her psionic powers, whatever they were.

“My name’s Lindsey Taylor,” she said, keeping in step with me and extending her hand. I didn’t shake it.

I continued to ignore her, and we were almost at the exit when she said, “Listen, I just want to be your friend.”

“Start by leaving me alone!” I snapped.

“I can’t,” she said. “You’re my story. The boy who can fly.”

I froze on the spot and stared at her. A reporter. That wasn’t as bad as an Angel, but it didn’t make her presence any less uncomfortable.

“What do you want?” I demanded.

“For starters,” said Lindsey, smiling, “how about a civil tone from you?”

Sorry, but no. “What do you want that you think you have a chance at getting?”

“I want to know what’s going on around here,” she replied casually. “There’s something strange about this part of town. People keep to themselves. There have been strange sightings. Wild rumors about aliens or that this park is haunted, things like that. I don’t believe in ghosts or aliens, and I want to know what’s behind it.”

“Talk to the city government,” I suggested. “You’re more likely to get a civil response from them.”

“Okay, you leave me no choice, then,” Lindsey said with a sigh, pulling out a large paper envelope from her shoulder bag and offering it to me. “Enjoy.”

Cautiously taking the envelope, I opened it and pulled out five photos of myself levitating next to a fir tree, busily working on Alia’s red and blue kite. Several seconds passed before I noticed that my mouth was hanging open. I hastily shut it, pursing my lips as I glared at the pictures.

Lindsey said calmly, “Those you can keep. There are other copies, of course. Give me a story and you can have the originals.”

This was bad with a capital B. A reporter with photographic evidence. I’d have to tell Mr. Baker so that he could arrange to have Lindsey’s memory modified. But for me, it wasn’t that easy. It was still too soon after my police car episode for me to feel comfortable admitting to Mr. Baker that I was caught on camera doing something impossible. True, Terry and I had been made Honorary Guardian Knights for what that had (mostly by chance) led to, but I was sure that I didn’t want to let Mr. Baker or anyone else know that less than two months later, I had once again broken Guardian law by using my psionic power in public.

Lindsey, probably mistaking my uncomfortable expression as a sign of weakness to her threat, said in a soothing tone, “Now, I know that you are only the tip of a very large iceberg here, but I want to start with what I’ve seen. And believe me, young man, I’ve never, ever, lost a story before.”

I growled at her, “You keep this up and you’ll lose more than a story, lady!”

“Give me something to work with or all I can do is publish the photographs.”

“Ha!” I snorted. “I’ve seen more convincing images on tabloid humor columns. Go ahead and publish them. What do I care?”

Lindsey smirked. “I think you care, Adrian.”

“How the hell do you know my name?!” I demanded furiously.

Ignoring my tone, Lindsey asked evenly, “Are we about to have a civil conversation?”

I was tempted to blast her unconscious then and there, but I realized that I would lose the original photos.

Lindsey spoke as if she was reading a report: “You are Adrian Howell, son of Richard and Judy Howell. You have a younger sister named Catherine, who also went missing the day your parents were killed. Your father’s elder brother, William Howell, went missing last year.”

I stared at her. “My uncle?”

“You didn’t know?”

“No...” I said quietly. “I didn’t.”

“I’m sorry to be the one to tell you,” said Lindsey. Then she smiled, saying, “You’re looking pretty healthy for a runaway, Adrian. Is your sister with you too?”

I almost answered “no,” but checked myself and instead said, “You pulled all that off of police reports. You know nothing about me or this place.”

Lindsey’s smile broadened. “I know you can fly.”

“Like I said,” I repeated firmly, “you know nothing. Lindsey Taylor, is it?”

“That’s right,” she said, the smile beginning to fade from her lips.

I fixed her with the most threatening look I could manage and said icily, “What if I were to tell you, Lindsey Taylor, that you are right? What if there is something going on here? What if I am just the tip of a very large iceberg? You haven’t seen anything yet, Lindsey Taylor.” I was on a roll now. “There are people here who can set fire to you. There are people who can control your thoughts, and make you cheerfully jump off a bridge or slit your own throat. You are surrounded by forces you can’t begin to comprehend, and yet you think you can just walk in here and publish photos about us? Where’s your sense of self-preservation?”

Lindsey took an uneasy step back. “Um... well...”

I kept my voice as deep and menacing as possible. “Here’s what you’re going to do, Lindsey Taylor. You’re going to deliver all of your so-called evidence to me tomorrow. Then, within the week, you are going to pack your things, buy a plane ticket, and move out of this country. You are going to start a new life, and you’re going to forget about what you think you might have seen here.”

“But – I mean – you can’t honestly expect me to–”

“Lindsey!” I sternly cut across her sputtering. “In life, sometimes you don’t get a second chance. Believe me, I know.”

Lindsey Taylor didn’t speak again.

“You will meet me here at 3pm tomorrow,” I told her, “by the tree that you mistakenly thought I was hovering near, when, in reality, I was merely climbing it. You will bring everything you have gathered about your paranoid delusions and hand them to me as a symbol of your willingness to give up this fool’s quest. Do I make myself clear?”

We stared at each other for at least ten heartbeats, and then Lindsey nodded slowly, her face pale and expressionless.

“Good,” I said crisply, “because I would hate for some clueless journalist to be found dead in the river tomorrow. Remember, three o’clock sharp!”

I turned and walked away, leaving poor Lindsey Taylor to her thoughts. I used to be a nicer guy. I didn’t care if the reporter didn’t actually move to another country, so long as she never set foot in New Haven again. Given the choice, I would still rather have been her than me. At least she could leave.

As I jogged back to New Haven One, already extra late for Terry’s CQC lesson, even though I was raised as an agnostic, I nevertheless said a quiet prayer for Uncle Bill, who had taken me to church with him on a number of Sundays, many years ago.

That was yesterday. I didn’t tell Terry in the dojo, or Cindy or even Alia. This, I decided, was between me and Ms. Taylor.

Now, as I approached the park for our three o’clock meeting, I wondered if my threat had worked. The reporter would have had a night to calm down a bit, and there was no telling what she might try. If she didn’t show up, I would have no choice but to confess to Mr. Baker what had happened and ask for his help.

Crossing the street to the park’s entrance, I caught my left foot on the edge of the curb and cursed loudly as I fell onto my hands and knees. Owing to nearly a year of Terry’s CQC lessons, I was usually much more coordinated than that, but I guess my mind was elsewhere at the time. I had scraped my left knee pretty badly, and I felt my telekinetic power fade away as blood soaked into the fabric of my sweatpants.

Another capital BAD.

Metal drained all psionic powers. That’s why I usually wore sweatpants instead of jeans which had metal zippers and buttons. A little metal near the skin wasn’t such a big deal, but less was always better. The irony was that, had I been wearing jeans, I might not have bloodied my knee when I fell. Even a little metal touching the skin can negate a psionic’s power completely. Even the iron in my own blood, once out of my body, could drain me, as was the case now.

I didn’t have enough time to return to the penthouse and get Alia to heal me, but if I went to see Lindsey Taylor like this, I would not have the telekinetic strength to knock her down if the need arose.

And being psionically drained also caused physical weakness. Over the last year, I had learned to overcome this compounded effect to some degree by “balancing” my power, but being drained still made me dizzy and light-headed, and I certainly couldn’t run. What if Lindsey had decided to bring along a few of her friends today? What if the Wolves or the Angels had gotten to her already, and I was walking into a trap? Suddenly I wasn’t at all sure I wanted to enter the park alone.

I checked my watch: two minutes left. I took a deep breath and, as calmly as I could, walked forward, trying not to wince as pain shot through my left knee with every step I took. I couldn’t be seen limping if I was going to control the conversation.

From the edge of the clearing, I spotted Lindsey Taylor leaning against the fir tree, calmly waiting for me. I looked around the clearing once, but couldn’t see anyone else. One more deep breath, and then I walked up to her.

“Did you bring your originals?” I demanded harshly, but I could already see that she wasn’t carrying any bags or envelopes.

Lindsey Taylor merely smiled. “Clearly, you can see that I haven’t.”

“You’ll regret it for the rest of your short, painful life,” I said quietly.

“You’re bluffing, Adrian,” she said, and I could tell by her eyes that she no longer feared me. I had been afraid of that.

“So what now, Lindsey Taylor?”

“Your photos are with a friend,” she informed me. “If I go missing, my friend will publish them, along with your name and this location. I believe the police are still looking for you.”

I frowned. “If you dragged your friend into this, you are not being a very good friend.”

“Nevertheless,” replied Lindsey, “you will give me my story. You will tell me about this place and the people who live here.”

I remained silent.

Lindsey Taylor chuckled. “What do you care, Adrian? According to you, no one would believe me anyway, right?”

“Right...” I said slowly. “Alright, I guess you leave me no choice. You can have my story, but we’ll talk here and now. Did you at least bring a notebook?”

“I’m a journalist, Adrian. I’d bring my notebook even if I forgot my pants.”

As Lindsey Taylor reached into her pocket and pulled out a small notebook and pen, I slowly placed my right thumb on the black tracer band wrapped around my left wrist. The tracer band was a miniature transmitter that I was required to wear for my own security. There was a single button on the surface of what, at first glance, appeared to be a wristwatch, and keeping the button pressed for three seconds activated the locator. Guardian Knights would be here in moments to take Lindsey Taylor in for memory modification. I sighed. I had really hoped to resolve this without Guardian help.

Lindsey had seen me activate the tracer. “What’s that, Adrian?” she asked.

“My watch,” I lied.

Lindsey grinned. “Your watch is on your right wrist, Mr. Howell.”

Lindsey reached into her pocket again, and out came a tiny radio transceiver. Holding it to her mouth, she spoke in a businesslike tone, saying, “Spider to Lancer Control, I think we’re done here. In case you haven’t noticed, Hansel used his tracer. Please cancel the order. Over.”

The transceiver crackled once, and a male voice answered, “Roger that, Spider. We’ve noticed and it’s done. Cookie would like to meet with Hansel at 4pm. Please have him come up to Cookie’s residence. Over.”

“Roger, Lancer Control. Thank you for your time. Over and out.” Lindsey switched off the transceiver and smiled at me. “Did you hear that? Mr. Baker wants to see you in an hour.”

Completely speechless from the moment Lindsey had pulled out her transceiver, I finally managed a weak, “What?”

I heard someone clapping slowly and deliberately behind me, and I turned around to face...

“Terry?!” I exclaimed.

“Hey, Adrian,” said Terry, who had been clapping by smacking her right palm against her upper left arm so as not to damage her prosthetic attachment. “I can’t believe I got out of school early for this, but no doubt Mr. Baker is going to chew me up too for not teaching you to act properly when faced with security breaches.”

Then Terry turned to Lindsey and said, “Still, it’s not a total loss, Mr. Williams. I told you he wouldn’t leave the job half-finished.”

“Apparently so,” agreed Lindsey.

“Terry?” I said again, blinking blankly at her.

Terry smiled. “Calm down, Adrian. Take a deep breath, think, then speak.”

I tried and, after a moment, I asked the woman that Terry had called Mr. Williams, “You’re a shape-shifter?”

“That’s right,” she, or rather he, answered.

I asked, “Then this was all some kind of test?”

“That’s wrong,” said Terry. “Lindsey Taylor does exist, but she was taken into custody right after your talk with her yesterday. Her memory has been modified, her photos have been retrieved, and she is happily looking for corrupt government officials now.” Terry gave me a second to digest that, and then continued, “You know Mr. Ted Williams, Adrian. He’s a member of Mr. Baker’s personal security.”

“Oh, yeah,” I said, finally fully recovered from my shock. “I didn’t recognize him in the skirt.”

Mr. Williams laughed. “Well, I can’t exactly change back until I change clothes.”

“Let’s get back now,” said Terry. “Adrian’s going to want some healing before seeing Mr. Baker.”

Terry touched my shoulder with her fingertips and gave me a little shove that easily knocked me down onto the ground.

“You need to work more on your power balance, Adrian,” said Terry. “Draining still weakens you too much.”

I scowled up at her.

Limping back into the NH-1 lobby with Terry and Mr. Williams, I found Mr. Baker standing near the elevator doors and chatting with several Council members.

The Guardian leader was a lean, muscular man who was a few years younger than Cindy. Shortly after the Guardians fell apart following the assassination of Queen Diana Granados, Mr. Baker had taken command of what remained of the original Guardian faction. He was the one who had organized the unprecedented gathering of so many psionics in New Haven, effectively reuniting the Guardians last year. Consequently, he was currently the head of the New Haven Council, which was comprised of the leaders of former breakaway Guardian factions. Known on Guardian missions under the call sign Cookie, Mr. Baker wasn’t a psionic destroyer, but a healer like Alia, one of only a handful in New Haven. As Mr. Baker was a personal friend of Cindy’s, I saw him fairly frequently, and I sometimes forgot that he was the leader of our community.

Mr. Baker saw us enter but didn’t approach. Instead, he just gave us a curt nod and mouthed “four o’clock” before returning to his conversation.

“A man of many responsibilities,” remarked Mr. Williams. “Well, I had best get changed and back to my real job. Good luck, Adrian, Terry.”

Returning to the penthouse with Terry, I felt even more stupid when I found that Cindy was not at all surprised at the manner of our arrival.

“You knew too?” I asked in dismay.

“Sure I did, Adrian,” Cindy replied matter-of-factly. “Why do you think my meeting with Mr. Baker went overtime yesterday?”

“Oh,” I said, staring down at my feet. “I’m sorry, Cindy.”

“It’s okay,” said Cindy. “It’s not such a big deal. Mr. Baker just wanted to know how you would try to deal with the situation. You are, after all, an Honorary Guardian Knight now.”

“Dishonorary Guardian Knight,” quipped Terry, and I felt too much of a fool to offer a rejoinder.

Alia, having heard us talking, came running into the living room.

“What happened to you?” she said aloud in her deliberate and awkward voice.

“It’s a long story, Ali,” I replied. “Could you... uh...”

“Heal your knee?” Alia asked innocently.

“Yeah,” I said uncomfortably. “I’m sorry I was mean to you today, Alia.”

“It’s okay, Addy,” Alia said lightly as she knelt in front of me.

My sister placed her hands, palms open, close to my left knee. Someone less kindhearted, such as Terry for example, might have made the treatment conditional on me being nicer to her, but Alia wasn’t like that. Of course, that just made me feel even more guilty.

I said, “I’ll tell you where I was and what happened, Alia. I promise. Just not now, because I have to go see Mr. Baker in a moment and get scolded.”

Alia smiled up at me. “Okay.”

After I washed the dried blood off of my knee and changed sweatpants, Terry and I left the penthouse together to see Mr. Baker.

“Is he going to be very angry with me?” I asked as we walked down the corridor toward the door to 3901.

Terry sighed. “He’s more likely to be angry with me. After all, you’re my charge when it comes to security.”

“I’m sorry.”

Terry rounded on me. “Well, you should be, Half-head! You should’ve called the Knights yourself the moment that woman started talking to you. You were lucky one of the city guards overheard your conversation with her. And you shouldn’t have been flying in broad daylight to get a stupid old kite out of a tree in the first place.”

“Alia liked that kite,” I said defensively, and then reminded her, “It was a present from you.”

“I know that,” said Terry. “But it was still stupid of you. And then walking into that setup with a bleeding knee?! As far as I’m concerned, that was the worst thing. Stepping into a potential trap drained and injured. Now that is a really good way to get yourself killed.”

“Yeah, well, that’s me,” I muttered darkly. “Always looking for a good way to get myself killed.”

Terry laughed. “Next time, just ask for help when you’re in trouble, okay? That’s why the Guardians live together. So that we can get help when we need it.”

“Okay,” I replied meekly.

We reached Mr. Baker’s door and Terry pushed the doorbell.

As we waited, Terry said, “Knowing Mr. Baker, Adrian, once he’s finished scolding you, he’ll probably compliment you for doing the second best thing. After all, you did follow through and try to retrieve the photos, and when you failed, you called the Knights with your tracer. Cindy’s right. It’s not so bad, so don’t sweat it. I’m really not that angry with you, and neither is Mr. Baker. This kind of thing can happen to the best of us.”

I gave Terry a weak smile.

Terry chuckled, adding, “And you, Adrian, are hardly among the best of us.”

Chapter 2: A Birthday Request

The heavy steel fan mounted on the ceiling vent rattled noisily overhead in the gym-sized concrete dojo, and Terry’s voice echoed slightly as she said, “Ready for more pain?”

“Always,” I replied with a grin. Terry frequently said things like that so it didn’t bother me. Besides, pain was a part of training. You got used to it after a while.

The dojo was the single largest room in the Guardian’s secret gathering place under New Haven One, but it still felt mildly claustrophobic to me because it reminded me of another underground room that I had spent a lot of time hoping to get out of. NH-1’s subbasement, which could only be entered by using a special key in the elevator, also had meeting rooms, storage rooms, a shooting range and a prison block. It must have taken the Guardians a long time to dig all this out, but the inside nevertheless felt like “a big concrete tomb” as Terry had once described it.

It had been two weeks since Mr. Baker had admonished my lack of good judgment regarding the journalist, but Terry had been right in that Mr. Baker let me off with a mild warning, and I had pretty much put the incident behind me. Yesterday had been Terry’s last day of school, and her birthday, June 20th, was tomorrow, but that made no difference in our CQC training schedule. This afternoon was no different: a warm up jog, pistol practice in the shooting range, and hand-to-hand combat training in the dojo.

Though it wasn’t uncommon to find other Guardian Knights training here, the dojo was empty today except for Terry and me. Alia, who frequently accompanied us down here to heal my training-related injuries, had developed a mild fever since yesterday. Cindy had overreacted and kept her in bed.

“Okay, let’s go,” said Terry, and I lasted about four seconds before I was looking up at her from the flat of my back.

Such was Terry’s style of teaching: Learn by doing, or rather by having done to. Whatever combat moves she was teaching, first she used them on me, and then, if she was in an agreeable mood, she’d show them slowly. I would do my best to imitate her, but usually I’d just end up losing my balance and fouling it up. Learning to fight wasn’t all that different from learning to spell words: repetition upon meticulous, painful repetition.

Pulling me to my feet for the tenth time, Terry suddenly said, “Alia told me you’re having trouble deciding what to get me for my birthday.”

“Yeah, well, Alia has a big mouth,” I replied. It was true that I hadn’t bought Terry anything yet, but my sister didn’t have to go blabbing to her about it.

Terry and I squared off on the gym mats again, but Terry didn’t attack. Instead, she gave me a curious look and said, “How about you skip the present and do me a favor instead?”

Terry had never asked for a favor from me before. When she wanted me to do something, she ordered it.

“Sure,” I said quickly, “you know I’d do pretty much anything.”

“Would you go to war with me?” asked Terry.

“War?” I repeated, raising my eyebrows.

“Well, maybe that’s a bit of an exaggeration,” Terry said lightly. “More like a mission or two with the Knights.”

Terry and I were still facing each other in combat stance. You never knew when Terry, who loved to surprise her opponents, would decide to lunge.

I said to her, “I already promised that I would join the Knights with you, remember? As soon as we come of age.”

Terry shook her head. “I was thinking more along the lines of this summer.”

This summer?! I had let my guard down, and Terry, perhaps acting on instinct, stepped forward and flipped me.

“What kind of mission?” I asked, looking up at Terry, who had me pinned on my back.

“I don’t know yet,” said Terry, getting off of me and letting me stand up. “We’re both Honorary Guardian Knights. We have the right to request and join missions for the Guardians. Whatever they give us, it’d be a better experience for us both than to spend all our time training down here.”

“Are you sure you want me to come with you?” I asked hesitantly. “I always felt you thought of me as a hindrance.”

“Well, you were, for a while. But you also saved my life, Adrian.” Terry raised her left stump and smiled. “Most of it, anyway. You’re green, of course, but when it comes to actual combat, so am I. Besides, you’re already a more powerful psionic destroyer than many of the seasoned Knights. I’d be happy to have you come on a mission with me. Come on, it’ll be fun. It’ll be an adventure.”

Adventures... I’d had enough of those. Over the last month, I had felt that Terry was itching for some action, but I never thought she would want me along. Terry didn’t compliment me often. That she would regard me as, if not an equal, nevertheless someone who could be relied upon in battle, meant a great deal to me.

“I’m not really keen on adventures, Terry,” I said, “but I’ll do it for you.”

“Great!” Terry said cheerfully. “I’m planning to talk to Mr. Baker later tonight. I’m pretty sure he’ll agree.”

I let out a slight sigh. How was I ever going to explain this to Cindy?

Though not at all psionic, Terry was nevertheless very good at reading my thoughts. “The real problem is Cindy, you know,” she said darkly. “The Heart of New Haven holds a lot of sway over Mr. Baker and the Council. If she doesn’t want Mr. Baker to give us mission status, we won’t get it.”

“Cindy would never agree to this,” I said, shaking my head.

“I’m not so sure,” Terry said slowly. “I think it’s a matter of how we ask her.”

We celebrated Terry’s birthday in the evening of the next day. It wasn’t so much a party as a large dinner with ice cream. Father Mark Parnell, a family friend who was a priest at the local church, found time to join us even though it was a Saturday.

Mark arrived quite early and helped Cindy cook our turkey dinner. We had shooed Terry out of the penthouse to prepare, and I helped Alia put up a few decorations including a large poster she had made that read, “Happy Sweet 16th Birthday, Teresa Henderson!” I had told my sister to write that as a joke, and it was good that the crayoned message was clearly in her writing. Terry absolutely forbade anyone from calling her by her real name, and I suspected that had the poster been written by me, a great deal of “more pain” would follow in the dojo tomorrow.

When Terry came home, she had brought another girl about her age, who was slightly shorter (though still taller than me) and had semi-long auburn hair. The girl was wearing a plain, light brown dress, and I suspected that she didn’t know she was coming to a party until after she met Terry today. Or perhaps she knew that Terry didn’t want anyone to make a fuss over her.

“Hope we have room for one more,” said Terry as she showed her friend into the penthouse living room.

“Of course we do,” said Cindy, coming out from the dining room. “Hello, Laila.”

“Good evening, Ms. Gifford,” the girl replied politely.

Then Terry introduced her to Alia and me, saying, “This is my friend Laila Brown from school. My best friend from school.” Terry paused for a second before adding, “My only friend from school.”

Laila turned to her. “Oh, don’t say that, Terry. They’ll come around. They’re just scared.”

“I don’t care,” Terry said stiffly. “They’re perfectly welcome to be cowards.”

Laila didn’t reply, and Terry continued the introductions, saying, “Laila, this is–”

“Adrian and Alia!” Laila exclaimed happily. “I know. It’s great to finally meet you both in person.”

“Hello, Laila, nice to meet you,” Alia carefully said aloud, and I was pleased to see that Laila made no visible reaction to my sister’s speech impediment.

Laila and I shook hands, and I asked her, “How do you know us?”

“I saw you on stage last year at the party, and I’ve heard a lot about you too,” she replied brightly. “My mother is on the Council and she’s friends with Ms. Gifford.”

“Oh,” I said. “Well, whatever you heard, I’ll deny.”

Laila laughed.

Terry said to me with an evil grin, “Laila’s been dying to meet the, uh, ‘hero’ who saved New Haven. Apparently, she’s just fascinated with you.”

“Terry!” cried Laila, horrified.

Terry’s grin widened as she continued, “I tried to explain to her that you were just a village idiot, Adrian, but she insisted on discovering that for herself.”

“Thanks a lot, Terry!” I said sarcastically.

As we made our way to the dining room, Laila Brown, who apparently thought she was whispering quietly enough not to be overheard, nudged Terry and said, “You’re right, Terry. He is too cute for you.” I wished I could get a mind-writer to remove that one from my head.

We entered the dining room where Mark was putting the final touches on our table.

“Laila!” exclaimed Mark, turning to her. “Welcome, welcome! I’m sorry I didn’t greet you at the door, but I wanted to hurry up and finish setting the table.”

“Father Parnell?” Laila said with a surprised look. “I knew you were friends with Ms. Gifford, but I didn’t expect to see you at Terry’s party.”

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world,” said Mark, smiling at her.

Then Terry and Laila caught sight of Alia’s message pinned up on the far wall. I could tell that Laila was desperately trying not to laugh.

Terry smacked me over the head with her right palm.

“What was that for?!” I demanded.

“Alia’s poster, you idiot!” she snapped.

I laughed. “Then hit Alia!”

Terry fixed me with an accusing stare. “You told her what to write.”

“Yeah, well, that’s what happens when you live with the village idiot, Sweet Sixteen,” I retorted with a grin, and Terry had little choice but to laugh it off along with the rest of us.

We took our seats at the dining table. Perhaps fearing retribution from Terry, Alia sat next to me, with Mark on her other side. Laila chose the chair between me and Terry, and Cindy sat between Terry and Mark. It was usually a pretty large dining table, but six made it feel just right.

Since Laila had a chair next to mine, I got to talk a bit with her over dinner. Laila did seem to know a good deal about Alia and me, but as to Terry’s claim that she was “fascinated,” I sincerely doubted that. I was more interested in her. New Haven’s blanket-ban on associating with Cindy’s family meant I didn’t often get to learn about the lives of other Guardians here.

Laila Brown was a fourth generation Guardian, but surprisingly there wasn’t a single psionic in her family. Her great-grandparents had accidentally discovered the Guardians and, rather than having their memories altered, had chosen to be converted into the faction. Since then, all marriages leading up to Laila’s birth had been with other non-psionics.

“My mother is the only non-psionic on the Council,” said Laila. “She took charge of our Guardian breakaway faction when my father, who had been the leader, was taken by the Angels.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” I said. “But your father wasn’t psionic either?”

Laila shook her head. “He wasn’t, but the Angels thought he was. They caught him and converted him. I haven’t seen him since I was Alia’s age, but I think he’s still alive, working for the Angels now.”

“Maybe he’ll come back when his conversion wears off.”

Laila smiled. “I hope so. The Angels probably won’t care if one non-psionic deserts them.”

“Addy is looking for his sister,” said Alia, butting in from my other side.

“Alia, hush,” I said quietly, not wanting to talk about Cat at this table.

“I thought you were his sister,” Laila said to Alia, and Alia beamed at her.

“Addy has another sister,” explained Alia, ignoring my frown. “She’s with the angles.”

“Angels,” I said, giving Alia a nasty look, “not angles.”

Alia knew that I wasn’t correcting her pronunciation, but rather admonishing her for talking about Cat in front of Laila. She promptly stuck her tongue out at me.

“Oh, be nice to her, Addy,” laughed Laila. “She’s trying the best she can.”

“First of all, Laila, it’s Adrian,” I replied firmly. “Second...”

I couldn’t think of a second, but Laila got the message that I didn’t want to discuss Cat, and asked no more about her.

Despite the fact that she was Terry’s best friend, at first glance, Laila Brown had seemed a pretty typical schoolgirl. But glances were deceptive. Laila had been through some tough times too. She had Terry’s air of tenacity tempered with the compassion of one who understood and respected the suffering of others. I wasn’t sure myself why I didn’t want to talk about Cat in front of her. Perhaps it was because we had just met, or maybe I just didn’t want to parade my troubles at a party.

As the conversation shifted to Terry and Laila’s past school year, I got to hear a bit about Terry’s life as a student. There were plenty of non-Guardians attending Terry’s high school who she could have easily befriended, but Terry preferred the company of people who were a part of the faction. Unfortunately for her, now that it was public knowledge that she was living with Cindy, the Guardian families had not only forbidden their kids from talking with her, but had actually sent a formal petition to the New Haven Council demanding that Terry not be allowed to return to school in the fall.

“It’s really horrible that they went so far as that,” said Laila. “You should hear my mother talk about them when she’s at home.”

Terry laughed. “It’s okay, Laila. Really. It’s just my time to move on. School isn’t everything.”

Passing out bowls of ice cream, Cindy said to Laila, “I’m so happy you stayed friends with Terry.”

Laila answered forcefully, “Nobody chooses my friends, Ms. Gifford. Besides, my mother always says that good guys shouldn’t hide.”

“I suppose she’s right,” replied Cindy.

Terry turned to her, saying, “Speaking of not hiding, Cindy, I take it you already know that I talked to Mr. Baker yesterday night.”

Cindy froze for a second. Then she said in her usual calm tone, “I do. Mr. Baker called me this morning.”

I braced myself as Terry said, “Then you know that I’ve requested to be assigned to Guardian missions. Adrian too.”

“Again, I do,” Cindy replied somewhat stiffly, “but I’d prefer not to talk about it right now, Terry.”

Terry wanted to talk about it now, and there was no stopping her. “I was hoping, Cindy, that we could have your blessing, or at least your grudging consent.”

Cindy sighed. “Terry, I know you’re a fighter. And as much as I hate to admit it, Adrian probably is too. But you’re not about to get my consent.”

Scowling, Terry said, “We’re both Honorary Guardian Knights.”

“That is a title, Terry,” said Cindy, shaking her head. “I’m sorry, but as far as I’m concerned, neither of you are old enough yet to take on the responsibilities of real Guardian Knights.”

I put down my spoon and asked quietly, “How old is old enough, Cindy?”

Cindy didn’t reply.

Mark, who had been sharing his ice cream with Alia, chuckled lightly and said, “I think Adrian has you there, Cindy.”

Cindy frowned at Mark, but he just smiled, adding, “After all, you would be against their going even if they were thirty years old.”

“But they’re just children, Mark,” said Cindy, her frown deepening.

“Oh, I believe they’re much more than that,” Mark countered firmly. “And you especially, Cindy, do them a disservice by not acknowledging their talents.”

I looked at Mark in surprise. “I didn’t expect you to side with us on this, Mark.”

“Oh, but I’m not, Adrian,” said Mark. “I’m with Cindy on this. I’m dead set against either of you going off on a mission. But only because I, like Cindy, care deeply about you, and it would hurt me if something awful were to befall you. Nevertheless, I believe you’ve earned the right to make your own decisions. And I think, deep down, Cindy agrees.”

Cindy remained silent.

Terry said hesitantly, “Cindy, this isn’t like the towboat. We’ll be with experienced Knights, and they probably won’t even let us get near the action anyway. I just want to be a part of something important. Even a small part is better than nothing.”

Cindy stood up and looked Terry in the eye. “You are part of something important, Terry. You’re a part of this family.”

Cindy turned to me next, saying in a frustrated voice, “And you, Adrian! You said a year ago that you had had enough fighting for a lifetime! Now you want more?”

“No, I don’t want more,” I insisted. “But I do want to do my part. If psionics could choose their own powers, I would’ve happily been a hider or a healer, but I’m not. I’m a destroyer, Cindy, and for once, I agree with Terry.”

Cindy turned her back to us so we couldn’t see her face. I felt horrible, but I didn’t regret what I had said. Perhaps I wasn’t yet as tall as I wanted to be, but I was no longer the little boy who was scared of his own power.

Cindy took a deep breath, and then walked toward the door.

“Where are you going, Cindy?” asked Mark.

“I’m going to call Mr. Baker,” Cindy replied quietly. “I’m going to retract my opposition to Adrian and Terry joining the Knights.”

Cindy turned around in the doorframe, facing us with sad but resolute eyes as she said, “Neither of you will ever have my blessing on this, but if you can live with that, then I’ll learn to live with it too.”

“Thank you, Cindy,” said Terry.

Cindy forced a smile. “Happy birthday, Terry.”

Once Cindy was out in the living room calling Mr. Baker, Terry let out a deep sigh of relief, saying, “Well, that went smoother than I expected.”

Terry had, of course, planned from the start to have this conversation during her party, when Cindy was least likely to put up a fight. Terry hadn’t invited Laila Brown for the sole purpose of softening Cindy’s resistance, but no doubt Laila’s attendance had been a part of the plan too.

Laila, who had been silently watching us with a mixed expression of fear and awe, turned to Terry and said worriedly, “I hope you know what you’re getting into.”

Terry chuckled. “Actually, Laila, I probably don’t. That’s why I’m getting into it. What’s life without a little adventure?”

“Probably longer,” replied Laila.

Cindy’s voice called from the living room, “Terry? Adrian?”

Terry and I stood from the table and went into the living room. Cindy had already put down the phone.

“What is it?” I asked, but the answer came in the form of a ringing doorbell.

Terry opened the door.

“Good evening,” Mr. Baker said pleasantly as he stepped into the living room.

I hadn’t met Mr. Baker since the Lindsey Taylor incident, and I wasn’t sure what to say, but when our eyes met, Mr. Baker merely smiled and nodded.

Alia, Laila and Mark had come in from the dining room too.

“Laila!” exclaimed Mr. Baker. “Fancy seeing you here. Father Parnell, too.”

“Good evening, Mr. Baker,” said Mark. “We were celebrating Terry’s birthday.”

“Ah, yes, of course,” said Mr. Baker, and turned to Terry. “Well, happy birthday, Terry.”

“Thank you, Mr. Baker,” Terry replied with a forced smile, “but you didn’t come up here to wish me a happy birthday.”

“No, but I wish I had,” said Mr. Baker, laughing. “I’m guessing I missed a very good meal. Unfortunately, even now, I’m rushing between meetings.” Mr. Baker turned to me. “I just came up to ask you in person if you really do want mission status, Adrian. I know Terry does, but I had expected more sense from you.”

This coming from the man who had, not too long ago, conscripted Alia and me as bait in a mission that had almost gotten us all killed. I gave Mr. Baker a wry smile and said, “Sorry to disappoint you, but I guess I do want mission status.”

“You guess?” repeated Mr. Baker, looking at me carefully.

“I do,” I said again more forcefully.

“Well, I don’t know what changed Cindy’s mind, but if you are all in agreement, then I suppose we can find some work for you and Terry this summer. I will arrange it immediately. I’m actually on my way right now to see the man who will most probably be your unit commander.”

Terry said, “Then please give my regards to Mr. Simms for me.”

“How did you...” began Mr. Baker, and then he grinned. “Very astute, Terry, as usual.”

After Mr. Baker had left, I asked Terry, “How did you know who our unit commander is going to be, Terry? Mr. Baker only decided just now.”

“I’m not a delver, Adrian!” said Terry, who I had accused of being a mind-reader several times already. “Mr. Simms leads the Raven Knights, which is our anti-Wolf-and-Slayer unit. They don’t fight psionics, and seeing as we can’t block controllers yet, his is the only logical unit for us to join.”

Various psionic powers could influence thoughts, emotions and actions, and learning to block psionic control required lots of practice. For Terry and me, the matter was further complicated by the fact that most forms of mind control, when used on children, ran a high risk of causing brain damage. We were still too young to begin training so, as Terry had logically pointed out, our only option was to join a unit that dealt with non-psionics.

“Anti-Wolf, huh?” I said.

“You don’t mind, do you?” asked Terry.

“Of course not!”

The Wolves had shot me in the back. They had tortured Alia and me before stuffing us in an underground research center. I would have preferred to deal with the Angels since I believed that my lost first sister was with them, but I had a score to settle with the Wolves too.

We returned to the dining table to finish our melted ice cream. Though she did her best not to show it, Cindy was still in a foul mood, and we wrapped up the party at around 8pm.

“Thank you for having me over, Ms. Gifford,” said Laila at the door.

“Thank you for coming, Laila,” replied Cindy. “I’m sorry you had to sit through our argument.”

“It’s okay,” said Laila. “I hope Terry and Adrian stay out of too much trouble.”

After we saw Laila off, Mark offered to help Cindy and Alia with the clean up, allowing Terry and me to retreat to the game room for a quiet round of nine-ball.

Though we didn’t even have a television, our penthouse did had several features the average home did not, including a library, a greenhouse, an enormous Jacuzzi bath, and Terry’s favorite: the pool table in the game room. Terry was an excellent pool player. I wasn’t much competition for her, but I did manage to win a game every once in a while, which was far better odds than I had when I faced her in the dojo.

Due to the renovations our penthouse had gone through following the Angels’ raid on it, the game room now doubled as a safe room, which meant the walls and door were reinforced with thick steel plating. Being surrounded by all that metal caused my telekinetic power to drain a little, and staying in here for too long could sap my physical strength too, making me mildly drowsy. It had no effect on Terry, however, since she hadn’t yet gained any psionic powers and thus couldn’t be drained. Of course that wasn’t why I so frequently lost to her, but it made for a nice excuse.

Setting the balls on the table, Terry said to me, “You liked her, didn’t you, Adrian?”

“Laila?” I asked. “She was alright.”

“If you want, I’ll set up a date for you.”

I narrowed my eyes. “Terry, we’re about to join the Knights and go off on combat missions. I think dating is going to have to wait.”

Terry grinned mischievously as she rested her cue stick on her left stump for the break shot. “So you did like her.”

“I didn’t say that!” I replied stubbornly over the sound of Terry sinking three balls. “Besides, I’m probably too cute for her too.”

Terry laughed. “I was afraid you had heard that. Laila once asked me if I was dating you. It kind of sounded like she was asking if you were available. Goodness knows why, though.”

It was high time to change the subject.

“You really think we’ll be given missions this summer?” I asked.

“I don’t see why not.” Terry held her cue stick under her left stump and chalked the tip. “The Guardian Knights are always looking for new members.”

“I wonder why,” I muttered sarcastically.

Terry fouled up her next shot, but merely grinned, saying, “But don’t think I don’t know why you just asked me that. Come on, Adrian, what did you really think about Laila?”

“I don’t want to think about Laila,” I said in an annoyed tone as I leveled my stick on the table. “I don’t have the energy to deal with this right now. I really feel bad about Cindy.”

“Yeah, me too,” Terry said quietly. “But she has to get over it eventually. What you said to her was right. You’re a destroyer, Adrian. People are only truly alive when they’re in their element.”

“Perhaps,” I said, focusing on my shot. “But I was just as serious when I said that I would’ve happily been a hider.”

“Well, you’ll get over it too.”

I missed, and Terry sunk another three in her next shot, including the nine-ball.

“Another round?” she asked.

I looked at the clock. The minute hand hadn’t yet moved quite far enough that I felt comfortable leaving the safe room for Cindy’s company.

“Okay,” I said.

Another game, another loss.

Mark poked his head through the doorframe as we were setting up our third round. “I’m going home now.”

“Sorry we didn’t help out in the kitchen,” I said.

Mark smiled. “It’s quite alright. I think Cindy is calm enough to see the both of you now. Be nice to her, okay? She’s just worried about you.”

“We know, and we will,” promised Terry.

Terry and I skipped the last game and saw Mark out.

Once the door closed, Cindy said to us, “I just tucked Alia into bed. And I got a call from Mr. Simms a few minutes ago. You’re both invited to dinner with him tomorrow.”

“That was quick,” remarked Terry.

I looked uneasily at Cindy and said, “Thanks for... well, you know...”

Cindy closed her eyes and nodded slowly.

“Thanks,” I said again.

Though it was nowhere near my usual bedtime, I felt entirely too uncomfortable to stay in the living room so I bade Cindy a hasty goodnight. Terry didn’t linger either.

It was only after I had brushed my teeth and returned to the bedroom Alia and I shared that I realized my sister hadn’t spoken a single word to me since before dessert. In the darkened room, Alia was sitting on the edge of her bed, staring blankly in my direction.

“Hey, Ali,” I said, turning on the light. “Is something the matter?”

Silence.

“Something is the matter,” I decided. “Sure you don’t want to tell me?”

More silence. Alia was like that sometimes.

“Listen, if it’s about the ‘angles’ thing, I’m sorry, okay? I just didn’t want to talk about Cat there.”

“I don’t care about that, Addy,” Alia said in a sullen tone. “I know I can’t speak like you.”

I grinned. “Words in my head! That’s a start.”

My sister let out a loud huff, hopped down from her bed and walked to the window.

As she stared down at the city below, I placed a hand on her shoulder from behind. “Ali, what’s eating you today?”

Alia didn’t move, but a moment later she said quietly into my head, “You’re going away again.”

“Oh, well...”

Suddenly Alia spun around. Tears streaming down her cheeks, she telepathically shouted, “You promised, Addy! You promised you’d stay! You promised and you didn’t even tell me!”

“You’re talking about a promise I made when you were seven years old, Alia,” I sputtered. “Things are different now. You’re not in any danger here. This is the safest house in New Haven.”

“I don’t care!” said Alia, stamping her feet. “You promised!”

I put my arms around her, and was relieved that she didn’t pull away. I sat down on the chair next to the window and, placing my sister sideways on my lap, I whispered into her ear, “You’re right, Alia. I’m sorry. I should have talked to you first. But it’s not like I’m leaving tomorrow. I made a promise to Terry too. I didn’t think it would happen so soon, but still...”

Wiping her tears, Alia looked into my eyes and said, “Can I go with you?”

I stared at her in disbelief. She was dead serious.

“You know you can’t, Alia,” I said patiently. “You’re nine years old. You’re not a Guardian, and you’re certainly not a Knight.”

“I was there too, you know!” said Alia, most likely referring to the towboat raid.

“I wouldn’t be going on missions myself if I hadn’t promised Terry.”

“I don’t care. I promised I would keep you alive, remember?”

I gave her an extra squeeze as I said, “And you have more courage than I’ll ever know, Alia, but you still can’t come.”

“That’s not fair.”

“You’re right,” I said matter-of-factly. “It’s not fair.”

“Addy!”

“Okay, how about this for fair?” I grinned. “You convince Cindy to let you go, and you’re welcome to join us.”

“That’s still not fair.”

“Why isn’t it fair?” I asked. “Terry and I had to convince her.”

Alia scowled, but I could tell that she knew I was right. She slowly looked away and muttered, “I hate being little. I wish I was a destroyer like you.”

“No you don’t.”

I picked Alia up and carried her to her bed. Tucking her in, I reflected that life was full of unfairness. Alia and I already knew that of course, but sometimes we just forgot and needed to be reminded.

“You’ll feel better in the morning, Alia,” I told her gently.

My sister suddenly sat up and threw her arms around my neck. “I love you, Addy.”

I gently pushed her back into her bed. “I love you too, Alia. Now get some sleep.”

Changing into my nightclothes and slipping into my bed, I telekinetically flipped off the room light. Heavily resting my head on my pillow, I silently stared up at the ceiling until I could hear Alia’s soft snores coming from her bed. My sister had a habit of telepathically murmuring incoherently into my head as she slept, and when that started, I finally felt calm enough to close my own eyes and try to get to sleep. Between convincing Cindy to allow Terry and me on Guardian missions and apologizing to Alia for yet another broken promise, I hadn’t even realized how wound up I was feeling about what I had just committed myself to.

Someday soon, I would be following Terry into the psionic war.

Chapter 3: Double-Wild-born

I caught Terry in the hall the next morning before breakfast and briefly explained to her how my sister was feeling. To avoid adding add fuel to the fire, I begged Terry not to talk about our future Guardian missions in front of Alia. Terry took a different view of the matter.

“Your sister wants to be a part of this, Adrian,” countered Terry. “Of course she can’t join us, but if it were entirely up to me, I’d let her come. The least you can do is keep her in the loop.”

I thought about that for a moment, and said, “You know, Terry, you might be right for once.”

“Of course I’m right!” snapped Terry. “You’re the only one who doesn’t like adventures, Addy.”

Terry only ever used my baby name to mock me. I scowled at her.

“I’ll tell you what,” Terry said brightly, “I already know Mr. Simms pretty well. He wants to talk to you, Adrian, not me. Why don’t you take Alia in my place for dinner tonight so she can get to know him too? That way, Alia won’t be left in the dark.”

I nodded. “Alright.”

We told Alia over breakfast. She was delighted with the idea, and Cindy seemed to regard it favorably as well.

It being a Sunday, and a sunny one at that, at Cindy’s suggestion, all four of us went out to the park together to toss a Frisbee and have an afternoon picnic. We set our picnic mat in the same secluded clearing where I had taught Alia to fly her kite. Cindy was still being hounded by a team of dark-suited Guardian Knights wherever she went, but she ordered her security guards to stay well away as we ate and played. None of us talked about Mr. Simms or the Knights or possible upcoming missions. It was just a time to enjoy each other’s company.

Mr. Simms lived in a different building from ours, and just before our 6pm dinner, Terry walked Alia and me over to an identical forty-story tower on the other side of the park from New Haven One.

We stopped in front of the lobby entrance and Terry explained, “This is New Haven Four, which is also owned outright by the Guardians. Mr. Simms lives on the eleventh floor, in number three. You’ve only got five minutes to six o’clock, so you had better get jogging. Have fun, okay, Alia?”

Alia gave Terry a toothy smile. Bidding Terry goodbye, I took my sister’s hand and quick-marched us into the building. Lobby security apparently knew our faces here too, because no one stopped us as we headed to the elevator.

I let Alia ring the doorbell of 1103, and the door was answered by a tall, muscular man with wide shoulders and a bushy black beard. He looked a bit older than Mr. Baker, and reminded me of a grizzly bear.

Most psionics, including myself, could sense the powers of other psionics as long as their powers were similar in nature. In my case, that meant other destroyers. And even inside a hiding bubble, I could clearly sense this man’s power now that I was standing close enough to him. He was a pyroid, which meant he could create and control fire. I couldn’t be sure if that was his only power, but it was his only destroyer power.

“Well, hello there, young man,” the man said in a deep voice, looking down at me. “You must be the famous Adrian Howell. Or perhaps ‘infamous’ might be the better word. I’ve heard a good deal about you from Terry and others, Mr. Howell. Or is it Gifford now?”

“Either,” I replied, grinning, “but I had been hoping to be neither famous nor infamous.”

The man gave a booming laugh. “Well, either Adrian Howell or Gifford, I’m Jason Simms.”

We shook hands, and then Mr. Simms turned to Alia, who shrank under his gaze.

“And who might you be, little one?” he asked. “I’m sure we haven’t met because I’d remember a pretty little girl like you.”

Alia relaxed a bit, but still didn’t speak, so I said, “This is my sister Alia. She wanted to meet you today.”

“Then let’s meet!” said Mr. Simms, extending his hand. Alia studied it for a second before reaching out to shake it.

Mr. Simms invited us into his home, which I noticed was quite untidy by the standards that I was used to living with Cindy. Shirts and jeans were draped over the backs of chairs. A thin layer of dust covered the shelves against the walls. Several magazines and a half-finished sandwich lay on a low table.

“Actually, I have heard of you too,” Mr. Simms said to Alia as we crossed his disorderly living room. “And I’ve already heard from Terry of the change in dinner plans. I could’ve set the table for four, of course, but I’m guessing Terry didn’t want to cause an extra bother. No matter. It’s your brother, Adrian here, that I wanted to speak with today.”

I asked, “Do you live here alone, Mr. Simms?”

“It shows, does it?” he said, laughing. “I was married for a while, but it didn’t work out. These days, I’m too busy for family.”

We entered his dining room, which bore the marks of a mild attempt at tidying. On the dining table, a large bowl of steaming stew sat next to a plate of roughly cut salad. There was also a basket of breadsticks and a pitcher of lemonade.

“Help yourselves, mates,” said Mr. Simms as we sat at his table and took our plates and bowls. Mr. Simms had no silverware. There were cheap plastic forks and spoons instead, and I guessed that Mr. Simms didn’t like being drained even while eating. I also noticed that there were no napkins, but didn’t comment.

“Thank you for having us over today, Mr. Simms,” I said as I helped Alia to a small plate of salad and then filled her bowl halfway with the brownish, chunky stew. It didn’t look very appetizing and I wasn’t sure how much my sister would eat. Deciding to show off a little, I telekinetically poured everyone’s lemonade. Mr. Simms smiled appreciatively.

Serving myself next, I said, “Thank you also for allowing Terry and me to join your team. But I’m wondering what you wanted to talk to me about today.”

“Eat first!” said Mr. Simms. “Then we’ll talk business. Besides, I haven’t let you on the team yet, young Knight. I wanted to get to know you first. Now eat up while it’s hot!”

Alia hadn’t touched her spoon yet, so I decided to set a polite example and dipped my plastic spoon into my bowl. It was a spicy but surprisingly good meat stew. I wasn’t exactly sure what kind of meat, though.

“It’s delicious,” I commented, and then commanded to Alia, “Eat.”

My sister took a sip, and then a mouthful, and finally smiled across the table at Mr. Simms. “I like it,” she said carefully.

“I was hoping you would,” said Mr. Simms. “I know it’s no match for your mother’s cooking.”

“What’s in it?” I asked.

“Oh, this and that,” Mr. Simms said airily. “Bit of a trade secret. But I guarantee it’ll put some hair on your chest.”

Alia hastily put her spoon down and stared at me. “I don’t want a hairy chest, Addy.”

I nearly choked laughing. “I’m sure he’s joking, Alia.”

Once we were about through the meal, Mr. Simms leaned back in his chair and, stretching his arms, said, “Okay, to business, then.”

“Sure,” I replied. Patience was never one of my strong points, and I had been itching for him to get down to business all through dinner.

“First off, Mr. Baker told me that you were fourteen years old. Is that correct?”

“Yes,” I answered in a defensive tone because I knew, of course, why he asked. Alia and I were both small for our respective ages. With Alia, it was most likely because of malnourishment during her early childhood, but in my case it was probably hereditary: my father wasn’t exactly a beanstalk either.

“Very well,” replied Mr. Simms, looking curiously at me. “So, Adrian, the main reason I asked you to join me this evening is that I want to know why a fourteen-year-old wild-born is so eager to go on a dangerous Guardian mission. You are an Honorary Knight already, and receiving the full pay of a veteran Knight. Isn’t that correct?”

I nodded. I had received my first pay in cash at the end of April, and May’s salary was put into a Guardian-controlled bank in New Haven. I hadn’t actually gone to the bank yet to withdraw any money, but I knew it was there, and more would come at the end of this month and every month for the next three years. That was how much the Guardians valued my role in rescuing Cindy.

Mr. Simms continued, “Do you realize that you are the first child ever to be granted this status? Furthermore, Honorary Guardian Knights are usually ordinary Guardians, peacefully employed, that do some great service to the Knights. As such, these people do not commonly take us up on mission offers. To be perfectly blunt, Adrian, why are you here?”

“Terry is my friend, and I promised her that I would fight,” I said, and then added quietly, “because of what the Angels did to her brother.”

“You feel sorry for Terry’s brother?” asked Mr. Simms. “You wish to avenge him?”

“I never even met Gabriel, Mr. Simms. I feel sorry for Terry.”

“I see,” said Mr. Simms, stroking his beard. “But Adrian, pity is a very poor excuse for walking onto a battlefield. Is there nothing you want for yourself in this matter?”

I took a sip of lemonade before I answered, “Maybe you already know this, Mr. Simms, but I have another sister who is in Angel captivity. I hope to rescue her someday, if I can. But I’m guessing that to do so will take a fair amount of fighting, and I want to be ready for it. So far, if you don’t count the towboat incident, I’ve only tagged along on one mission with the Knights. And on that mission...” The Angels had set us up on that mission. They had ambushed and decimated our team.

Mr. Simms nodded. “Yes, several good friends of mine were killed that day. Some of the best Lancers we had. Mr. Baker assigned you to me because I lead the Raven Knights. We specialize in non-psionic engagements, which means that your skill in blocking psionic control is not a major issue. We hunt God-slayers and Wolves, and occasionally bring in wild-borns who are not controllers. We do not do battle with the Angels or other psionic factions.”

“Even so, I should become more familiar with Knight missions,” I said.

“I suppose that’s true,” said Mr. Simms. “Then you are in it for the experience?”

“Yes.”

“Alright, Adrian. It’ll be my first time having a child on the team, but if you’re fourteen, I suppose you’re not much of a child anymore. Mr. Baker has requested, and I accept.” Mr. Simms rose from his chair. “Welcome to the Ravens, Adrian,” he said, extending his hand.

I stood and shook it. “Thank you, Mr. Simms,” I said, and we sat again.

“For future reference,” said Mr. Simms, “I am known on missions under the call sign Swoop.”

“I’m Hansel,” I said. I nodded towards Alia, who was lazily playing with some of her leftover salad. “That’s Gretel.”

Mr. Simms chuckled. “Hansel and Gretel, huh?”

“Cindy’s stupid idea of a joke,” I said dryly.

“Well, Hansel, how would you feel about going on a small mission this very night?”

“Excuse me?” I said.

Alia snapped her head toward Mr. Simms, and then slowly looked over at me.

Mr. Simms took no notice of my sister as he explained, “One of my long-range finders thinks he’s located a wild-born not too far from here. The Angels stay well clear of New Haven these days, so I’m guessing they’re not onto him yet, though we’re not as sure about the Wolves. If my finder is right, this wild-born could be a valuable asset to us.”

Having been a wild-born myself, I knew that these new psionics, with no psionic relatives or ties to existing factions, posed a threat to our secrecy in human society, but were also highly sought after by the competing factions because they presented the opportunity to bring new psionic blood into a group.

Mr. Simms paused to sip his drink before continuing, “The only problem is, you see, my primary team is tied up on another project right now – a big project – and I’d prefer not to pull anyone for a mere fishing trip at the moment.”

“Fishing trip?” I repeated.

“That’s what we call a wild-born hunt,” explained Mr. Simms. “I was going to ask another Knight unit for some backup, but if you and Terry are willing, we could definitely use your help.”

“I’m sure Terry is willing,” I said, feeling Alia’s uncomfortable gaze burning into the side of my face, “and I am too, of course.”

I heard Alia’s voice in my head say warningly, “Addy...”

“That is,” I said, smiling at Alia, “if my sister doesn’t mind.”

Mr. Simms turned to her. “Would it be alright if we borrowed your brother tonight? He’ll be back by tomorrow evening at the latest.”

Alia stared back at Mr. Simms for a few seconds, and then looked down and said quietly into her plate, “Okay.”

“Great,” Mr. Simms said happily. “I’ll make the arrangements. Find Terry and meet up with a Mr. Michael Watson. He’s your finder and team leader for this assignment. Terry will know where he is. You’ll probably leave before 8pm tonight, so you’d best be going now.”

Once Mr. Simms saw us out and we were on the elevator down to the lobby, Alia let out a loud and very deliberate sigh.

“It’s not like I’m leaving tomorrow,” she said, giving me a reproachful look.

“I did say that yesterday,” I admitted. “But you just said it was alright for me to go.”

“I know. But you would go no matter what I said.”

I had no reply to that. “What did you think of Mr. Simms, Alia?”

“I don’t know,” Alia said uncomfortably. “He’s okay, I guess. But kind of scary.”

“What do you mean?” I asked. “He’s a big guy, but he seemed nice enough to me. What was scary about him?”

“I don’t know,” Alia said again. “Just... something about him.”

I shrugged. “Well, he’s my commander now, Ali, but that doesn’t mean I’ll be working with him every day. This, uh, fishing trip... he’s not coming on it either.”

We exited NH-4 and half-jogged back across the park to NH-1.

Back in the penthouse, Cindy informed me that Terry was training in the dojo. I was about to go fetch her when Cindy said quietly, “Don’t you have something to say to me, Adrian? Or were you planning to get Terry up here so you wouldn’t have to?”

I looked back at her, and she explained, “Mr. Simms just called me. You and Terry are to meet Mr. Watson in the parking lot in thirty minutes.”

“Then I guess there’s nothing to say, Cindy,” I said emotionlessly. “Except that I’m going.”

Cindy came up and gave me a hug. “Just be safe, okay?”

“Always,” I replied, hugging her back. “I’m not doing this for fun, you know.”

“I know, Adrian,” said Cindy, releasing me. “But you’re still doing it.”

“I’m sure it won’t be that dangerous, Cindy,” I said, unsure exactly who I was trying to convince. “Mr. Simms called it a ‘mere fishing trip.’”

“You remember yours?” Cindy asked evenly.

After an Angel berserker had murdered my parents, Ralph Henderson had shot the man with a crossbow in my living room and then used his peacemaking power on me to force me into his car.

“Vividly,” I said. “But this time, I’m not the fish.”

Cindy pursed her lips for a moment, and then said, “You’d better go find Terry.”

I did, and after telling Terry what, to her mind, was very good news, we returned to the penthouse together to pack for the mission.

Actually, I had nothing to take. I didn’t own a gun or any other weapons, and since it was just an overnight trip, I figured I didn’t really need a change of clothes either.

In contrast, Terry was taking both of her pistols and extra clips even though she could only handle one gun at a time. She had even brought out her jo stick.

“I probably won’t need any of this, though,” she said as she slung the sheathed four-and-a-half-foot red oak stick over her left shoulder and adjusted the leather strap using just her right hand. “But you never know.”

Terry had also strapped one of her prosthetic attachments to her left stump. This one wasn’t for decoration, but for battle. It was basically a thick metal bar that had enough weight to crack open a man’s skull. Terry had two other attachments designed for combat, one with a short black blade on it, the other with a sharp metal hook straight out of a pirate movie. The bar attachment she had on now was the least menacing of Terry’s combat arms, but Cindy still frowned when her eyes caught sight of it.

Cindy knew that Mr. Watson was a psionic hider and that he could keep my telekinetic power from being detected as long as I stayed close to him, but she nevertheless insisted on giving me individual hiding protection for the road. I knew better than to protest.

Placing her hands on my chest and back, Cindy spent several minutes working her power into my body. As she did, I was uncomfortably reminded of the last time she had done this for me. I had been an angry, stubborn child who refused to listen to reason and would, before the end of the day, be shot and captured by the Wolves. I briefly wondered if history was about to repeat itself.

“Okay,” said Cindy, releasing me. “That’ll keep you hidden for about two weeks, so if you get separated, you’ll still be able to get back home undetected.”

“Two weeks?!” I asked in surprise.

“It’s the best I can do,” said Cindy.

That wasn’t what surprised me. “Cindy, when you did this for me back at Mark’s place, you said that my bubble would only last eight hours.”

“I lied,” admitted Cindy. “I gave you a solid two weeks’ worth then too, but I didn’t want you to go too far away.”

I shook my head resignedly, but I couldn’t help smiling.

“Don’t worry, Cindy,” said Terry. “Nothing’s going to happen.”

Cindy wasn’t buying that. “Make sure you take some emergency cash, too.”

“Of course I’m taking money,” said Terry, rolling her eyes.

Cindy looked at me. “Adrian?”

“I’ll, um... go get mine,” I said awkwardly, and rushed back to my room to pull out the roll of bills I had stashed in my desk drawer.

Alia sat reading at her desk, deliberately ignoring me. After I stuffed a few bills down my pockets, I said to her hesitantly, “I’m going now, Ali.”

My sister stubbornly kept her eyes on her book as she said into my head, “So go.”

“I’ll be back tomorrow, okay?”

Silence.

“Goodnight, Alia,” I said quietly, and left.

Back in the living room, Terry looked impatient. “We better go quickly or we’ll be late.”

“Can’t be late on a mission,” I said, grinning. Terry was a stickler for punctuality, having said more than once to me, “In a combat situation, if you’re going to be five seconds late, you might as well not show up at all.”

Cindy followed us out of the penthouse and to the elevator, giving us one more hug each as we waited for the elevator car to come up.

Terry and I got into the elevator, and I exhaled deeply when the doors finally closed.

“Cindy’s not making it easy, is she?” laughed Terry as we rode the elevator down.

“Neither is Alia,” I deadpanned.

“They’ll get over it.”

I gave her a wry smile. “You keep saying that.”

“Well, it’s true, Adrian. Now let’s keep our minds on the mission, okay?”

In the basement parking lot, we found a pudgy man in dark blue workmen’s coveralls. He was leaning his back against a large black van and frowning at us. He didn’t exactly fit my image of a Guardian Knight, but Terry strode up to him, saying, “Good evening, Mr. Watson. It’s been a while.”

“Hello, Terry,” Mr. Watson replied gruffly. “Is that Adrian?”

“Hi,” I said, walking up to him and extending my hand, but he didn’t shake it.

Instead, he cocked his head toward the van, saying, “The gear is already stowed. Get in. Let’s go.”

“Where’s the team?” asked Terry, glancing around the basement.

Mr. Watson’s frown deepened. “You’re it,” he growled. “Now get in! Both of you in the back.”

We opened the side door and sat in the middle seat, Terry by the window. I noticed a wooden crate set on the back seat and assumed that it contained whatever gear we were going to use.

Sitting in the driver’s seat and turning the ignition, Mr. Watson muttered to himself, “Swoop’s idea of a joke to send me on a fishing trip with a bunch of damn snot-nosed brats.”

As he drove the van up the exit ramp and pulled onto the street, Mr. Watson called back to us harshly, “Now, I’m not saying you don’t have talents, but a pair of almost entirely untested kids isn’t my idea of an assault team. Mr. Simms assigned you to me, that’s just dandy. I’ve got to work with you. But if you give me any trouble, I’ll personally guarantee that it’s the last time you work for the Knights. Do I make myself clear?!”

“Yes, sir!” I said as crisply as I could.

Terry snorted loudly and kicked Mr. Watson’s seat from behind. “Cut the crap, Switch! We’re the one’s keeping you alive!”

Suddenly Mr. Watson laughed out loud. “That’s more like it! Take a leaf out of Terry’s book, Adrian. You only live so long, might as well have some fun, eh?”

I looked at Terry, who nudged my shoulder and said, “This isn’t the damn military, Adrian.”

“You’re Hansel, right?” said Mr. Watson, looking at me in the rearview mirror, his tone suddenly cheerful. “My sign is Switch. Before I turned psionic, I used to have a job as a railroad engineer.”

“Wonderful,” I said, breathing a sigh of relief. “Before I turned psionic, I used to go to middle school.”

“Just out of curiosity, how old are you, Adrian?”

“I’m fourteen, going on fifteen in October. Why?”

“Because you don’t look older than twelve or so.”

I shrugged. “Yeah, I get that a lot.”

Terry laughed. “Don’t worry, Mr. Watson. Size is no measure of guts, and Adrian’s got a fair share. I guarantee it.”

“Well, good, because he’s our only destroyer,” said Mr. Watson. Then he said to me, “You see, Adrian, we usually take five or six people even on a fishing trip, but Mr. Simms has everyone working overtime on... Well, I don’t know if he wants you to know about that yet, so I won’t tell you, but it’s a big project. You two are the only backup I got this round, which means Terry’s not kidding when she says you’re the ones keeping me alive. I’m just a peaceful finder and hider, like your Ms. Gifford, and a half-baked phantom. I can’t shoot worth a damn either.”

“Well, if it’s a fishing trip...” I began, wondering what the big deal was.

Mr. Watson’s face in the mirror smiled grimly. “Fishing trips can run afoul, Adrian. Sometimes they’re traps set by Angels or Wolves. Sometimes other factions try to beat us to the catch. A lot of things can happen. We’ll just have to be extra careful.”

“What’s a phantom?” I asked. I was sure Cindy had told me long ago, but I couldn’t remember.

In reply, Mr. Watson suddenly turned invisible. That is, his body but not his clothes. His clothes were still resting in the driver’s seat, the long sleeves of his shirt extending up to the steering wheel, making it look like the van was being driven by a headless ghost. I noticed Mr. Watson’s eyeballs also remained in sight, eerily hovering several inches above his shirt collar.

“That is really creepy,” I said.

“It’s also utterly useless,” Mr. Watson’s disembodied voice said with a light chuckle, “because I can’t turn anything but myself invisible. Most phantoms can do clothes and stuff, but I can’t. I’d have to be buck-naked to make any use of this power.”

“You can’t turn your eyes invisible either?” I asked. From behind, Mr. Watson’s eyeballs looked like two bloody red berries, and I wished I hadn’t seen them.

“I can turn all or any part of my body invisible,” said Mr. Watson, and his eyes blinked out of existence as well. “See?”

Terry leaned over to look around the driver’s seat and said angrily, “Hey cut that out, Switch, before you get us all killed!”

Mr. Watson’s eyes, head and body reappeared, minus his left hand. Terry got the joke, and kicked Mr. Watson’s seat again.

“What’s that about getting us killed?” I asked Terry.

But it was Mr. Watson who explained, “Phantoms rarely hide their eyes, Adrian. We can’t see anything when our eyes are transparent because light doesn’t hit the retinas.”

“That sucks,” I said. It had never occurred to me that the consequence of invisibility would be blindness.

Mr. Watson’s reflection in the rearview mirror grinned. “There’s a downside to most everything.”

“Enough play,” said Terry. “Tell us about the target.”

“Oh, this one’s good,” Mr. Watson replied cheerfully. “His name’s Art Barnum, and he’s a double-wild-born double-destroyer.”

“Huh?” I said.

Terry explained, “That means he gained two powers at the same time, and both are destroyer powers. It’s rare, and quite valuable to the Knights.”

“That’s right,” said Mr. Watson. “This guy is a pyroid and spark. It’s amazing no one has picked him up yet. He’s been on the run now for several weeks, and recently he stopped about two hundred miles from here.”

“Why is he running?” asked Terry.

“The news clippings are in the file in the box if you care to read them, but the short of it is that he torched his own son by accident.”

Terry let out a soft whistle.

“The kid was five years old,” continued Mr. Watson. “He breathed in the flames and died. Mr. Barnum’s wife saw it and ran to the police. Best guess, the Wolves already scrubbed her.”

Mr. Watson didn’t sound at all bothered by the thought that Art Barnum’s young son had been burned or that Mrs. Barnum might have been tortured to death by the Wolves. For him, this kind of thing was clearly business as usual. His lack of sympathy bothered me a lot, but I kept quiet.

Mr. Watson continued, “The police found his car abandoned at the edge of his hometown. Exactly where he’s been from there is a bit of a mystery, but there are bits and pieces in various local tabloids and police reports that point to his cross-country run. We know the Wolves are already onto him, and it’s only a matter of time before other faction finders locate him too.”

“And you’re sure it’s this Mr. Barnum that you’ve found?” I asked.

“No guarantee, but the dates and locations seem to match up fairly well. And he’s a pyroid, of course. Wild-borns don’t come in six-packs, Adrian. You only see a handful every year.”

“How old is he?” asked Terry.

“About thirty,” replied Mr. Watson. “A bit of a late bloomer, even for a wild-born.”

I didn’t yet know what it felt like to be thirty years old, but I felt that I understood a small part of what Mr. Barnum was going through. Before Cindy found me, I had been on the run for three weeks, stealing money for food and constantly afraid that at any moment, my pursuers would catch up with me. I hadn’t a clue what might happen to me if I was caught, but that only added to the fear I felt as I spent cold, lonely nights on the rooftops of city high-rises.

“A double-destroyer is just too good to pass up,” said Mr. Watson. “I tried to get Mr. Simms to give me a few men yesterday, but, well...”

“Secret project?” Terry asked in an innocent tone.

Mr. Watson laughed. “You two do a good job on this and maybe you’ll get to be a part of it.”

“We’re almost out of New Haven’s bubble,” announced Mr. Watson, slowing the van. “Give me a moment to put my field up.”

Mr. Watson’s power as a psionic hider was just enough to place a hiding bubble over his van, but when he learned that I had been given individual protection from Cindy, he said happily, “Give my thanks to Ms. Gifford for me, Adrian. Now all I have to do is hide myself.”

We drove out of Cindy’s hiding bubble and across the river, leaving the city behind us.

“You kids better get some sleep,” said Mr. Watson. “I hope to get us on site before daybreak so we can get the job done quickly. I might want Terry to drive us back if I’m too tired tomorrow.”

“I think I might walk home,” I said, remembering Terry’s driving when we had been rushing to Cindy’s rescue.

Terry jabbed me in the side with her metal bar. Then she tilted her seat back as far as it would go before it hit the crate behind her.

“It’s barely Alia’s bedtime,” I said, rubbing my side.

“Sleep when you can, Adrian,” said Terry, closing her eyes. “That’s how you survive a mission.”

I leaned my seat back slightly, rested my head and let my eyes wander about the dark country scenery. Less than a minute later, I heard Terry’s breathing change slightly.

“Nobody falls asleep that fast,” I muttered, looking at her incredulously.

I heard Mr. Watson chuckle. “She’s right, you know. You two are in charge of the takedown once we get there. Rest while you can.”

“You really trust us to do this?” I asked.

“Well, I don’t know you all that well yet, Adrian, but Terry’s worth ten Knights in my book. And if she says you’ve got guts, I’ll believe it.”

I caught my reflection in the window grinning back at me. It still took a while before I managed to close my eyes, though.

Mr. Watson woke us by turning the radio music up to full volume.

“Hey, cut it out!” shouted Terry, instantly wide awake.

Mr. Watson laughed as he switched off the radio.

“Where are we, Mr. Watson?” I asked groggily, stretching my arms and legs as best I could in the seat.

“Call signs only from here, Hansel,” replied Mr. Watson. “We’re close.”

It was too dark to see much, but as far as I could tell, we were driving down a narrow gravel road that ran between vast farm fields, with clumps of trees and thick bushes here and there. Mr. Watson stopped the van near a bend in the road, and then carefully backed us into a narrow space between several tall trees.

As we climbed out of the van, Mr. Watson said, “Rabbit, sort the gear please. There should be a couple of 84s in the box. You’ll have to assemble the rifle too. Hansel, help me hide the car.”

Terry, who had taken her call sign, Rabbit, from one of her late uncles who reportedly had buckteeth, started rummaging through the wooden crate on the back seat. Meanwhile, I helped Mr. Watson gather some dead branches to lean against the front of the van. There weren’t enough branches, so I levitated myself up and snapped a few leafy ones off of the tops of the trees. Once we finished, the van was hidden well enough that you wouldn’t see it unless you knew it was there.

“Okay, I’m set,” announced Terry. Then she said to Mr. Watson in an accusing tone, “But there’s hardly any real gear to sort here, Switch. Just this fishing rod, a pair of handcuffs and three 84s.”

“Would you have preferred a rocket launcher?” joked Mr. Watson.

Terry didn’t laugh. “You couldn’t even get us some CS cans?”

I didn’t know enough military jargon to decipher Terry’s complaint, but her “fishing rod” seemed to be the rifle she was holding in her right hand. At first glance, it looked like an ordinary hunting rifle, but even in the dark, I could see that it was a touch shorter than a regular rifle and that the shape of the barrel was somewhat unique too.

“You’re just going to have to make do, Rabbit,” said Mr. Watson. “Swoop has been pretty tight with our ammunition recently, and I had enough trouble getting a hold of the flashbangs.”

Terry noticed my lost expression but ignored it.

Mr. Watson added, “And we’re not to use them unless we absolutely have to.”

Terry shrugged. “Well, as long as he’s alone and unarmed, all I’ll really need is an arm.”

Mr. Watson grinned. “That’s the spirit!”

Terry slung the rifle over her left shoulder, saying, “I guess I didn’t really need to bring my jo stick.”

“What’s with the fishing rod?” I asked, unable to contain my curiosity any longer.

“It’s a gas powered dart rifle,” said Terry.

“You mean like a tranquilizer gun?” I asked, looking at the rifle more closely.

“Actually, it’s a modified tranquilizer gun,” explained Mr. Watson. “It doesn’t inject chemicals though. It’s more like a harpoon. The metal darts dig into your flesh and drain your psionic powers. That’s one of the reasons we call it a fishing trip.”

“That sounds very painful,” I commented.

“Better than being shot with a real bullet, though,” said Terry. “I only brought my own guns in case this mission turns ugly.”

I thought it was already ugly enough, but I didn’t say so. Instead, I asked, “What is it that you said you wanted, Terry? What are CS cans?”

Terry glared at me. “Use my call sign or shut up, Hansel!”

It had been an honest slip of the tongue. “Sorry, Rabbit,” I mumbled.

Mr. Watson said to me, “CS grenades – that’s tear gas, Hansel. Very powerful stink... kind of like rubbing onions in your eyes and sticking dead rats up your nose at the same time, but less comfortable. Believe me, it’s better that we don’t have any CS here today. The M84s are a lot cleaner.”

“And what’s an M84?” I asked.

“A flashbang,” said Terry, her tone civil again. Reaching into the van, she tossed a black cylindrical object to me. “Big light, big noise. Make sure you close your eyes when it goes off or you’ll be blinded for a few seconds. Hang on to that one. I’ll carry the other two.”

I looked at the grenade in my hand. I had seen these things used in movies, but I had never seen a real one before. “How do you use it?” I asked.

Terry gave me an exasperated look. “You pull the pin and throw it, Hansel. Honestly...”

Mr. Watson said, “Come on, we’re wasting time. It’ll be daybreak in an hour or so.”

“He’s right,” Terry said to me. “Let’s go.”

Stuffing the flashbang into my sweatpants pocket, I followed Mr. Watson and Terry off the road and into a field of tall grass that I guessed was abandoned farmland. It reminded me of the grassy field where Derrick, the Guardian dreamweaver, used to appear in my dreams during my stay at the Psionic Research Center. I suddenly wondered if Alia was awake or asleep right now.

“He’s just beyond those trees,” said Mr. Watson as we trudged toward a long, straight line of pine trees that had probably been planted there to mark the end of the field. “Hope he’s still asleep.”

The line of pines was only a few yards wide, and when we came out the other side, Mr. Watson and Terry both swore at the same time.

“I was afraid of this,” said Mr. Watson, looking at an old, rectangular two-story farmhouse that was about a hundred yards away and sitting in the middle of another grassy field.

“What’s the matter?” I whispered. The farmhouse windows were all dark, so I guessed that no one was awake yet.

“I was hoping he was just camping out,” said Mr. Watson. “There’s probably nobody living in that house. Except, of course, our Mr. Barnum. It would’ve been a lot easier if it was a tent. A house that size has plenty of places to hide in. If he’s armed as well, we’re in for a bit of a fight.”

“Can’t you just sense which room he’s in?” I asked.

“No,” replied Mr. Watson. “I’m strictly a long-range finder. I can’t pinpoint him. You?”

I shook my head. I had felt the wild-born’s two destroyer powers the moment I had woken in the van, but in my case, far from being able to pinpoint his location, I couldn’t even tell which direction he was in. I could only sense the approximate distance, and that was no help at all.

“At least we have surprise,” said Terry, and then threw me a grin. “Better than last time, anyway.”

I grinned back at her. Not long ago, Terry, Alia and I had stormed a larger, more complex hideout where the opposition was greater in number, better prepared, and knew we were coming. I looked at the farmhouse again. Admittedly, a tent would have been easier, but this wouldn’t be the world’s greatest challenge.

Suddenly Mr. Watson swore again. Putting a hand into his pocket, he drew out a vibrating cell phone. I remembered Mr. Baker once telling me that the Guardians didn’t usually use cell phones on missions because they could be traced by the Wolves.

Mr. Watson whispered fiercely into the phone, “This better be a goddamn emergency!”

It was.

When Mr. Watson finished talking to Guardian headquarters and pocketed his phone, even in the darkness, his face seemed slightly paler.

“Well?” asked Terry.

“Wolves,” announced Mr. Watson. “There’s a pair of helicopters inbound. They’re only about sixty minutes away.”

“Sixty minutes?!” I repeated aghast.

Mr. Watson nodded. “Which means that if we had any sense, we’d be leaving two hours ago.”

“Well, we’re already here,” said Terry. “Let’s get this guy and go.”

“Maybe we should just go,” suggested Mr. Watson. “I mean, I could just turn invisible, but you kids–”

“No!” Terry and I both said at the same time. I didn’t know why Terry was for saving this man, but for my part, I wasn’t about to leave a psionic, even a complete stranger, to be picked up by the Wolves if there was anything I could do about it.

“Alright,” said Mr. Watson, “let’s make it quick, then.”

There was no cover between the trees and the house. If our target was awake and watching from a window, even in the dark, he would probably see us coming. I looked nervously at the darkened windows facing us. A pyroid would be able to rain fire down at us without ever presenting a target.

Correctly reading my expression, Terry whispered, “Relax, Hansel. He’s probably asleep, and even if he’s not, he can’t sense you. Come on!”

The three of us crept across the field and up to the farmhouse. So far, so good. As Mr. Watson climbed onto the front porch, the wooden boards creaked under his ample weight. The sound probably wasn’t all that loud, but it still felt much too loud for comfort. Following Mr. Watson, Terry managed to get to the front door almost silently, and I of course levitated myself to it, avoiding the creaky boards altogether.

I noticed the chipped and peeling once-white paint on the walls. Part of the porch’s side railing was missing. This house had probably been abandoned years ago. I wondered how long Mr. Barnum had been holed up here.

Mr. Watson slowly turned the doorknob. “Locked,” he whispered. “You want to pick it or kick it, Rabbit?”

“Neither,” said Terry. “There’s an open window just above us on the second floor. Hansel can levitate me in and then follow. You stay here, Switch.”

Suddenly an explosion rang out from somewhere inside the house.

“Down!” shouted Terry, dropping her dart rifle, grabbing me and pushing me onto the porch. Lying flat on the cold wooden surface, I found myself face to face with Mr. Watson.

“Guess he had a gun,” I panted.

“Sounded like a scattergun,” said Mr. Watson. “I hope he doesn’t kill himself. Sometimes they do.”

He hadn’t yet, as both Mr. Watson and I knew because we could sense the destroyer’s powers. Another shot rang out, and then we heard the man shout hysterically, “You open that door and I’ll pump you full of lead! Get out of here!”

Another gunshot.

“It’s just panic fire,” said Terry. “He’s not even aiming at the door.”

I looked up at the front door. Terry was right: not a single hole in it. Mr. Barnum was probably just punching holes in his ceiling.

I glanced at Terry, who had moved to a crouched position next to the front door and was checking the safety on her dart rifle.

“You’re actually happy that he’s armed, aren’t you, Rabbit?” I said.

Terry scowled at me. “Don’t be stupid, Hansel!”

“I want to talk to him,” I said quietly. “There’s a reason he’s running.”

“We don’t have time for games!” hissed Terry. “Just get me in the second-floor window!”

“No, Rabbit! We can’t just storm the place!” I argued.

“Why not?!” said Terry. “Listen, Hansel, it might be panic fire but he does have a gun, not to mention two destroyer powers.”

“Yeah, well, here’s another good way to get myself killed, then.”

“That’s not funny! There’s no need to deliberately put yourself in danger. We can just tie him up for now and let the Council reps sort it out when we get him back to New Haven.”

“I’m with Rabbit on this,” said Mr. Watson. “Let’s bag this guy and get going.”

“No! Please!” I begged. “Let me talk to him!”

Without waiting for an answer, I tried to levitate myself up toward the open window, but Terry grabbed me and pulled me back down. Pressing her metal bar to my neck to drain me, she shouted, “You’re going to get yourself shot, Hansel!”

Mr. Watson said in an irritated tone, “Hansel, it’s not like we’ve never taken a wild-born before.”

Struggling under Terry’s grasp, I shot back at Mr. Watson, “Yeah, and I’ve seen how you guys take wild-borns!”

Terry released me, but I knew she was ready to stop me if I tried to fly again.

“Please just let me talk to him, Rabbit,” I said to her. “He’s scared! Wouldn’t you be?”

Terry shook her head. “This is nothing compared to how scared he’s going to be when the Wolves catch up with him. You of all people–”

“I know that, Terry!” I cut across her, once again forgetting to use her call sign. “But it has to be his choice. It just has to!”

“You’re still soft, Hansel!” Terry said furiously. Then she took a deep breath and said in a calmer voice, “Alright, you can talk. But we’re going in together, and if he takes a shot at us, I’m going to nail him. Agreed?”

I nodded. Focusing my telekinetic power on Terry first, I levitated her up toward the open window. I couldn’t see inside from this far below, so I raised her slowly just in case Art Barnum was waiting in the room with his shotgun.

“It’s alright,” said Terry, peering in through the window. “Put me in.”

I did. Fearful that Terry might decide to break her promise and storm the house with her rifle and grenades, I quickly flew up after her. Landing softly in a large, mostly empty but very dusty room, I looked at Terry. She had her rifle aimed at the only door, but was patiently waiting for me.

“You get three minutes, Hansel,” said Terry. “Start talking.”

I stepped forward and, with Terry behind me and holding the rifle over my shoulder, I telekinetically pulled the door open. Cautiously stepping through the doorframe, I found myself in an almost pitch-black hallway. As my eyes slowly adjusted to the dark, I saw that the hallway led to a staircase descending back down to the first floor. Where was Mr. Barnum? His third gunshot seemed like ages ago, but I could still sense his powers somewhere in the house.

“Mr. Barnum?” I called out. “Mr. Art Barnum?”

Silence. I knew he could hear me. I was speaking loud enough to be heard outside the house.

“Mr. Barnum?!” I called again. “I’m not going to hurt you. I just want to talk.”

“Go away!” I heard the man shout. I couldn’t be sure, but it sounded like it was coming from the foot of the stairs.

“I’m unarmed,” I said as calmly as I could.

I could feel the burning impatience radiating from Terry. If she had her way, she would have tossed one of her flashbang grenades down there and by now we’d probably be marching a handcuffed Mr. Barnum back to the van.

I was feeling the pressure too, of course. Every second brought the Wolves closer, and in a secluded spot like this, they would be free to come at us full force. I didn’t know how far away the nearest town was, but we would have to get there before the Wolves were onto us. They wouldn’t risk exposing psionics to the world by attacking us in a populated area.

Mr. Barnum shouted, “What do you want with me?!”

Now I was certain that he was at the bottom of the staircase, just out of sight.

“Nothing,” I called back. “We’re here to help you.”

“You can’t help me! Don’t come near me!”

Another shot rang out, and I saw bits of the wall at the top of the stairs break off. Mr. Watson had been right about it being a shotgun.

“I’m going to give you a few seconds to reload if you need to, Mr. Barnum,” I called down. “Then I’m going to step into your line of fire. If you want to kill me, all you have to do is pull the trigger.”

Terry hissed into my good ear, “What the hell are you doing?!”

“Giving him time to reload,” I replied matter-of-factly as I counted thirty seconds off in my head.

“You’re insane, Hansel!”

I put my right hand on the barrel of Terry’s fishing rifle and gently forced it down. “Stay here,” I said quietly. “Please, just trust me, Rabbit.”

Then I called to Mr. Barnum, “I’m coming down now. I’m unarmed, and I’m not going to hurt you.”

I took a deep breath and slowly made my way forward one small step at a time until I was standing in front of the wall that Mr. Barnum had just emptied his shotgun into. I peered down the stairs, and could just barely make out the shape of a man holding a double-barreled shotgun in both hands. He was aiming it straight at me.

Even if I had wanted to, I probably wouldn’t have been able to knock the gun out of his hands at this distance – more likely it would go off before the barrels were sufficiently pointing away from me. If I could see his trigger finger, I might be able to lock it in place so he couldn’t fire, but that would require a good deal of concentration that I didn’t have the capacity for at the moment.

“Mr. Barnum?” I said as I took my first step down the stairs. “I’m Adrian. Please don’t shoot me yet. Let’s just talk for a moment, okay?”

The man remained motionless, and I took a few more steps down toward him. His eyes widened as he finally saw me clearly enough to say, “You’re just a kid...”

“Thanks for noticing,” I said, feeling a bit braver in front of his shotgun.

“Don’t come any closer!”

“I know what happened to your son, Mr. Barnum,” I said quietly, “and I’m sorry.”

“How do you know my name?”

There was no easy way to answer that, so I instead said, “I know how scared you are. I know how confusing this is.”

Mr. Barnum slowly lowered his shotgun, but still kept both hands on it. I could see that the psionic draining effect caused by touching the metal barrel did not greatly affect his physical strength. I felt a bit envious.

“I killed my own son,” he said, his voice shaking horribly. “Do you have any idea what that feels like?”

“No, sir, I do not,” I said slowly, taking another step down. “But I do know what it feels like to lose family. I know what it’s like to be lost and alone. And I know, Mr. Barnum, that you do not want to end like this. Please let us help you.”

Mr. Barnum just stared back at me. I wondered how many more seconds Terry would wait before dropping a flashbang our way.

“Come with us,” I said.

Mr. Barnum shook his head.

“We won’t force you,” I lied. “That is not our way. But I must warn you that even as we speak, you are being hunted by powers you do not understand.”

“You’re one of the hunters yourself,” Mr. Barnum pointed out.

“I won’t deny that,” I said. “But please believe me when I say that I am not your enemy. There are those who want you dead. Others want to study you, or enslave you. We merely want you to be given the choice. You do not have to join us. At least let us help you the make the decision yourself.”

“How can I trust you?”

I smiled to myself as I remembered that I had once said those same words to Cindy.

“I can’t make you trust me,” I replied patiently. “But you are not going to survive on your own much longer. Surely you know that by now. We can’t bring your son back, Mr. Barnum, but we can help you learn to control your power so that you never hurt anyone with it again.”

The shotgun fell from his hands with a loud clatter, and Mr. Barnum collapsed onto the floor, kneeling with his head in his hands.

I walked down the rest of the stairs and put my hands on his quivering shoulders. “You’re going to be okay, Mr. Barnum,” I said gently. “But we don’t have much time. If you don’t want to spend the rest of your life in captivity, we have to leave right now.”

Terry had materialized at my side, and the two of us stood Mr. Barnum up. The front door was only a few yards away.

“We’re coming out, Switch,” called Terry.

Terry unlocked the door and then we helped Mr. Barnum, whose legs had gone wobbly, out of the farmhouse.

Mr. Watson’s clothes were lying on the porch and his eyeballs were floating nearby.

“Coward,” said Terry.

“Can’t be too careful,” said Mr. Watson, quickly putting his clothes back on before returning his body to a visible state.

Mr. Barnum looked surprised but didn’t comment. I suspected his world was still spinning too fast to be bothered by something like that.

“What took you so damn long?” demanded Mr. Watson as we hurried back across the field. Mr. Barnum seemed to find his feet once we were outside, and kept pace with us as we broke through the line of pine trees and kept jogging.

“Hansel wanted to play hero!” Terry said savagely.

I grinned at her. “You’re just cranky because you couldn’t shoot anyone today, Rabbit.”

Terry jabbed me again with her bar and then turned to Mr. Watson, asking, “Want me to drive?”

“No, I’m awake,” replied Mr. Watson.

Without even bothering to remove the branches we had leaned against the front of the van, Mr. Watson jumped into the driver’s seat and Terry sat beside him. I slid open the side door and, letting Mr. Barnum in first, I sat next to him on the middle seat. Doors slamming, we pulled out of the trees and back onto the gravel road.

The sky was getting brighter, and the Wolves closer. It was up to Mr. Watson now to get us to safety. I had little choice but to resign myself to a “whatever happens, happens” attitude now that the fate of the mission was out of my hands. Mr. Watson was driving dangerously fast on the narrow gravel strip, and I could see that the tension in the van was making Mr. Barnum uptight again.

“What kind of work did you do before all this happened?” I asked the man, hoping to start a friendly conversation.

Staring out of the window, Mr. Barnum answered almost inaudibly, “I was a fireman.”

Life is full of ironies.

Chapter 4: The Big One

Successfully evading the Wolves, the four of us arrived back in New Haven before lunchtime the same day.

Stepping out of the van in the basement parking lot, I turned to Mr. Barnum, who had unhesitatingly followed me out.

“Welcome to New Haven,” I said, smiling. “I think you’ll like it here.”

“Thank you, Adrian,” he replied. He didn’t smile back, but I could tell that he was feeling secure for the first time in far too long.

Mr. Watson led Mr. Barnum off the elevator on the first floor to register him with the lobby security, and Terry and I bid them goodbye from the elevator car.

“Good luck,” I called as the doors closed, and Mr. Barnum gave me a little wave.

As Terry and I rode the elevator up toward the penthouse, Terry grinned slyly at me and said, “Wait till I tell Cindy how you told that man to reload before stepping in front of his shotgun.”

“You wouldn’t!” I cried, wide-eyed.

Terry’s smile broadened. “Why not? Don’t you want Cindy to know how courageous you are?”

“No! Terry, please!”

Terry laughed loudly. “I’m kidding, Adrian! You think I want to be the one who gives her a heart attack?”

Entering the penthouse with Terry, I just barely braced myself in time to keep from being knocked over as Alia jumped on me, wrapping her arms around my neck. She didn’t say anything, but it seemed that she had at least temporarily stowed her upset with my going away. I spun her around a few times before setting her back on the floor, by which time Cindy had come rushing from the kitchen to give Terry and me big bear hugs.

“Wow!” said Terry, laughing. “You’d think we were gone for a year!”

“I’m just glad you’re both home safe,” said Cindy.

“That much is obvious.”

“No injuries, Addy?” Alia asked aloud.

“Fortunately, not this trip,” I told her. “But next time, ask that before you jump on me.”

“So how was it?” asked Cindy. “Did you enjoy your mission?”

We gave her the abridged version over lunch, and I let Terry do most of the talking. I suspected that Cindy knew Terry was leaving certain details out, but Cindy didn’t probe the fine points.

We had not only taken our target wild-born intact, but did so without firing a single shot or using even one grenade. While it had been a close call with the Wolves, our mission was nevertheless a one-hundred-percent success, due in large part to me, and Terry was kind enough to give me that credit without letting Cindy know exactly what I had done.

“Sounds like you both had quite an adventure,” commented Cindy.

“I’m just glad we got him to come on his own,” I said, a little embarrassed by Terry’s praise. “I really wanted him to make the choice himself.”

Terry laughed. “I thought you didn’t believe in choices, Adrian.”

“Well, technically, he didn’t really have a choice,” I replied. “But at least he thinks he made one.”

Two days later, I learned from Cindy that Art Barnum had agreed to officially join the Guardians, and once he settled down in New Haven, he would be given the option of joining the Knights if he felt up to it. Otherwise, he was perfectly welcome to peacefully live out his life as a librarian or something.

“That’s good to hear, Cindy,” I said, smiling. “I hope he finds peace here.”

Success is addictive. The euphoria that comes from it invariably demands more. As the days slowly became hotter, I found myself wondering when we would be called upon next, and what kind of mission it would be. With the exception of one short phone call to Terry congratulating our success, Mr. Simms had not spoken to us since our fishing trip. I knew he was busy with his secret project, but that just made me all the more impatient.

Terry merely shrugged, saying, “We’ve already proven ourselves. If they want us, they’ll contact us. Until then, keep training.”

That didn’t sound at all like What’s-Life-Without-Adventure Terry, but she was right. We were already asking a lot of the Knights to allow us on missions, and if Terry could patiently wait for a summons, I certainly could too. Meanwhile, Cindy would be happy knowing that we were living peacefully in New Haven and Alia wouldn’t have to feel left out of anything. Now that Cindy had Alia and me officially on summer vacation, aside from my combat training with Terry, I had no responsibilities and thus lots of time to waste. It was not yet July, but I could tell that it was going to be another hot summer.

On the last day of June, Alia, who had learned to swim last year and loved it, asked Terry and me to take her to the pool. We didn’t need too much persuading. Packing our swimsuits and lunch money, the three of us headed out in the late morning.

“You can’t wear a headband in the pool, Adrian,” said Terry as we walked toward the recreational outdoor pool several blocks down the street from our building.

“Oh yeah?” I said defiantly, adjusting the thick band around my ears. “Watch me.”

I was also wearing a large waterproof Band-Aid over my P-47 tattoo. The Guardian families knew who I was even if I covered up my distinguishing features, but there were plenty of normal people living in this neighborhood who didn’t even know that they were in New Haven.

“That band is going to slip off in the water,” warned Terry, “and then everyone will see how ugly you really are.”

“Look who’s talking, Five-fingers!” I retorted. “Hope you brought enough sunscreen!”

Alia started giggling, and then let out a little shriek as Terry used her prosthetic hand to poke my sister in the stomach.

We borrowed towels at the reception counter, and then I met the girls on the other side of the changing rooms.

Having left her left arm in her locker, Terry’s rather obvious lopsidedness drew some sidelong glances from the other pool guests. If anyone asked, the official line was that Terry had lost her arm in a car accident. We certainly weren’t about to tell anyone that I had hacked it off with an ax to save her from drowning.

Of the three of us, Alia was the only one who looked at all normal. Her deep red one-piece swimsuit hid both of her two disturbingly unique features.

The more obvious of these were the terrible crisscrossing scars all over her back which, if seen by the public, would probably attract far more alarmed looks than Terry’s missing arm. Alia had spent the first few years of her life in the hands of religious fanatics that tried to “cure her psionic abnormality” by torturing the devil out of her. Sharing a room with my sister meant that I frequently saw those scars when we were changing, but I could never quite get used to it. I couldn’t begin to imagine what she must have gone through. Never once had I heard her mention anything from her life prior to being rescued by Cindy, and I wasn’t about to bring it up in conversation.

Also hidden by Alia’s swimsuit was a round palm-size scar on her lower left side, the result of being hit by a powerful telekinetic blast from none other than myself earlier this year when my body had been hijacked by an Angel puppeteer. I would never forget the horror I felt watching my psionically controlled arm fire the blast that smashed Alia against a wall. I had almost killed my sister that night, but Alia jokingly called the scar her “Addy mark.” Much like Terry’s shortened left arm, whenever I saw it, I was reminded of how precarious life could suddenly become.

Grabbing Terry’s right hand and my left, Alia tugged us toward the pool as she said loudly but not nearly correctly, “Come on!”

As we jumped into the water, I noticed the lifeguard staring at us. What a sight we must have been: me with my ridiculous headband and Band-Aid, Terry without an arm, and Alia talking like she had glue in her mouth.

“I wonder when Laila’s coming,” said Terry as she and I treaded water, watching Alia splash happily around us.

“Laila’s coming?” I asked.

“I invited her to join us before we left,” replied Terry. “She said she’d try to be here before noon.”

“Oh.”

Terry smirked. “Don’t worry, Adrian. I won’t tell her how you feel about her.”

“Terry!” I said warningly, but at the exact same moment, I heard another girl’s voice shout out Terry’s name as well. It was Laila Brown.

“Laila!” Terry called back as Laila jumped into the pool and swam up to us. “You’re early.”

“My mom said I could do my chores later,” Laila said happily. “Hello, Adrian. Hi, Alia!”

“Hi,” Alia and I said together, though for once, my sister spoke more clearly than I.

“Is Ms. Gifford here too?” asked Laila.

“No,” replied Terry.

We had invited her, but as was often the case, Cindy had a meeting to attend. It was only recently that I discovered that half of the time, Cindy’s “meetings” were spent giving Guardian Knights her two weeks’ worth of individual hiding protection before they shipped off on missions where other hiders were not available. Cindy hadn’t wanted to share this with us, but Terry knew and told me.

“I heard about your fishing trip from my mom,” said Laila, beaming at me. “I thought it was really–”

But I didn’t get to hear what Laila really thought it was because, at that moment, another girl’s voice called out, “Laila! Hey, Laila!”

I turned around in the water and saw two teenage girls standing on the poolside and waving to us. Terry and Laila’s classmates, no doubt.

Laila waved back, calling their names, and then said, “You want to join us for lunch later?”

The girls looked at Terry and me uncomfortably, and then the one who had called to us said, “Uh, sorry, but we can’t. We promised we’d be home before noon.”

“Then you better get swimming,” Terry called up to them brightly. “You only have about twenty minutes here if you’re going to be home by noon!”

“Actually, we’re just on our way out,” replied the girl. “We’ve been here since morning.”

“Must be nice to have hair that dries so fast!” said Laila, and I noticed that neither girl on the poolside had damp hair.

“Yeah, well...” said the girl, looking around uneasily. “We’ll, uh, see you later, Laila.”

“See you!” Terry and Laila shouted together.

As the pair of dry-haired girls retreated toward the doors to the changing rooms, Terry and Laila burst out laughing. Alia joined in too, though she probably didn’t know what was funny. I didn’t see much humor in the matter myself.

There was a fairly consistent flow of people coming out of and returning into the changing rooms, so I couldn’t be sure how many people were leaving because we had arrived, but I was sure those girls weren’t the only ones. Well, tough luck for them! If they were too gutless to share a public space with the family of the hider that was protecting their way of life, then I had as much pity for them as I had for the Wolves.

Ignoring the lifeguard’s curious looks and occasional stares from other visitors, we swam freely and played water-tag until Alia tired out, and then we decided to take a break for lunch. Terry had been wrong on one count: my headband had stayed on.

Getting out of the water, we gathered some pool chairs into a corner where we could have some privacy.

“I’ll take Alia and get us some hotdogs,” said Terry. “You two can guard our chairs and get better acquainted.”

Without waiting for an answer, Terry took Alia’s hand and led her off toward the crowded hotdog stand at the far end of the pool area, leaving Laila and me in an awkward silence. I shrugged, gave Laila a half-smile and sat down with her on the pool chairs. I wasn’t sure what to say to her. After all, Laila was Terry’s friend, not mine.

Laila turned to me and said, “Terry told me all about her last mission, and what you two did there.”

“She didn’t tell you that...” I began uneasily.

“That you stepped in front of a loaded shotgun?” Laila grinned. “Yes, she did.”

“Oh,” I said, scratching the back of my neck. “You know, I didn’t really plan it that way. It’s just sort of how it happened.”

“Well, planned or not, Adrian, I have to agree with Terry that it probably wasn’t a very smart thing to do.”

I shrugged.

Laila smiled and continued, “But I’m glad you got the man to come peacefully. I actually met Mr. Barnum when I was walking with my mother to her Council meeting the other day. He seemed like a really nice man. It’s good that no one forced him to join us.”

“It’s scary being a wild-born,” I said quietly.

“I can imagine,” said Laila.

If it had been someone else, I might have dismissed that comment as an empty politeness, but I thought perhaps Laila could imagine what it was like.

I smiled at her, and she said hesitantly, “Hey, Adrian? I know this is kind of sudden, but before I came here today, my mom told me to ask you if you and Alia might want to come with us to church next Sunday. Terry’s welcome too, of course, but I’m sure she’s not interested.”

“I didn’t know you were a church-goer,” I said.

“All my life,” said Laila, nodding.

“Well, sorry to disappoint you, Laila, but I’m not really into religion. Actually, I’m an agnostic.”

“An agnostic?”

“It means I don’t believe in God.”

“I know what ‘agnostic’ means, Adrian,” said Laila, chuckling. “Terry’s an atheist too.”

“But I’m not an atheist,” I insisted. “I’m an agnostic. I’m not saying God doesn’t exist. But there’s no way to know for sure, so I just don’t bother with religion one way or the other.”

Laila smiled mischievously. “And yet the sisters tell me you sometimes visit the church.”

“I do, but not to pray,” I told her. “You know that I’m friends with Mark Parnell, right? I sometimes talk to him at the church, but I don’t intrude on the services.”

Laila gave me a dubious look. “You’re friends with a priest and you’re not at all religious?”

I raised my eyebrows. “Is that so hard to believe?”

“Well, Adrian, you have to admit it’s a bit unusual.”

“I’m not against faith, Laila. I just don’t have time for it.”

“Why not?”

I pondered that for a few seconds before answering, “Well, even assuming that God really exists, he’s never done me any favors, so I have nothing to return. I don’t thank God for my blessings any more than I blame him for my curses. I think life is easier when you don’t have to rely on some invisible, untouchable force.”

Laila pursed her lips. “Hmm...”

I shifted my weight uneasily on my chair. I couldn’t believe that my first private conversation with Laila had suddenly turned into a theological argument. I wondered how much longer Terry would take getting the hotdogs.

“I’m not against religion, Laila,” I said again, not wanting to offend her. “I have nothing against God or the people who believe in God. I don’t go around telling people not to go to church. If believing in God helps them get through their day-to-day lives, I’m happy for them, but I can’t simply choose to believe in something without any kind of proof. And I’ve never seen anything that could convince me that there’s a higher being running this world.”

Suddenly Laila started laughing really hard. Laughing! I couldn’t have been more surprised if she had grown an extra head.

“Why do you laugh?” I asked, lost but nevertheless relieved that she wasn’t upset with me.

“I’m sorry,” Laila said between giggles. “I just find it funny that there are people out there who regard you as a god of sorts, and yet you don’t even believe in God yourself.”

I blinked back at her for a moment. “People who regard me as a... What? Who thinks we’re gods?”

“Lots of people,” said Laila, still laughing. “You know that psionics are sometimes called ‘lesser gods,’ don’t you?”

Now that she mentioned it, I remembered how even Mr. Baker had once called New Haven a city of “lesser gods” during an important speech. The Guardian leader had said it jokingly and I doubted he really believed that psionics were gods. But then there were the crazy God-slayers out there who really did think of psionics as gods – to be hunted down. And that was no joke.

“I’ve heard the expression before, Laila,” I replied carefully. “But I never really understood it. Personally, I think that anyone who honestly believes that psionics are gods has very low standards for their gods. We are not gods. Not even lesser gods, if there could be such a thing.”

“Oh,” said Laila, looking disappointed. “You know, Adrian, my mother once called you a godsend for bringing Ms. Gifford to New Haven and then helping to rescue her this spring. She said it was the Lord’s will that you came to us when you did.”

I laughed as I patted the little round scar on my stomach, saying, “If you call being shot by Wolves ‘the Lord’s will,’ then you’ll understand why I don’t bother with God.”

Laila laughed a bit too. “You don’t even believe in a higher spirit or anything?”

“I don’t believe one way or the other, Laila,” I said, eager to end this line of questioning.

“But if you’re not religious, what do you think happens when you die?”

“To be honest, I don’t dwell on it,” I replied. “Everyone dies eventually. I’ll cross that bridge when I come to it.”

Terry and Alia returned with our lunch, and not a moment too soon.

“What kept you?” I asked Terry as Alia handed me one of the hotdogs and passed another to Laila.

“Perhaps you didn’t notice the line!” snapped Terry. “But you two seemed to be having a nice little conversation.”

I chuckled. “Laila and I were just talking about death.”

“There’s a happy thought!” laughed Terry. “She asked you to go to that church with her, didn’t she?”

Laila looked embarrassedly at Terry and me, and suddenly, without exactly knowing why, I said, “Tell you what, Laila, if your mother doesn’t mind taking a non-believer into the house of God, I think I will join you this Sunday.”

“Really?!” Laila exclaimed happily. “I’m sure my mother would be very happy. You might not remember her, but she met you last year at the Welcome to New Haven party, and at the New Year’s party too. She said she’d like to see you again in a quieter situation.”

Laila was right: I didn’t remember her mother. I had been introduced to many people at both parties and I couldn’t remember a fraction of them.

“What does she want with me?” I asked, trying not to sound too suspicious.

“Nothing!” laughed Laila. “She just wants to talk, you being one of Ms. Gifford’s children and all.”

It was political.

“But are you really sure you want to come to church service, Adrian?” Laila asked hesitantly. “You might find it a bit boring.”

I shook my head. “No, I think it might be fun. I’ve yet to see Mark in action.”

“Ali?” I asked. “You want to come, too?”

My sister was too busy chewing to reply verbally, but she nodded her head vigorously.

Terry just rolled her eyes.

After eating, we swam and played in the pool for a while longer before Laila announced that she had to get home and do her chores, and the rest of us decided to call it a day as well. Despite having a mother on the Council, Laila lived in another building, New Haven Six, so we parted with her at the pool.

As we walked back toward New Haven One, Terry poked my shoulder with her prosthetic fingers and said, “Looks like I didn’t need to help set up a date for you after all.”

I shook my head. “Terry, I’m going to church service with her and her mother, with Alia tagging along as well. That’s hardly a date.”

“Incidentally, Adrian, why did you agree to go? You don’t believe in God any more than I do.”

“So what?” I said. “Mark’s my friend. I still don’t know why Laila’s mother wants to talk to me, but–”

“Oh, you are so thick, Half-head!” Terry cried exasperatedly. “No wonder you can’t even figure out how to use a grenade. Laila just wanted an excuse to see you more.”

“By asking me to church?” I asked skeptically.

“Anywhere else and it would’ve been like a date, dummy! Laila’s old fashioned, just like her mom. She wants you to ask her out. And she’s real close to her mom, so no doubt her mom’s in on it too.”

I said uncertainly, “I don’t know about this dating thing.”

“Laila’s not that much older than you, Adrian. She wastes time on Sundays, but otherwise she’s a good girl. What’s the matter?”

I didn’t reply. It was all a little too sudden and I wasn’t sure yet how I felt about Laila. I liked her, of course, but I hadn’t considered us as being anything more than friends. Besides, aside from Terry’s claim, what guarantee did I have that Laila really wanted to be asked on a date by someone like me?

Terry laughed. “If it mattered to Laila that you were an ugly midget, she wouldn’t have asked you in the first place.”

If I thought I could get away with it, I would have given Terry a good whack on the head, but I had to settle for an angry glare.

Though Terry continued to tease me about it, I really would have gone to church with Laila that Sunday had something else not gotten in the way.

Thursday was pouring outside and Terry had dragged me down to the dojo for an extra-long CQC session. Alia joined us as usual, which meant I could take mildly frequent breaks as Terry humored my sister by showing her some of the easier moves.

“Be careful, Adrian,” said Terry, grappling with Alia, “one of these days, your sister’s going to be better at this than you.”

“Will I really?” asked Alia, smiling up at Terry.

“Trust me, kid,” said Terry, nodding. “Girls are naturally stronger.”

I wasn’t about to contest that.

Alia’s small size precluded any real test of her skill, but Terry claimed that my sister had made a good deal of progress over the last year. Even Terry, who rarely complimented anyone without good reason, might have just been saying that to make Alia happy, but I suspected Terry’s praise wasn’t entirely unjustified. Alia had, after all, managed to break free of Riles when he took her hostage.

“Adrian!” I heard a man’s voice call from behind me. Turning, I saw Mr. Simms at the bottom of the stairs leading out of the dojo. “Might I have a word with you in private?” he called to me.

I looked at Terry, who said, “Go, Adrian. Don’t keep him waiting.”

Alia was watching Mr. Simms with a touch of apprehension in her eyes, but she didn’t say anything.

Leaving Terry and Alia to their practice, I jogged over to Mr. Simms, who smiled down at me and gestured toward the stairs.

As we walked up them, he said, “I’m sorry we haven’t had a chance to speak sooner, Adrian.”

“I know you’ve been busy,” I said.

The top of the stairs opened into the entrance hall of the underground gathering place, and at the far end of it was the elevator that led back up into our building. Several doors lined both sides of the hall, and Mr. Simms opened the one that led to the shooting range. Mr. Simms walked briskly, and it took us but half a minute to arrive.

Sandwiched between sound barriers at each lane’s firing point, there were several people practicing here. I couldn’t see the shooters because of the barriers, but I could see the paper targets hanging from ceiling-mounted rails at various distances downrange. Each target sported a black silhouette of a man with white circles over his chest. Some were being shot at by guns, others by telekinetic blasts or small balls of pyroid flame.

“Let’s see your arm,” said Mr. Simms, handing me a pistol and a box of bullets from the storage cabinet behind us.

As I loaded the clip, Mr. Simms attached a fresh paper target onto the rail, and then slid the target twenty yards downrange. This was farther than I usually practiced at.

Flipping off the safety, I slowly squeezed off five rounds, carefully aiming each. They all hit the inner circle on the target man’s chest, and one was nearly a bull’s-eye.

“You have been practicing,” Mr. Simms stated the obvious.

“Almost every day,” I replied. “Terry’s relentless about these things.”

“I’m sure she is. How about your telekinesis?”

Flipping the safety back on, I placed the pistol on the table and stretched my right arm toward the target, pointing my right index finger at the man’s silhouette. A telekinetic blast focused through a finger took longer to prepare than one fired from an outstretched arm, but it was much stronger. I put a hole through the middle of the paper man’s head, right between his eyes. At twenty yards, had the target been a real person, I probably couldn’t hurt him that much, but Mr. Simms was visibly impressed.

“Terry was right,” he said, looking pleased. “You are quite a Knight already.”

“Thank you, Mr. Simms,” I said.

Mr. Simms sighed quietly and said, “The truth is I’ve been putting this off for a while now and I realize it can no longer wait. Here’s my minor dilemma, Adrian. First off, I was very impressed with your work on your first assignment. Thanks to you talking Mr. Barnum into coming of his own free will, convincing him to join us has been a comparatively easy task.”

I smiled up at him for a moment before I noticed that Mr. Simms wasn’t smiling back.

Mr. Simms continued in a slightly harsher voice, “What you should have done, Adrian, is let Terry shoot the man. The Wolves were fast approaching and you risked your team unnecessarily.”

“But–”

“Let me finish, Adrian. The reason I’m here today is to invite you on our next assignment. You are an Honorary Knight, so I can’t order you, but I could definitely use every man capable and willing, and I can see that you are both. Before allowing you to join, however, I must ask you to promise me that henceforth, you will leave the tactical decisions to your superiors and follow orders to the word.”

“Yes, sir,” I said, forgetting Terry’s words about this not being the military. “I promise, sir.”

“Very well,” said Mr. Simms. “We leave tomorrow.”

“What about Terry?” I asked.

“What do you mean?”

“Isn’t she coming too?”

Mr. Simms looked surprised. “But of course she is! I told her long ago. Didn’t she tell you?”

“No,” I said, quite irked. So that was why Terry had been so nonchalant about not knowing when our next mission was going to be.

“Then you don’t even know where we’re going, do you, Adrian?”

“No, I don’t,” I said.

“We should go somewhere private,” said Mr. Simms, and led me out of the shooting range.

We walked back to the entrance hall and through another door and a corridor until Mr. Simms found what he was looking for. He opened a heavy steel door and motioned me inside a musty, claustrophobically small concrete room. There was a table and two chairs in the middle, and it uncomfortably reminded me of an interrogation chamber, which it probably was. We didn’t sit down.

Turning to me, Mr. Simms grinned and said, “This is better. You can never be too careful, after all.”

“What’s the mission, Mr. Simms?” I asked, forcing myself to remain relaxed.

“You can ask Terry for the specific details, Adrian, but you got yourself a big one this time. You see, we’re going after a major God-slayer training camp that’s shared by a number of their groups. It’s up in the mountains, in a spot so secret that even the trainees are taken to and from it blindfolded, which is why it has been so hard to locate.” Mr. Simms rubbed his hands together gleefully. “But we have them now. The Slayers have many of their weapons stockpiled there, but much more importantly, we have good reason to believe that this camp has valuable information concerning the Angels. Perhaps even the identity of the Angels’ second master controller.”

I nodded gravely. The Angels currently had two master controllers who could psionically convert people into blind submission to their cause. The elder, a woman named Larissa Divine, was the queen of the Angels. She was far too well protected for the Guardians to kill, but Mr. Baker was hoping to terminate the younger master before she could succeed the Angel queen. Then the Guardians could simply wait out the natural life of Larissa Divine, who was already more than eighty years old. Once their queen died, the Angels would become masterless just like us. The problem was that we didn’t even know the younger master’s name. The Guardians simply referred to her as “Number Two.”

Mr. Simms said seriously, “So you see, Adrian, that this mission is of the utmost importance to us, and I must insist that you keep your word and be a team player this time. Understood?”

“Yes, sir!” I said crisply. I had a personal stake in this matter: If Larissa Divine died without a successor, there would be no one left to reconvert my first sister and I still might find and rescue her from the Angels. I wasn’t going to mess this up.

“Good,” said Mr. Simms, grasping my shoulder. “My advance team has been on site for nearly three weeks now, gathering intelligence. You will leave with the main assault team tomorrow morning. Terry knows when and where. It will take a few days to get on site, and after we take the camp, we’ll be staying there for a while, so expect to be gone at least two weeks, possibly longer.”

“Is Mr. Watson coming too?” I asked, wondering if the pudgy finder had a role to play in a mission like this one.

“Just about every active member of my unit is coming for this,” said Mr. Simms. “God-slayers are just people, but armed and dangerous people. We gods need to be careful.”

“Yes, sir,” I said.

Mr. Simms laughed. “There’s still a bunch of ‘ifs’ involved in this, Adrian, but if we really can find out who the Angels’ Number Two is, you may find yourself one step closer to rescuing your sister.”

Mr. Simms opened the door. “Alright, that’s it. I have to be getting ready myself now.”

I parted with Mr. Simms at the elevator.

“Thank you for letting me come, Mr. Simms,” I said.

Mr. Simms gave me a curt nod. “I’ll see you tomorrow or on site, Adrian. Good luck.”

As Mr. Simms disappeared into the elevator, I heard Alia’s voice in my head calling, “Addy, where are you?”

I hurried back down the stairs to the dojo where Terry and Alia were resting on the mats.

“I’ve been calling you forever, Addy!” Alia said aloud.

“Sorry,” I said, walking up to them. “I guess there’s too much concrete down here for your telepathy to carry. What’s the matter?”

“Terry told me you’re going away again.”

“Yeah, well, that’s more than she told me,” I replied. Then I looked at Terry accusingly and said, “You already knew we were going.”

“I knew I was going,” said Terry, “but after the stunt you pulled with that wild-born, Mr. Simms wasn’t so sure he wanted you along. You’re a bit of a loose cannon.”

“That’s rich coming from you, Terry!” I said. “Anyway, I promised Mr. Simms I’d be good this time, so you don’t have to worry.”

“Don’t I have to worry?” asked Alia, forgetting to speak with her mouth.

“We’ve been through this before, Alia!” I said irately. “This is something I just have to do. Now speak aloud or not at all.”

Alia maintained a sullen silence as we rode the elevator back up to the penthouse, and her temper improved little over dinner. When I told Cindy that I was going on another mission, she just nodded and said that Mr. Simms had already told her about it when he called today to ask where I was. Hoping to keep the peace, I retreated to my room soon after eating, leaving Alia to help Cindy with the cleanup.

Terry had told me over dinner that we would be leaving at 6am tomorrow. I was glad to hear it. I didn’t want to spend the whole day tomorrow waiting for our departure time under my sister’s disapproving looks.

I packed my duffle bag with three changes of clothes and some emergency cash. Terry offered me one of her pistols along with a spare clip and a leather holster, and this time, I actually accepted. My telekinetic blasts were far more accurate than any gun, but bullets flew farther and had a far better rate of fire than my focused shots. Holding the metal pistol didn’t drain my physical strength as much as it used to, and now that I was a bit more adept at using it, it felt a little less awkward in my hands. Nevertheless, I made sure to pack a pair of thin gloves to protect me from the metal.

I set the duffle bag next to my bed and sat down on my mattress. As I stared out the window on the other side of the room, I wondered what I would see and do on my second mission for the Raven Knights.

Mr. Simms had called this a “big one.” Taking down a God-slayer training camp in the mountains certainly sounded like a big deal. But I suspected that Alia and I had already seen bigger. We had been there when the Lancer Knights raided the Psionic Research Center – a veritable underground fortress guarded by heavily-armed professional soldiers. Compared to that, how dangerous could a Slayer camp be?

“Addy?” I heard in my head.

I looked toward the door and saw Alia standing there, quietly gazing back at me.

“Feeling better?” I asked.

“A little,” she replied, stepping closer to me.

“I’m sorry I’m going away again,” I said, meaning it. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

“Tomorrow?”

“No, not tomorrow. I’m not sure how long.”

“That’s okay, Addy,” said Alia, sitting beside me on my bed. “But I’m going with you this time.”

I rolled my eyes. “I sincerely doubt that, Alia.”

“Cindy said I could,” Alia replied with a smile.

I stared at her incredulously. “She didn’t!”

“She did so! She said all I needed was your permission, and I could join your team.”

I couldn’t believe that Cindy, of all people, would play with Alia’s feelings like that, and I had a mind to go tell her so in no uncertain terms. But first I had to clear up this misunderstanding.

“Cindy was only joking,” I said. “She would never let you put yourself in danger.”

Alia looked me straight in the eyes. “She was serious.”

“I’m sure she wasn’t serious, Alia,” I said patiently.

Sensing movement at the door, I looked up to find Cindy standing there and smiling at us. It wasn’t her usual warm smile, though.

“Oh, but I am serious, Adrian,” said Cindy. “Alia can join the Knights if you give your blessing on it. She was at my rescue too, after all. If she had been a Guardian, she may very well have been awarded the same status as you. And the Knights would be delighted to have another healer. You know how precious they are, after all. I could easily pull a few strings and have Alia assigned to the Ravens.”

I turned to my sister and said, “Ali, would you please give me a moment alone with Cindy?”

“Why?” Alia asked aloud.

“Just get out,” I said through clenched teeth.

“Addy!”

“Out!” I bellowed, telekinetically shoving Alia off of my bed. Alia stood up and glared at me for a second before stomping out of the room, slamming the door behind her.

“That wasn’t very nice, Adrian,” said Cindy.

“Oh, come on, Cindy! Alia isn’t old enough to–”

Cindy cut across me, saying harshly, “How old is old enough?!”

I narrowed my eyes. “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”

“Thoroughly,” Cindy replied dryly.

I gave her a disbelieving look.

Cindy chuckled. “After you helped Terry ambush me at her party, did you really think I wouldn’t have my little revenge?”

“Oh yeah?!” I said, my tone rising. “What if I said yes to Alia?!”

Cindy started laughing for real now. “Adrian, I’m not some stupid reporter that you can scare with a bluff like that. I know you too well.”

Cindy was, of course, right. That Alia couldn’t join the Raven Knights and come with us would be entirely my doing. I glared furiously at Cindy until she stopped laughing.

“You see?” Cindy said lightly. “Giving my permission was easy. You would never let Alia go with you.”

“Of course I wouldn’t!”

“Why not?” Cindy asked with a shrug. “Alia would go to the gates of Hell with you. In fact, you’ve both practically already been there. So why won’t you let her join you?”

I stared down at my knees. “Well... because...”

Cindy filled in the blank, saying, “Because you could not bear to see her hurt. Just remember that you are asking your little sister to endure something that you yourself couldn’t.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” I said quietly.

I sighed heavily and looked up at Cindy, whose expression had softened, returning to her peaceful norm. She said to me gently, “I’ll go make sure Alia is okay and smooth things out for you a little, but you’re the one who’s going to tell her that she can’t go tomorrow.”

Cindy left the room, leaving me sitting on my bed alone and frustrated. I knew I should go find Alia and apologize, but that put me in the even more awkward position of having to somehow make it up to her without consenting to her impossible request.

Alia returned to our room at her bedtime. Cindy hadn’t come to tuck her in, which I assumed was deliberate.

Our eyes met briefly, and I could tell that she had been crying.

“I’m sorry,” I said awkwardly, walking up to her.

Alia didn’t say anything, but quietly wrapped her arms around me, hugging me tightly. I hugged her back and held her for a while, and then picked her up and carried her to our chairs by the window.

“Sit with me for a minute, Alia,” I whispered.

We sat for several minutes, silently looking down at the city below. I understood that my sister was upset with me for much more than just shouting at her or pushing her off my bed. I wished there was a fair way to do this, but there wasn’t. The best I could do was sit with her until she was ready to talk to me again. The quiet did me some good too.

“Addy,” I finally heard her say, “why can’t I come with you?”

“Because, Alia...” I began, desperately trying to think of a better reason than that she just couldn’t.

“It’s not fair! Cindy didn’t want you or Terry to go on missions, but she still said you could. And she said I could go too, so why can’t I?”

Clearly, Alia had the logical argument on her side.

“Cindy only told you that you could go if you had my permission because she knew that I would never give it. If Cindy thought I’d say yes, she wouldn’t have. You do understand that, don’t you?”

“But she did say yes, Addy. And you said that if I had her permission, I could come with you.”

We were beginning to talk in circles. I decided to try a different approach.

“Alia,” I said gently, “Cindy’s birthday is coming up soon. You’re finally nightmare-free after that horrible fight on the boat. Your life is about as normal as you can hope for right now.”

Alia nodded slightly.

I raised my eyebrows. “And yet you want to come with me and get shot at again?”

Alia gave me a toothy smile. “You promised you’d protect me, Addy.”

Wrong approach. I was obviously terribly overrated, and I should’ve known that I couldn’t scare her. It was time to shelve the tact.

“You’re right, Alia,” I said. “I promised I would protect you. Well, this is me protecting you! You’re staying here with Cindy!”

“But Addy–”

“No buts! I may be the world’s worst big brother, Alia, but I’m still your brother, and I’m not going to let you come with us and get hurt!”

Alia scowled at me, but at least she didn’t pull away when I put an arm around her shoulders.

“Besides,” I said, finally thinking of a better excuse, “who’s going to take care of Cindy while we’re gone? You know she’s always in danger from the Angels. I’d feel a lot safer going if you were here looking out for her.”

“What could I do?” scoffed Alia. “I can’t fight.”

“Terry seems to think otherwise,” I countered, smiling. “But one thing you definitely can do is carry this for me.” I removed my tracer band and passed it to her. “You know how it works, right?”

Alia nodded, lightly running her fingers over the large round button on the tracer band.

I said, “If anything happens, you call the Knights for Cindy. You make sure she stays safe. Cindy protects all of New Haven, Alia, but she’s our mother first, and I want you to promise me that you’ll make sure the Angels don’t get near her again.”

“Okay,” Alia said softly as I helped her wrap the band onto her right wrist.

The Velcro band was too long for my sister’s wrist and hung loose at the end. I carefully levitated a pair of scissors from my desk and cut the band down to the right length. I figured I could replace the band when I got the tracer back. Or, better yet, I’d ask the Knights to give me a new tracer so Alia and I would both have one each.

“I’m not just saying this to keep you home, Alia,” I lied like a kid’s watch. “I’m serious. Keep her safe.”

“I will,” promised Alia.

The chances of the Angels ever getting to Cindy again were next to nil. Alia, who was usually very good at spotting my attempts at deception, seemed to buy it though, possibly because it had only been two and a half months since Cindy had been abducted.

I caught Alia stifling a yawn. “Time for bed, Ali.”

Alia changed into her nightgown, and as I tucked her in, she asked hopefully, “Will you be back before Cindy’s birthday?”

“I’ll try.”

“I’m going to miss you, Addy.”

“Me too,” I said. “I don’t know how I’m going to get to sleep without you mumbling into my head at night.”

Alia laughed a little, and then whispered, “I hope you come back.”

I realized that she meant come back at all.

“I’ll come back, Alia,” I said reassuringly. “Tell you what, you hang on to this too.” I pulled my amethyst pendant over my head and hung the cord on one of Alia’s bedposts. “You know I’ll be back for it.”

“Thanks, Addy,” said Alia, reaching out of her blanket and fingering the violet crystal.

“Now get some sleep, Ali, or I’ll be gone before you wake tomorrow.”

I turned off the light as I exited the bedroom, hoping my sister would be in dreamland by the time I returned.

I found Cindy sitting cross-legged on the living-room floor where she spent an hour or two a day meditating and re-powering her hiding bubble over New Haven. Her eyes remained closed as she said, “So how did Alia take it?”

I didn’t reply, but instead quietly sat down next to Cindy. I no longer meditated with her as frequently as before, but today I felt like sitting for a while.

“Adrian?” pressed Cindy.

“She’ll get over it,” I told her, borrowing Terry’s favorite line.

“I dare say she will,” Cindy said a bit stiffly.

“Will you?”

Cindy opened her eyes and said, “Adrian, I can see that your mind is completely made up about going on this mission, so I’m not going to try to change it. But as someone who cares deeply for you, let me just say this once...” Cindy stopped, her eyes somewhat misty, and I waited uncomfortably until she found her voice again. “Just remember that God-slayers don’t take prisoners. In a way, they are the most dangerous of our enemies. I don’t mean to hold you back. I’m just afraid that one of these days, you’re going to get yourself killed.”

“I should have died long ago, Cindy,” I whispered. “In fact, I did die once, remember?”

“And your point is?”

“Well...” I began, carefully choosing my words because I wasn’t quite sure how to put it. “You know I don’t exactly believe in fate, but I’m still alive, and there could... possibly... be a reason.”

“Don’t bet on it, Adrian. People die in this conflict all the time. You might be a powerful destroyer, but you’re still flesh and blood, and you are my family.”

I sighed. “Cindy, it’s not that I don’t appreciate you looking out for me. You are my mother. But I’m just not–”

“Not Alia,” Cindy finished for me, smiling sadly. “I remember.”

Cindy and I sat together for a while longer, but I could tell that Cindy wasn’t in a very meditative mood either.

Chapter 5: In Harm’s Way

Though not at all a morning person, especially in the summertime, I had been up since 4am. Unable to return to sleep and afraid that I would wake Alia, I went out for a short jog to stretch my legs before what was promising to be an agonizingly long car ride. Fortunately, the rain had stopped and most of the clouds had cleared overnight, and I watched the sunrise from a clearing in the park. The sun was one of the few absolutes in the world. It had risen in exactly the same way when dinosaurs roamed these lands, and would shine on this world long after humanity perished from it. There was something deeply comforting about that, and it was a while before I noticed the time and hurried back to the penthouse.

When I got home, everyone was up, including Alia. I had secretly hoped that she would sleep in so I could avoid yet another uncomfortable goodbye, but no such luck. As I sat at the breakfast table, I noticed that my sister was wearing both her bloodstone and my amethyst. Neither Cindy nor Terry commented, for which I was grateful. Alia finally seemed, if not cheerful, at least comfortable with this nasty business. It almost felt like a typical school-day morning.

After breakfast, I showered, double-checked the contents of my duffle bag, and then gave Alia and Cindy quick hugs at the front door. But as I was about to step into the elevator with Terry, Cindy came running after us.

“Wait, Adrian!” she said in a panicked tone. “I haven’t reinforced your hiding bubble yet. You probably only have a day or two left on your last one.”

Cindy tried to put her palms on my chest and back to restore her protection, but Terry yanked me away from her, saying, “No time, Cindy! We’ll be late. Besides, we’re going after Slayers, not psionics.”

“But you’ll be traveling,” protested Cindy. “In the open.”

“And the Ravens have plenty of hiders for the road,” said Terry, pulling me into the elevator and hitting the button for the basement parking lot.

“Don’t worry,” I said to Cindy, “I’ll stay inside the hiding protection that the other Knights make, okay?”

Cindy frowned at me from outside the elevator car. “You promise?”

As the doors began to slide shut, Terry said in an exasperated tone, “Would you please stop treating us like infants, Cindy?”

“No,” Cindy informed her, “I won’t.”

With that, Cindy was lost from sight and I felt the floor gently drop out from beneath us. As we rode the elevator down, Terry shook her head and laughed, saying, “She really is impossible, isn’t she?”

I shrugged. “That’s just Cindy. At least she didn’t follow us down.”

Terry turned to me and smiled. “No regrets, Adrian?”

“None,” I answered flatly. “Especially for this mission.”

“There’s no guarantee that the Slayers really have the identity of the Angels’ second,” said Terry. She knew that I had little interest in the destruction of the God-slayers’ training camp except for the possible prize it contained.

“It’s a chance though,” I replied. “Any chance is better than none.”

We found Mr. Simms and most of his team, about forty people, already assembled in the basement parking lot. Some were lazily sitting in their cars, which were mostly SUVs, while others were loading last-minute supplies into a large, dark green van.

Mr. Simms, who was talking with two other men, spotted us as we exited the elevator and said, “Terry, Adrian, just hang tight for a moment. You two are riding with me today.”

“Sure,” Terry called back, and Mr. Simms returned to his conversation.

Carefully as not to get in the way of anyone, I wandered with Terry around the cars, and we found Mr. Watson sitting in the driver’s seat of one of the SUVs.

Rolling down the window, Mr. Watson said, “Hello there, Adrian! So he let you come after all, did he? Hey Terry, good to have you back!”

Terry nodded curtly. “Mr. Watson.”

“This is going to be a good one,” Mr. Watson said excitedly. “We’re going to break the Slayers’ backbone with this.”

“You sound like you’re actually going to be fighting,” laughed Terry. “You’re just a driver, aren’t you?”

Mr. Watson laughed too. “Being just a driver has its advantages, Terry. You get to help raise hell and still know you’ll come home alive.”

I asked him, “If you’re not going to fight, why are you coming at all?” After all, someone else could drive.

Terry answered in Mr. Watson’s stead, “They need a hider for every car, Adrian. Mr. Watson’s only good enough for one this size.”

Mr. Watson grinned. “Can’t argue with you there, Terry, but this is better than what you’re riding today.” Reaching out the window, he gave the outside of his door a light pat. “My baby’s bulletproof.”

We heard Mr. Simms call, “Terry, Adrian, come here!”

We walked back to him, and Mr. Simms’s voice echoed through the parking lot as he introduced us to his team. “You’ve all probably heard of Terry Henderson and Adrian Howell by now,” he said, “but here they are in the flesh, so to speak. You’ll know them as Rabbit and Hansel.”

The Raven Knights gave us a mild applause.

“Individual introductions will have to wait,” said Mr. Simms. “Time to go!”

The two men Mr. Simms had been talking to came with us as Mr. Simms led Terry and me up the exit ramp, out of the parking lot and onto the street, where I found a bus-size motorhome parked on the curb, engine running.

“All aboard!” said Mr. Simms, opening the side door for us. The other vehicles were already coming up the ramp. No sooner had we climbed into the motorhome and shut the door than the monstrous vehicle lurched forward and joined the motorcade. We were off.

Terry tossed her duffle bag onto a bunk bed built into the wall, and I followed suit as I took in my surroundings. I had never been inside a motorhome before, and was shocked at how narrow the center corridor was. To the left and right were a total of four narrow bunk beds, a tiny shower cubicle and toilet, and a cooking area with an electric stove and a microwave oven built into the wall. Near the front of the vehicle was a lounge space with a curved sofa wrapped halfway around a small oval table. To the rear was a living-room-bedroom with large curtained windows, a long sofa and a double bed, but most of the room was packed with cardboard boxes of various sizes. A slender, dark-skinned woman was sitting on the edge of the bed, looking through one of the boxes, which seemed to contain canned food.

“That’s Jodie Decker,” said Mr. Simms. “She’s one of my sharpshooters. Ex-cop.”

“Hey kids,” she called to us with a smile before getting back to whatever work she was doing.

Mr. Simms then introduced the two men who had boarded the motorhome with us, saying, “This is my second-in-command, Jack Pearson, who is my very best hider as well as a darn good spark and delver. He’s the only one on my team who can put a movable hiding field on a car this large.”

Jack Pearson was a heavyset man with a very square jaw. He looked like the kind of person who belonged in a boxing ring. We shook hands, and he playfully sent a mild jolt of electricity through my arm. I didn’t appreciate that in the least, but I smiled anyway.

“And this,” continued Mr. Simms, gesturing toward the other man, “is Jack Forsyth. He’s an ex-cop like Ms. Decker. He’s not psionic, but his professional skills more than make up for that. I’ve seen this man put a bullet through another bullet at a hundred yards. He and Ms. Decker handle my security.”

“Two Jacks, huh?” I said. Jack Forsyth also had the build of a prize fighter, and his handshake was no less painful than Jack Pearson’s.

“Jack P and Jack F,” explained Mr. Simms. “I believe you already know the driver.”

I doubted that, so I walked down the corridor to the front of the motorhome where I got a greater shock than what Jack P had just given me.

“Mr. Barnum?!” I said, astounded.

“Adrian!” Mr. Barnum smiled, glancing at me once before returning his eyes to the road ahead.

“You’re a Knight now?” I asked in disbelief. It had only been days since I heard that he joined the Guardians.

“I am a probationary Raven Knight,” replied Mr. Barnum. “I was asked to join this mission yesterday.”

“But why?”

Mr. Simms, who had followed me to the front, answered, “I asked Art to be my driver this time, seeing as he has a good deal of experience with large rigs at high speed.”

“I used to drive a fire engine,” said Mr. Barnum.

“Art won’t be coming into battle with us this time, Adrian,” said Mr. Simms, “but having him with us will spare another member of my team to join in the assault. Our designated drivers are going to stay behind and make sure we can make a speedy escape if things turn sour.”

“I figured I owed the Guardians as much for taking me in, Adrian,” said Mr. Barnum. “I didn’t know it until they told me about the Wolves, but you saved my life back there.”

I swore under my breath. I hadn’t stepped in front of Mr. Barnum’s shotgun so that he could join the Knights and help them kill people. I wished that someone who had been through the horrors he had wouldn’t be so eager to jump back into the fray. Still, that was his choice. After all, he was a psionic destroyer now and, in his past life, a man of action. Having felt the same debt when I decided to join the Guardians, I did understand his rationale, but I still didn’t like it in the least.

Our motorcade consisted of seven vehicles. In addition to Mr. Simms’s motorhome, there were four rugged SUVs, one large van equipped with off-road tires, and the horrible bright yellow minibus that Alia and I rode into New Haven two years ago. Each SUV carried two to five people, the minibus carried the rest of the team, and the van was stuffed with supplies. Our motorhome, though not bulletproof like Mr. Watson’s baby, was no doubt the most comfortable of the rides.

Our motorhome’s lounge area was just large enough to seat the six of us minus our driver, but I felt awkward sitting with big Mr. Simms and his two burly Jacks at the table. Ms. Jodie Decker seemed friendly enough, but she was always busy doing something or other in the back. Thus, for much of that day’s journey, I sat up front next to Mr. Barnum. I didn’t talk with him much. I didn’t know what to say to him, and he seemed to like driving in silence. But it was nice to sit quietly behind the over-size windshield and watch the world go by.

We didn’t stop for lunch. The rest of the Raven Knights apparently had packed theirs. In our cramped kitchen space, I helped Jack F throw together some sandwiches and then made some fruit salad.

Once we were well away from civilization, our motorcade took a ten-minute leg-stretching break, and I got to meet several of the other team members. Most were destroyers, while some were non-psionics. There were three with controller powers: two peacemakers and a dreamweaver, but they had joined us for their other skills as destroyers or hiders. This was going to be an all-out assault.

I noticed that while the majority of Mr. Simms’s Ravens were men, there were a fair number of women as well. The Knights didn’t discriminate. According to Mr. Simms, anyone who was “capable and willing” was welcome to join. Terry fit right in.

In the early evening, our motorcade was stopped by two motorcycle police who asked us where we were going. Our peacemakers did the talking, and soon we were on our way again.

Despite not stopping for lunch, we weren’t actually in a hurry, this mission having been in the planning for weeks now, and that evening, we pulled into a designated camping area for the night. The Ravens had brought tents in their SUVs, which they pitched in a large circle around a blazing campfire. We feasted on chicken stew and canned beans.

Mr. Simms took the double bed in the back room of the motorhome to himself, and his core team, including Mr. Barnum, got the four bunk beds, so Terry and I ended up with sleeping bags on the floor.

Mr. Barnum kindly offered to give his bed to one of us, but Mr. Simms stopped him.

“Kids can rough it,” said Mr. Simms.

Terry shrugged. “I want to sleep outside tonight anyway. Adrian?”

“Sure,” I said, picking up my sleeping bag.

I wasn’t particularly keen on sleeping outdoors, but nor did I want to be too far away from Terry, who looked far more comfortable in these surroundings than I felt. I wasn’t exactly afraid of Mr. Simms or his Raven Knights, but I knew I didn’t fit in. Not by a mile.

By now, the campfire had burned down to a bed of hot glowing ashes, and fewer than half of the tents still had lights on inside. I also saw a few sleeping bags lying on thin mats on the ground. Terry and I weren’t the only ones planning for a night under the stars.

Terry didn’t bother with a mat, so neither did I. We unrolled our sleeping bags a few feet from the remnants of the fire.

I noticed Terry struggling with a stuck zipper on her sleeping bag. She had her bar attachment strapped to her left arm, and she was using it to hold the bag in place as she tried to remove the caught lining with her right hand. I watched her for a moment, and then said, “Let me help you with that, Terry.”

“I don’t need your help!” snapped Terry.

“I know that,” I said gently. “Let me help you anyway.”

“If you insist,” she said stiffly.

Terry stood aside and watched me fix the zipper. She had already removed most of the jammed lining so it didn’t take me very long. I was a little surprised at myself. I never offered to help Terry with something so trivial, knowing that my combat instructor absolutely loathed this kind of attention. I wondered why I had helped her this time, and Terry gave me the answer.

“You already miss taking care of Alia, don’t you?” she said.

“A little,” I admitted. “I’m just used to it.”

“How’d you manage to get her off your back for this?”

“I told her that Cindy needed her more. You know, Angels... I gave her the tracer band.”

We got into our sleeping bags, and Terry let me help zip her in. Then I lay on my back and gazed up at the spectacular infinity above us. We were far enough from the city that even the darkest stars were visible. I wished I could have brought the telescope Cindy had bought for me last year.

I heard Terry say, “So, Adrian, what did you tell Laila?”

“Laila?” I asked, not understanding.

Terry snorted. “You didn’t tell her, did you?”

I sprung up into a sitting position. “Oh, no!” I gasped. “Laila! I have to call her and cancel the Sunday thing!”

“No can do, Adrian,” Terry said calmly. “Only emergency calls once we’re on the road.”

It felt like an emergency to me, but I doubted Mr. Simms would agree. I lay back down and sighed. “Oh well. Her mother probably knows I’m going on this mission anyway.”

I lay still for a moment. The ground beneath me was rather uncomfortable, and I wondered if I could get a mat from the motorhome after all.

“Terry?” I said quietly.

She didn’t reply.

“How does she do that?” I muttered to myself, turning onto my side and closing my eyes. Sleep felt like a long way off.

We struck our camp before daybreak the next morning. As the sun rose, I noticed that the distant mountain range, which had seemed so far away yesterday, was already nearly upon us. This season, only the few highest peaks had any snow left on them. By early afternoon, our motorcade was already climbing a steep mountain road that wound its way through a thick alpine forest, past one-stop-light towns, clusters of summer homes and lodges.

I was sitting in the front with Mr. Barnum again, mainly because the front seat was the best place to avoid getting car sick.

I heard Jack P call from the lounge space behind me, “Adrian, Terry, come sit with me.”

I obediently got up and made my way to the lounge.

Mr. Simms was in the rear bedroom talking with the other Jack, and Ms. Decker was riding in the minibus today, so Jack P was the only one at the table. Terry jumped down from the bunk bed where she had been resting and joined us.

Once we were seated, Jack P began, “You two are newcomers to the Ravens, and Mr. Simms just told me you’ll both be joining my assault team, Raven Two, so I figured I’d best get you up to speed on the details of this assignment. Terry, you already know a bit about the Slayer camp, but for Adrian’s sake here, we’re going to start from the beginning, okay?”

“Sure,” said Terry. “But before we talk about the camp, Mr. Pearson, you know that Adrian is a wild-born, right? I’m not even sure how much he knows about the Slayers themselves.”

“Oh,” Jack P said with a curious smile. “Well, that gives a new meaning to the word ‘beginning’ now, doesn’t it? Especially considering the nature of our mission.”

Then Jack P turned his head and called up to the front, “Mr. Barnum, you may want to keep an ear open to this too.”

“I’m listening,” Mr. Barnum called back.

“Alright, then,” said Jack P, turning to me, “what do you know about the Slayers, Adrian?”

“Not much,” I confessed. “I was shot at by a team of them a few years ago, and I know they’re a bunch of religious fanatics who think we’re demons or gods or something. I know they want to kill us.”

“Well, that’s about all you really need to know,” laughed Jack P. “The God-slayers are out to kill every god but their own god. They’re different from the Wolves in that they’re not as well equipped, trained or disciplined, but they are both more numerous and suicidally dedicated to their cause. And they’re not like the Angels or other psionic factions in that they have no interest in taking us alive. Worse, we can’t sense them coming because they don’t have psionic powers.”

“But they can’t sense us either,” I pointed out.

“Correct. They rely on tabloid news and wild rumors to find us, as well as tapping into a fairly extensive underground information network. You see, the Slayers are not in any form a unified organization. They’re more like how the Guardians were in the years following Diana Granados’s assassination. The Slayers have numerous sects, each with slightly different beliefs, agendas and hierarchies. They don’t all represent the same religion, if it can even be called that.”

“Why are they so keen on exterminating us?”

“In a word, Adrian, fear,” Jack P said grimly. “Like all uneducated people, they fear what they don’t understand, and what they fear, they try to destroy.”

I shook my head in disbelief. “You’d think that in this day and age...”

Jack P shrugged. “Not everyone lives in this day and age. Anyway, that should be enough about the Slayers to be going on. Let’s move on to the mission now.”

Jack P unfolded a paper map of the mountain range. There was a small red circle around a part of the mountains that had no markings or roads running through it.

“We located the camp several weeks ago,” said Jack P. “Our advance team has been on site gathering info on them for quite some time now. The Slayers call it the Holy Land, but I guarantee there’s nothing holy about it. The training camp is shared by at least five Slayer sects, possibly more. It’s where the hopelessly pious learn to kill people with assault rifles, and we’re going to shut it down.”

Jack P pulled out another sheet of paper and placed it on top of the map. This was also a map, but not of the mountains. It was a copy of a hand-drawn map of the Holy Land itself. Numerous buildings were set in a large oval around a central clearing, and the compound was surrounded by a perimeter fence complete with four tall guard towers. It looked like a military base.

“We had actually known for several years that the Slayers had a large training facility disguised as a religious commune,” explained Jack P, “but less than a handful of Slayers, that is, only the sect leaders, ever knew its location. The trainees are taken to and from the base blindfolded so that they can’t be delved if caught.”

Jack P pointed to a pair of lines leading up to the southeast of the perimeter fence. “This here is the only road in. It’s just a narrow footpath through the forest. All supplies are carried in on foot by the blindfolded cadets.”

“Quite a project,” commented Terry.

“The Slayer sects here are far better organized than we had ever anticipated,” said Jack P. “Now, as you can see, our advance team has already pretty much mapped the place out. We’ve had phantoms and shape-shifters inside, so we already know what most of these buildings are.”

I looked at the labels written over the drawings of the buildings: Barracks, Mess Hall, Radio Station, Gym, Church, Guard Room, Library, Power Plant, Jail and Interrogation. There were a few houses with question marks over them, which I assumed were places the Guardian spies couldn’t enter for whatever reason.

“Adrian, pay attention!” said Jack P, and I looked up from the map as he continued, “As I said before, you and Terry will join me as Raven Two. On assignment, you will call me Blade. Don’t ask why. Swoop – that’s Mr. Simms – will lead Raven One, and each team will contain half of our fighters. Raven Three is our drivers, including Mr. Barnum, and they will stay with the vehicles and be prepared to aid in our escape should things turn bad.”

“What are the chances of that?” I asked as casually as I could.

“Not much,” Jack P replied confidently. “Now, there’s an old dead-end dirt road that runs a few miles south of the Holy Land. We’ll get as close as we can with the cars, and then we’ll cut through the forest to the target from there. The advance team reports that it’ll probably be a two-hour hike in the dark. You don’t mind that, do you?”

His question was directed exclusively at me. “I wouldn’t be here if I was afraid of the dark,” I informed him.

“Good man,” said Jack P, smiling. “We have night-vision goggles but not enough for everyone, and we’ll have to cut the flashlights well before we’re near the Holy Land.”

Jack P brought his thick index finger to the hand-drawn map as he continued, “Once we’re on site, the two Raven teams will enter from different places.” He pointed to a spot on the perimeter fence that was on the south side of the Slayers’ camp. “Raven One enters from here.”

Looking carefully, I saw that Raven One’s entry point was fairly close to the main gate, but neatly hidden behind a large rectangular building labeled as the barracks.

Jack P moved his finger to another part of the fence, this time on the northern side of the camp, near a square building marked as the radio station. “We enter here,” he said. “The advance team has already dug holes under the perimeter fence and then refilled them with soft earth to hide them. I may have forgotten to mention this, but the fence is electrified, so don’t lean on it.”

We laughed lightly.

Jack P continued, “Once both teams are inside, Mr. Simms will give the command to go. Raven One will start with the guard towers around the main gate so that we control the exit and no one escapes. Leaving a few men to guard the gate, they’ll move on to the barracks. If they’re fast enough, they may get most of the Slayers in bed.”

“We’re going to kill them in their sleep?” I asked.

“Raven One will do that,” said Jack P. “Our team starts with the radio station. There’s an antenna tower on the building so you can’t miss it. Bust down the door and kill everything that moves. It’s their only link to the outside world, and we have to shut it down immediately. We don’t want the Slayer leaders to know that we’ve captured the Holy Land. That way, we’ll be able to take a few more as their next shipment of cadets arrive.”

I couldn’t help frowning a little. It was bad enough that we were talking about killing everyone in their sleep. Even if they were our enemies, using their own base against them like a roach motel didn’t feel like a very sporting thing to do. Still, they were Slayers, cut from the same cloth as the men that shot at Cindy, Alia and me with hunting rifles as we were minding our own business. Tough luck for them.

“As soon as the radio station is neutralized,” said Jack P, moving his finger from the radio station clockwise around the map, “we clear out the rest of the compound one building at a time. We’ll use CS gas and smoke grenades as needs arise. Once Raven One clears the barracks, they’ll head in the same circle as us so that we don’t run into each other. If Raven One reaches the radio station before we reach the barracks, they win, and they’ll come help us. If we reach the barracks first, we win, and I buy you a drink once we’re back in New Haven.”

“We’re taking no prisoners?” I asked, just to be sure.

“None deliberately,” replied Jack P. “The Slayers will outnumber us considerably, and it’ll be on their turf, so we’re not going to waste any time taking them alive. Still, there is bound to be a survivor or two.” Jack P grinned at me and asked, “Why? Did you want to chat with them?”

“Mr. Simms mentioned that this base might have information about the Angels’ second master controller.”

“Oh, yes, that’s right,” said Jack P. “Well, we’re hoping to find something on Number Two in writing or on a computer file. We’re going to take every data storage device they have back to New Haven and let our technicians figure it out, so do your best not to shoot any of the computers.”

Kill the people and spare the computers. Check.

“Any other questions?” asked Jack P.

Terry remained silent. I slowly shook my head.

“Excellent,” said Jack P, rolling up the map of the Holy Land. “Adrian, if you were standing at the north entrance to the barracks and facing away from the door, which three buildings would you see on the other side of the compound?”

“Um...” I said, glancing at Terry, who just shrugged.

“Okay, let’s try an easier one,” said Jack P. “Which building do we hit after the radio station?”

“Um...” I said again. I knew it was clockwise, but I hadn’t a clue what the next building was. “I’m sorry, Mr. Pearson. I don’t know.”

Jack P smiled. “Alright. What’s my call sign?”

“Blade,” I answered quickly.

Jack P passed the map to me. “That’s your copy. Burn it into your mind, Adrian. Imagine yourself walking through the Holy Land. Imagine yourself running through the Holy Land, because soon you will be, and if you get lost, we might lose you.”

Jack P then pulled out a few more papers with diagrams of several buildings’ interiors. “Learn these too, including the ones Raven One is in charge of, in case we have to help them. Terry, you already have these?”

Terry nodded. “They’re all in my bag.”

“Alright,” said Jack P, standing up and stretching his legs. “Best of luck to the both of you. I hope you’re up to this.”

“Thanks,” I said.

Taking the maps and diagrams, I quietly returned to the front of the motorhome, sitting next to Mr. Barnum and breathing deeply. I didn’t look at the papers in my hands. I was already feeling a touch queasy after studying the maps at the table and I didn’t want to make my motion sickness any worse.

Mr. Barnum glanced over at me and smiled. “I had trouble believing that you were a kid when I first saw you, Adrian. You look like one, but you’re not really, are you?”

“Depends on who you ask,” I replied, wondering how the other Ravens would treat me once we were committed to the assault, and what they would say or do if I were to foul things up for them.

Shoving the papers into the glove compartment, I leaned my head back and closed my eyes. I’d study later when the road wasn’t so curvy.

According to Mr. Simms, we were still a full two-day drive away. We’d have to clear the mountain range and drive along the edge of it for a while before re-entering it from the other side, and from there it would be treacherous country. We spent a comfortably cool night at another camping area, and Sunday morning we began our descent out of the mountains.

Sunday was another long day on the road, and I had plenty of time to feel guilty about breaking my promise to go to Mark’s church with Laila. At the very least, I should have been considerate enough to call and cancel before I left. But then again, there were so many things I should have been more considerate about but wasn’t. I wondered what Alia was doing at home. She never left the penthouse alone, but at least today she would probably have Cindy to keep her company.

By the evening of the next day, we were met on the road by two members of the Ravens’ six-man advance team. The other four Raven Knights had stayed near the Holy Land while these two had driven out to guide us in, so another SUV joined the motorcade.

We couldn’t be sure that the motorhome and minibus could negotiate the final dirt road that led to our staging point, but Mr. Simms wanted to try it anyway.

“With any luck, Mr. Barnum here will pull us through,” said Mr. Simms.

He was right. It was slow going, and Mr. Barnum had to drive both the motorhome and the minibus one at a time through several rough spots on the road, but by 10pm that night, all eight vehicles made it to our staging point in the forest, which was a grassy clearing overgrown with tall weeds. There was a large tent pitched at the edge of the clearing, and next to it was parked the advance team’s second SUV. The four advance-team Knights who were waiting for us waved as our headlights illuminated their faces.

Mr. Barnum pulled the motorhome to a stop, and he and I met Mr. Simms, Jack P, Jack F, Jodie Decker and Terry at the side door.

“Kids,” said Mr. Simms, looking sidelong at Terry and me, “we are now officially in harm’s way.”

With that, Mr. Simms opened the door and stepped out.

“Swoop! Welcome, welcome,” one of the advance-team Knights said casually as we met them in the center of the clearing. “We were hoping you’d get here sooner. Are we going tonight?”

“I don’t see why not,” replied Mr. Simms. “Figure thirty minutes to prep, two hours to target and another half hour or so to get into position. We should have the Holy Land well before sunup.”

“Sounds good,” replied the Knight. Then he noticed Terry and me. “Who are these children?”

“Rabbit and Hansel,” said Mr. Simms. “From the Gifford residence.”

“Ah, yes, I’ve heard of them,” said the Knight, his tone suddenly turning decidedly unfriendly, “but I never thought Rabbit would get mission status after what she–”

Mr. Simms talked over him in a stern voice, saying, “They’re both in our unit now, Stone, so get used to it.”

“Yes, sir,” the Knight replied in a subdued tone.

As Mr. Simms introduced Mr. Barnum to the advance-team Knights, I glanced over at Terry. She just stood there, silent and expressionless.

In her desperate attempt to save her brother, Terry had passed information to the Angels that led to the deaths of fourteen Guardian Knights earlier this year, but I never asked Terry how she felt about having betrayed the Guardians. I already knew. Joining the Knights was her way of making amends, and since Mr. Baker had accepted this, I agreed with Mr. Simms that the Knight called Stone was out of line. I wondered if he had lost any close friends that night.

Most of the other Ravens were standing next to their cars now and waiting for instructions. Mr. Simms turned to them and said, “Gentlemen, we’re going tonight. Gather around for a minute.”

During the rest stops and nights over the last two days, Mr. Simms and Jack P had made sure the Ravens all knew the assault plan inside and out. I had done my homework too. Even without closing my eyes, I could visualize the Holy Land and the insides of every building that we had information on. On the slow road in, I had thought we would spend an extra day here and attack the next night, but I was relieved that we were going immediately. I hated waiting for a battle.

Nevertheless, Mr. Simms wanted to go through the plan again, just to be safe.

“Alright, one last time. Listen up!” he said, looking around at his unit. “There’ll be three Ravens. One and Two are assault, Three is the vehicle guard. Switch, you will handle communications for Raven Three, but don’t contact us except in an abort-worthy emergency.”

“No trouble,” said Mr. Watson.

“I will lead Raven One,” said Mr. Simms, and then he read off the call signs of his group. Each Knight nodded as his or her name was called. Jack F and Jodie Decker were going with Mr. Simms, and I was happy to see that Stone was also with Raven One. I didn’t want him on the same team as Terry and me.

Mr. Simms turned to Jack P, saying, “Blade will lead Raven Two.”

Jack P then read his list of names, which included Rabbit, but not Hansel. I wondered if he had forgotten. For the moment, I kept my mouth shut.

Jack P finished calling out his team and, confirming that everyone was present, nodded to Mr. Simms.

Mr. Simms said, “Once we’re near the target, Raven One will approach from the south, westward of the main gate. We have a hole under the perimeter fence there. Stone will lead us to it. Inside, we wait for Raven Two to get into position. Raven Two will circle around and enter from the north through the hole we’ve dug under the fence there. Zero will guide them. Blade will call Raven One when his men are ready, and I will give the command to go. Raven One will first neutralize the gate sentries, leaving sharpshooters on the watchtowers to pick off any strays. We will then head straight to the barracks and clear it out before the Slayers know what hit them. But absolutely nobody shoots till I shoot first.”

We had all heard this before, but nevertheless everyone listened intently. Terry had often told me in the dojo that you can never get too much training because you can only die once. It seemed to fit this situation too.

“Raven Two, radio tower,” Mr. Simms continued in a crisp tone. “Make it quick, then clockwise around the compound clearing each building. Raven One will start from the barracks in the same manner. Which Raven finishes first will depend on the amount of resistance we encounter. Once we go noisy, make sure to keep the channel open and report your progress. It’ll be dark and covered in CS and smoke, so check your targets carefully, especially when Ravens One and Two come together at the end.”

Mr. Simms paused for a moment, looking around at us. Then he said slowly, “Now, if it goes to hell, either Blade or I will call an abort. If you hear an abort, call it out. Abort means immediate! Break away and back to Raven Three. They’ll be ready to haul us to safety. Any questions?”

I waited politely for someone else to speak first, but no one did, so I raised my hand.

“Hansel?” said Mr. Simms.

“Am I with Blade?” I asked.

“No,” replied Mr. Simms. “You are Raven Three. You stay with Switch.”

“But...” I started, but I quickly checked myself. This clearly wasn’t the time for “buts.” I had promised to be a team player and follow orders to the word, so I’d at least wait till the meeting ended.

“Okay,” said Mr. Simms once he was sure there were no other questions. “Fortune be with you all. Let’s get this done.”

Once the Knights were sufficiently busy checking their weapons and gear, I quietly approached Mr. Simms.

“Excuse me, Mr. Simms?” I said hesitantly.

“Swoop,” he corrected me with a smile.

I forced my tone to stay civil. “Swoop, sir, may I ask why I’m not with Raven Two?”

“You may, Hansel, but you’d better ask Rabbit. She’s the one who asked me yesterday to transfer you to Raven Three.”

“Rabbit...” I repeated quietly, almost in a daze. What was Terry thinking?

“If it were up to me, Hansel, I’d be happy to have you in either assault team, but Rabbit insisted. Besides, I had to agree that I’d feel much safer about our setup if you were helping to guard our escape.”

I could usually tell when someone was patronizing me. “Thank you, Swoop,” I said dryly.

Returning to the motorhome, I found my combat instructor carefully adjusting the blade attachment on her left arm.

“You?” I asked brusquely.

“That’s right, Hansel,” Terry answered in an infuriatingly Cindy-like calm.

“Why, Terry?!” I demanded, refusing to use her stupid call sign indoors. “I didn’t come all the way out here to sit back and watch others fight!”

Terry raised her eyebrows. “I thought you didn’t like fighting.”

“I don’t, but that’s not the point. I agreed to help you.”

“You are helping, Adrian,” said Terry, holstering her pistol. “We need capable people to guard our escape too. Raven Three is just as important to this mission as the assault teams.”

“But... I don’t understand.”

“There’ll be other missions, Adrian. You’re not ready for something this big yet.”

I scowled at her. “You want me to help babysit a bunch of cars. Thanks a lot, Terry!”

Terry grinned. “Now you know how Alia felt when you ditched her at home.”

Finally, a spark of understanding. “You were setting me up from the start, weren’t you?”

Terry nodded. “An early birthday present for Cindy. She begged me to keep you out of trouble.”

My voice went up a notch as I said, “Tell Mr. Simms to put me back in Raven Two!”

Terry’s tone became ice. “You forget yourself, Adrian. You are still my charge. You’re part of a team and you’ll act like it or I’ll do something you’ll regret.”

I gave her a disgusted glare, but Terry just stared back in stony-faced silence.

Huffing loudly, I opened my duffle bag and pulled out Terry’s second pistol and holster. Tossing them back to her, I said stiffly, “So you won’t have to reload.”

Furious at her treachery, I had wanted to say, “Hope you get shot, Terry!” but I stopped myself for fear of how I might feel if I said that and then she really did.

Terry looked away and said quietly, “I’m sorry, Adrian.”

“Happy hunting, Rabbit,” I muttered.

“Thanks.”

Within a few minutes, Raven One and Raven Two were reassembled in the clearing. Terry found her place with the other members of Raven Two as I leaned my back against the side of the motorhome and looked on sourly.

Despite my anger, I automatically focused on the scene before me, taking in the gear the Ravens were using. This certainly wasn’t the military. There was absolutely no standardization among them. Some of the Ravens were dressed in green and gray military camouflage, while others wore dark shirts and pants. Many had backpacks, and I assumed they carried extra equipment such as their night-vision goggles and grenades. Some of the packs were of bright colors, while others were black or military green. The Ravens’ weapons varied widely too. Some were armed with military assault rifles. Others had hunting rifles with heavy-duty scopes. Several of the Knights carried only handguns like Terry, while a few held no weapons at all, choosing to rely solely upon their psionic destroyer powers. I noticed that one man even had a crossbow like the one Ralph owned.

Flashlights switched on one after another, and after a final equipment check, Mr. Simms and Jack P led their teams into the woods. Terry gave me one last nod before turning her back to me and following Jack P. I stood and watched until I could no longer see any of the Ravens’ lights flickering in the dark woods.

Then I turned around and kicked one of the motorhome’s rear tires in disgust.

Terry, who had insisted that even Alia should be allowed to accompany us on our suicidal run to rescue Cindy from the Angels... Terry, of all people!

I noticed a long shape propped up against the side of one of the SUVs and walked over to examine it.

It was an assault rifle. One of the Knights had brought it, and then for whatever reason, decided not to take it.

Forgotten it, more likely, I thought savagely. What a bunch of professionals they are!

I picked up the assault rifle and held it in my arms. It was much heavier than I expected, but I was nevertheless caught by a sudden urge to carry it into the forest and chase after the Knights. If I caught up, maybe they’d let me join them. If not...

I pictured myself jumping into the Holy Land as the Raven Knights were pinned down by the God-slayers. The Slayers hadn’t been taken by as much surprise as the Ravens had expected. Hopelessly outnumbered, the Ravens were desperately calling for help. I would save their worthless hides, and then Terry would have to apologize for leaving me here to rot. Mr. Simms would thank me and even Cindy would...

I froze, looking down at the rifle in my hands. Such stupid thoughts! Stupid ideas! What would a delver think if he could read my mind now? I was just an angry kid who found a gun. I had never even fired an assault rifle. I didn’t even know if it was loaded.

Suddenly I heard a voice behind me say sharply, “Hey! What are you doing with my gun?”

I turned around and saw one of the Knights of Raven Three standing beside Mr. Watson and frowning at me. “That’s dangerous, kid,” he said as he briskly walked up to me and snatched the rifle out of my hands. “You could hurt yourself.”

“Just looking,” I muttered, unable to meet his eyes.

Mr. Watson turned toward the Knight and said, “Oh, don’t you worry about Hansel. He’s Rabbit’s boy. He knows what he’s doing.”

I was grateful for the first thing Mr. Watson said, offended by the second, and grudgingly disagreed with the third.

“Make yourself comfortable, Hansel,” Mr. Watson said casually. “We still have more than two hours before anything happens.”

I walked back into the motorhome, slammed the door on the noise of the screaming crickets and sat down heavily on one of the lower bunks. Anything that happens tonight would happen in the Holy Land, not here. I wondered if what I was feeling was envy. Did I really want to join the battle, kill people in their sleep, and possibly get shot? No. I had promised Terry I would join the Knights with her. That was all there was to it.

“Adrian?” said a man’s voice. I raised my head and found myself looking up at Mr. Art Barnum.

“Hansel,” I corrected half-heartedly.

“Right,” said Mr. Barnum, “Hansel. They call me Painter.”

“Painter?” I chuckled. “Well, I guess that wasn’t a very long stretch.”

“How’d you end up with Hansel?”

“It’s a bit complicated.”

Mr. Barnum sat down on the opposite bunk. “If you don’t mind, I’d love to hear it.”

The short of it was that when I turned psionic about two years ago, I had confided in my sister Cat that I was terrified of what might transpire as a result of my telekinetic power. Cat had suggested that “and they all lived happily ever after” would be the most appropriate ending, and I later made the mistake of telling this to Cindy. The Grimm brothers’ Hansel and Gretel was one of Alia’s favorite bedtime stories, and Cindy took the liberty of choosing our call signs back when Alia and I were conscripted by Mr. Baker for our very first and very doomed mission.

It took a while to explain all that to Mr. Barnum.

“I’m glad you’re staying behind, Hansel,” said Mr. Barnum. “This mission sounds quite dangerous, and I’d hate to think how your Gretel would feel if you didn’t return. Besides, I was feeling a bit lonely myself in this crowd.”

“I know how you feel,” I said, and then asked, “How are you settling into New Haven, Mr. Barnum?”

Mr. Barnum smiled. “I thought it was Painter, Hansel.”

“Right,” I said, chuckling. “So, Painter, how are you settling in?”

“Well, as you can see, I didn’t really have much chance to settle in yet. I have my own place in New Haven Five, though it’s not yet entirely furnished. I had been thinking of looking for a job when this came up.”

“I hope you get a real job when this is over,” I said.

We talked for a while longer, and I got to hear a bit about Mr. Barnum’s past life as a fireman. He didn’t make it sound nearly as exciting as I had imagined, but it was good to hear about a lifestyle that was dedicated to preserving life as opposed to ending it.

When I glanced at my wristwatch, it was past midnight.

We heard knocking on the side door, and Mr. Barnum opened it to Mr. Watson, who said, “Painter, Hansel, Ravens One and Two are almost on site.”

“Okay,” said Mr. Barnum, stepping out of the motorhome. I followed him out.

Mr. Watson was carrying a large radio transceiver in his right hand. It was the only one Raven Three had that was powerful enough to send and receive signals through the thick forest and communicate with the assault teams. It crackled lightly and I heard Mr. Simms say, “Raven One to Raven Two, we are at the entry point. Signal when ready. Over.”

“Roger that, One,” said Jack P. “We’re nearly there. Over.”

Some of the drivers had joined the assault teams, so there were only five men in Raven Three, not counting me. According to the mission plan, each member of Raven Three was supposed to sit at the wheel of one of the SUVs and be ready to move out in seconds. In an abort, it would still take nearly two hours for the Ravens to get back here, but if they had to escape in a different direction, we might be called on to intercept. In that scenario, we would abandon the motorhome, minibus and van in order to make a speedy exit back to the main road. I couldn’t drive so there was no point in me sitting in the sixth SUV, and I figured I’d stay with Mr. Watson so I wouldn’t miss out on the action coming from the transceiver.

But it turned out that no one was willing to sit at the wheel of a car when they too could be listening in on the mission progress. The Raven Three Knights had instead gathered next to Mr. Watson’s SUV, which was parked near the center of the clearing for better reception. Staying outside with the rest of us, Mr. Watson set the transceiver on the roof of his vehicle as it crackled again.

We heard Jack P say, “Raven Two to Raven One, we are at the fence. Zero is clearing the hole now. Over.”

I wondered if Terry was standing beside him. I wondered what was going through her mind, and what she was feeling in the final moments to the attack. Knowing Terry, probably excitement.

Getting edgy, I tapped the window of the SUV, asking Mr. Watson, “Are all of these cars bulletproof, or just this one?”

“Bulletproof?” laughed Mr. Watson. “Who told you this car was bulletproof?”

“You did! Just before we left.”

“Oh, did I?” asked Mr. Watson, still laughing. “I might have. I can’t believe you took that seriously, Hansel.”

The Knights chuckled quietly. I stared embarrassedly at the tall weeds as the radio came on again.

“Raven Two to Raven One,” said Jack P, “we are inside and in position. Awaiting go. Over.”

“Roger, Two,” said Mr. Simms’s voice. “We will go noisy in ten.”

Mr. Watson whispered, “Here we go.”

“Standby... standby,” said Mr. Simms, and a second later, “Go! Go! Go!”

I heard popping noises from the transceiver. It hardly sounded like gunfire at all. More like balloons popping. Or even popcorn.

“Right tower! Right tower!”

“I see them!”

More popping noises.

“Good kill! Good kill!”

“Burn them out!”

“Radio station is clear! Move! Move!”

“Break it down! Fire in the hole!”

The shouting, gunshots, and who-knew-what other sounds mixed together made it almost impossible to tell who was saying what. I strained to hear Terry’s voice, but couldn’t.

Another burst of gunfire. This time, it sounded surprisingly real considering the quality of the transmission.

Far too real, in fact.

I snapped my head around as another round rang out, followed by rapid machinegun fire. One of the Knights standing beside me fell backwards, clutching his throat.

“Get down!” shouted Mr. Watson, grabbing my arm and pulling me to the ground.

Aside from the waist-high grass around us, our only cover in the clearing was Mr. Watson’s non-bulletproof SUV, and we put our backs against the vehicle as we tried to locate the source of the incoming fire. The SUV’s windows exploded and bits of shattered glass rained upon us. One of the vehicle’s tires burst with a loud bang. I could see the right foot of the fallen Knight twitching feebly nearby.

“What the hell is going on?!” shouted the Knight who had earlier taken the rifle from my hands. I noticed he didn’t have his weapon with him now. He got up on his knees to look over the tall grass. Several bullets ripped into his upper body, and he fell onto his back, emitting a low hissing noise from his chest.

I caught sight of Mr. Barnum’s face next to mine. He looked pale but in control.

“We’re dead if we stay here,” he breathed.

There were only four of us left, and the SUV was offering little or no cover. Our attackers, whoever they were, had encircled the clearing while we were busy listening to the transceiver.

I reached for the button on my tracer band, hoping the Raven assault teams might notice my distress signal, but my thumb touched only skin. I had left the transmitter with Alia!

“Hansel, get the radio off the roof!” shouted Mr. Watson.

I couldn’t see the transceiver from my sitting position, but I knew where it was so I telekinetically locked onto it. The large transceiver had too much metal in it to levitate, but I could just barely drag it over the roof toward us.

When the device fell at our feet, Mr. Watson picked it up and swore loudly. The transceiver had been shot to bits.

Mr. Watson’s face was covered in blood, but he wasn’t injured. The blood was probably from the Knight who had just been killed. Still, Mr. Watson was being drained, and this was probably the sole reason he hadn’t turned invisible, discarded his clothes and made a run for it. A pair of eyeballs would have been hardly noticeable in the dark, and Mr. Watson looked panicked enough to do just about anything right now.

“Painter! We need smoke!” Mr. Watson screamed wildly. “Fire the grass!”

“I can’t,” breathed Mr. Barnum. “I can’t control it yet. We’ll burn up here.”

More gunfire missed us. Our attackers knew basically where we were, but they were having trouble finding us in the grass.

“Okay, we’re going to make a run for the trees,” said Mr. Watson, finally regaining some of his calm and throwing down the broken transceiver. “Two directions!”

He grabbed Mr. Barnum and the other Knight by their sleeves and shouted, “You two, that way!” He pointed to the edge of the clearing that was closest to the SUV. There was no cover aside from the grass, but at least the distance wasn’t too great.

“Hansel, with me!” commanded Mr. Watson, pointing toward the motorhome. “Over there!”

Mr. Watson was planning for the two of us to use the motorhome as partial cover as we made a dash for the far side of the clearing. My gut told me that Mr. Barnum’s route offered better odds, but this was no time for argument.

Mr. Watson grabbed the front of my shirt, saying, “And keep your feet on the ground, Hansel! You fly here and you’ll be shot to hell. Crouch low and move fast.”

“Let’s do this,” I breathed.

“On three!” said Mr. Watson, releasing my shirt. “Ready?! One! Two! Three!”

My legs felt like rubber, but somehow they carried me. As Mr. Watson and I made a beeline for the motorhome, I could hardly hear the gunshots around me. All I really remember is keeping my head down, listening to my own shallow breathing and racing heart, and knowing that at any moment my life could end.

Pudgy Mr. Watson wasn’t about to win any races. Between us, even with shorter legs, I was the faster runner. When I reached the front left of the motorhome, I realized that I was alone. But I had no time to think of what might have happened to Mr. Watson. I scrambled along the shadow side of the motorhome toward the rear.

There were still twenty yards or so of open ground between the rear of the motorhome and the trees beyond. Nearing the end of my cover, I broke into a sprint to gain speed before the final stretch, but at that moment a shadowy shape appeared from around the corner of the vehicle.

I plowed into the man. We both nearly lost our balance, but didn’t. The man had an assault rifle in his hands, but it was too unwieldy to use against someone grappling with him. With little thought, I rammed my right hand, palm open, into his stomach, and released the strongest telekinetic blast I could at point-blank range. The man screamed. I heard his backbone snap in two. I felt warm liquid drench my hand, draining my psionic power. Dropping his rifle, the man fell limply onto the ground, unmoving.

Suddenly the large rear window of the motorhome shattered as another gunshot echoed across the clearing. Drained by the man’s blood covering my right hand, I knew I couldn’t fire any more telekinetic blasts. I grabbed the assault rifle from the ground and dragged it back to what I hoped was a safe spot against the side of the motorhome.

I was too panicked to check if the safety was on or off, so I squeezed the trigger once. Four rounds fired in rapid succession before I let go of the trigger. It was on automatic.

Compounded with the blood on my right hand, the assault rifle was draining me so much I was getting quite dizzy, but still I hung onto it for dear life. Swinging the heavy gun into a firing position, I cautiously crept back toward the front of the motorhome. I wasn’t even sure where I was going now, but I was afraid to make the final run to the trees from the rear. But where else could I go? My panicked eyes desperately searched for another route.

A gunshot rang out behind me. I reflexively pulled the trigger as I spun around, emptying the entire clip in one long burst. The gun bucked wildly in my hands, and it was only by blind luck that the last few bullets found their mark. I heard a high-pitch shriek. As my pale-skinned attacker fell backwards, still clutching a thin hunting rifle, shoulder-length blond hair glinted in the moonlight. It was a woman.

I looked toward the trees beyond her crumpled, motionless form. There was nothing for it. I’d have to risk the open before my indecision cost me my life.

I heard footsteps approaching quickly. I couldn’t be sure of the direction, but they sounded like they were coming from the other side of the motorhome. I dropped the assault rifle and instantly felt most of my physical strength return. I still couldn’t use my power, but at least I could run.

I was about to make another attempt for the trees, but that’s all I can remember from that night.

Chapter 6: Voices in the Dark

I came to, but my psionic power was completely drained and my eyes refused to focus. Blinking a few times, I realized that I was looking at the inside of a cloth blindfold wrapped tightly around my head. I wanted to remove the blindfold, but I discovered that my wrists were bound together behind my back by what felt like metal handcuffs.

By now my other senses had started to recover, and I found that I was lying on my left side on what felt like a hard wooden floor. I had been stripped completely naked. The floor felt dusty under my bare body. Was this some kind of storage room? I felt lightheaded and horribly thirsty.

I heard the loud tick of a clock’s minute hand. I stopped trying to move and listened for other noises. I could hear muffled voices. They seemed to be coming from another room.

My legs hadn’t been tied, but I didn’t dare try to stand up. The greatest pain in my body was focused on my left calf. At the moment, it was just a dull, throbbing pain, but it was the kind of pain that threatened to get a whole lot worse with the slightest movement. I lay perfectly still.

What had happened to me?

My memory of the night with Raven Three was slowly returning. I had blasted a hole through a man’s body, and then shot a woman dead. What had happened next?

I couldn’t be entirely sure, but my best guess was that someone had shot me in my left calf from behind, possibly from under the motorhome. Having had my leg knocked out from under me, I had fallen backward and hit my head against something hard enough to render me unconscious.

Now wasn’t the time for detailed recollection. I needed to get out of this place quickly. Somehow, I would have to master the pain in my leg and get to my feet.

I heard footsteps approaching. Change of plan. I lay the left side of my head back on the floor and let my body go limp. I heard a door open, and several pairs of footsteps entered the room.

A low growling voice said, “I still can’t believe we wasted bandages on this thing.”

“He was bleeding out,” said a calmer voice that sounded a bit like Mark’s.

“Let it bleed,” spat the growling voice. “Filthy demon.”

Then a third man’s voice said, “I thought I’d seen it all, but I never expected a child psionic. What are we going to do with him?”

“What we should’ve done yesterday,” said Growler. “Kill it and be done with.”

“Not so fast,” said the calm one, who I guessed was their leader. “It’s rare we ever get one alive, and this one may be too young to send to the Lord quite yet. We will need to consult Father Lestor before we take further action.”

Too scared to be embarrassed by my nudity, I lay motionless as the men continued to talk about me as if I were a lump of meat.

“How old do you reckon he is?” asked voice number three.

Leader Man answered, “Can’t be older than twelve.”

Fourteen, I thought angrily, but I kept my mouth shut as a hand roughly grabbed my hair and turned my head slightly.

“He’s seen some action, though,” said Number Three. “Missing ear, scars here and there... I’ll bet that’s even a bullet wound there, see?” I felt a finger poke my stomach. “Yep, definitely a bullet. This kid’s been put through the paces.”

A pair of hands pushed me into a facedown position, and the forced movement caused my left calf to scream in agony. My body involuntarily tensed up, but somehow I managed to remain silent.

“Look,” continued Number Three. “There’s a scar on his back, too. The bullet must have gone clean through him.”

Growler laughed, saying, “So it wasn’t the demon’s first time to get shot.”

“It’s not funny!” said Leader Man. “If the Guardians are so desperate for warriors that they’d use a child like this... Perhaps they are the greater evil still.”

By now I was so thirsty that I considered letting them know I was awake so I could beg them for water.

“Hey, what do you make of this mark on his arm?” asked Number Three. “P-47? What is that?”

Since I was lying facedown now, they could see the tattoo on my left arm.

“I don’t rightly know,” replied Leader Man. “I was wondering the same thing when I saw it earlier. I suppose it doesn’t matter much, but if you like, you can ask him when he wakes.”

“You think he’ll wake?” asked Number Three.

“It’s hard to tell,” replied Leader Man. “He’s lost a lot of blood.”

“It has lost a lot of blood,” Growler corrected in a harsh voice. “And it’s about to lose a lot more.”

I heard the sound of a pistol being cocked.

“Holster that weapon, soldier!” commanded Leader Man.

I waited, motionless, wondering if I was about to be executed.

I heard Growler let out a frustrated sigh. “Why are we keeping this thing alive?”

“Because he’s too young,” Leader Man replied simply.

“Well, we can’t let this boy go just because of his age,” said Number Three. “I’m with you on this. Let’s finish him.”

“No!” Leader Man said more severely. “We are the servants of God. We do not kill the innocent.”

“This boy is hardly innocent!” argued Number Three.

“He is a child still,” said Leader Man.

“Nevertheless! He killed Tate and Katie!”

“He was defending himself,” Leader Man said calmly. “We are not going to kill him. Not yet, anyway. His fate is for Father Lestor to decide. We will keep him alive until Father Lestor returns.”

“It’s awake,” said Growler. “It’s listening to us!”

“He’s not.”

“Oh yeah? Watch this!”

A firm hand grabbed my left calf just around the wound and shook it violently. I cried out in pain.

Growler laughed. “See, it’s awake! The filthy demon almost had us there. What’s your name, demon?”

“Hansel,” I said weakly.

I knew I had nothing to gain by acting tough or refusing to answer. Considering how much trouble I was already in, it might seem silly that I’d still want to hide my real name, but it was the only bit of resistance I could manage.

“You don’t look German,” said Number Three. “How old are you?”

“Twelve,” I lied automatically. If I thought they’d believe me, I would have told them that I was three years old.

Now that they knew I was awake, I decided not to wait any longer for the thing I needed most. “Water,” I begged. “Please... Water...”

They ignored my plea, and Number Three asked, “Do you know why you’re here, Hansel?”

I remained silent, and the man said, “You’re here because God has sent you to us. Soon he will judge you.”

“Not soon enough,” said Growler. “You’ll pay us our due in blood first, demon.”

Leader Man said sternly, “Father Lestor will decide whether he lives or dies! Not you!”

“Perhaps,” said Growler. “But Father Lestor won’t be back for another two weeks. Don’t worry, I won’t kill it that easily.”

A moment later, I heard Growler whisper into my left ear, “This is for Katie and Tate.”

I tensed up my body, expecting to receive a thrashing at any moment, but instead I heard footsteps running toward us.

“What is it, Sister?” asked Leader Man.

“I believe it is official now,” a woman’s voice said breathlessly. “The Guardians have taken the Holy Land.”

Growler snarled like a tiger. “Oh, that’s it!”

I won’t bother describing what happened to me next. Fortunately, I was only conscious for a few more minutes anyway.

When I woke again, I was still naked, this time lying on a cold stone floor. The moment I opened my eyes, they stung so horribly that I quickly shut them tight, which eased the pain only a little. My wrists were not cuffed, and when I pressed my palms over my eyelids, I noticed that I wasn’t wearing the blindfold either.

Coughing once, I felt a sharp pain in my chest. I knew from experience that it was a cracked rib. Possibly two. Growler had kicked me pretty hard. Still, ribs were among my secondary worries at the moment.

My thirst had reached its boiling point. I needed water so badly that I was ready to drink my own blood if I had to.

Slowly, I forced myself to open my stinging eyes, but still I couldn’t see anything at all. It was pitch-black in here. I couldn’t even see my hands in front of my face.

“Hello?” I whispered into the darkness. My voice was cracked, my mouth so parched it was painful to speak.

“Hello?” I called again, this time more loudly, and the effort made my damaged chest throb agonizingly.

I noticed that my call had echoed slightly, and from the musty, cool air I was breathing, I gathered that I was in a windowless basement. That explained the utter absence of light. Giving up, I closed my eyes again.

My whole body hurt from the beating I had received, and my bandaged left calf felt like it had swollen up like a balloon. I still felt very drained. Gingerly running my fingers over my body to see if anything else was damaged or broken, my hands eventually came to a heavy steel shackle on my right ankle. The thick chain attached to it clinked noisily as I pulled on it. I couldn’t tell how long the chain was, but I guessed that the other end was fixed to a wall.

I was almost afraid to touch the bandages over the bullet wound on my left calf, and when I did, I instantly regretted it. Ignoring the pain in my eyes, I opened them again, hoping to see how bad my leg really was, but all I could see was murky darkness. I kept my eyes open, hoping they would adjust. Everything remained a blurry shade of very dark gray.

A door creaked open. I froze as I heard footsteps enter the room, and suddenly the place became much brighter. Someone had turned on the lights.

I blinked several times, but all I could see was thick creamy white mixed with indistinct patches of pink, and a small spot of shadow to my left. Even in the light, that was all I could see. And I finally understood.

I was blind.

“What the hell have you done to me?!” I shouted wildly into the light, ignoring the pain in my chest and reaching out with my arms to grab onto something. Anything.

I tried to stand, but fell forward as the pain shot through my injured leg.

“What have done to me?!” I yelled again in panic.

“Silence, child!” a female voice answered harshly.

“I can’t see! I can’t see!” I whimpered to myself in rising panic. “I can’t see anything!”

“You will see soon enough,” said the woman. “You will see when the Lord takes you.”

“What have you done?” I cried out feebly.

“We have done nothing,” replied the callous voice. “This is God’s work, child. You will meet him soon, and he will release your soul from the evil that has taken you. Now eat.”

I heard the sound of something being placed on the floor near me. The lights went out a moment later, the door banged shut, and I was alone.

My thirst quickly overtaking my panic, I desperately reached forward, groping around for whatever it was that the woman had left me.

My fingers finally found the edge of a tray. On it, a wooden bowl. A tall glass. Water!

Holding the glass in both hands, I drained its contents in one long swig. I was still thirsty, but no longer desperately so. I felt for the bowl again and carefully picked it up. Thanks to Growler, I was still recovering from a pretty bad nosebleed so I couldn’t smell the contents of the bowl very well, but it was some kind of thin soup. I brought the edge of the bowl to my mouth and discovered that the soup was only lukewarm, for which I was grateful. I gulped it down and wished there was more.

I felt the surface of the tray again, hoping for something else. My fingers found a spoon, which was useless to me, and then something soft and dry. Bread.

I picked it up and savagely threw it across the room. A second later I heard it hit a wall and fall to the floor.

I cupped my hands over my closed eyelids, desperately trying not to scream.

Blind... I still couldn’t quite grasp the idea. The Slayers had somehow blinded me. It was worse than the bullet hole in my leg. Even if I could somehow get the shackle off of my right ankle so that I wasn’t drained, I wouldn’t be able to use my telekinesis in any useful way. Not without sight. I couldn’t move things if I couldn’t see them. My blasts couldn’t be aimed. Even if I could levitate myself, I wouldn’t know which direction to fly.

With my right index finger, I gently touched my closed left eyelid. The skin felt undamaged. Bracing myself for the pain, I pressed a little harder. I could tell by the feel of it that my eyeball beneath was neither smooth nor entirely round. I checked my right eye next, and found it was the same. While I had been unconscious, someone had lifted my eyelids and deliberately stuck something into my eyes. I realized with mounting horror that Alia probably wouldn’t be able to heal this. My sister’s healing ability merely accelerated natural healing. That’s how she stopped bleeding and mended bones. She couldn’t re-grow Terry’s left hand or my right ear, so chances were, she couldn’t fix my eyes either.

I was mildly hyperventilating despite the pain in my chest, but the sound of the door opening again put an end to that. The lights came on. I opened my eyes again, but nothing had changed. It was the same murky, creamy white and pink. I couldn’t recognize any shapes whatsoever.

“Here’s your toilet,” said the woman.

I felt a heavy metallic object fall on my head. Feeling it in my hands, I discovered that it was a bucket.

“Use it or you’ll lick the floor clean,” she said.

The lights went out again and the door slammed shut.

I have no idea how long I sat there and cried.

I wasn’t sure which I felt more severely, the pain throughout my body or the fear in my heart. This wasn’t my first time in captivity, but while I had been through a lot at the Psionic Research Center, a God-slayers’ basement was something else entirely. The doctors at the research center needed me. Even a lab rat had some value to its owner. The Slayers had no reason to keep me alive except for some stupid notion that I was too young to kill, and it seemed that the majority of them disagreed. What would this Father Lestor say when he returned? Would I even be permitted to live long enough to find out?

Growler hadn’t asked me one question about the Guardians when he was pounding me. Were they even interested? And what if they were? The Wolf interrogator who had questioned Alia and me before we were shipped to the research center knew his job well. The Wolf knew how to induce fear and pain, but he also knew that he was under strict orders not to kill us. I suspected that the Slayers would not be as restrained if they decided to torture me for information about the “demons” that had destroyed their Holy Land.

My tears eventually ran dry as my thoughts moved from self-pity to wondering where everyone was and what had happened to them. Since the Guardians had apparently taken the Holy Land successfully, I was pretty confident that Terry was alive and well. I wasn’t as hopeful for Mr. Watson, but perhaps Mr. Barnum and the other Knight had made it to safety.

Mr. Simms must have tried to contact Raven Three the moment the Raven assault teams finished clearing the Slayer camp, which meant they already knew that Raven Three had been attacked. They knew that I was missing and they were probably already out searching for me. It would only be a matter of time before the Guardian Knights busted down the door to this room. And once I was safely back in New Haven, well, there was no guarantee, but perhaps I could find a cure for my blindness too.

All I had to do was survive a few days. Perhaps only a few hours.

Cindy’s voice echoed quietly in my head, Just remember, Adrian, that God-slayers don’t take prisoners.

My heart skipped a beat.

Slayers don’t take prisoners. The Guardians thought I was dead! They weren’t looking for me at all!

No! I refused to believe that. Cindy would know by now what had happened. This was emergency enough for Terry to have called her. Cindy was the Heart of New Haven. Mr. Baker’s Guardians had busted Alia and me out of the Psionic Research Center to gain Cindy’s loyalty. In the past, I had hesitated to abuse Cindy’s special status for my own personal gain, but now I was beyond caring.

If you’re alive, I’ll find you again.

Cindy wouldn’t give up until she saw my cold, dead body. And the two-week personal hiding field she had given me for my fishing trip would have expired by now, so I was no longer psionically hidden. This stone basement wouldn’t make it easy for someone to home in on my psionic power, but a capable finder, perhaps Cindy herself, would still be able to locate me in due time.

Or would the Angels get here first?

If they did, I thought grimly, at least I’d have the satisfaction of knowing that the Slayers would be destroyed.

Either I would live or I would die. Either I would regain my eyesight or I’d remain blind. These things I couldn’t control. I decided that, for the time being, I would deal with what I could. The rest I would leave to fate. From that thought, I drew just enough strength to wipe the tears from my unseeing eyes and focus my mind on the present.

First I needed to know more about this room. Holding the bucket in my left hand, I found the chain on my ankle with my right. Slowly, dragging my injured left leg and trying not to breathe too deeply, I crawled on my hands and knees, following the chain until I found the bolt on the wall that it connected to. This was a place that I could always find again, so I put my toilet bucket next to the bolt. Then, after a brief rest to prepare for another painful crawl, I started along the wall and kept going until I came to the full length of my chain. There was nothing but stone floor and wall. Another rest, and I crawled back to the bucket. Now, the other direction.

I had only crawled three yards or so before my hands found something metal protruding from the wall. It was about a yard up from the floor. I carefully ran my fingers over it. It was the end of a curved pipe, and attached to it was something that felt like a small metal flower.

A faucet!

I tried turning it. It sputtered for a moment and then I heard the water pouring out. There was no sink under the faucet. The water spattered onto the stone floor until I put my face in its path and opened my mouth to the cool, refreshing stream. The water went up my nose. It ran down my bare chest. I didn’t care. Soon I was sitting in a large puddle of water on the floor.

The light came on.

“What in God’s name are you doing, demon!?” Growler shouted furiously.

Wham! I felt a metal rod, possibly a crowbar, slam into my side. I tried to pull myself into a fetal position to protect my internal organs as I received another heavy blow to my left thigh.

The water was shut off, and I heard Growler breathing heavily.

He grabbed me by my hair and rammed me into the wall. As I fell back onto the floor, I received another heavy blow to my side, and Growler shouted, “You touch that again and as the Lord is my witness, I’ll gut you myself!”

Darkness returned. The door slammed. I lay on the wet floor whimpering in pain. The water slowly drained into a little ditch along the wall.

Once the pain had receded enough for me to move again, I decided that I had explored enough for one day. I crawled back to the bucket and promptly threw up into it.

Lying down beside the bucket, I quickly discovered that, despite serious metal draining and multiple injuries numbing my senses, a stone floor was still noticeably uncomfortable. I lay on my side and curled up as best I could, resting my head on my arm.

I caught my other hand trying to touch a pendant that wasn’t around my neck.

Would Cindy tell Alia what had happened to me? It was doubtful. Cindy didn’t like worrying her. She would only tell Alia if she knew with absolute certainty that I was dead. Even then, she might tell her that I had just gone away, and that someday I’d return. That was probably for the best, I decided. I couldn’t bear to think of how my sister would feel if she knew I was never coming back. Given enough time, perhaps she would forget about her stupid, stubborn brother who consistently refused to listen to reason and broke one promise after another.

When sleep finally came, it was shallow and painful. I dreamed my left leg had caught fire, and that I was drowning in an ocean of hot coals. I woke up shivering, my throat parched, but I didn’t dare turn on the faucet again.

When I found I couldn’t sleep anymore, I propped my back against the wall and sat there. After what felt like hours, the light came on. Heavy footsteps approached and I braced myself for the worst.

“Food,” announced a male voice that I hadn’t heard before.

Knowing that it wasn’t Growler, I breathed slightly easier. Then I heard the clattering of a plate as it fell somewhere nearby.

“Oops,” said the voice in mock-alarm, and then laughed cruelly. It had been deliberate.

Once it was dark again, I felt around the floor until I found the upside-down bowl of spaghetti. I scooped up the noodles with my fingers and, ignoring the taste of the floor dust that had stuck to them, ate as much as I could. Soon afterward, I was seized with a coughing fit that threatened to tear my broken ribs out of my chest. There was nothing to drink.

More dead waiting. I finished my exploration of the basement. I wasn’t even sure it was a basement, but it certainly had all the features of one. A few yards past the faucet, I found several wooden crates. They were nailed shut, but I discovered that I could sit more comfortably on them than on the stone floor, even if I got an occasional splinter in my rear.

My next meal was placed quietly on the floor, but the delivery man kicked me in the stomach so hard that I couldn’t eat a bite until long after the food had become cold. At least there was water.

I slept, and met Cindy and Alia in my dreams. They had come to rescue me. When I reached out to them, trying to hold them in my arms, they turned into dust and fell to the floor. I woke screaming. Once I calmed down, I prayed Growler hadn’t heard me.

Shivering in the dark basement, I longed for light. I longed for warmth and freedom from fear. But most of all, I longed for Alia’s gentle voice in my head, and Cindy’s quiet, comforting smile, and even Terry’s fiery anger.

I could almost hear Terry shouting, “Stupid Adrian! Getting yourself caught like that!”

Stupid Adrian thinking he was ready for combat status. But it was too late for that now.

So it continued. Sit. Eat. Sleep. The pain in my eyes gradually receded. I could keep my eyes open, but my sight didn’t return. Darkness was a murky black, and light was an opaque white.

Once, on what I assumed was the third or fourth day, Growler and another man came to visit me between meals. They offered me “medicine,” holding me down and forcing some kind of thick liquid down my throat. It burned through my body, causing me more internal pain than I knew was possible. Then they beat me with a stick until I passed out. When I came to, they were gone, but it was a long time before I could move again.

Hugging myself to keep warm, I hoped and prayed for the Guardians to come quickly. The Guardians would come into this house and kill Growler and all the other psychopaths that called themselves the servants of God. And if the Angels found this place first, who knew? Perhaps I would be reunited with Cat.

But neither Guardians nor Angels came. Not that day, nor the day after, nor the next. After that, I lost count. I was trying to keep track of the days by counting my meals, but it was useless. Sometimes I’d only be a bit starved when my food was delivered, other times I would be famished. I suspected that my meals were coming quite irregularly, and certainly not three times a day. There was no way to tell time in the darkness.

And in the darkness, I had nothing but time. Time to think. Time to fear. Time to feel sorry for myself. Lots and lots of time. I spent hours sitting on the wooden crate and wondering what Alia was doing. I would picture her sitting in the living room of the penthouse, lazily playing with her long walnut-brown hair as she often did in the afternoons. Or perhaps she was lying on our bedroom floor reading a book, or drawing a picture at her desk. My sister always drew the strangest pictures. Pink unicorns with diamond eyes, blue dogs with giant fluffy wings and multiple tails covered with flowers...

I had dumped Alia with Cindy, and I got my due when Terry had in turn dumped me with Raven Three. Terry was not to blame. She was the one who had, against my wishes, tried to keep me out of trouble. And yet here I was, shot, blinded, and trapped in a Slayer basement, as damaged and miserable as I had ever been in my short, pitiful existence as a psionic destroyer.

Having spent three weeks on the run after turning psionic, I had confidently told Mr. Barnum that I understood what it was like to be alone and afraid. How mistaken I had been. The truth is that there are degrees to aloneness.

On the one hand, I was extremely grateful that I was alone. If Alia had been here with me... If the Slayers had done to her as they were doing to me... If they had blinded her... No, I had been right to leave my sister home. Chances were she would have died in the forest clearing with the others anyway.

But now, being in this dark place without Alia at my side...

Back at the Psionic Research Center, I had often lamented my self-assigned role as Alia’s guardian, hating the burden of having to share her room and bed, calm her down after every tearful encounter with a doctor or soldier, and coax or force her into participating in the experiments which were often uncomfortable and sometimes downright painful. Being responsible for her capture, I felt that it was my duty to take care of her, no matter how difficult she was.

And yet, I had never given much thought to what she had been doing for me during our months in captivity. I realized now that Alia had done me a great service by begging me to stay with her, and that included the penthouse bedroom after our arrival in New Haven. It wasn’t just her nighttime murmuring that helped me fall asleep, or even her healing powers that saved my life. Her very presence had calmed me, carried me, and gave my life direction, without which I might have been consumed by the terror and despair that I had faced. If Alia depended on me to take care of her, then it was equally true that I always had Alia to lean on.

Not this time, though.

I knew now with absolute certainty that the draining I felt in this room wasn’t really caused by the shackle on my right ankle or the dried blood covering my naked, battered body. While I would never wish my sister to share in my suffering, I sorely wished she was here with me now.

Alia would know how to deal with this.

My second sister knew more about suffering than anyone. Cindy had found her in a forest when she was just four years old. She had been left there to die by the religious fanatics who had kidnapped her as an infant to “rescue” her from her “demonic keepers,” who might otherwise have been Alia’s loving parents. Alia had instead spent her infancy and early childhood undergoing ritualistic torture at the hands of her kidnappers. They had repeatedly whipped her and cut her back open with a blade. They had poured boiling water down her throat. Anything to silence her voice in their heads begging them for love and mercy.

Now I knew just a little of what that really felt like, and what Alia had been through. Sitting alone in the darkness, I wondered if I would survive it as she had.

I heard footsteps approaching the door, and quickly got down from the wooden crate I had been resting on. The Slayers didn’t like to see me comfortable.

The door opened. Light. I heard my feeder place a tray on the concrete floor.

“You look tired,” a male voice said quietly.

I instinctively tensed my body. My feedings were usually accompanied by a few kicks and jabs, and sometimes much worse. The Slayers who took it in turns to feed me were also responsible for emptying my toilet bucket, and twice it had been emptied over my head. My captors seemed to want me to die of semi-natural causes so as to avoid the complication of deliberately killing a child. “You look tired” wasn’t exactly the kind of taunt that preceded a kick in the gut, but you could never tell.

“Eat now, and rest,” said the voice. “Your bowl is to your front right. It is cream stew, and your spoon is resting in the bowl. There is a glass of water to the left of the bowl. Be careful not to knock it over.”

The footsteps receded, and I heard the door open and shut.

I was still very cautious. Once, my water glass had been filled with (to the best of my knowledge, having never tasted any before) urine. Feeling around for the bowl and glass, I slowly brought both to my nose. It seemed alright. I ate and rested.

The next day, the same voice brought me my food twice, and I began to trust it just a little. I dubbed him the Kind Man.

My next meal was brought by Growler himself. He dumped the bowl of scalding hot soup over my head, causing me to writhe about in pain as his laughter echoed around the room. Then, in place of the soup, he gave me another dose of his medicine, leaving me doubled up on the floor as the thick, burning liquid ate away at my insides.

Fear always preceded a feeding, but for the next several meals, it was usually the Kind Man that came. He always announced what and where the food was. I never spoke, but sometimes I found myself nodding my head in thanks. Once, after he left, I found a thin woolen blanket next to my bucket.

What I assumed to be the next day, when the Kind Man brought my meal again, I decided to risk responding to his voice.

“Vegetable soup,” announced the Kind Man, placing the tray in front of me. “There is some bread to the right side of your bowl, a glass of orange juice in the far left corner of your tray, and here is a wet towel to wipe your hands before you eat.”

“Thank you,” I replied, taking the towel from him.

I had accidentally dipped my hands into my toilet bucket more than once these past few days, and I could only imagine how dirty I was. I wiped my hands as best I could and thanked him again.

Even blind, I could tell that the Kind Man was surprised that I had spoken to him.

I heard him say, “How are you feeling today, Hansel? I know the others hurt you.”

“I’ve killed your people,” I said. “I expect no less in return. Thank you, though, for your kindness. You come more often than the others, but I wish it was always you that brought my food.”

The voice chuckled quietly. “The others prefer that I come to feed you because they think I would enjoy hurting you even more than they do.”

“Why?” I asked. So far, the owner of this voice was the only Slayer who hadn’t tried to hurt me.

“Because they believe that I have more reason to hate you, Hansel.”

“Why?” I asked again, looking up at the voice and wishing I could see his face.

“Katie was my big sister, and Tate my brother-in-law.”

I wished I hadn’t asked.

“I’m sorry about your sister,” I whispered.

“I know you are,” the man’s voice said in a forced calm.

“I had nothing against her. I was just trying to stay alive.”

“I know that, Hansel. But nevertheless, she is dead at your hands. As is her husband.”

I remembered the Slayers’ surprise in discovering a child among the Guardian Knights. Perhaps I might be able to convince this man that I had been forced against my will to fight for the Guardians. But no, the Slayers were exterminators. There was nothing for a psionic to gain by begging for mercy.

Instead I asked, “When they decide to kill me, will you be the one to do it?”

The voice breathed quietly for a moment before answering, “My sister was a servant of God, Hansel, as am I. It is my job to help keep you alive and fed until Father Lestor returns. When the time comes, you will meet the Lord. If that is to be made so by my hand, then I will be the one to send you to him, but I will take no more pleasure in it than anyone else.”

I nodded solemnly. “My real name is Adrian.”

“I am Charles. Eat now, Adrian. Your soup is getting cold.”

From then on, it was always Charles who brought my meals, which was fortunate because I suspected that anyone else might have taken away my blanket. Usually, Charles just placed the food he brought on the floor, announced what it was, and left. I always thanked him.

Sometimes, we talked.

When Charles asked, I told him about the P-47 tattoo on my arm, and about how I lost my ear. I told him about my life prior to turning psionic. In that cold place, I longed so much for company that I didn’t even mind the company of a God-slayer, as long as it was a non-violent one.

Charles once asked me, “Are you a God-fearing person, Adrian?”

Neither wanting to lie nor insult him, I answered, “I have a good friend who is a priest.”

“He works with your kind?”

I nodded. “He believes in peace. He believes that people who are enemies can heal their differences and become friends. I always thought he got his optimism from the church.”

“Sometimes I wish I could believe in the same peace,” Charles replied sorrowfully before leaving me to sit alone in the darkness again.

While I felt slightly safer with Charles as my regular feeder, it didn’t change the fact that I was blind, naked and alone in a house full of bloodthirsty Slayers, counting the days to the return of Father Lestor who would declare my fate. With each passing meal, my hope was steadily waning. When would the Guardians come? Would they come in time to save me? Would they come at all?

I had lost all track of time. “Days” were when I sat alone in fear, and “nights” were whenever I managed to get sleep.

And in my sleep, I would invariably dream of rescue. I would see Cindy, Alia and Terry. I would hear their voices calling to me, and the agony of waking from their beckons to a deathly silent room was enough to make me wish that the next time I slept, I wouldn’t wake up. But of course I always did.

I even began to hear noises during my waking hours: a voice from a Knight’s radio, the sound of fighting and gunfire, or Alia telepathically calling my name. Anything to believe for even an instant that freedom was just around the corner. Every time I heard the slightest whisper, I wished my heart would stop beating so noisily, but no matter how hard I strained my ears, there was nothing there. I didn’t know how much more of this I could endure before I went completely insane.

My broken ribs were a little better off now that I wasn’t being pounded before every meal. Sudden movements still caused severe chest pain, but at least I was no longer coughing. On the other hand, my gunshot wound wasn’t healing. The swelling refused to go away, and the pain was getting steadily worse.

“Your leg has become infected,” said Charles. “If you like, I will treat it for you.”

“Thank you,” I said.

“I believe the bullet is still lodged inside. Would you like me to remove it?”

“Yes, please,” I replied, thinking that the pain in my leg could hardly become worse no matter what he did.

I was wrong. I cried and screamed when Charles poured some kind of liquid over my leg to clean it, but that was nothing compared to the agony of having a bullet removed from a days-old wound without any kind of anesthetic. If Growler had been listening at the door, I’m sure he would have been very pleased.

“I’m sorry I was so noisy,” I breathed when Charles finally finished applying fresh bandages over the bleeding hole in my calf.

“It must have been very painful,” Charles said sympathetically.

I shook my head. “I don’t understand you, Charles.”

“Why do you say that?”

“You’re kind to me. I killed your sister, and yet you treat me like a person. But you don’t believe that I am a person. If you did, you wouldn’t be a God-slayer. You help me stay alive knowing full well that you or your people will eventually execute me.”

“I suppose that might seem confusing to you, Adrian.”

“Enlighten me,” I said, daring to sound a bit commanding.

Silence. I waited apprehensively, wondering if Charles was about to trade in his peaceful tone and join the flock.

But a moment later, Charles said quietly, “God tries to make all men equal, Adrian, but we are not equal. Some people have power, and others do not. Power corrupts in a way that nothing else can. Psionic powers are not the creation of God, even if the people who have them are, which, at least according to Father Lestor, is highly unlikely. Either way, lesser gods have no place in this world.”

“Why us?” I asked. “There are many different kinds of power, Charles.”

“I know. But, for example, political power is manmade. It can be taken away. Fuel can be bought, sold, or given freely. Knowledge can be acquired by any who wish to study. Psionic power is not like that. It is not God’s will that a few men falsely mimic his abilities.”

“Is that why the Slayers hate us so much? Because we mimic your God?”

Charles did not answer my question, but instead asked, “Do you have any siblings, Adrian?”

“Two little sisters.”

“Both with the Guardians?”

“Why do you ask?” I asked sharply.

“Sorry,” Charles said with a soft chuckle. “I forgot what our real relationship was for a moment. I wouldn’t want my enemy to know where my family lives either.”

“I guess it wouldn’t matter as long as you didn’t know their addresses,” I said reluctantly. “Only one of my sisters is with the Guardians. The other is with the Angels.”

“That is a tough situation,” said Charles. “I’ve heard of families being torn apart like that in your war.”

I shrugged. “That’s what war does, I suppose.”

After a moment of silence, Charles said quietly, “You killed my big sister, Adrian, but I once had a little sister too. Her name was Grace. She was killed when a psionic faction, the Sky Guardians, attacked our community. They killed everyone who failed to escape. Grace was among the casualties.”

Sky Guardians. I suspected that they must have been one of the breakaway Guardian factions. I wondered if they had come to New Haven during the great gathering.

“I’m sorry about your sister,” I said, and I was, but only up to a point. Grace was a Slayer too, and I wondered how many psionics she had killed prior to her death.

“The Sky Guardians didn’t kill Grace right away,” said Charles, his tone quiet but nevertheless vehemently bitter. “First they raped her. Then they tortured her. Then they burned her alive.”

I remained silent, unsure how to respond.

Charles said softly, “Grace was six years old when she died.” I heard him stand up. “So you see, Adrian, that your priest friend is wrong. Some wounds run too deep to heal, and I can no more help being what I am than you can help being what you are.”

I heard his footsteps heading toward the door. He turned the light off, but before he closed the door, I called to him, “Charles?”

“Yes, Adrian?”

“Are there any children in this house?”

“Just you.”

“Good,” I said emotionlessly, “because I doubt the Guardians will have mercy on any of you when they come for me.”

“I would expect no less, Adrian. Try your best to keep your leg clean from now on.”

When Charles came with my next meal, we did not speak, but he still announced the menu, and I still thanked him.

The next time he came, I dared to ask, “How much longer till Father Lestor comes?”

“Soon. He is delayed, but he will be here soon,” answered Charles, and I guessed I might have been trapped here now for more than two weeks.

I had bravely threatened Charles with an impending Guardian invasion, but in truth, my hope for rescue had all but vanished. The Guardians weren’t coming. They weren’t even looking for me.

I asked, “When Father Lestor comes, will he order me to be killed?”

“It is possible,” said Charles. “But it is equally possible that he will have you remain here until you are old enough to be sent to the Lord.”

“How long is that?”

“A few years.”

I suspected that if Father Lestor did decide to keep me here for a few years, the others would find some excuse to kill me within the week, which to me would have been a great mercy.

“I know we are enemies, Charles,” I said carefully, “but I was hoping to ask a favor of you.”

“Even enemies can grant favors, Adrian.”

“If Father Lestor decides to kill me...” I paused for a moment to gather my courage and steady my voice. “When the time comes, will you please be the one to do it? I’m afraid the others...”

“I understand,” Charles said gently. “I promise I will make it painless.”

“Thank you,” I breathed.

Charles left me, and I crawled to my blanket, which probably had become as grimy as myself, but was still a comfort to lie on. It was my only comfort aside from Charles’s promise. Everyone dies someday. Perhaps it was just my time to cross that bridge, and a painless crossing was better than I had expected in present company. If this was to be my end, then thanks to Charles, at least I would meet it quietly.

I slept almost peacefully.

The light woke me. The door slammed shut, and heavy footsteps approached.

“Charles?” I called uncertainly.

Something hard and fast slammed into my stomach.

“Not Charles!” snarled Growler. “You may have poisoned one soul, but you won’t take mine.”

I felt an iron grip around my neck, and Growler lifted me into a standing position.

“I’m too strong for you, demon!” he spat.

Growler punched me in the face, and blood squirted from my nose. I fell backwards, my elbow knocking over my toilet bucket and spilling the contents over the floor.

A sharp kick in my bandaged left calf made me scream in pain. It was a scream that was abruptly cut off when Growler’s boot made contact with my chest, forcing the wind out of me. I put my hands in front of me to try to ward off his attacks, but blind, I hadn’t a clue where he was or what he was doing.

I felt another kick in my chest, and then one to my head. I desperately tried to crawl away, my hands slipping in the mess of blood and excrement on the floor.

Grabbing me by my hair and pulling me up, Growler shouted, “I’m a soldier of the Lord, demon!”

He threw me against the wall, and I landed on my bad leg, crumpling to the floor.

“I’m too strong for a false god like you! I serve the true God!”

Growler grabbed my right arm, swung me around in a half-circle and released me. I toppled backward onto a dry part of the floor, probably far from the wall, near the full length of my chain.

Another kick in my chest, and then one to my stomach.

“Demon! The Lord will teach you truth!”

I felt his hand grab my hair again. He pulled my head up, and then rammed it back down onto the floor. I prayed I’d black out, but I didn’t.

“He’ll teach you not to poison the righteous!”

I felt a tug on the shackle around my right ankle, and a moment later the heavy chain was wrapped around my neck, choking me. The chain tightened as Growler lifted me up with it. My feet left the floor.

The chain cut into my neck. Growler was going to strangle me to death – if the chain didn’t snap my spine first.

Suddenly Growler released the chain, and I fell back onto the floor, gasping for breath and coughing up blood.

“Demon! Filthy demon! I’m too strong for you!”

Again and again he kicked me. I no longer had the strength do anything but take it.

My ears ringing from the pounding, I nevertheless heard Growler spit loudly. He probably had spat on me, but I couldn’t tell. Nor did I care.

“You remember that, filthy demon!” said Growler, and I could feel his hot breath on my face. “I’m too strong for you!”

Footsteps. Darkness. The door slammed, and I was alone.

I couldn’t move at all. I lay on my back, unable to even cry, my eyes open but unseeing in more ways than one.

The pain came and went. My very existence seemed to flicker like a candle in the wind. I saw flashes of shadowy light behind my eyes and wondered if perhaps I was already dead.

Demon! Filthy demon!

So much hatred... Where did it come from?

In a word, Adrian, fear. Like all uneducated people, they fear what they don’t understand, and what they fear, they try to destroy.

I couldn’t understand the Slayers. I didn’t want to understand the Slayers.

Hours, maybe days passed, but no more meals were delivered. Not that I would have been able to eat. My ribs were shattered. I couldn’t even lift myself into a sitting position. I coughed up blood. A lot of blood.

I must have slept some, because I saw Alia in yet another dream. I tried to call to her, but no sound came out. My chest was pierced by dozens of long knives.

Awake again. But it hardly made a difference. My eyes were dead. My ears heard nothing. My mouth felt like it had been packed with hot sand. I could no longer feel the floor under my body.

I wanted to sleep. I wanted to go to sleep and not wake up. That’s all I wished for now, and as I closed my eyes, I had a feeling this final mercy just might be granted.

There was Alia again, and Cindy and Terry as well. I glided slowly toward them in the darkness.

“Over here, Addy!” Alia’s voice called in my head, but suddenly I could no longer see any of them.

I opened my eyes to murky darkness. I could hear distant popping noises. Was I still dreaming?

The door banged open.

“I’m going to rip you to pieces, demon!” screamed Growler.

Two loud gunshots echoed across the room, followed by a dull, heavy thud.

I closed my eyes again as I heard a distant male voice say, “Lancer One to Raven One, the basement is clear. We have the target. Repeat, we have Hansel. Over.”

“Dead or alive? Over.”

“Unsure. You’d better send Raven Two down immediately. Over.”

“Roger that. The upper floors are nearly secured. Raven Two is heading in now. Standby. Over.”

No! I couldn’t go through this again. So many times I had dreamed of being rescued. Enough! No more lies. No more voices. Just let me die in peace.

Please just let me die.

“It’s okay, Addy,” said Alia’s gentle voice in my head. “I’m with you now.”

“You’re... not real... you’re just another...” I mumbled.

I felt small, soft fingers on the palm of my right hand, and then a slight squeeze. “I’m right here, Addy.”

A man’s voice said, “He’s bleeding internally, Gretel. Work from the inside or he’ll go into shock soon.”

“I know what I’m doing, Proton!” Alia’s awkward shout echoed around the room. “Blade, get that thing off his leg!”

I slowly opened my eyes, and I could almost see her leaning over me.

Pausing for breath after every word, I somehow managed to say, “What are you doing here, Alia?”

“I promised I would keep you alive, Addy. No matter what, remember? This is me keeping you alive.”

Chapter 7: Lives So Changed

Wrapping what felt like a large bath towel around me, they put me on a stretcher and carried me to a soft bed somewhere in the Slayers’ house. They pumped desperately needed fluids into my body through an intravenous feed and also by giving me lots of water to drink.

Removing the bandages from my left calf, Alia told me that she couldn’t heal my leg completely because it was still too dirty to close up. Instead, she worked a quick internal fix before applying some disinfectant, and then dressed the injury with cotton. In addition to the gunshot wound, Alia healed ten broken ribs, three broken fingers, and too many cuts and bruises to count. The fingers were especially painful because they had to be properly straightened before Alia could use her power on them. It took my sister more than an hour to heal me to the point where I felt I could just barely sit up. Even with short breaks, Alia was breathing heavily and I could tell that she was stretching her power to the limit. Alia didn’t try to heal my eyes, and when I asked her what had happened to them, she didn’t reply. Knowing she was focusing all of her energy on healing me, I didn’t press the matter.

“Enough, Ali,” I said. “I can get up.”

Alia replied telepathically, “They’re bringing a wheelchair, Addy.”

“No,” I insisted, “I can walk.”

“But you won’t, Adrian!” she said fiercely. “You’re in my care and you’ll do as you’re told.”

Alia had never called me Adrian before.

“Whatever you say, Doctor,” I breathed weakly, resting my head back on the pillow. I was pretty sure that I wasn’t going to win any arguments today anyway.

I heard a man ask loudly from outside the room, “Is he in there?”

It was Mr. Baker’s voice. The door opened a moment later, and Mr. Baker said, “Adrian! My goodness, you’re alive! I could hardly believe it when I heard. I just called Cindy and told her. Terry is still out looking for... Oh, Jesus! What have they done to your eyes!?”

“I was wondering the same thing, Mr. Baker,” I said. “I asked Alia, but she wouldn’t tell me.”

“Well, it looks like they stabbed your eyes with knives. Can you see at all?”

“Light and shadow,” I replied.

“Hmm,” said Mr. Baker. “Well, let’s get you back to New Haven. The sooner the better.”

Then Mr. Baker said in a surprised tone, “Whoa, Alia! Are you alright?”

“I’m okay,” Alia said weakly. “Just... just tired.”

I couldn’t see what Alia had done to make Mr. Baker jump, but I guessed that she was on the verge of collapse from exhaustion.

“Sorry I wasn’t here sooner to help with the healing,” said Mr. Baker. “It took longer than I had hoped to fly in.”

Then I heard a girl’s voice shout, “Adrian! You’re really alive!”

“Terry?” I called.

I heard her footsteps rush up to my bed, and I asked, “Where were you?”

“Out looking for strays with Swoop,” she replied. “This place is a bit of a fortress, and a few escaped through a tunnel in the first basement. Oh, Adrian!”

“Yes, Terry,” I said, smiling weakly, “someone stuck knives into my eyes. Where’s Cindy?”

“Back in New Haven, of course!” snapped Terry, her voice quivering. “Maybe you haven’t noticed, but Cindy has more important things to do than waste time chasing after you!”

“I’m sorry,” I said, taken aback.

Terry continued in a rapid voice, “Actually, in return for her staying in New Haven and keeping her hiding bubble over the city, Mr. Baker promised Cindy that he would direct all Guardian resources toward finding you. You obviously can’t see it, but we actually have two Knight units here today, the Ravens as well as the Lancers. Lancers usually don’t bother with anti-Slayer operations.”

I wasn’t sure how to respond. Terry hadn’t said all that in order to inform me about Guardian operations, but to hide her feelings behind a barrage of words. I guessed that she felt responsible for what had happened to me.

“I’m okay, Terry,” I said. “Really. I’m okay.”

I felt Terry’s hand lightly touch my left shoulder, and I brought my right hand to it. “I’m still alive,” I said, gripping her hand.

Then I said, “Thank you, Mr. Baker. Thank you for all of this.”

I heard Mr. Baker say, “The wheelchair is here. Let’s get you out of this place.”

“Wait,” I said. “Mr. Baker, what happened to the Slayers?”

“Lancer and Raven leaders reported that we killed most of them. The survivors are currently locked down in the subbasement where they had been keeping you.”

“What will happen to them?” I asked.

Terry answered, “Adrian, you know what happens to Slayers.”

I did. They would be interrogated and then executed.

“Take me down there,” I said. “Please.”

Mr. Baker said, “I’m sorry, but there are stairs that your chair won’t navigate.”

“Then ask the survivors their names,” I said. “If there is a Charles, would you please bring him to me?”

“Very well,” said Mr. Baker. “But let’s not keep our plane waiting much longer.”

A few minutes later, I heard several pairs of footsteps enter the room.

Charles’s voice called, “Adrian!”

I turned my head toward the voice, saying, “You’re alive.”

“For now,” replied Charles, his voice surprisingly calm.

“So what do you want with this scumbag, Adrian?” asked Terry. “What did he do to you?”

“I want him spared,” I told her. “He saved my life.”

Terry let out an audible huff. “Same old Adrian.”

I corrected myself, saying, “I just want him spared from the interrogation, Terry.”

Then I said, “Charles, you know that I can’t stop the Guardians from killing you.”

Charles replied gently, “I know that, Adrian.”

“Mr. Baker,” I said carefully, “after everything you have done for me, I know I have no right to ask this, but could you please make sure that Charles’s death is painless?”

Mr. Baker didn’t answer immediately. I heard Terry huff angrily again.

While wondering what Mr. Baker’s answer would be, I also worried about how Alia was taking in my words. My sister didn’t say anything aloud or telepathically, and I couldn’t see her expression. With her listening in, I felt very awkward discussing the nature (as opposed to the cancellation) of a man’s execution, but I couldn’t exactly shove her off my bed this time.

Mr. Baker finally said, “Sure thing, Adrian. You don’t mind us questioning the others?”

“I don’t mind in the least,” I replied, and I didn’t.

Charles’s voice asked hesitantly, “May I request one hour to pray?”

“You will have it,” promised Mr. Baker. Then he said in a commanding voice to Knights I couldn’t see, “Take this man to a quiet room and give him an hour, after which you will please make sure his end is painless.”

“Yes, sir,” replied a Knight.

“Adrian?” said Mr. Baker. “Are you ready to go now?”

Terry added sarcastically, “Or are there any other friends you want to thank for their hospitality?!”

I smiled. Same old Terry.

“Come on, Addy,” Alia said softly in my head. “Let’s go home.”

Someone removed the towel covering my body and wrapped me up in a soft blanket. Then I was helped into a wheelchair and taken out of the house.

I felt the warmth of the sun on my face and looked up at the sky. I couldn’t tell where the sun actually was, but it felt great. I breathed in the fresh, sweet-smelling air and wondered if I was being wheeled through a flower garden.

“Where are you taking me?” I asked as I felt my chair being pushed over the smooth pavement.

“To a car, a plane, and home,” replied Terry, who sounded like she was walking alongside me. “I promised Cindy I’d have you back by her birthday, and it’s already been a week since then. You’ll be in New Haven for dinner.”

“Thank you, Terry.”

“I promised her that I’d keep you out of trouble, so that’s two broken promises to Cindy already,” said Terry.

The wheelchair stopped.

“Here we are,” said Terry. “Let me help you in.”

I was about to protest, but then I thought better of it. Terry took my left side, and Alia helped me on my right as they led me into the rear seat of a car. I sat sandwiched between them as I heard someone else fold up my wheelchair and stow it somewhere. Doors closed, the engine started, and I felt a cool blast of air on my face.

“Ugh, Adrian, you need a bath!” said Terry. “Hey, would you cut the AC, Blade? Let’s open the windows.”

“I didn’t want to say it first, Addy, but Terry’s right,” Alia whispered in my mind. “You really smell bad.”

“Sorry,” I mumbled.

My nose had become accustomed to my own odor. I could only imagine what sitting next to me must have been like. All the windows were rolled down, and my escorts breathed easier. I preferred the outside air anyway.

“I wish we had time to get you cleaned up before Cindy sees you,” said Terry. “But I suppose you can take a week-long bath once we’re back home.”

I tugged my blanket more snugly around me. Now that I was in better spirits, I couldn’t help feeling embarrassed at the state Alia had found me in. It’s not like she had never seen me unclothed before, but still, what a sight I must have been on the basement floor with that shackle around my ankle. At least I had been sufficiently covered by the time Terry came.

“What time is it?” I asked.

“Morning,” replied Terry. “July 24th.”

I was still too dazed to do the math. “How many days was I gone?”

“Seventeen. I’m pretty sure that’s a record for any psionic in Slayer custody. Slayers aren’t known for keeping their victims waiting.”

Seventeen days... Two and a half weeks didn’t sound like a very long time, but it felt like I had been down there at least twice as long as the months I had spent at the Psionic Research Center.

“What took you guys so long?” I asked, managing to smile and not sound accusing.

“None of our finders could sense you,” said Terry. “It’s no wonder, since you were two stories underground. You were being drained too, weren’t you?”

“Constantly.”

“You know that draining lessens psionic presence, right?”

“Actually, I didn’t,” I admitted.

“Well, it does. It’s not like being properly hidden, but being drained and underground pretty much makes you invisible even to a good finder.”

“Then how did you find me?”

“We gathered information about the various Slayer groups in the Holy Land from their computer files,” explained Terry. “Of course, that didn’t tell us which group had you, so this is actually our third raid. And this hideout wasn’t on any map either, so we had to follow Father Lestor, who runs this faction of Slayers. Or, rather, used to.”

“Did you kill him?” I asked.

“Not personally, but he’s dead now,” replied Terry. “Lestor knew that we were on to him, so he tried to give us the slip a couple of times. I was for just catching and delving him, but Mr. Simms was afraid that Lestor might kill himself before we could get him to talk. Slayers do that sometimes. In the end, all we could do was follow him.”

That was why Father Lestor had been delayed.

Terry continued, “We were pretty certain you were in there, since we intercepted some calls made to Lestor by his men. We were afraid Lestor would terminate you before sundown, so we attacked as soon as we saw him enter the building. It was a bit messy, but we didn’t want to take any chances with you.”

“I’m glad,” I said. “I don’t know if Lestor would have ordered me killed, but I might have died anyway if you had waited any longer.”

Terry laughed. “It certainly looked that way. It’s good that Cindy let Alia come with us. The other two healers we brought were too busy upstairs to bother with you.”

“There were casualties?” I asked anxiously.

“Well, no one died, if that’s what you’re asking. But three Lancers were shot up and another was burned with some kind of acid from a trap. That’s what happens when you breach without gathering intelligence on a target.”

I bowed my head and sighed, but Terry said, “Don’t feel bad about it, Adrian. This is what the Knights do.”

“I guess so,” I said uncertainly, and then turned toward Alia. “I’m glad you came too, Ali.”

“Thanks, Addy,” she said aloud. “I have your pendant here, but I’ll keep it till you’re cleaned up, okay?”

I nodded.

“Alia was a real trooper, Adrian,” said Terry. “She was with us for the other two raids as well, and thanks in part to her, we haven’t lost a single Knight yet.”

I chuckled weakly. “Maybe I’ll have Alia do my fighting from now on.”

“You may have to,” Terry replied semi-seriously. “I don’t know how we’re going to get your eyes fixed.”

I remembered that Mr. Baker didn’t seem to know either. “Psionics can’t heal them?”

“You’re sitting next to a healer, Adrian,” said Terry.

“Yeah,” I said gloomily.

“Listen, we’ll just start with a good eye doctor. For now, try not to worry. There’s always something.”

Alia touched my hand, saying, “At least you’re still alive, Addy.”

I smiled. “Thanks to you.”

The car made a sharp left turn, and a minute later came to a stop. I could hear the sound of a jet engine not too far away.

The driver, who I discovered was Jack P, unfolded the wheelchair again and helped me onto it. I was wheeled down a runway to a rented medium-size twin-engine corporate jet, or so Terry told me. Picking me up in his arms, Jack P carried me up some steep stairs into the aircraft and placed me on a soft reclining chair.

I was given a tuna sandwich and some orange juice as the jet prepared for flight. Alia insisted on hand-feeding me, claiming that my fingers were too dirty even after I had wiped them. I didn’t doubt it, but I also suspected that my sister just wanted to take care of me.

I was still feeling mildly weak and exhausted after eating, so when Alia told me to go to sleep, I didn’t argue. I had barely felt the plane lift off before I fell into the deepest, most comfortable dreamless sleep I had ever experienced in my life.

When I groggily came to, I was no longer in the jet’s reclining chair, but back in my wheelchair which suddenly came to a halt.

I felt upward motion, and asked, “Where am I?”

“Home, Addy,” said Alia.

I had apparently slept straight through the car ride from the airport.

The elevator came to a stop, and I was wheeled out. I heard a door open, and a moment later I was pushed forward into what I instantly recognized by everything I couldn’t see as the penthouse living room of New Haven One.

I heard Cindy’s gentle voice call quietly, “Welcome home, Adrian.”

“I’m home,” I whispered to myself, breathing in the delightfully familiar air.

I felt Cindy’s hands grasp mine, and I tried to picture her face in my mind. What did she see before her? Did she see an injured soldier returning from a distant battlefield? Or did she see a selfish runaway child taken into custody?

Her son, I finally decided. That was what she saw. Her son, who had come home.

“I’m home,” I whispered again.

Nobody spoke for a moment. Cindy hadn’t commented on my eyes, so I guessed she had been forewarned. But a moment later I heard Cindy let out a quiet sob.

“Happy birthday, Cindy,” Terry said in a smiling voice. “Sorry it took so long to get him.”

“Thank you, Terry,” replied Cindy, her voice completely cracked with tears. “Thank you.”

Cindy gently put her arms around my neck. I hesitantly hugged her back, unsure how dirty I was making her by doing so, but then I figured Cindy probably didn’t care.

“Happy birthday, Cindy,” I mumbled in embarrassment. “I wish I could have brought you something aside from my own smelly self.”

“Adrian! Oh, Adrian!” cried Cindy, holding me tighter. “Oh, thank God you’re home!”

It took a while, but we eventually ran low on tears.

Releasing me, Cindy said hoarsely, “You look a right awful sight.”

“I guess I’m just not the soldier type,” I said quietly.

“Let’s get you to the hospital,” said Cindy. “You should get a full checkup just in case Alia missed something.”

I shook my head. “No, Cindy. I’m okay. Alia doesn’t miss things. Aside from my leg, I’m fine, and Alia can take care of that as soon as I wash up.”

“Are you sure?”

I smiled. “Cindy, you used to be a nurse, and Alia is a healer. I think I’m in pretty good hands right here. I just want to take a bath and then get something to eat.”

Cindy took a moment, possibly looking me over, before answering, “Alright, Adrian. But you’re going to get a checkup first thing tomorrow morning, okay?”

“Sure,” I said.

I turned my head to the left, where I believed my sister was standing, and asked, “Is it okay if I try standing up now, Alia?”

“If you think you can,” she replied from my right.

I wasn’t certain, but I was certainly going to try.

“Here, use this,” said Terry, and I felt a smooth wooden stick being placed in my hands: Terry’s jo stick.

Leaning on it, I carefully lifted myself out of the chair. Then I limped forward five small steps, keeping most of my weight off of my left leg. My calf was still swollen and hurt a great deal with the slightest movement.

“First stop is the bathroom, Adrian,” announced Cindy. “We need to get you cleaned up before dinner.”

I didn’t like the sound of “we” but I let Cindy lead me across the living room and down the hall. It was very slow going. In addition to my limp, I was still wrapped in the blanket from the Slayer house and I had to take care not to trip over the bit that was dragging on the floor. I could hear Alia’s footsteps following close behind.

We came to a stop. A door clicked open as Cindy said, “You are so unbelievably filthy I’m not even sure where to start.”

“I can wash myself, Cindy,” I informed her.

“Not today,” said Cindy.

“Cindy, please,” I begged.

But Cindy said firmly, “You’ll do as you’re told, Adrian.”

“You sound like Alia.”

“Actually, your sister just told me to say that to you,” said Cindy, chuckling.

“Figures,” I muttered.

“You wouldn’t argue if you could see how dirty you are.”

And if Cindy had ever been fourteen years old, she would’ve been more understanding.

Alia asked in a hopeful tone, “Can I help?”

“No!” I nearly shouted as Cindy led me into the bathroom – I could tell it was the bathroom because I could feel the cold tile floor under my bare feet.

After closing the door on my sister, Cindy unwrapped the blanket from around me, and then removed the cotton from my left calf. Even after Alia’s earlier work, the dressing was painfully stuck to the wound with fresh blood, and it took a while to pull it all off.

“You’re not just dirty, Adrian,” said Cindy. “You’re terribly infected. Alia was right. Your leg needs cleaning before she can finish healing it. A couple more days and you might have lost it.”

A couple more days and I would have been dead anyway.

“The Slayers already removed the bullet,” I said.

“They did?” Cindy asked in surprise.

“It’s a long story.”

“Well, thank God for small favors, anyway.”

“How bad is my leg?” I asked.

“The bone is probably chipped. This is your third gunshot wound, isn’t it?”

I nodded.

Cindy let out a long and deliberate sigh, saying resignedly, “Adrian Howell, human bullet magnet.”

As painful as my leg was, I couldn’t help but laugh a little at that.

“There won’t be a fourth,” I promised.

Cindy turned on the shower. I winced in pain as the lukewarm water touched the torn flesh.

“Sorry, Adrian, but this’ll hurt a bit,” said Cindy. “You have a lot of pus here.”

I gritted my teeth and managed to keep it to a quiet whimper as Cindy carefully washed my leg with water and disinfectant. Then, ignoring my protests, she temporarily let Alia in to finish healing the wound. The pain, along with much of the swelling, gradually receded. My calf was still sore enough to make me limp a little, but at least the worst of it was finally over.

Shooing Alia out of the bathroom again, Cindy helped me scrub the rest of my body clean. It took quite a long time, and I’m sure Cindy noticed that I had more than just blood and basement dust on me, but she didn’t comment.

After toweling me dry, Cindy handed me some clothes that were soft and thin like a pair of pajamas, which they probably were.

Seeing me struggling with my shirt, Cindy said kindly, “Let me help you.”

“I can dress myself, Cindy,” I insisted.

“If that were the case, Adrian, you wouldn’t have your arm through your pant leg.”

Once I was properly clothed, Cindy opened the bathroom door to my sister, who was still waiting outside.

“Here, Addy,” Alia said telepathically, “I was always hoping I could return this to you while you were still alive.”

I felt her hands place my amethyst pendant back around my neck. Actually, for all I could tell, it might have been her bloodstone, since they were the same size and shape, but I would have been happy for either.

“Now you look like Addy again,” Alia said happily.

“I’ll get dinner ready,” said Cindy. “Hope you’re hungry.”

“Very,” I said, and my stomach emphasized the point by growling noisily.

Cindy laughed. “I better get going. Alia, make sure Addy doesn’t crash into any walls.”

I heard Cindy’s footsteps quickly retreat down the hall.

I had left Terry’s jo stick leaning against a wall somewhere and I couldn’t find it again, but I didn’t need a blind man’s cane in this house. Alia was only too happy to lead me.

“Where to?” she asked, holding my left hand.

“Where’s Terry?”

“I think she’s in the living room.”

“Take me to her, please.”

She did, keeping a gentle grip on my hand and carefully leading me to one of the long couches in the living room. Sitting down, I felt Alia curl up beside me, resting her back against my side.

When Cindy had dressed me back in the bathroom, I had feared that she might have reverted to her old ways and given me something girly to wear, but I didn’t hear Alia or Terry laugh, so I guessed I was alright.

“You actually look good, Adrian, now that you’re cleaned up,” said Terry’s voice across from me, “but I’m sure it’s just an illusion that we’ll get over soon.”

When I didn’t offer a nasty comeback, Terry asked, “What’s the matter, Half-head?”

I asked seriously, “Terry, what happened to Raven Three?”

Terry let out a little sigh and answered gravely, “I’m sure they’ll ask you the same thing at the debriefing tomorrow. You’re the only survivor.”

“They’re all dead?” I asked quietly.

“We called Raven Three right after the raid, and when we couldn’t get through, we sent a team back to investigate. They found everyone shot and you missing.”

“How did you guys know I was even alive, Terry? I could’ve been dead in the forest.”

“Your Mr. Barnum,” Terry replied simply. “He told us.”

“Then he’s alive?”

“Not anymore. The Slayers had shot him four times, twice at point-blank range. Slayers usually put extra bullets into psionics just to make sure they really die. By the time the scout team found Mr. Barnum, he couldn’t even speak, but a delver heard his last thoughts.”

It took a moment for that to sink in. Mr. Barnum was dead. As was Mr. Watson, and all the other Knights of Raven Three. I was the only survivor, thanks to Mr. Art Barnum, who had clung onto his life just long enough to set my rescue in motion. There was a wide range of emotions connected to that thought, and guilt was high among them.

Staring into the opaque light that my visual world had become, I could still hear Mr. Watson’s voice saying, “Oh, don’t you worry about Hansel. He’s Rabbit’s boy. He knows what he’s doing.” And Mr. Barnum, who had said to me in the motorhome, “I’m glad you’re staying behind, Hansel. I was feeling a bit lonely myself in this crowd.”

“Adrian,” said Terry, “you just have to–”

“Don’t tell me to get over it, Terry!” I snapped, getting to my feet.

I just wanted to be alone. If I could see, I would have been free to leave the living room and find some privacy, but instead I had to ask Alia, “Would you please take me to our room?”

“Sure,” said Alia. “Just hold my hand.”

As my sister guided me out of the living room, I heard Terry call, “It wasn’t your fault, Adrian.”

I ignored her.

Back in our bedroom, Alia instinctively took me across the room to our window where we often sat quietly together. I didn’t sit in the chair though.

“Alia, I’m never going to kick you out of this room again,” I said carefully, not wanting to hurt her feelings, “but I could really use a little time alone right now.”

“Are you alright, Addy?”

“Please just leave me alone for a while, Alia. Go help Cindy.”

“Okay,” Alia said uncertainly. I heard her footsteps leave the room and the door clicked shut.

Mr. Barnum was dead because I had helped the Guardians pull him into the faction. He might even have been better off being captured by the Wolves.

I reached out and touched the cool glass window, picturing the cityscape I was so used to seeing from here. New Haven had become my home, and while it wasn’t always the safest or most peaceful place to live, nevertheless I had found my place here. Mr. Barnum had not.

I wondered what it was like to be dead. No pulse, no feeling, and eyes permanently shut. It must be like being blind and then some.

I heard the door open, and Cindy’s voice said softly, “Dinner’s ready. Terry and Alia are setting the table now.”

I didn’t answer, and a moment later Cindy asked, “You want to talk about it?”

“You’re not even angry, are you, Cindy?” I said, turning toward her voice. “After everything I did, you’re not even angry with me.”

Cindy replied peacefully, “I’m too happy to be angry, Adrian. I’m happy that you’re alive.”

That just made things worse for me.

I whispered, “I’m going to be blind for the rest of my life.”

“You don’t know that,” said Cindy, and I felt her hands grasp my shoulders.

“I’m really sorry, Cindy,” I said hoarsely. “I thought I was being grownup, but I was just being my usual stupid self, thinking that I could be a Knight... thinking I knew what that really meant... I was so stupid, Cindy. I had been stupid before, not listening to you, and I got stuffed in that research prison. And I still didn’t learn from it.”

“I think you’ve learned, Adrian,” Cindy said gently.

“Mr. Barnum was killed,” I said quietly.

“I know.”

“You know I risked my life to bring him to us?”

“Yes, Adrian, I know.”

“I stepped in front of his shotgun hoping he wouldn’t fire,” I mumbled, and when Cindy didn’t say anything, I said, “But you already knew that too, didn’t you?”

“Terry told Laila and Laila told her mother,” explained Cindy.

I smiled grimly. “I hardly knew him, Cindy. I don’t even know why I did that. Maybe Terry was right in that I wanted to play hero.”

Cindy squeezed my shoulders. “You didn’t want him to be hurt the way you were by Ralph. Thanks to you, Mr. Barnum at least had a few days of peace in his life before he died.”

“That’s almost funny, Cindy,” I said miserably. “If we had taken him by force, he wouldn’t have been so eager to join us, and then he’d still be alive today.”

“And then you wouldn’t, Adrian.”

I nodded silently.

Cindy whispered soothingly into my good ear, “Adrian, it’s just the way it happened. Terry’s right. It’s nobody’s fault. Certainly not yours. You had an emotional investment in this man, I know. You wanted him to live in peace. But it was his choice to join the Knights, Adrian. I know that’s hard to accept, but in the end it was just his choice.”

I asked, “Do you believe in an afterlife, Cindy?”

“Honestly, I’m not sure.”

“Sometimes I wish there isn’t one,” I said, shaking my head. “I wish we just stop existing, so we don’t have to carry our pains and memories into eternity. But then I wish there is one. I wish Mr. Barnum is with his son now.”

“I think he’d be happy either way,” said Cindy.

“I hope he is,” I whispered, “because I don’t know if I’ll ever be happy again. Even if I get my sight back, it just won’t be the same. I’m not even sure I want to see anything anymore.”

“You’ll get better too, Adrian. I know that’s hard to believe right now, but you will feel better, and hopefully you’ll get your sight back too.”

I didn’t reply.

Suddenly Cindy gripped my hands and said fiercely, “Listen to me, Adrian! I am happy that you’re alive. Alia is happy that you’re alive. Terry is happy that you’re alive. I think you should be too. And if you believe that Mr. Barnum died so that you could live, then I think you owe it to him to live as happily as you can.”

I hated to admit it, but Cindy had a point. Mr. Barnum was a fireman. He had dedicated his life to saving people. When he knew his life was about to end, he had refused to die until he had saved one more. If there was an afterlife, someday I’d find him and thank him. For the time being, I would have to take Terry’s advice and just get over it.

I nodded slowly, and Cindy hugged me, saying, “You’ll feel better when your stomach is full. Come on. Dinner is getting cold.”

Cindy led me to the dining room and sat me down in my usual chair. As the delicious scents from the various dishes reached my nose, I discovered that, my grief over Mr. Barnum’s untimely death notwithstanding, I was as hungry as a grizzly bear in the springtime.

Terry and Alia had been away from New Haven for almost as long as I, and Cindy had pulled out all the stops in preparing our welcome-home feast. There was a little of everything: steak, fried chicken, corn soup, baked potatoes, pudding, ice cream, cake... it was impossible to tell all the different smells apart. With so many choices, I stuck mainly to the foods that I could eat with my hands. I would eventually have to learn how to use silverware, but, for now, nobody commented on my lack of table manners.

None of us spoke about Raven Three over dinner, or about anything that had happened since the raid on the Holy Land. I couldn’t see their faces, of course, but I sensed that everyone was just happy to be back together at last.

Terry helped Cindy clear the table after dinner, and I asked Alia to fill the bathtub up. Cindy had no doubt done a thorough job washing me with the shower, but I still felt like taking a good long soak. I hadn’t had a bath in weeks.

Once the large tub was nearly overflowing, I had Alia show me where the towels were and then told her to get out.

“Sure you don’t need any help, Addy?” she asked.

“Alia, I’m positive,” I told her firmly.

“Okay. Leave the door unlocked just in case.”

“I will.”

“And if you need any help–”

“I won’t.”

“–just call.”

Actually, I had no idea whether I would need help, but I was certain that I didn’t want any. When Alia got to be my age, she’d understand.

I carefully folded my clothes and placed them by the sink so that I’d be sure to find them again. Then, slipping into the tub, I groped around for the switch to the Jacuzzi and set it to medium. Resting my body in the warm, comfortably churning water with a full stomach and a quiet, contented spirit, I decided that while being blind was definitely going to take a lot of getting used to, there were still plenty of things worth living for.

Thank you, Mr. Barnum, I thought to myself as I lay in the tub. I am happy to be alive.

Once I was thoroughly soaked, I got up and groped my way to the towels, and then to my clothes. Dressing myself was still a challenge, and I had to re-button my pajama shirt twice. When I finally got it right, I felt so good about my accomplishment that I decided to try finding my way back to the living room on my own, but my plan was foiled by Alia, who had once again been waiting at the door. It was just as well because I needed her to find my toothbrush anyway.

“You have visitors, Addy,” said Alia as she led me back down the corridor.

The moment I entered the living room, a girl’s voice called, “Adrian!”

“Laila?” I asked.

I heard her footsteps approach as she said, “I’m so glad you’re alive.”

“I’m sorry I missed Sunday,” I said, suddenly embarrassed at being seen like this. My hair was still dripping wet and I clearly wasn’t suitably dressed for visitors.

“Don’t be sorry,” said Laila. “I’m just happy you made it back.”

I remembered Alia had said “visitors” and strained my ears. Yes, someone else was breathing.

“Who’s there?” I asked. “Who is it?”

Laila answered, “It’s Father Parnell, Adrian. He came just after me.”

“Hi,” said Mark’s hesitant voice from across the room. “How are you doing, Adrian?”

“Better, thanks,” I replied. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

“Well, after what you’ve been through, I wasn’t sure you’d want to–”

“To see a priest?” I asked. “Mark, the Slayers are hardly religious.”

Laila said, “See, Father, I told you he wouldn’t be upset!”

“Laila’s right,” I said. “You’re my friend.”

Mark said, “It’s really good to have you back, Adrian.”

I was pretty sure that Laila had mainly come to see Terry, and I learned that Mark had been making regular evening visits to keep Cindy company while Terry and Alia were out looking for me. Nevertheless, Laila and Mark both made a far bigger fuss over me than I wanted. Not that I didn’t appreciate their concern, but I had been hoping for a quieter evening, and I wasn’t sorry when they announced that they were going home.

“Will you still come to Sunday service with me sometime?” asked Laila at the door.

“Once I’m settled down, I’ll try,” I said. I didn’t want to bother thinking about something as trivial as that when my primary concern was still whether or not I would get my eyesight back.

Once Mark and Laila had gone, I spent what little was left of the evening sitting with Cindy, Terry and Alia in the living room. Alia was getting much too old for it, but she insisted on sitting in my lap, and I didn’t grumble too much.

Loosely holding my sister around her stomach and trying to keep her long hair from tickling my nose, I asked Terry to tell me what had happened at the Holy Land.

“We cleared the entire camp in less than ten minutes. No casualties in Ravens One and Two,” reported Terry. “Well, no deaths, anyway. One guy lost two fingers, but it was his own dumb fault.”

I didn’t particularly care to hear the explicit details of the battle. It was good enough to know that no other Guardians had died that night.

But I couldn’t help asking Terry, “How many Slayers did you kill?”

“Me personally or everyone?”

“You.”

“Seven or eight,” Terry replied lightly. “You know they had it coming, Adrian.”

“I guess they did,” I agreed.

I used to believe that even mortal enemies deserved mercy, but after what the Angels did to Terry’s brother, and what the Slayers had done to me, I felt very little pity for any of them now. Charles had been the mild exception to the rule, but even he would have killed me had he been called upon to do so. Charles was dead too now, and I didn’t mourn his passing.

I asked, “Did the Guardians find out anything about the Angels’ second master?”

“I don’t think so,” Terry replied uncertainly, “but they’re still salvaging the data. Even if the Knights did discover Number Two’s name, they would keep a lid on it for now. If the Angels found out that we knew, no doubt they’d tighten up their security.”

“I guess we’re all on need-to-know, huh?” I said disappointedly.

I heard Cindy chortle. “You sound like you’re already itching for another mission, Adrian.”

I scoffed at the notion. “I’m just curious, Cindy. I still have a sister over there, after all.”

Cindy said, “Well, until you get your eyesight back, you’ll just have to trust the Guardians to help you with that. Meanwhile, it looks like the sister you have right here is about ready to fall asleep.”

I heard Alia yawn quietly.

“It’s past your bedtime anyway, Alia,” said Cindy, but just then, the phone rang.

Cindy spoke over the phone with Mr. Baker for a few minutes, and then informed me that I no longer held the record as the youngest-ever Honorary Guardian Knight. I first thought that I was being stripped of my status for all the trouble I had caused, but it turned out that my record had simply been broken.

“Next time,” I whispered into Alia’s ear, “if there ever is a next time, you’re coming with me.”

I strongly suspected that my fighting days were finally over, but at least I owed her that. Under the circumstances, it wasn’t a difficult promise to make.

I felt my sister’s body become heavier in my lap, and as I held her, I realized that New Haven’s newest and youngest Knight had fallen asleep.

Chapter 8: Hope and Fear

First to dreamland, Alia was also usually the first to wake in the house, so it was no surprise to me that the moment my eyes opened the next day, I heard her say cheerfully into my mind, “Good morning, Addy!”

“Is it already?” I asked, blinking a few times in the murky light. For all I could see, it made little difference whether my eyes were open or shut, but it still felt normal to keep them open when I was awake.

I got up from my bed and tried to picture which direction my dresser was in. Against the wall across from my bed, a little to the left. I touched the side of my bed again to make sure I was pointing in the right direction.

“Clothes?” asked Alia.

“Yeah,” I said, stepping forward slowly with my arms outstretched in front of me. It had been the same yesterday when I was alone in the bathroom, but everything seemed farther away when you couldn’t see it.

“Come on,” I heard her say as she took my hand and led me forward.

“I can find it myself,” I protested, but by then we were already at the dresser.

“I’ll pick out your clothes, okay?”

I guessed that my life was about to be filled with little embarrassments like this. Somehow, I was going to have to learn to take care of myself.

Alia wouldn’t let me. She handed me my day clothes one at a time, telling me what they were in a way that reminded me of how the Slayer Charles used to announce my meals. When I put my head through my shirt, Alia laughingly informed me that I was doing it backwards.

Once I was properly dressed, I felt along the wall with one hand and made for the door.

“Where are you going?” asked my sister.

“To the toilet! Do you mind?!”

“I’ll take you,” she said, taking hold of my other hand.

“No!” I said, pulling my hand free. “I can take care of myself.”

“You can’t even dress yourself without me, Addy. Face it, you need me.”

“I’ve always needed you, Alia,” I said soothingly. “What makes this any different from ever? But I can’t let you look after me all day. If you want to do me a real favor, please just back off for a while.”

Alia didn’t reply, and I finally found the door and left the room.

Once I was alone in the corridor, I discovered that it would have been a lot faster to let Alia lead me. Keeping one hand on the wall, I felt my way forward, taking increasingly small steps and wondering how much farther the bathroom door was. I was beginning to think that I had already passed it without noticing when my fingertips finally found the doorframe and handle.

I breathed a sigh of relief. One small step toward self-reliance.

It was another long journey back to the living room. This time I tried walking with my hands lowered, but I quickly found myself brushing up against the corridor wall. I couldn’t even walk straight without something to guide me. This was going to take a lot of getting used to.

As I entered the living room, I heard Terry say, “Where’s your guide dog, Adrian?”

I laughed. “She’s tagging along at a distance to make sure I don’t get lost.”

“You knew?!” Alia’s telepathic voice cried in dismay.

“I can hear your footsteps, Alia,” I called back over my shoulder.

Stretching my arms out, I stepped forward, groping around for the nearest sofa, but still caught my leg on the side of it. The sofa was lower than I remembered.

I heard Cindy say, “We need to get you a proper cane, Adrian.”

“I can smell breakfast,” I said, trying to use the scent of bacon and eggs to discover the direction of the dining room. Given enough time, I might have been able to, but my stomach was getting too impatient so I grudgingly accepted Alia’s leading hand.

Once we were seated, Cindy said, “I have another meeting today, so Terry’s going to take you to the hospital ward, okay?”

“I hope it’s not the dentist again,” I muttered, referring to the quirky Dr. Pales, one of several psionic healers working in shifts at the small healers’ office on the eighteenth floor of our building.

“Oh, you’re not going to the healers today,” said Cindy. “They can’t take X-rays there anyway. Terry’s going to take you to the Guardian hospital in NH-3.”

Alia passed me a plate, telepathically telling me what was on it, and then put a fork in my right hand.

“I didn’t even know we had a hospital,” I said, using my fork to search for food on my plate.

Terry laughed. “You’ve already been there twice this year, Adrian.”

“I have?” I asked, giving up trying to fork my bacon and using my fingers instead.

“Sure. You were unconscious both times, though. After the puppeteer incident and after your drowning, you were taken to the NH-3 hospital first and then moved to the healers’ office to recover.”

“Oh...” I said. I had regained consciousness in Dr. Pales’s care both times, so I had always thought that the healers’ office was New Haven’s only medical facility. A proper hospital made sense though, since psionic healers couldn’t cure diseases.

Cindy explained, “The Guardian hospital isn’t quite finished yet, but they have enough doctors, healers and equipment there to take care of most injuries and illnesses. Once it’s completed, I think they’re going to close the healers’ office downstairs and combine it into NH-3. That small office just can’t keep up with the increasing population.”

“You mean the escalating war,” I said.

Cindy didn’t reply to that, but Terry said, “Well, if the Knights kept going to a regular city hospital for their injuries, people might get suspicious. Anyway, this time you’re going there in a conscious state, so you’ll get to see where you’ve been.”

“No I won’t,” I said dryly.

I heard Terry chuckle. “Oh, yeah, I keep forgetting.”

After breakfast, Terry handed me her jo stick again and led me out of the penthouse. It struck me as more than a little odd that my sister didn’t demand to tag along, but I didn’t want to ask why and risk sounding like I was pining for her company.

Once the elevator doors closed, Terry said, “Alia is really hell-bent on babying you, isn’t she?”

“With a vengeance,” I agreed, laughing. “I’m happy she didn’t try to come this time. I really have to learn to take care of myself.”

“I’m glad you feel that way, Adrian. How’s your leg?”

“It’s still a little stiff,” I replied lightly, “but I’m sure it’ll be fine.”

“Good,” Terry said crisply, “because as soon as we’re done at the hospital, I want you back on the training schedule.”

“You’re joking, right?”

“Why? Mission debriefing isn’t until 4pm anyway. We’ll have plenty of time.”

“That’s not what I meant,” I said, wondering if it had once again slipped Terry’s mind that I was blind.

Terry snapped at me, “You just said that you’re going to learn to take care of yourself!”

“In the house, Terry,” I said patiently. “So that I can live as normal a life as I can. What good is combat training going to do when I can’t see anything?”

“Let the doctors worry about your eyes, Adrian. You’re going to get your sight back, and when you do, I don’t want you all flabby.”

Unwilling to accuse Terry of saying that just to make peace with her own guilty conscience, I kept my mouth shut as the elevator came to a stop and the doors slid open. Gripping my left arm, Terry led me across the lobby and out of the building.

The instant the sunlight and mild morning air hit my face, I froze solid.

“What’s the matter?” Terry asked in a surprised tone.

I wasn’t sure. It should have felt great, being outdoors and free of the horrible memories of that basement room, but it didn’t. I felt like I was standing on a tiny raft floating on an ocean of nothingness.

“Adrian?” Terry said again from my side.

I swung the jo stick out in front of me, hoping it would catch on something solid, but there was nothing but flat, empty space. I felt myself break out in a cold sweat.

“It’s just... It’s just so open out here,” I said, my voice quivering.

“Come on, Adrian, you don’t even really need the stick when I’m leading you.”

Terry released my arm and tried to take the jo stick out of my hands, but I refused to let go.

Terry laughed and said, “You don’t trust me as much as you trust Alia.”

“It’s not that,” I said, terrified and embarrassed at the same time.

I didn’t trust anything out here. I could hear cars whizzing past me, sometimes blaring music from their windows. I could hear footsteps and the chattering of people walking this way and that, birds chirping, a bicycle bell, and so many other sounds that I couldn’t identify.

I turned around on the spot, and suddenly I had no clue which direction the entrance to New Haven One was anymore. I wanted to crouch down on the sidewalk so that I wouldn’t topple over into the emptiness that surrounded me. Terry’s hand was lightly touching my back, but if she were to suddenly disappear, my heart might stop.

“Take me back inside,” I begged.

“Come on!” Terry said impatiently. “It’s only a short walk.”

“Please, Terry, just take me back inside!”

“Adrian,” Terry said firmly, “I refuse to believe that someone who has the guts to be made an Honorary Guardian Knight can’t take a short walk outside on a sunny day.”

I was having trouble believing it myself, but the absurdity of it didn’t alleviate my panic. Being out here just wasn’t the same as groping along a narrow and familiar corridor.

“Please, Terry! Oh, please!”

“Adrian, trust me,” Terry said gently, holding my arm again. “One step at a time. You can do it.”

“Don’t let go of me, Terry,” I breathed, trying to regain my calm. “Please don’t let go.”

“I won’t. Just walk slowly, okay? Use the stick if it’ll make you feel better. I promise I’ll walk at your pace.”

“Thanks,” I said faintly.

Even amidst my fear, I realized that Terry was acting far more supportive than she usually was in the dojo. I took a step forward. And then another. Then I stopped again. Step, step, stop.

The Guardian-owned building referred to as New Haven Three was usually only a five-minute walk away, but our journey took much longer. We walked at a snail’s pace, stopping frequently so that I could steady my breath. Terry kept her promise, and her hand stayed firmly on my arm.

“You’re doing great,” said Terry. “How do you feel?”

“Sick,” I breathed, but I knew that I was making progress nonetheless.

The last hundred paces or so, I managed to walk at almost half a normal pace, and when the sounds around me changed and I knew that we were in the NH-3 lobby, I breathed easier. Even in an unfamiliar building, there was something comforting about having walls nearby.

“I think this is about as much adventure as I can take right now, Terry,” I said weakly, but still smiling in relief.

“Mission accomplished, Adrian,” Terry said in a cheerful voice. “It’ll be easier getting back, I hope. For now, let’s just get you into the hospital.”

The Guardian hospital was spread through the second and third floors of NH-3. Terry explained that the construction was expanding into the fourth floor now, and they were knocking out the condominium walls there to create a larger long-term recovery ward as well as a psychiatric ward.

“That’s where they’ll stuff you in a padded room if you don’t learn to master your fear, Adrian,” said Terry.

“You try walking that distance with your eyes closed,” I said crossly, leaning on Terry’s jo stick.

We took the stairs up from the lobby. I caught my foot on one of the steps and almost broke my knees, but Terry caught me and kept me from harm.

On the second floor, Terry led me to what I assumed was the front desk of the hospital. Terry explained my situation to a woman there who already knew my name from my previous unconscious visits. The atmosphere felt like a typical hospital to me, except that I occasionally felt the presence of a psionic destroyer pass nearby and, more importantly, there was very little waiting time before I was called into an examination room. More questions, some pokes and prods, and then I was led to the radiology room for a series of X-rays.

It was all quite tedious because I knew I was perfectly healthy. Alia had done her job well, and according to the doctors, all the tests ended up showing just that. Terry stayed as close to me as possible throughout the entire process, and I was tempted to jokingly accuse her of being as “hell-bent on babying me” as Alia. I thought better of it when I remembered that I still needed Terry to guide me home.

“Now for the fun bit,” said Terry, leading me deeper into the maze of hospital corridors.

She was referring to the optometrist – the eye doctor – that we were going to meet next.

“I feel like I’m walking toward a firing squad,” I muttered nervously. “He’s going to tell me that I’m blind for life. I just know it.”

“You do not, Adrian!” Terry said stubbornly. “There’s got to be something that can be done.”

Terry was usually such a realist that I wondered if she already knew something I didn’t. “What makes you such an optimist today?” I asked.

“It’s the only way I can see it.”

I knew how that felt.

The optometrist turned out to be a woman named Dr. Lauder, who had a slightly husky voice and a firm handshake. The first thing I didn’t like about her was that once the introductions were over, she called me by my first name but called Terry “Ms. Henderson.”

After a few initial questions confirming that I couldn’t see distinct shapes at any distance, Dr. Lauder led me to a small stool.

“Sit here, Adrian,” she said. “Now lean forward a bit.”

I felt something metallic touch my face. A moment later, my eyes were hit with a powerful white light.

“Keep your eyes open please,” said Dr. Lauder. “Just let me see them. You can recognize light and dark, yes?”

“Painfully,” I answered, squinting in the brilliant light.

She didn’t take the hint, and the light stayed focused on my eyes.

Once that was done, Dr. Lauder let out a quiet sigh and said, “Ms. Henderson, would you please escort Adrian to the waiting room and then come back in?”

Terry replied in an icy tone, “Do you mean you want us to stretch our legs a bit? Or do you honestly think I’m going to leave Adrian in the waiting room and come back without him so we can talk behind his back? I’m his friend, not his mother! If there’s anything you can tell us about his situation, he has a right to hear it.”

I smiled. There was nothing quite like having a Terry Henderson on your side.

After a short but awkward silence, Dr. Lauder said, “What you really need to see is an ophthalmologist.”

I laughed nervously. “I can’t even say that. What is it?”

“A professional eye surgeon,” explained Dr. Lauder. “But in my opinion, the chances of you recovering even part of your eyesight through modern human medicine is very small. Most likely impossible.”

Maybe Terry should have played mother after all. I felt Dr. Lauder’s words put a hole through my gut as painfully as if someone had shot me again.

Dr. Lauder continued, addressing Terry, “As you can see quite clearly, Ms. Henderson, the trauma to Adrian’s eyes, caused by what you are most likely correct in assuming was a small knife or ice pick, has severely damaged the corneas, completely destroyed the function of the irises and lenses, as well as torn away parts of the retinas. It is a miracle he can even distinguish between light and shadow at all, and furthermore...”

Dr. Lauder’s voice seemed increasingly far away as I stared off into nothingness. Before I came here, I had expected to hear no more and no less than what the optometrist was saying right now, but hearing it from her mouth suddenly made it all the more real.

“...which means, of course, that there’s a good chance he will gradually lose his ability to see light in anywhere from a few weeks to a year. Now, I will pass these photos on to an ophthalmologist for a second opinion, but I suggest you do not raise your hopes up too high.”

“There’s really nothing?” I asked hoarsely.

Dr. Lauder replied quietly, “The only real cure for damage of this magnitude is regenerative healing.”

Terry said angrily, “If there was a regenerative healer alive today, Doctor, I wouldn’t be wearing this ridiculous plastic hand!”

I was still in a bit of a daze when Terry escorted me out of Dr. Lauder’s office.

“It’s official,” I mumbled.

“Nothing is ever official, Adrian.” Terry squeezed my arm and added vehemently, “Just one stupid doctor’s opinion. She’s not even psionic, the fat cow!”

Somehow I doubted that not being psionic had anything to do with Dr. Lauder’s diagnosis or Terry’s opinion of it.

As we walked back toward the stairs leading to the building lobby, I asked, “What’s a regenerative healer?”

“Nothing,” Terry said in a forced calm. “Just a fool’s hope.”

“Even a fool’s hope is better than none, Terry,” I said. “Tell me, please.”

“It’s just what it sounds like. It’s a healer that can recreate lost body parts, re-grow bones and organs.”

“I know healers are rare but–”

“Adrian! Don’t you get it?! Regenerative healers are like the Holy Grail. They just don’t exist! The last regenerative healer ever known died over five hundred years ago.”

“Then they do exist,” I insisted.

“Existed,” corrected Terry.

“What happened to your optimism?” I asked in an annoyed tone.

“There’s a difference between being hopeful and being a blind dreamer, Adrian. If there was a regenerative healer alive today–”

“You wouldn’t be wearing the hand,” I said resignedly. “I heard you the first time.”

“Well, it’s true. But don’t worry, I’m sure there’re still other options.”

“Like what?”

“We’ll find something,” Terry said resolutely.

“Are my eyes really that damaged?” I asked, remembering the words Dr. Lauder had used to describe them.

“Relax, Adrian. As long as you keep your eyes closed, you don’t look any uglier than usual. By the way, did you know that you’re not wearing your headband today?”

That little detail had completely slipped my mind.

Terry said, “At least your hair is a little longer now.”

Down the stairs, out the lobby, and once again into the empty void of the outside world. Terry was less patient with me on our way back to New Haven One, but I was also just a bit faster on my feet. Even so, the short odyssey left me breathless and shivering under the hot sun.

“We’re at the entrance, Adrian, but it’s still a little early for lunch,” said Terry. “How about we go for a jog in the park?”

I shook my head. “No, Terry. Let’s just go inside.”

“Come on, Adrian. If you can walk, you can run. I’ll guide you.”

“No!” I said so loudly that passersby might have been stopping to stare. “Please, Terry! Just take me back upstairs.”

Terry dropped the supportive tone, saying heatedly, “You can’t hide inside forever!”

“That’s what you think,” I told her.

“Fine! This way to your cave, Addy.”

Terry roughly led me back into the elevator, and I could hear the frustration in her movements as she jabbed the button for the fortieth floor.

We rode up in silence, and as the elevator car slowed, Terry said crossly, “Alright, get out!”

The doors opened, and Terry shoved me out of the elevator.

I asked, “What about you?”

“I’m going down to practice some shooting. I don’t feel like lying around.”

“I’m sorry I’m such a coward, Terry.”

“Never you mind,” Terry said stiffly. “You’re probably better off living peacefully anyway.”

I heard the elevator doors quietly close, and Terry was gone. I dejectedly ran my right hand along the wall from the elevator until I found the front door to the penthouse.

The door was locked. I could’ve just pushed the doorbell, but I still felt the sting of Terry’s words. I pulled out my door key and, with some trial and error, eventually managed to turn the lock.

The moment I entered the living room, I heard Alia say happily into my head, “Addy! Addy! You’re home!”

“Hey, Alia,” I said quietly. “Where’s Cindy?”

“She’s still at her meeting. Where’s Terry?”

“Downstairs.”

“Oh,” Alia said disappointedly, and then after a short pause, she asked, “Do you notice something different about me, Addy?”

“I’m blind as a bat, Ali,” I reminded her. “How could I notice anything at all?”

“Oh, right. Well, come here.”

“Alia, if you don’t speak with your mouth, I can’t tell where you are.”

“Sorry,” Alia said aloud, and then saved me the trouble of finding her by trotting up to me. “Now touch me.”

“Okay,” I said uncertainly, reaching out toward her. “What am I looking for?”

“You’ll see.”

Alia let out a giggle as my fingers found what felt like her sides. “Higher, Addy.”

“Is this your chin?”

“Yes. You’re getting closer.”

I felt around her face, and then her head. Finally, I found it, and understood why my sister had chosen to stay home today. “Cindy cut your hair.”

I felt Alia nod her head. “Just like Terry’s!”

I ran my fingers more carefully down her hair. It was still a bit longer than Terry’s, and touched Alia’s shoulders a little, but it was shorter than half of what it used to be.

“I wanted to cut it for a while now, but Cindy kept talking me out of it.”

“I wish I could see it.”

“You will as soon as your eyes are fixed,” Alia said cheerily. “Long hair was a real bother during my Raven missions. Now I won’t have to bother doing it up.”

Surprised, I asked, “Are you planning on joining the Ravens permanently?”

“Of course I’m not!” Alia sounded indignant. “I wouldn’t have gone with them at all except to find you, Addy. It was really horrible. They killed all the Slayers, even the ones I could have saved.”

So that was why Alia had silently stood by while Mr. Baker and I discussed Charles’s execution. She had already known that it was futile to ask the Knights to show mercy on the Slayers.

“I’m really sorry I put you through that, Alia,” I said.

“It’s okay. I hope I never have to go on another Guardian mission again, but the next time you go on a mission, Addy, I’m definitely coming with you.”

I couldn’t help smiling. “So you did hear what I said last night. I thought you might have already been asleep.”

“You did mean it, didn’t you?” Alia asked in an anxious tone.

“Of course I did,” I replied softly. “But Alia, look at me. Do I look like I’m about to ship off on another Guardian mission tomorrow?”

“You’ll get your eyesight back, Addy. Terry said so.”

“Terry’s just saying that, Alia. The doctor...” my voice trailed off. It had been bad enough hearing from the optometrist that I would be permanently blind. I couldn’t bring myself to say it out loud just yet. In all honesty, I felt like crying my guts out, but I wasn’t about to let my sister see that.

“Are you okay, Addy?”

“Just a little sad,” I whispered.

I wasn’t sure what hurt more right now: my blindness or Terry’s bitter, disappointed tone when I begged her to take me back inside.

I felt my sister’s arms around me.

“Thanks, Alia,” I said, hugging her back. “I needed that.”

Alia carefully led me to a couch and we sat quietly for a minute.

When I had asked Terry the source of her optimism, she answered that it was the only way she could see it. That’s exactly how I knew Cat was still alive. I had no proof whatsoever that my first sister was with the Angels – just Ralph Henderson’s word. I hadn’t seen Cat in two years. But I knew she was alive, because that was the only way I could see it.

“You really like Terry, don’t you?” I said quietly.

“She’s like my big sister, Addy,” said Alia. “Just like you’re my brother.”

I nodded. I never thought of Terry as a sister, but she was my friend, and in many ways, family.

“Do me a favor, Ali,” I said. “Take my elevator key, go down to the subbasement and look for Terry. She’ll probably be in the shooting range. Find her and bring her back here.”

“You’re not coming?”

I shook my head. I wanted a moment alone before I met Terry. “You’ll be faster on your own, Alia.”

My sister was only gone a few minutes, but it gave me time to steady my nerves a bit.

“Adrian?” called Terry’s voice. “This had better be important.”

Getting up from the couch, I said as casually as I could, “Let’s go jogging.”

Terry said, “I think Cindy will be back in thirty minutes or so. How about after lunch?”

“Now, Terry,” I said determinedly. “Please, before I lose my nerve.”

“You sure you’re not going to freak out again the moment we step outside?”

I shook my head. “No promises, but I’ll try.”

“Okay, let’s go,” Terry said happily. “Alia, you too, just in case he gets hurt. I’ll write a memo for Cindy. Adrian, hold your sister’s hand until we’re at the park. No stick this time.”

When I touched the sunlight outside the NH-1 lobby, I found myself once again standing on a vast ocean of nothingness, but I was flanked by Terry on my left and Alia on my right, firmly holding my hands and keeping me from sinking. And this time, I knew I was here by choice. No one was forcing me to do this. I breathed deeply and closed my eyes. Somehow, it just felt better with my eyelids shut, and my heart pounded a little less loudly.

“Which way is the park?” I asked.

“This way,” said Terry, leading me along. At first she was tugging a little, but soon my legs matched her pace.

We arrived more quickly than I expected. Terry and Alia guided me to one of the asphalt jogging paths that snaked its way around the large park. There weren’t many straights, and if I strayed off the path, I might hit a tree or bench before my feet recognized the grassy ground.

So what?! asked an irate voice in my head. Since when were you worried about getting hurt?

Terry asked, “Okay, who’s going to lead you, me or Alia?”

“You,” I replied. “Alia isn’t going to be able to keep up.”

“I can too!” said Alia.

We started walking, Terry guiding me with her right hand on my left elbow. The footsteps told me that Alia was following close behind.

“This is hardly a jog, Adrian,” said Terry.

“I’m getting there.”

Faster. Still not a jog, but a brisk walk.

A hundred or so fast steps forward, and Terry said, “Come on, pick it up!”

“I’m trying,” I said through gritted teeth.

Terry was keeping me on the asphalt, gently pushing or pulling at my elbow to warn me of the curves in the path. It wasn’t the road that I feared. It wasn’t the possibility of a crash. What was I afraid of?

Suddenly I felt Alia’s hands on my back. She pushed me hard from behind, and I stumbled forward, barely keeping myself from falling on my face. But my legs didn’t slow down. I managed to maintain the pace that my sister had forced me into.

“Now we’re jogging,” Alia said cheerfully.

Terry kept pace with me, still guiding me left and right, never forward or back. Suddenly it felt good too, to be outside and running under the sun’s blazing rays. I was running too fast for my fear to keep up with me.

Faster!

I broke into a sprint. It was the most exhilarating feeling, like being on a rollercoaster, and it reminded me of my very first telekinetic night flight.

“Wait for me!” Alia cried in my head, and I could no longer hear her feet. She was far behind me.

“That’s more like it!” shouted Terry, her breath much steadier than mine but nevertheless a bit short.

I howled in delight as we thundered down the winding path. If my body could have managed it, I might have kept running forever. Eventually, shortness of breath forced me back into a walk, and I collapsed onto the path, panting. Terry hauled me onto the grass, and I lay there on my back, basking in the joy of freedom and laughing like an idiot. I didn’t care what anyone might have thought.

“Now that’s the crazy Adrian that busted me out of jail!” Terry said approvingly.

“Addy!” Alia shouted in my mind as her footsteps rushed up to me. “That’s dangerous!”

“I know, Ali,” I said breathlessly. “Next time, don’t push me so hard.”

Terry said, “You need to learn to pace yourself, Adrian.”

“Teaching me that is the job of my combat instructor,” I replied, getting to my feet. “Let’s go again.”

We kept it to a normal jog this time, and only returned to the penthouse when Alia complained that her feet were about to fall off.

“What were you three up to?” Cindy asked upon our return.

Terry laughed. “You don’t want to know!”

“Well, what did they say at the hospital?”

Terry suddenly became uncomfortably silent, so I answered in her stead, “I’m in perfect health, Cindy, except that the eye doctor said I’m blind for life.”

“Oh, that horrible cow!” Terry spat angrily. “She’s not even an opto-whatever. She’s not even an eye surgeon! And she told us to go find a regenerative healer, of all things! Stupid ignorant dreamer!”

“Hmm...” said Cindy. “That doesn’t sound very promising.”

I said calmly, “The doctor said she’ll send pictures of my eyes to a proper eye surgeon, and she’ll call in a few days. But she said it was hopeless.”

“I’m sorry, Adrian,” Cindy said sympathetically.

I shrugged. “I know I’ve only been back for a day, but I’ve been blind for a while now. I guess I sort of expected it.”

Terry slapped me on my back, saying, “I told you, Half-head, it’s not over yet.”

I smiled. Despite the doctor’s words, I found myself unable to feel very upset. Not now, anyway. I guess I was still feeling high from my sprint.

“I learned how to run again,” I said, and explained to Cindy what we had been doing.

“Well, I’m glad to see that you’re in good spirits,” said Cindy.

“I may be blind, but I’m going to learn the other things too.”

Cindy chuckled. “You can start by learning to eat with a fork, Adrian. Lunch is on the table.”

After another not-very-productive silverware lesson, Terry offered to let me retire to my cave, but I refused, asking her to take me outside again. Cindy and Alia joined us, bringing the Frisbee and Alia’s kite to the park. I obviously couldn’t catch the Frisbee, but I was told that I was getting better at throwing it in the right direction. There were a few times when I felt the chilling nothingness surround me again, putting me on the verge of another panic attack, but I forced myself to remain calm, and most likely no one noticed.

Just before 4pm, Terry took me to Mr. Simms’s place in New Haven Four for my post-mission debriefing.

“Let your feet learn the way, Adrian,” said Terry as we entered the NH-4 lobby. “I’m not always going to be around to guide you.”

I bit my tongue before I let slip my suspicion that I wouldn’t be seeing Mr. Simms on a regular basis.

Terry led me up the elevator and down a corridor. A door was opened and we were ushered into the slightly stale air of Mr. Simms’s living room. Aside from Mr. Simms himself, there was Ms. Jodie Decker and two other Raven Knights that I didn’t remember the names of, but Mr. Simms did most of the talking.

Once we were seated, he started with, “First off, allow me to say how sorry I am that this happened to you. I hope you are feeling better.”

I would’ve liked to cut him off mid-sentence, telling him to skip the unnecessary apology and get on with the debriefing, but politeness demanded that I let him finish, thank him and smile appreciatively.

Once the unpleasantries were over and done with, Ms. Decker said, “Mr. Barnum only lived long enough to inform us that you were still alive when the Slayers took you. We have some basic idea of what happened to Raven Three based on the location of the bodies, blood on the grass, bullet holes in the vehicles and such. What we want to hear today is your account of it.”

I gave it to them in as much detail as I could remember. I might have left out that killing the Slayer woman with the assault rifle was just blind luck, but for the most part, I told it as it happened.

During and after my story, Mr. Simms and occasionally one of his Knights asked a question to which I had already given the clearest answer possible, but I obliged them and repeated myself as many times as they needed to hear it.

Then I asked Mr. Simms why the God-slayers who were stalking Raven Three hadn’t warned the Holy Land of an impending invasion.

Mr. Simms answered, “All we know for certain is that the Holy Land was still asleep when we made entry. Raven Two reported that the men at the radio station were taken by surprise. We’re still uncertain what delayed the warning, but it’s even possible that it was deliberate. The Slayers have been known to harm each other over differing ideologies.”

Kind of like psionics, I thought to myself. Suddenly I remembered Charles’s little sister, who had been burned to death by the Sky Guardians. Dare I ask Mr. Simms if he knew about them, and what ideologies they had? No, this wasn’t the time or place for off-topic stuff like that. I might ask Terry later.

“Now let’s move on to your time in captivity,” said Mr. Simms.

I told this story too, though it was harder, especially because I had no concept of time and couldn’t be sure when certain things happened. Mr. Simms was mostly interested in how many different people had come to feed me, and whether I had heard anything about the location of other Slayer safe houses and facilities. Had I learned anything at all that might lead to finding more Slayers to kill? I wished I had, but there was nothing I could offer.

Mr. Simms persisted, and Terry cut in angrily, “Come on, Swoop, don’t you think he’s been through enough already?!”

“It’s alright, Terry,” I said, nevertheless grateful for her support.

I told the story again from the start. I hadn’t mentioned any details about Charles except that he had been one of my feeders, and I didn’t add anything on my second telling either. I didn’t think Mr. Simms would understand, and I was hoping that he wouldn’t bring it up, but sure enough...

“Adrian, why did you ask that Charles be given a painless execution?”

I replied uncomfortably, “He was the only one who didn’t beat me.”

“I suppose that’s something to be grateful for, under the circumstances,” agreed Mr. Simms. “But if it were entirely up to your discretion, would you have had his life spared?”

I silently thought about that for a moment, realizing that my hesitation was already part of my answer.

“No,” I finally decided. “He deserved what he got.”

After a short pause, Mr. Simms asked, “Do you have any questions for us before we finish?”

“Just one. Am I still a Raven Knight?”

Mr. Simms seemed to smile as he replied, “Yes, Adrian. But you will remain an inactive one for the time being.”

I nodded. “Thank you, Mr. Simms.”

“Take care of yourself.”

We stood and Terry guided me out.

As we walked back down the corridor to the elevator, Terry said, “Why did you ask him that?”

“About being a Knight?” I shrugged. “I just wondered.”

“If you got your sight back, do you think you’d want to go on another mission?”

“I might,” I said uncertainly. “I don’t know yet, but I might.”

Then Terry said with a hint of accusation in her voice, “You didn’t tell me you killed two Slayers, Adrian.”

“You never asked,” I replied. “I suppose they deserved what they got too, but I’m not proud of it.”

“But it was easier this time, wasn’t it?”

“Difficult to say. I didn’t have time to think about what I was doing.”

Terry was still leading me with her fingers around my left elbow, so she easily noticed my hesitation as we left the lobby of NH-4.

“Are you alright walking outside?” she asked.

“It’s still a little scary,” I admitted, forcing myself to keep pace with her. “I don’t know if I could do this alone.”

“You’ll learn. You’re much better than this morning, anyway.”

“I don’t know what happened to me this morning, Terry,” I said embarrassedly. “It was like the whole world just disappeared around me. I’m sorry I was such a baby.”

“No, Adrian. You remember how I was after we got Cindy back. You’re going to have your ups and downs for a while, too. That’s just part of getting back on your feet.”

“You sound like Cindy,” I said.

Terry laughed. “Even Cindy can’t always be wrong. Just give yourself time, Adrian.”

I smiled, remembering how uncharacteristically supportive Terry had been this morning. Now too, the girl who usually did everything she could to show she was a rock was acting almost motherly. I wondered if this was Terry’s way of going through her ups and downs.

Home. Dinner. A bath. I had sternly told my sister to stop waiting for me outside the bathroom door, and was pleased to not hear her breathing or footsteps when I got out. I guided myself along the corridor wall back toward the living room. My slow pace naturally made my footsteps quieter, which was probably why Terry and Cindy didn’t notice me approaching. At the door to the living room, I heard the two talking.

Cindy was saying, “Begging, huh? It almost sounds like he had a bout of agoraphobia.”

“A what-phobia?” asked Terry.

“A fear of going outside,” explained Cindy.

“You’re kidding!”

“Oh, you better believe it, Terry,” Cindy said seriously. “Alia was there for years. I don’t know how you managed to break Adrian free of his fear, but it’s a good thing you got him outside before it got worse.”

“Well, I can’t take much credit,” replied Terry. “I think Alia might have said something to put the fight back into him.”

“We’ll need to give him some time outside tomorrow, and the next day too, just to be sure he’s over it.”

I didn’t like the way they were talking about me. Like I was their patient or something.

Terry said, “I just wish there was something we could do about his eyes.”

Cindy replied, “For now, we’ll just have to wait for the final word from the ophthalmologist.”

“Waiting isn’t one of my strong points.”

Cindy laughed. “That’s probably why you get along so well with Adrian.”

“You should have seen him run, Cindy,” said Terry. “It was amazing. But he’s not going to be able to continue his combat training, or even use his telekinesis if he can’t see. If the eye doctors can’t cure him, I’m going to the historian for help.”

“Patience, Terry,” said Cindy. “One thing at a time. The historian is a dangerous last resort.”

Terry let out a loud huff.

I grinned. I wasn’t the only one to be frustrated with Cindy’s bottomless calm. I was also curious about the historian Terry had mentioned. Who was he, and how could he help me?

“Addy?” Alia’s voice in my head nearly stopped my heart. “The door is right in front of you.”

“Thank you, Alia,” I said through clenched teeth as I opened the door and walked into the living room. Alia’s footsteps told me she was returning to our bedroom.

“I’m done,” I announced. “Bathroom’s open.”

“I’m next,” said Terry, brushing past me.

I wanted to ask her about the historian, but I refused to admit that I had been eavesdropping.

The doorbell rang, and a man announced, “Express delivery for Adrian Howell, care of Cynthia Gifford.”

“That’s us,” replied Cindy, opening the door. Once Cindy signed for whatever it was and shut the door again, she said to me, “It’s from a Dr. Lauder, Adrian. Is that your optometrist?”

I nodded.

“Well, she can’t be all bad,” said Cindy. “She sent you a present.”

“Is it a pair of replacement eyeballs?” I asked in mock-hope.

“I hope not!” said Cindy, laughing. “By the shape of the package, I’m guessing it’s a kiddie cane.”

I narrowed my mutilated eyes in her general direction. “A what?”

“A walking cane for the blind,” explained Cindy over the sound of her tearing open the package. “A child-size one is called a kiddie cane.”

I hadn’t known they came in different lengths, but I knew what a blind man’s cane looked like. Long, thin, abnormally white poles that just screamed out, Danger! Danger! Blind man coming through! Get out of the way before you get whacked by this stick!

Cindy apparently finished opening the package. “Sure enough, a cane it is. Good thing it isn’t an aluminum one.”

“I think I’d prefer to keep using Terry’s jo stick,” I said. “At least when I’m not using it to feel my way forward, I could lean on it and people would just think I was a hiker.”

Cindy said, “The whole point of the white cane is that people know you’re blind, Adrian.”

“My whole point exactly,” I insisted. “I don’t want people feeling sorry for me.”

“It’s for your own safety as well as others’, tough guy. If you’re going outside, I want you to use this.”

“Alright,” I said, reluctantly taking the cane from Cindy.

I ran my fingers along the smooth stick. Made of some kind of hard plastic, the cane was thinner and lighter than the jo stick, and it came with a rubber grip on the top.

I muttered, “Next thing, you’ll want me to start learning Braille.”

Ignoring the sarcasm in my tone, Cindy replied cheerfully, “Glad you feel that way, Adrian, because as soon as I can get the books, you will.”

I shook my head. “You don’t know Braille, Cindy! How can you teach me?”

“We’ll learn together. You don’t plan on being illiterate, do you?”

“I guess not,” I said.

“Adrian, I have a present for you, too,” said Cindy. “I got it while you were at Mr. Simms’s.”

After stepping out of the living room for a moment, she placed a small rectangular item in my hands, about the size of Alia’s shoe. It was made of plastic, and I got it right on my first guess. “A clock?”

“For your bedside,” said Cindy. “Try pushing the big button on the top.”

I did, and suddenly a high-pitch mechanical voice said, “The time now is 8:37pm. Have you brushed your teeth?” I pushed the button again, and the clock said, “The time is still 8:37pm. Did you really need to push the button again?”

I laughed. “This is really stupid. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” said Cindy, and then asked, “By the way, have you?”

“Have I what?”

“Brushed your teeth.”

I shook my head and mumbled, “I couldn’t tell which brush was mine.”

Cindy took my hand. “Come on, I’ll find it for you.”

“But Terry’s taking her bath now.”

“So what?” said Cindy, tugging on my hand. “It’s not like you can see her.”

I refused to move. “That’s really not the point, Cindy.”

Cindy retrieved my toothbrush from the bathroom for me and let me brush in the kitchen. Afraid that I might miss or not get the amount right, Cindy put the toothpaste on my brush for me, and she had to show me where the sink was and fill my water cup, too. Already irked at Dr. Lauder’s present, I couldn’t hide my frustration over having to rely upon Cindy for something as trivial as brushing my teeth.

“We’ll just have to get used to this together, okay?” said Cindy, gently patting my shoulders.

“Cindy, what happens if the eye surgeon says it’s hopeless?” I asked, wondering if Cindy might mention the historian.

No such luck. Cindy merely replied, “Then we’ll look for other options, Adrian. Try to be patient.”

“There’s nothing quite like being handicapped to learn patience,” I said sourly, fingering my kiddie cane.

“I know how you feel about being handled, Adrian,” said Cindy, “but Alia wants to do something for you tonight, and I hope you’ll let her.”

“What is it?” I asked apprehensively, recognizing the voice Cindy assumed whenever she was about to embarrass me.

“Your sister told me how you used to read to her every night back at the research center.”

“Oh, no,” I said, but I couldn’t keep myself from smiling. “She’s not about to read me a bedtime story, is she?”

“You got it!” laughed Cindy, taking my hand. “Come on.”

“It better not be Hansel and Gretel,” I muttered as Cindy quickly led me down the corridor.

Alia was waiting in our bedroom, and sure enough, my worst fears were confirmed. After placing my talking clock within reach from my bed, Alia sat on my mattress and telepathically read the fairytale into my mind. At first it was the strangest, most awkward and embarrassing feeling, lying there and letting my little sister read me a bedtime story, but I must have gotten used to it quickly, because I think I fell asleep before she finished.

Chapter 9: The Last Resort

Dr. Lauder telephoned three days later to report that the ophthalmologist had confirmed her initial diagnosis. Terry called her a cow and much worse, but that didn’t change the fact that there was increasingly little hope that I would ever see again. In fact, it seemed with each passing day that the light my eyes could detect was just a bit dimmer, and I wondered how long it would be before I couldn’t even tell light from shadow.

Unwilling to give up on human medicine without at least one more try, Cindy quickly arranged for me to visit one of the world’s top ophthalmologists for a third opinion. I took an overnight trip to a big non-psionic hospital, accompanied by Alia and three of Mr. Baker’s Lancer Knights: one telekinetic bodyguard, a peacemaker to make sure the doctor did as he was told, and a mind-writer to delete his memory of me afterwards.

After examining my eyes, the renowned eye surgeon spoke at length in a dull monotone which, considering the nature of his diagnosis, may not have been entirely due to the peacemaker’s influence on his mind. When I pressed him for any and all options, he suggested that, given a great number of ifs, successful surgery might restore partial peripheral vision in my left eye, but he was probably just being polite.

“Partial peripheral vision?!” cried Terry when I returned to New Haven and told her. “How are you supposed to shoot a gun with partial peripheral vision?!”

For my part, I had been better prepared for bad news this time and I was in no hurry to shoot a gun anyway, so I merely smiled and kept my disappointment to myself. Neither Terry nor Cindy had mentioned the mysterious historian again, and I had concluded that it was just another fool’s hope not even worth pursuing.

Meanwhile, my summer vacation had been officially canceled. The beginner Braille books Cindy ordered for me had already arrived.

I had originally thought that Braille was just an alphabet for the blind, and all I’d have to do was touch the six raised dots on the paper that represented each letter and learn to tell them apart.

Wrong.

For starters, Braille wasn’t just an alphabet. There were separate symbols for punctuation, and the first ten letters doubled as numbers, which was confusing. And that was just basic Grade One Braille. The real Braille that I would eventually have to master contained nearly two hundred additional combinations of dots to represent blends such as “sh” and “th” as well as the short form of common words such as “you” and “between.” Depending on how it was used in a sentence, the single letter C, represented by two dots side by side, could mean capital or lower-case C, number three, or even the word “can.”

But for the present, I already had my fingers full trying to tell the difference between the first few letters of the alphabet.

My first Braille reader was essentially an alphabet chart followed by kindergarten-level sentences, with raised Braille dots on one page and normal text on the other. There wasn’t much Cindy could teach me, so she left it mostly to my sister to sit by my side and read the text as I ran my index fingers along the rows of dots. It was very slow, painstaking work. Even when I already knew what was written, I often couldn’t identify the letters on the page.

“I didn’t learn to speak in a day, Addy,” said Alia whenever I got frustrated with my inability to tell the symbols apart. I wasn’t about to admit that I didn’t have the fortitude to grind through this new challenge in my life, especially after Terry and I had practically bullied Alia into learning mouth-speaking less than a year ago.

But Braille was just the tip of the iceberg.

Living with blindness was more than just not knowing where the door was. It was a whole series of inconveniences ranging from accidentally knotting my shoelaces to not being able to tell the difference between my own toothbrush and Alia’s which, at Alia’s insistence, was identical to mine except for the color of the handle. The one commonality with all of the new challenges I faced was speed: everything took much longer.

Cindy did everything she could think of to blind-proof the penthouse. She put one rubber band around the shampoo bottle and two around the rinse so that I could tell them apart without having to decipher the raised Braille dots on the plastic bottles. She put some tape around my toothbrush handle. She rearranged the living room, removing one of the sofas so that it was less crowded. She reorganized my dresser so that each drawer contained only one type of clothing. She glued Braille labels onto the drawers in the kitchen, as well as on the salt and pepper shakers and ketchup and mustard bottles. She placed a square mat in front of every door in the penthouse so that my feet could tell me where I was standing. I didn’t absolutely need all of the things Cindy did for me, but they helped a lot, and I did my best not to complain too frequently about being handled.

Determined to achieve as much self-reliance as I could, I made my efforts too. With practice, I learned how to eat using forks and knives. I learned how to put just the right amount of toothpaste onto my toothbrush. I stopped putting my shirts on backwards and got better at making my bed. I learned how to walk in a straight line for short distances. I even got better at using my kiddie cane and, while I never went outside of NH-1 alone, I no longer needed someone holding my arm every second of the time.

Whereas my sister would still be hand-feeding me if I let her, Cindy thoughtfully gave me chores within my limited capacity such as folding laundry, wiping the dining table and vacuuming the floors. She also had me running random errands to nearby stores with Alia. Of course Alia could have gone alone, and I was probably more of a hindrance than a help, but at least I could keep her company.

Whenever we still had the time, Terry and Alia took me out to the park or sometimes even to the public swimming pool. Being in the water was a bit frightening at first, but once I got better at keeping my head above the surface, the pool was a refreshing respite from the summer heat. I suspected that people were staring even more than usual, but I was used to it by now.

Laila Brown would sometimes join us on these excursions. She took as little issue with my blindness as she did with Alia’s awkward mouth-speaking, for which I was very grateful. At home, Terry still teased me about Laila wanting me to ask her on a date, but I doubted there was any truth behind it. Laila was primarily there to see Terry.

After parting with Laila at the park one mid-August day, Terry said to me, “You should be grateful she’s interested in you at all, Half-head. It’s not like anyone else is waiting in line.”

Alia giggled and said, “If you want, Addy, I’ll ask Laila out for you.”

Terry snorted loudly. “Oh yeah, have your sister speak for you. That would impress Laila to no end!”

“Could you girls please give me a break?” I begged. “My life is complicated enough as it is!”

Terry said warningly, “Adrian, I’m still a Raven Knight, and as soon as duty calls, I’m shipping off again. Who knows how long I’ll be gone. Alia gets along wonderfully with Laila, and after all, Laila is the only person in New Haven who’s not too chicken to be around us. At least be friends with her.”

“I already am,” I insisted, “and that’s the way I want to keep it.”

“Are you going away again, Terry?” Alia asked worriedly.

“No definite plans yet,” Terry replied airily, “but you never know.”

Terry didn’t go off on any missions, but I noticed that she was out of the house for longer and longer periods of time. While I sat with Alia at my desk touching little raised dots for hours on end, Terry might be gone all day, skipping lunch and, at times, even dinner. I first thought that she was just getting more training in the dojo, but when I went down and called to her, she often wasn’t there. Once, she was even a few minutes late for one of our scheduled afternoon jogs. Far from seeing it as a chance to finally reprimand her tardiness as she had once so vehemently done with me, I grew increasingly worried with this un-Terry-like behavior.

When I confronted her about it one day near the end of August, she said irately, “What do you care what I’m doing? I’m not Alia, Half-head! You don’t need to know where I am every waking moment of your day.”

“I’m just curious, Terry,” I said.

“Well, don’t be!” she snapped. “I have a life too, you know! I still have a friend or two and I’m doing some peaceful work for Mr. Simms and – and I’m just busy!”

I didn’t believe a word of it, which only made me more curious, but I knew better than to pester her any further. After all, she was the one who demanded that Dr. Lauder tell me the bad news about my eyes. If Terry was choosing to keep something from me, she probably had good reason. Terry would tell me in her own good time.

Besides, I had my own mounting problems now.

For the first few weeks upon returning to New Haven, I had been grateful just to be alive at all. But as the summer began to wane, I found myself increasingly bitter with the sharp turn my life had taken. I wasn’t asking life to be fair.

Just fairer.

My first sprint through the park had greatly inflated my expectations of what I might be able to accomplish, but the sad truth was that, for all the wonderful stories we hear about people overcoming their handicaps, many things were simply beyond the abilities of the blind.

For starters, my psionic power was completely useless. I couldn’t telekinetically touch anything if I didn’t know where it was. It was actually much faster to grope my way to the light switch than to correctly guess its location on the wall from across the room, so Alia never asked me to telekinetically operate the lights anymore. Soon after my rescue, I had tried levitating myself once just to see if I could still do it. I could, but I discovered that I quickly lost my sense of direction, and when I cut my power, I couldn’t land upright. There was little point in being a flight-capable telekinetic if I couldn’t see where I was flying. Aside from my infrequent sleep-hovering, which I couldn’t help, I kept my feet firmly on the floor.

Fighting was another impossibility.

Despite her mysterious and increasingly busy schedule, Terry still regularly took me down to the subbasement dojo for CQC training. However, after a few failed attempts and bloody noses back in late July, she had given up teaching me combat moves and instead had me lifting weights and shadow boxing. I knew better than to complain of the futility of these exercises to Terry, who still obstinately maintained that I would someday regain my eyesight. I wished I could believe her, but I couldn’t.

In a strange way, it might have been easier for me if my blindness had been caused by illness or some kind of accident. If only there was no one to blame, I could have accepted my half-life and moved on. But what happened to me was no accident. Someone had chosen to do this to me, and there was nothing I could do to return the favor.

The helplessness I felt every day was different but just as frustrating as what I remembered from my experience at the Psionic Research Center. Without my eyes, though I was free to go wherever I pleased, I was nevertheless as dependent on Cindy and Alia for my day-to-day survival as I had been on the doctors who kept me locked underground. For me, blindness was a mental prison.

And in prisons, things fester.

I often found myself entertaining thoughts of what I might do to Growler had he still been alive. I wished he was alive, if only so that I could personally give him an end more deserving than a pair of bullets in his back. Occasionally, I even regretted my decision to ask for a painless death for Charles.

Spells of anger and frustration came and went, and my mood became as fickle as it had been back when my mind was struggling with a psionically suppressed memory. That isn’t to say that I spent all of my days moping in my room – Alia wouldn’t let me anyway – but I certainly wasn’t radiating sunshine around the house. Though Cindy and Alia frequently asked what was troubling me, I didn’t want to talk to them about my feelings. Cindy was too much of a pacifist to understand my desire for revenge, and I could hardly bring myself to confide in Alia. There were some things you just didn’t discuss with a little sister.

The one person who I thought could identify with my anger was Terry, but I couldn’t talk to her either. Despite her every effort to hide it, I knew she felt guilty about her decision to leave me with Raven Three. I strongly suspected that Terry was spending her days looking for some nonexistent cure to my blindness, and I didn’t want to add fuel to a purposeless fire.

In addition to the game room, which I never entered anymore, the penthouse had a small library, and beyond it a greenhouse filled with flowers and bushes both common and exotic. Like the books in the library, the greenhouse plants had been inherited from the penthouse’s previous owner when the Guardians purchased the building outright, but Cindy took good care of them. And whenever Cindy wasn’t tending the garden, this was one of the few places I could sit alone and calm myself when I knew my temper was unwelcome elsewhere in the house. I ended up spending a lot of time sitting alone in the greenhouse, and that was where Laila Brown found me one day a little past mid-September.

That morning, Alia and I had had an argument after breakfast, the short of it being that she wanted to play and I didn’t, and I had retreated to my regular chair in the greenhouse. Terry was out as usual, and Cindy was busy doing housework that I should have been helping with but wasn’t.

I heard the door open, and a moment later, Alia announced hesitantly, “Addy? Laila’s here.”

“Hi, Laila,” I said in a monotone, remaining in my chair facing the giant glass panels that looked down over the city below. “Don’t you have school?”

“It’s Saturday, Adrian,” Laila informed me.

“Oh... Well, Terry’s not home, you know.”

“I heard from Ms. Gifford,” said Laila. “I’ve been trying to see Terry for a few days now and I can’t even get her on the phone. You don’t know where she is, do you?”

“No,” I replied. “Terry’s like that.”

“I know,” said Laila, laughing quietly. “How are you doing?”

I suspected that my sister had already told Laila exactly how I was doing, but I lied anyway, “I’m alright.”

“Don’t I wish,” said Alia’s sour voice in my head.

Suddenly Laila asked brightly, “Say, do you want to come with me to the park? Alia too, of course. I’m guessing Terry hasn’t been taking you outside as often as she used to.”

That was true, but mainly because these days I refused to go out when she offered. Terry could order me to the dojo for training, but not to the park for fun.

“I want to go, Laila,” Alia said happily.

“Great!” said Laila. “How about you, Adrian?”

“I’m sorry, but no,” I said stiffly. “I’m a little tired right now.”

There was an uncomfortable silence, but then Laila said, “Well, Alia, you and I can still go, and maybe Adrian can come later if he’s feeling up to it.”

Alia hesitated for a few seconds before replying, “Sure, Laila.”

“Adrian,” Laila said again, “are you sure you don’t want to join us?”

“I’m fine,” I said, giving a slight nod in her direction. “Have a good time.”

I welcomed their departure, but I also felt guilty about refusing Laila’s invitation. I knew that Laila had wanted to cheer me up and that she had only invited Alia out of consideration for the girl who hardly ever left my side. But once Laila had made her offer, she couldn’t retract it, and by my refusal, Laila was now politely stuck with taking my sister to the park. At least Alia would have a good time today, and for that I was grateful to Laila.

Breathing quietly, I closed my eyes and wondered what Alia and Laila might be doing. On the one hand, I wanted nothing more than to be out there enjoying the mild autumn weather with them. But recently, every time I went outside, I was increasingly reminded of all the things I used to be able to do but no longer could, and who needed that?

I continued to sit there with my eyes closed, forcing myself to believe that my closed eyelids were the only reason I couldn’t see anything. When I opened my eyes, I would surely see the sky and the clouds and the cityscape through the floor-to-ceiling windows, and I would walk briskly back through the corridor without having to touch the walls, and...

Hearing the door open, I opened my eyes to dim, murky light.

“Adrian?” Cindy called softly. “I just finished baking some peanut butter cookies. They’re cooling on the dining table now, and at the risk of spoiling your lunch, I thought you might like some.”

I wasn’t particularly hungry, but I had already been rude to two people today. “Yeah, okay,” I said, heavily getting to my feet.

Cindy tried to hold my hand but I snatched it away.

“Whoa, Adrian,” Cindy said in surprise. “Alia was right. You really are in a fiery temper today, aren’t you? Maybe you’ll feel better after you get some sugar in you.”

I doubted it, but I followed Cindy to the dining room anyway. The whole room smelled of freshly baked cookies.

“They’re spread over a pan in front of you,” said Cindy.

When I didn’t touch them, Cindy asked, “You want to talk about it?”

I shook my head. Cindy still believed that my blindness was the one and only reason for my increasingly frequent bouts of anger. I wanted to keep it that way.

I felt Cindy’s gentle hand on my shoulder as she said, “Considering everything that has happened, you have every right to be upset, Adrian. But do you also remember what I told you about Mr. Barnum?”

I did. “Cindy, I can’t choose to be happy on a dead man’s say-so.”

“Perhaps,” said Cindy, “but shutting yourself away in the greenhouse isn’t healthy.”

I pulled away from her. “You’re not about to start pestering me about PTSD again, are you?”

“I’m just worried about you,” Cindy said in a hurt tone. “Is that so bad?”

“No...”

Actually, I was very conflicted on that point. I was grateful beyond words for Cindy’s constant support, but I also felt weighted down by her concern. I didn’t like being a burden, and even if no one in the house ever treated me as one, I knew I was.

Cindy said, “You’re spending way too much time alone these days, Adrian. I know you’re trying to be self-reliant, but shutting out your family isn’t the way to go about it. I really think you’d feel better if you got out more often.”

“Where would I go, Cindy?” I scoffed. “What difference would it make where I was?”

Cindy suggested, “You might reconsider Laila’s Sunday offer.”

“No,” I replied flatly.

Two weeks ago, Laila had called the penthouse to ask Alia and me to Sunday church service, but I had turned her down. I didn’t feel like sitting in the house of a God I didn’t believe in and listening to Mark make a sermon about how there was some good to be found in every person on the planet, because there wasn’t. I still talked with Mark whenever he visited us, but I no longer made trips out to his church. When I told Laila that I didn’t want to go with her, I had simply stated that I was too busy learning Braille and learning to cope with blindness to bother, but Laila took the hint and didn’t ask again.

“I thought you didn’t want people to feel sorry for you, Adrian,” said Cindy.

“I don’t!” I said forcefully. “I just want my eyes back.” I didn’t add that I wanted them back so I could go Slayer hunting with Mr. Simms as soon as I could see again.

Cindy said jokingly, “Well, you keep acting like this and pretty soon the whole world will be drowning in tears over you.”

I didn’t laugh. My voice quivered slightly as I whispered, “It’s just so damn frustrating being useless.”

“You are not useless, Adrian!” Cindy said firmly. “Even if you were, it would make no difference to the people who love you.”

That was just too much. Suddenly I couldn’t contain my pent-up anger any longer. I heard something shatter and realized that I had lost control of my telekinetic power for the first time in months.

I didn’t care.

I shouted at the top of my lungs, “I am a psionic destroyer, Cindy! A destroyer! And don’t you dare forget it!”

Turning my face to hide my tears, I made best-speed for my bedroom and slammed the door behind me. Embarrassment over my childish outburst was now added to the hurt I was feeling. I sat crying on the floor, pounding my fists on the carpet and wishing that the building would suddenly disappear from underneath me so that I could fall to my death. There was a profound difference between wanting people to feel sorry for you and wanting to live a life where people didn’t. Why couldn’t Cindy understand that?!

Cindy gave me enough time to regain most of my composure before she knocked on the door and called softly, “Adrian? Can I come in?”

I got up to make way for the door and Cindy opened it. I felt horribly ashamed of how I had acted. The knowledge that Cindy was used to this kind of behavior from me made it all the worse.

“What did I break this time?” I mumbled.

“Nothing important,” Cindy said serenely. “I just thought, well, if there’s anything you want to talk about, either me, or Mark...”

“There’s nothing to talk about, Cindy,” I said sullenly. “You may not think I’m useless or care if I’m useless, but I am, and I do.”

Cindy replied soothingly, “I think maybe you’ve just been working too hard. You can’t learn Braille in just a few weeks, and you’re getting much better at everything else, but you still have to pace yourself.”

I walked over to the window and touched the glass with my fingertips. “When I stand here, Cindy, I can still see the sunlight. I can still see this city in my head. New Haven, where I once thought I would find peace.” I took a step back from the glass and shook my head. “But there’s no peace here, Cindy. Not for the Guardians, nor for anyone who knows about us. And if this turns into a war, I can’t protect Alia, or you, or anybody anymore. This isn’t about pacing myself. I don’t feel alive.”

“You wish you could see so that you could fight?”

I nodded slowly. “That’s not the only reason of course, but yes, Cindy. I wish I could fight.”

“You’ve really changed, haven’t you, Adrian?” Cindy said sadly.

“I guess I have,” I whispered.

In truth, I found myself as surprised as anyone at how quickly I had regained my desire for combat status. When I first returned to New Haven, I was certain that, blind or sighted, I would never want to get near another battle again. But now all of that seemed a distant memory. I still had my own mission to find and rescue Cat from the Angels, and that wasn’t going anywhere while I was walking with a damn kiddie cane.

Cindy said, “You know how much I hated watching you go off on those Raven missions, Adrian, but I still wish there was something I could do for you.”

I turned around and faced her voice. “You’ve done enough, Cindy. You saved my life and you did everything you could to help me live with my mistakes. I’m the one that’s being selfish. I was the one who insisted on going on that stupid mission. I’m blind today because of what I did.” I sighed and added, “I’ll try my best not to break anything else.”

“I don’t care about things, Adrian. I care about you, even if you don’t. Sometimes it takes a lot of effort to be happy. I can’t bring your eyesight back, but if you’re at all willing to take another shot at being happy, I’ll do everything I can to help.”

“You never change,” I said, shaking my head in resignation.

“Is that a good thing?”

I gave her a weak smile. “Yeah, it’s a good thing.”

“Have a cookie.”

Cindy placed a peanut butter cookie in my hand. It was still warm to the touch, and I took a bite.

“It’s good,” I said, chewing slowly.

“Of course it’s good!” laughed Cindy. “Now grab your cane and come with me.”

Cindy filled a small basket with some sandwiches and cookies. She was about to take me to the park to meet up with Laila and Alia when the front door burst open.

“Terry!” Cindy exclaimed in surprise, but Terry didn’t even reply as she stomped across the living room and down the corridor toward her room. I heard her door slam.

I let out a soft whistle. “Terry’s having a bad day too.”

“Worse than usual,” agreed Cindy. “I’ll go talk to her.”

“I think I’ll go practice my Braille,” I said.

But as soon as I heard Cindy walk down the corridor, enter Terry’s room and close the door behind her, I crept silently along the corridor after her. I could already hear Terry speaking angrily to Cindy, but I couldn’t make out what she was saying.

Once I was closer to Terry’s door, I heard Cindy reply calmly, “I take it you already asked him yourself?”

Terry said vehemently, “You should have heard him when I did, Cindy! ‘The boy is lucky to be alive at all. I’m not going to risk any more of my men on some fool’s errand.’ That’s what he said! All I asked for was six good Lancers.”

Cindy’s tone remained even. “Mr. Baker has to act for the good of all of New Haven, Terry.”

“Well, I don’t care about New Haven,” said Terry. “I’ve been to every Council member, every unit commander, every healer. I’ve been through the archives twice. Every piece of information the Guardians have. You’re the one who said the historian is a last resort. Well, we’re there, Cindy! You have to talk to Mr. Baker and allow me to make the crossing.”

“I’ve pulled quite a few strings on Adrian’s account already,” replied Cindy.

“But that’s not why you’re refusing to support me,” Terry said matter-of-factly. “Can you look me in the eye and tell me that you’re not afraid that Adrian’s going to ship off on another mission the moment he regains his eyesight?”

“Of course I’m afraid!” Cindy shot back, her voice rising. “But don’t you dare accuse me of deliberately keeping him blind!”

“Then why?!”

“Because you’re grasping at straws, Terry! What do you expect the historian to do for you? In all probability, he could very easily heal Adrian’s eyes, but he won’t! The historian deals only in information.”

“I know that, Cindy! But if there’s any other way to heal him, the historian will have that information. I just have to be sure!”

Cindy remained silent, and suddenly Terry shouted furiously, “You can’t just leave him in the dark like that!”

“And I can’t let you risk your life again, Terry!”

“It’s my life to risk! Maybe you’ve forgotten why I live here, but I haven’t. I’m your bodyguard, not your child!”

Cindy said quietly, “Adrian’s at the door.”

I opened the door and asked meekly, “How did you know?”

Cindy seemed to smile. “You got too close. I’m a finder, remember?”

“Right,” I said embarrassedly, entering Terry’s room.

“How much did you hear?” asked Terry.

“I was spying,” I confessed as I stepped closer to their voices. “I heard all of it.”

“Good!” snapped Terry. “That saves a lot of time.”

I still didn’t understand exactly what Terry was asking of Cindy and Mr. Baker, but I was sure of what I said next: “I don’t want you to risk your life for me, Terry.”

“It’s not such a big risk, Adrian,” scoffed Terry. “Mr. Baker doesn’t think your eyesight is important enough for any risk at all.”

Cindy said, “Mr. Baker knows that the historian can’t help Adrian.”

“Well, I don’t!” Terry said heatedly. “Please, Cindy. I’m begging you. Please!”

The silence that followed was unbearable. I was actually glad that I couldn’t see Terry’s expression.

Cindy finally said in a quiet but firm tone, “Terry, I’ll go talk to Mr. Baker right now, but you have to promise me that if the historian can’t help, you’ll stop there. Adrian is learning to cope with his condition. I’m sure you can too.”

Terry didn’t answer. Even as I realized the full implications of Cindy’s words, I nevertheless felt grateful to her for saying them openly in front of me. It was proof that Cindy did not see me as a child incapable of dealing with reality.

“Terry?” Cindy repeated warningly.

Terry replied in a subdued voice, “I promise, Cindy. Thank you.”

Cindy’s footsteps headed toward the door, and as she passed me, I asked, “You knew what Terry had been up to all these weeks?”

“Of course I did, Adrian,” Cindy replied mildly. “Girls talk.”

Then Cindy said to Terry, “Alia is at the park with Laila now. There’s a basket of lunch and snacks for four on the living-room table. Why don’t you walk Adrian out there with it? It’ll keep your mind off of the verdict.”

I heard Cindy’s quiet footsteps leave Terry’s room and head back down the corridor.

I turned to Terry again, saying, “I always suspected you were out looking for a cure to my blindness, Terry, but I still wish you had told me.”

“I probably should have,” said Terry. “Remember when that cow told you to wait outside her office?”

I nodded, and Terry continued dejectedly, “I knew she had nothing but bad news, and I figured you should hear it straight. But I hoped I could find some good news for you, so I could surprise you with it. Well...” Terry let out a long sigh. “Surprise, Adrian. I found nothing.”

“Thanks for trying,” I said. “Cindy’s right, though. If I never see again, I’ll still learn to cope.”

Terry probably caught the lack of conviction in my voice. “Well, I’m still hopeful that the historian will provide some kind of lead,” she said.

“So how can a historian help?” I asked.

“Not a historian, Half-head. The historian.” Terry paused for a moment before asking in an incredulous tone, “You don’t even know who the historian is, do you?”

“Wild-born,” I reminded her.

Terry let out a weak laugh. “Let’s go to the park. I’ll tell you on the way.”

We went back to the living room and Terry grabbed Cindy’s picnic basket. Cindy had already left the penthouse.

“First off, it’s ‘the Historian’ with a capital H,” explained Terry as we got into the elevator. “It’s his title, and since no one knows his real name, it’s Mr. Historian if you ever get to talk to him.”

I laughed at that, and then asked, “Have you ever met him?”

“No,” replied Terry. “The Historian is a hermit. No one meets him without good reason.”

“What makes him so special?”

“If you can believe it, Adrian, the Historian is a 3000-year-old psionic.”

“I’m already having trouble with that,” I said.

“Well, it’s true,” said Terry. “The first psionic power he gained was complete physical regeneration. It is a power unique to the Historian. He can’t age, so he never grows old. He’s flesh and blood, so he can theoretically be killed, but he has gained so much power over the years that he’s the closest thing there is to a living god. Some people consider him to be an oracle of sorts, but I’m pretty sure he can’t tell the future. He likes to call himself the Historian, because that’s what he deals in: history and knowledge.”

We exited the elevator. I used my cane to tap my way across the lobby as I asked, “Is he also a regenerative healer?”

“In all probability, yes, but he won’t heal you. The Historian has taken a vow never to influence the natural course of history with his powers. He is a lore master, and trades information for various favors.”

“Why is it dangerous to meet him?” I asked as we left the building.

Terry touched my elbow to adjust my direction a little. “The Historian is a fickle person, but usually not a threat to anyone who comes to him in peace. The danger is in the approach. You see, the Historian has always had a soft spot for underdogs. Over the course of the war between the Angels and the Guardians, he’s been known to give a little extra help to whichever side is losing. Currently, that’s us, so the Angels will no doubt try to intercept any Guardian envoy attempting to make contact with him.”

“That’s why you wanted a team?”

“I’ll need a guide to get me through the mountains to where he lives, and we’ll need to bring gifts just to ask a question, regardless of his answer.”

“What kind of gifts?”

“Cookies,” Terry said cheerfully. “I like peanut butter.”

I heard her bite into one, and asked again, “What kind of gifts, Terry?”

“Food, entertainment, fuel, money to pay for his servants, things like that.”

“That’s it?” I asked disbelievingly. I had been expecting something a bit more fantastical, or at least harder to come by.

“Even a 3000-year-old person has basic human needs, Adrian. Honestly, these cookies would be a good start.”

“I’ll help bake some more,” I laughed.

I couldn’t help feeling somewhat giddy remembering how forcefully Terry had spoken out for me back in her room. Cindy was right: It wasn’t at all bad having someone care about you. And while I realized that the Historian was my last hope at regaining my eyesight, suddenly that hope didn’t seem so faint.

Terry spotted Laila and Alia cloud gazing in one of the park’s grassy clearings.

“Terry!” Laila called out as we approached. “Adrian! You came!”

I felt Alia tugging on my arm. “Addy! Are you feeling better?”

I smiled to show her that I was.

It was still early for lunch, but Alia claimed she was already hungry, so we sat on the grass and opened Cindy’s basket. I had a feeling there’d be no cookies left for the Historian.

“Were you lying here all day?” asked Terry.

“No,” replied Laila. “Alia was showing me some of her moves earlier. You’ve taught her really well, Terry.”

“She’s a Knight too, now.”

“I know,” said Laila. “So, Terry, um...”

“It’s okay, Laila,” said Terry. “Adrian knows what we’ve been doing.”

I hadn’t known that Laila had been helping Terry on her quest, and I said so.

“I only helped a bit while school was out,” Laila said embarrassedly. “And I couldn’t find anything.”

“Neither could I,” said Terry. “But guess what, Laila? I’m going to see the Historian!”

Laila seemed to jump. “You are!? That’s amazing!”

“Well, actually, I’m still waiting on the final word, but I’m pretty confident.”

Laila giggled. “I hear he’s really cute.”

At first I wondered how any girl could describe a 3000-year-old man as “cute,” but then I figured that if the Historian had gained his complete physical regeneration at the average age for a psionic coming into his power, he was probably somewhere between eighteen and twenty-five years old for all eternity.

“I don’t care what he looks like,” Terry said through a mouthful of something. “Just as long as he’s as smart as they say. He better be worth the trip.”

After eating, the four of us took a long stroll through the park. Cane in one hand and Alia’s guiding arm in the other, I was once again reminded of all that I couldn’t do, but that day it was just a bit more bearable. I remembered how I had felt on my first day back in New Haven, when I was still high from my blind sprint and believed that I could overcome anything. I knew better now, but I felt almost as good.

Wanting to hear the outcome of Cindy’s negotiation with Mr. Baker, Laila accompanied us back to the penthouse, but Cindy hadn’t come home yet.

“Why don’t you stay till she returns, Laila,” suggested Terry in the living room. “We have a bit of catching up to do anyway.”

Then Terry assumed a commanding tone, saying, “Adrian, go to your room.”

“Why?” I demanded.

“Like Cindy said, girls talk. Now beat it!”

I growled in annoyance but obediently left them to the living-room sofas. Alia didn’t follow me, and I first considered returning to the greenhouse, but then I decided that I might as well do some reading. Back in my room, I grabbed one of my Braille textbooks from my desk and sat on my bed, propping my back against the headboard. I groped around for my bedside clock and tapped the button.

“It is now 1:01pm. I really should be getting paid for this,” said the mechanical voice.

Perhaps Cindy was having lunch with Mr. Baker or some Council members. As much patience as I had learned over the past two months, I still didn’t like waiting. If I got my eyesight back, could I really rejoin the Ravens and go Slayer hunting with them? Would they even let me?

One thing at a time! I still didn’t even know if Mr. Baker would allow Terry to see the Historian, to say nothing of whether a 3000-year-old cute guy could really provide the information that would lead to restoring my eyesight. Even so, I couldn’t focus my attention on the little dots in my Braille book. Suddenly the whole idea of mastering a language for the blind seemed purposeless. One small spark of hope was all I had, but it burned brighter than the noon sun.

I shook my head furiously. I couldn’t let my hopes up only to have them dashed again. But I realized that the book in my hands had mysteriously closed. I left it on my pillow and made for the door. Perhaps I’d go sit in the greenhouse after all.

“Addy! Cindy’s home.”

I hadn’t heard my sister’s footsteps so I assumed she was throwing her telepathy through the walls. I hurried back to the living room where I heard Cindy asking Laila if she would stay for dinner.

“The Council will be holding a special session this evening,” said Cindy, “so your mother probably won’t be home till late.”

Cindy must have noticed me enter, because before I could even open my mouth, she said, “Yes, Adrian, Mr. Baker agreed.”

I couldn’t help grinning. “When do we leave?”

Terry said sternly, “We do not leave, Half-head, because you aren’t going.”

“I knew that.” I cringed, feeling extra stupid as Alia burst out laughing.

Cindy explained that Terry would join a team of Lancer Knights departing New Haven in two days time. The Council was going to gather later today to discuss what other questions they would ask the Historian.

Cindy said, “Mr. Baker wants to make sure that the reward for the Guardians is well worth the risk.”

“Well, that sure makes me feel important!” I joked sarcastically.

Terry and Laila laughed, but Cindy was unamused. “Mr. Baker does value you, Adrian,” she said reprovingly. “The Council already sent an expedition to the Historian early this year, so if it weren’t for you, we probably wouldn’t be going again for at least another two or three years. You be sure to thank Mr. Baker next time you meet him.”

“I will,” I promised, choosing not to bring up the fact that Mr. Baker wouldn’t have agreed to this if Cindy hadn’t intervened. It didn’t matter. The Historian was now within reach.

“What other questions will the Council ask the Historian?” I asked, suddenly curious.

“That’s what they’re going to discuss later today,” Cindy reminded me.

“Well, what did they ask on the last trip?” I pressed.

Cindy replied a little stiffly, “As always, a number of things designed to gain leverage on the Angels and other factions.”

“Like how to find and kill the Angels’ second master?”

“That was asked,” admitted Cindy, “but the Historian didn’t know.”

Laila decided to stay for the rest of the day and have dinner with us, but she spent most of the afternoon in Terry’s room. Terry had made it clear that I was unwelcome there so I stayed in the living room. Alia went back and forth between us until I reassured her that I was perfectly fine on my own.

“Are you sure, Addy?” she asked in a concerned tone.

“Do I look like I’m in a bad mood?” I asked, smiling. “It’s okay. Go have fun with Laila. I’ll help Cindy with the cooking today.”

“Okay.”

Before Alia’s footsteps left the room, I asked, “What are they talking about in there, anyway?”

“Can’t tell you, Addy.”

“Why not?!” I demanded.

“Terry made me promise. She said she’d tickle me for an hour if I told.”

“That sounds dire,” I agreed, knowing from experience that Terry always followed through on her threats. “You better go back before she gets suspicious.”

I wasn’t curious enough to risk getting caught at the door twice in one day, so I didn’t follow her. While tickle torture was Terry’s standard approach to keeping Alia in line, she had even more painful ways of dealing with me.

Over dinner that evening, I learned that the trip to see the Historian would take about seventeen days altogether. Seven days each way, including air travel and trekking through the mountains, plus a scheduled three days on site. If all went as planned, Terry might be back four or five days before my fifteenth birthday.

“But don’t count on it,” warned Terry. “There’re always delays, so I’m not going to promise like I did for Cindy.”

“It’s okay,” I said, smiling. “Just another lesson in patience, Terry.”

Cindy had once explained to me that emotional ups and downs were a common part of post-traumatic stress disorder. Upon reflection of that day, from my embarrassing temper tantrum in the morning to the cheerful anticipation I felt now, I had to admit that I probably did have a touch of PTSD. But nothing could break my mood that evening. If Laila had asked, I probably would’ve agreed to go to church with her the next day, but she didn’t ask.

Terry was packed and ready well before sunrise Monday morning. She and the Lancer Knights had a 7am flight to catch. After a rushed breakfast, Cindy and Alia wished Terry good luck at the door, but I insisted on riding the elevator down with her.

Some of my excitement had worn off during the previous day, and I was now in a more realistic mindset about the risks Terry might face and the possible outcomes of her mission.

As the elevator started descending, I said worriedly, “Terry, I’m not sure how dangerous this is...”

“It’s not dangerous,” insisted Terry.

“Well, I don’t know,” I repeated. “But I know you can take care of yourself. Just... if this doesn’t work out, then listen to Cindy, okay? I’ve been blind for a while now. I’ll be alright.”

“Don’t talk like that, Adrian,” said Terry, touching my arm lightly with the end of her left stump. “You never gave up on me, remember?”

I smiled as the elevator reached the ground floor. “Give my regards to the Historian, Terry.”

Riding the elevator back up to the penthouse alone, I felt that the next seventeen days waiting for Terry’s return would be as unbearable as my seventeen days in Slayer captivity.

And, though in a less physically damaging way, they were.

Between Alia who was absolutely certain that I would see again by my birthday and Cindy who consistently reminded me not to give up my Braille studies, my hopes and fears took a rollercoaster ride as I spent the week wondering where Terry was and what she would hear when she finally got to meet the mysterious Historian.

My tension having reached an all-time high, I could barely touch my meatloaf dinner on the last night of September. Terry had been gone ten days now, and assuming no setbacks, she would already have her answer and possibly even be starting back.

“I just wish I could know one way or the other,” I muttered.

“I just hope they’re alright,” said Cindy. “Eat up before it gets cold.”

I still didn’t touch my plate.

Cindy had been carefully following the Lancers’ progress to the Historian’s mountain retreat. The last time the Lancer Knights contacted New Haven was several days ago, just before they set out on foot for the final approach. The Knights wouldn’t be able to call again until they were back in civilization.

“Terry’s with them,” I said. “They’ll be alright.”

I shared Cindy’s worries about the expedition up to a point. After all, I knew from bitter experience that any mission could suddenly go drastically wrong. But my trust in Terry’s abilities and my hopes for what I might gain from her journey kept my anxieties to a minimum.

“You’re probably right, Adrian. Terry’s one of the strongest people I’ve ever known,” said Cindy, though not without a touch of uncertainty in her voice. “Eat.”

I forced myself to take a small bite of salad as Cindy continued, “Oh, and Adrian, now that you’re getting fairly good at your Grade One Braille, I’m going to send out for your advanced books soon.” It hadn’t been lost on Cindy that I refused to touch my Braille books ever since Terry had left. “There’re a lot of good novels in Braille these days, and you’re probably getting tired of that little-kid stuff you’re working on.”

“True, but–”

“No buts! Even if Terry does hear something that could lead to your recovery, it could still take a long time to make it a reality.”

Always the voice of reason. That was Cindy for you.

“You used to be an optimist,” I grumbled.

“I am an optimist,” insisted Cindy, “and I really do hope Terry finds something for you. I just don’t want you to get hurt again.”

I shrugged. “I’ll study tomorrow, okay?”

Each day passed slower than the last, and the Lancers did not reestablish contact with New Haven on their scheduled day.

“There are bound to be delays when traveling on foot through a mountain range,” Cindy said bravely. “Give it another day or two.”

We did, and Cindy was right.

Two days later, upon returning from an afternoon Council meeting, Cindy said, “We just got word, Adrian. The Lancers are alive and well and should be back in New Haven in three or four days.”

“Any news?” I asked.

Cindy laughed. “Yes, Adrian! They’ll be back in three or four days!”

“Cindy!”

“Patience! You are not the only reason the Guardians traveled to see the Historian. At least Terry will still be back in time for your birthday.”

I groaned. I remembered how, as a young child, I couldn’t eat or sleep before a birthday, but now I hardly cared at all about becoming fifteen years old. Terry might be bearing a gift far greater than anything I had ever received.

Then again, she might not. I might as well have been pulling petals off of flowers for all the restlessness I felt during the final days awaiting Terry’s return.

“Tonight or very early tomorrow, Adrian,” said Cindy after breakfast on a chilly Friday morning. “Just try not to get your hopes up too high.”

“I know,” I lied.

“Well, do you also know that you need a haircut?”

I did. This wasn’t the first or even tenth time Cindy had mentioned it. Living with Cindy and Alia meant I couldn’t get away with poor hygiene, but I had pretty much stopped caring about how I looked, and a haircut seemed an unnecessary bother.

“We better do something before you trip over it,” joked Cindy.

I shook my head vigorously.

Cindy laughed. “You’re starting to look like one of those sheepdogs, Adrian. You know, the ones where you can’t see the head under all the shaggy hair?”

“Well, woof,” I replied gruffly. At least my ears were properly covered now.

“I have another meeting I’m rushing off to in a moment, but I’ll trim it for you when I get back. You’re going to have guests on Monday, after all.”

October 12th, my fifteenth, would be the following Monday, and Cindy had invited Mark and Laila over for dinner.

After Cindy left, I heard Alia say into my head, “You really do look like a sheepdog, Addy. I can cut it for you.”

“You mean let you get near me with scissors, Alia?” I asked dryly. “I don’t think so.”

“Please, Addy? I want to surprise Cindy when she gets back.”

“How?” I laughed. “By cutting off my other ear?”

Alia laughed too. “At least you’d be balanced. Anyway, who could heal you better than I if you got hurt?”

“Absolutely not.”

“Remember I used to cut your nails for you back when you couldn’t balance your power?”

I cringed. “I do remember, Alia, but that’s different. Sorry, but I’ll wait for Cindy.”

But Cindy called during the early afternoon to tell us that she was going to be late coming home, and my sister continued pestering me until I finally gave in.

“Just make sure you stay under my ears,” I said as she sat me in a chair in the bathroom and draped a sheet around me.

“Trust me,” Alia said confidently.

“You know I’d trust you with my life, Alia, but you have never cut anyone’s hair before.”

“I thought you didn’t care how you looked, Addy, so how could I make it any worse? Now stop moving your head.”

I obeyed, and pretty soon I heard the snip-snip-snip of scissors snapping around my head as bits of cut hair tickled my nose and cheeks.

“Are you sure you know what you’re doing?” I asked, trying hard not to sneeze.

My sister’s concentration was such that she didn’t answer, even telepathically. I feared the snips were coming too fast to be very accurate, but at least I wasn’t bleeding yet.

The snipping stopped abruptly. “Umm...”

“Please don’t ‘umm’ into my mind, Alia,” I said worriedly.

“It’s alright,” she said, starting up her scissors again. “I think.”

The doorbell rang and Alia ran out to answer it. She returned with another pair of footsteps.

I heard Laila’s voice say, “Hi, Adrian, Ms. Gifford called me and – oh my goodness! It’s almost a blessing that you’re blind.”

I snapped my head toward her voice. “That was a joke, right?”

“Well,” said Laila, walking around me once, “at least it’ll grow back.”

“I was probably better off as a sheepdog,” I muttered.

“Don’t worry,” said Laila, stifling a laugh. “I think I can still do something with it. You’d better let me take over, Alia.”

“Sorry,” Alia said in a tiny voice.

“It’s alright,” I said to her. “It’s my fault for letting you talk me into this anyway.”

Besides, I had a more pressing question. “Laila, why did Cindy call you?”

Laila replied, “She asked me to help you two cook a proper dinner tonight because Terry is coming home today. The Lancer team just returned to New Haven, but Terry’s going directly to the Council meeting before coming back here with Ms. Gifford.”

My heart skipped a beat. I would have my answer tonight!

As Laila started the damage-control on my head, I asked her, “Why is Terry going to the Council meeting?”

“She’s helping the Lancer unit leader report the Historian’s answers to the Council,” said Laila, and I couldn’t help noticing the slight reservation in her voice.

“Why does Terry have to...” I started, but suddenly I knew. “Terry just wanted to talk to Cindy first.”

“I think so,” Laila agreed quietly.

I knew so. If Terry had any good news, she would have come directly to me even if she had been ordered to attend the Council meeting, which no doubt she hadn’t. Terry wanted Cindy to know first. I had never once seen Terry hide behind someone before, but then again, my combat instructor had always been a little off-center since the raid on the Holy Land.

Not that I was any better. I remembered how Cindy repeatedly warned me not to get my hopes up too high. I didn’t need her reminders to know that hope was a dangerous thing, but nevertheless I had hoped.

I sat silently as Laila finished cutting my hair, and then she and Alia went to the kitchen to cook. Even blind, I could have helped a bit, but I didn’t.

Instead I walked back to my room alone and ran my fingers across the cane propped up against my desk. I wondered if the room light was on or off. I could no longer see enough light to be entirely sure. I walked over to the window and pressed my hands against the smooth, cold glass. Then my forehead too. It was already too dark outside to make any difference. What would happen when I completely lost the ability to see light? Would I see only darkness? Or perhaps I would not even see darkness, but rather nothing at all. Try as I might, I couldn’t imagine what that was like.

Suddenly I heard a dull thump outside the bedroom, so I walked over to investigate. Opening the door and stepping into the corridor, I tripped over something soft. It let out a surprised squeal.

“Alia?!” I said, pulling her to her feet. “What are you doing on the floor?”

“I bumped into the wall,” Alia replied in my head. “Really hard.”

That sounded peculiar, but I was too annoyed to be interested. “Well, watch where you’re going! You know I can’t see you.”

“I can’t watch where I’m going, Addy.”

“What are you talking about?” I said, my irritation mounting ever higher.

However, as my arm brushed up against Alia’s head, I noticed that something wasn’t right. Touching her head more carefully, I realized that it was wrapped tightly in a large bath towel.

“What the heck are you doing, Alia?” I asked, trying to pull the towel off.

“Don’t take it off!”

“But why is your head mummified?”

“Laila did it for me,” Alia said happily. “I asked her what it was like to be blind.”

For a split second, I could almost see myself precariously perched on a knife’s edge between fury and amusement. I pictured my sister’s head wrapped in the bath towel, as well as what no doubt caused the loud thump I had heard. Suddenly I burst out laughing, my disappointment with Terry’s impending report not forgotten, but suddenly irrelevant.

Alia was laughing loudly too, and a moment later I heard Laila say cheerfully, “Looks like you two found each other.”

“More like crashed into,” I said, still chuckling.

Laila returned to the kitchen, and I chased Alia around the penthouse laughing with her as she crashed into the walls and furniture. Once the dinner preparations were on autopilot, Laila put a towel over her own eyes too and joined us in a game of tag. Fortunately, there was only minor damage to the penthouse.

Once we were sufficiently out of breath, Laila said to me, “You know, I was afraid you might be offended for turning your handicap into a game.”

I gave her a broad smile. “I’m not. It was fun. Thank you, Laila.”

But I realized that I easily might have been upset over that. I didn’t like having a short and fickle temper, and I had made honest efforts to change in the past, but nevertheless I had to admit that I was still unstable. At least this time I was happy, and that was definitely a good thing considering what was to come later that evening.

Cindy and Terry returned at a little past 8pm.

After greeting us, Terry began hesitantly, “Adrian, I...”

“It’s alright, Terry,” I said as reassuringly as I could. “I already know what you’re going to say. I’m glad you’re home safe. Let’s just eat dinner, okay?”

“I’m really sorry.”

“There’s nothing for you to be sorry about, Terry,” I said matter-of-factly. “And like you keep saying, I’ll get over it.”

Terry remained silent.

I smiled, adding gently, “And so will you.”

Chapter 10: Terry and Laila

I spent much of that weekend sitting in the greenhouse, but while I might have appeared to be wallowing in self-pity, I wasn’t to any great degree. I was just willing myself to finally come to terms with the now inescapable truth. After every possible resource had been exhausted, the situation remained unchanged. In a strange way, it was even a little liberating knowing that there was nothing left to try. At least the suspense was finally over, and I could get on with my life.

There was plenty to be happy about, too. After all, I had been blind for more than two and a half months, and I was quite used to it by now. Terry was safely back in New Haven. The Slayers who had taken my sight were dead and gone. The Guardians could be trusted to rescue Cat in my stead. What did I care if the Historian couldn’t help? Did I still want to go kill Slayers with the Ravens? Of course I did! But nobody gets their own way in everything.

On Monday evening, Mark and Laila arrived early to help prepare my birthday dinner, and none other than Mr. Baker himself arrived just in time to help eat it.

As we sat down at the table, Mark said to me, “I remember wishing you a better year on your last birthday, and I know it didn’t turn out that way, so I almost hesitate to repeat that wish for fear it might be jinxed.”

I laughed. “I’m sure this year will be better anyway. At least I’m no longer being pushed around the dojo by Terry.”

“Don’t count on it, Adrian,” Terry said from my right side. “I’m not letting you off the training program, and I’m pretty sure I can still teach you some basic grappling moves that you can use even without your eyes.” Terry ignored my loud groan. “As unlikely as it may be, Adrian, you should still be able to handle someone if they were to jump on you.”

“The only person who jumps on me these days is Alia, and I think I can handle her just fine,” I told her. “My fighting days are over whether I like it or not, Terry. Someone else is going to have to deal with the Angels for me.”

Mr. Baker cleared his throat and said, “I wasn’t even sure I could come today and I haven’t brought you any gifts, Adrian, but allow me to reiterate my promise that if we can locate your sister, we will do all that we can to save her.”

“Thank you, Mr. Baker,” I said sincerely. “That means a lot to me.”

“That’s probably the best gift you can hope for in the long run, Adrian,” said Cindy, “but in the meantime, the rest of us have tangible presents for you. Eat up so you can open them.”

“You mean you actually wrapped them?” I asked, laughing.

“I suppose it was a bit silly,” admitted Cindy, “but it still seemed the right way to do it.”

Mr. Baker had to rush off before we even got to the cake, but Laila and Mark stayed, and once our dessert plates contained only crumbs, I was handed my birthday presents one at a time.

Cindy’s was a small, carefully wrapped box which contained a strange-shaped plastic gadget that easily fit in the palm of my hand. I ran my fingers over the device several times but couldn’t figure out what it was, so I conceded defeat and asked.

“It’s a proximity sensor,” said Cindy. “It tells you how close you are to whatever you’re facing, like a wall or a person.”

“How do I use it?”

“You clip it on your left ear,” said Cindy, taking the device and fitting it for me. It was probably something that looked very much like a single-ear hearing aid, but with some kind of sensor to measure distances built into it. Cindy switched it on, and I heard an electronic humming sound in my ear. Turning my head, I noticed how the pitch of the hum changed constantly.

“The closer you are, the higher the tone,” explained Cindy, but I had already figured that out.

“This is amazing, Cindy!” I said excitedly as I used the electronic hum to “look” around the room. Even the highest pitch sound wasn’t annoyingly so, and I decided that a mild hum in one ear was a fair price to pay for knowing how much space there was between me and the next thing I might crash into. I might even be able to fly with this.

“Just remember that it doesn’t replace your cane,” said Cindy. “You’ll still need that to avoid things low on the ground, and your earpiece has trouble detecting fences and windows.”

“Where did you find this thing?” Terry asked in wonder.

Cindy replied, “Actually, I had the guys at our tech department build it specifically for Adrian.” Then she said to me, “The battery only lasts about two hours, so be sure to recharge it. There’s a power adapter that plugs into it, which I’ll show you later.”

“Thanks a lot, Cindy,” I said happily. “I’m guessing this is a not-so-subtle message to get out more.”

Cindy laughed. “You’re welcome. It is and I hope you do.”

Cindy wasn’t the only one who had found me adaptive technology for my birthday. Terry’s gift was a handheld talking compass which read aloud my current heading whenever I pushed the button on it. Between this and my ear-mounted proximity sensor, I could probably navigate all of New Haven without help if I needed to. When I thanked Terry, I got a slap on the head in return.

“What was that for?!” I asked, wincing in pain.

“I don’t know,” laughed Terry. “I just felt like it.” Such was Terry’s way of saying, “You’re welcome.”

Mark, who had given me a wristwatch for my birthday last year, gave me another, but this time it was an analog watch with a glass cover that could be lifted up to reveal the minute and hour hands.

“A Braille watch,” I said, feeling the hands on the watch face. “I’ve read about these in my Grade One Braille text.”

“This one is a bit old-fashioned so it doesn’t talk,” said Mark.

“That’s probably for the best,” I said, thinking of my bedside clock’s attitude problem.

The watch’s band probably had originally been metal, but Mark had replaced it with a cheaper Velcro watchband. He had put some tape over the back of the watch as well so that the metal wouldn’t directly touch my skin, and I thanked Mark for the extra consideration.

Laila’s present was a thick wool scarf for the coming winter. It was dark blue with three wide green stripes diagonally across it.

“I like the color,” I said, smiling as I felt the warmth of the scarf in my hands. “Thank you, Laila.”

“You can see it?” Laila asked in a surprised tone.

“Alia’s whispering in my head,” I explained.

I knew that my sister had deliberately waited to the end to give me her present.

She started with a birthday card which had been written in Braille. A few days ago, someone had moved my Braille writer from its designated corner on my desk, and I suspected it was Alia, so this was no great surprise. Writing in Braille required you to punch the dots from the other side of the paper. It was difficult because you had to make the dotted patterns in a mirror image. Alia had made her fair share of mistakes but, running my fingers along the card, I slowly read, “Happy 15th Birthday, Addy. You are the...”

I stopped reading aloud, but apparently Alia had written regular letters on the card too, because Cindy finished reading for me, “...the best big brother in the whole world.”

Terry laughed, saying, “Somehow I doubt that.”

I doubted it too, but it was excruciatingly touching all the same.

“Here, Addy,” said Alia, placing a wrinkly paper package in my hands.

I carefully undid the wrapping and pulled out a soft, long-sleeve garment. “A sweater?”

“She made that herself,” said Cindy. “It’s deep purple.”

As a paid Guardian Knight, Alia could have easily bought something for me like the others had, but she had chosen to stick with hand-made this year too. I tried it on over my shirt.

“It’s perfect,” I said. The sweater was actually a touch big for me but it would probably shrink in the wash. “You did this all by yourself?”

“Cindy helped me,” said Alia.

“I showed her how to use the knitting needles,” said Cindy, “and I helped a bit with the sleeves, too, but Alia did most of the work herself.”

“When did you find the time to...” I began, but then I realized I already knew the answer. I gave Alia a big hug and said, “I promise we’ll go outside more starting tomorrow.”

Then I laughed, saying, “Between a sweater, a scarf, watch, compass and proximity sensor, it would be a tragedy if I stayed indoors this winter.”

That is not to say that I had completely overcome my frustration, anger, resentment, and all the other nasty feelings that had anchored me to the greenhouse chair for much of the previous month. I still sat alone brooding from time to time, but as the days passed, such occasions became fewer and shorter. I found more time to play with Alia in and outside the penthouse, and while I was still a far cry from the best, I hoped that I was no longer the worst big brother in the world.

Equipped with my ear-mounted proximity sensor, I could actually run at a fair speed on the park’s jogging path. My feet had memorized every turn in the course, so all I had to do was keep from crashing into other people. Alia and Terry made sure I didn’t miss anything low on the ground such as an overturned bicycle. When the weather kept us trapped indoors, there were board games and an occasional round of blind tag to keep us occupied in our free time.

Though Terry was no longer busy hunting for a solution to my blindness, she outright refused Cindy’s offer to home-school her. Alia and I vouched for Cindy’s skills as a tutor, but Terry insisted that she was done with school, and nothing Cindy said could change that.

Actually, I had also put my foot down and refused to be taught a regular ninth-grade curriculum this school year. I had instead promised Cindy that I would do my studies and cover as much as I could, but in my own good time. I wanted to master Grade Two Braille first and follow a program designed for the blind so that I wouldn’t have to have my schoolbooks read to me. Thus Cindy worked mainly with Alia, who had become a fourth grader as of this September.

In the dojo, Terry made good on her threat to teach me blind wrestling. Perhaps taking the idea from Laila’s game, Terry wore a blindfold herself whenever she grappled with me, and of course she always won. I also continued to exercise regularly down in the dojo while my instructor sparred with other Guardian Knights. I could only listen to the ferocity of these matches, but it sounded like Terry remained undefeated on the mat.

Outwardly, it seemed that Terry had returned to her normal, menacing self, but I still felt from time to time that she was looking for some breakthrough that would lead to recovering my eyesight. It was only after the start of November that I seriously began to worry about her.

Terry had been gone on a mission for the Ravens. She left early one Monday morning and was gone all week on a Slayer hunt. Except that I had a chance meeting with Mr. Simms in the park on Wednesday afternoon, and he didn’t know anything about it. Mr. Simms further informed me that Terry had resigned from the Ravens the day after she returned from her trip to the Historian’s mountain.

“You didn’t know?” Mr. Simms asked incredulously.

“No,” I replied, feeling silly. “Terry’s been acting strange for a while now. I guess she just wanted some time to herself.”

“I hope she’s not plotting something again,” Mr. Simms said in a very serious tone.

My temper flared at the notion. “Terry’s brother is dead, Mr. Simms! If she’s plotting anything, it won’t hurt New Haven!”

I felt his hand on my shoulder as he said reassuringly, “I was joking, Adrian.”

“Sorry,” I mumbled embarrassedly. That was the problem with not being able to see people’s faces.

I found it impossible to believe that Terry could resign from the Ravens and then leave on a fake mission without Cindy knowing about it from her perch at the top of the information chain. When I confronted Cindy that evening, she said, “Terry asked for some time to check something out. I’m guessing she didn’t want to get your hopes up again.”

“Figures,” I said. “Well, I’m not going to get my hopes up this time, that’s for sure. But I clearly remember you had Terry promise to give up any more wild-goose chases.”

“Terry claimed it had nothing to do with your eyes,” said Cindy, and before I could respond, added, “Of course it probably has everything to do with your eyes, but I couldn’t prove it and she promised to be back by Friday. Give her some time, Adrian. I think Terry was even more disappointed with the Historian than you.”

I pursed my lips, and Cindy said, “Would it be too much to ask for you to pretend that you don’t know about this?”

Terry did return on Friday, but only just. She arrived near midnight and, refusing to tell me anything about her “mission” except that she had helped the Ravens kill some Slayers, she went straight to bed.

More than once the next week, I heard Cindy and Terry arguing late at night, and while I didn’t spy on them anymore, I guessed that Terry was still unwilling to give up the quest. As per Cindy’s request, I continued to feign ignorance.

Blindness had fine-tuned my ears, so when I woke to Alia’s soft breathing one night in mid-November, I knew it was still far from morning and that someone had just walked down the corridor past our room door.

I tapped on my bedside clock, which yawned loudly and said, “It is 1:14 in the morning. Please get a life!”

I heard Alia say groggily into my head, “Addy?”

“Sorry, Alia,” I whispered as I got out of bed. “I didn’t mean to wake you. Go back to sleep.”

“Where are you going?”

“To get a glass of water,” I replied. “Now go back to sleep.”

I actually was a bit thirsty, but I was more curious about the footsteps I had heard. I let my feet guide me toward the kitchen, but while I was crossing the dining room, I sensed a presence to my left.

“You can’t hide that easily, Terry,” I said, grinning.

“What are you doing up?” asked Terry. Though clearly in the same room, her voice nevertheless sounded strangely distant.

“Just getting some water,” I told her.

“Let me help you.”

“I don’t need your help, Terry.”

“I know you don’t,” Terry said gently. “Let me help you anyway.”

I heard the kitchen faucet run for a moment, and then Terry put a glass in my hands.

“Thanks,” I said, and took a sip.

Terry whispered, “You know, Adrian, I never meant for any of this. I was just trying to protect you.”

“I know that,” I said, shocked at how fragile Terry’s voice sounded. And I knew something else. “You’re going away again, aren’t you?”

Terry’s voice seemed to quaver a bit as she answered, “Yes.”

“You sound like you’re not coming back.”

“I’m not,” said Terry. “Not for a while. Maybe not ever.”

“I know you left the Ravens, Terry, and I know you weren’t on a Slayer hunt the other week. If you’re still looking for a cure to my blindness, just say so.”

“I wish I was, Adrian, but I guess I knew deep down that it was hopeless even before I went to see the Historian.”

I put my glass down on the dining table. “Then what is this, Terry? Another adventure?”

“No more adventures for me,” said Terry. “But I can’t stay here.”

“Why not?”

Terry let out a long sigh. “I was hired as your trainer.”

“And now you’re our bodyguard,” I reminded her. “You’re the only one Cindy trusts enough to have in this house.”

“Even so, I just can’t.”

“Terry, why don’t you go on a real mission?” I suggested semi-seriously. “Kill some Slayers for me. It’ll make us both feel good.”

Terry replied in a monotone, “Like I said, Adrian, no more adventures.”

I faced her and said firmly, “No one in this house blames you for what happened to me, Terry.”

“You’re wrong, Adrian.” I heard Terry let out a quiet sob. “Because I do.”

“But this is your home, Terry.”

“Not anymore.”

“Coward,” I whispered.

“What?”

“I said you’re a coward, Terry!” I shouted in fury. “You can’t stand to look at me!”

Terry’s voice cracked. “Maybe I am a coward.”

I had been hoping for a hard smack in the face. This was much worse. Terry, who never backed away from a fight in her entire life, was suddenly as hollow as the coldest winter night.

When I finally found my voice, I asked quietly, “Where will you go?”

“New Haven isn’t the only Guardian settlement, Adrian,” said Terry. “Besides, I’m not even psionic yet, so no one can track me down. I’ll find a place.”

I considered shouting for Cindy, but I knew that Terry’s mind was made up. If I stopped her today, she’d just leave tomorrow.

“You haven’t even said goodbye to Alia,” I said.

“Well, I wasn’t planning on saying goodbye to you either,” replied Terry. “I’m not good at goodbyes.”

That feeling I understood, and I gave her a faint smile.

Terry’s hand touched my left shoulder. “Take care of yourself, Half-head.”

I gave her arm a squeeze. “You too, Five-fingers.”

I followed Terry’s footsteps into the living room. The front door opened, and then shut quietly. I stood motionless, breathing slowly and wishing that this was all just a bad dream.

“Addy?” said Alia inside my head. “What’s going on?”

“Where are you?” I asked into the darkness.

“Here,” said Alia, tapping lightly on the wall near the corridor. “I heard the front door. What’s going on?”

I couldn’t bring myself to say it aloud, but Alia didn’t ask again. Instead, she gently took my hand and walked me back to our room. I sat silently with her at our window-side seat, staring out into the nothingness to which I had become so accustomed. I tried not to think of how weak Terry had sounded. I didn’t want to remember her that way, but I knew that something had broken inside her. Perhaps Cindy was right in that Terry wished for my recovery even more than I did. It seemed strange, but that was Terry, and now she was gone.

When I woke the next morning, I was still sitting in the chair with Alia, and over breakfast, I told both her and Cindy what had happened. Cindy showed no surprise at the news of Terry’s departure.

While Cindy understood why I hadn’t woken her or tried to force Terry to stay, my sister did not. Fortunately, Cindy dealt with Alia for me so I could concentrate on trying to swallow a breakfast that I wasn’t hungry for.

“Because Terry is older, Alia,” Cindy replied patiently in response to a telepathic question. “She’s sixteen, and she’s not my child. Her Uncle Charles gives her free reign to come, go and do as she pleases.”

Alia continued to talk to Cindy telepathically. I knew she wasn’t trying to hide anything from me. Even though my sister’s spoken voice was beginning to sound almost natural these days, she still relied on her telepathy whenever she was upset and didn’t want to concentrate on mouth movements. Alia wasn’t crying, at least not audibly, but I could tell by her irregular breathing that she was on the verge.

“I know how much you love her,” said Cindy, probably hugging Alia tightly enough to interrupt her circulation. “Terry cares just as much about you too. She couldn’t say goodbye because it hurt her too much, and she’ll come back someday.”

Alia seemed to relax a bit.

“I’m sure of it, sweetie,” said Cindy. “Terry just needs some time to herself. She’ll be missing you and Addy before the end of the day, and when she misses you enough, she’ll be back.”

Alia said something else, and Cindy replied, “No, Ali, probably not today or tomorrow. You just be patient like your brother.”

I realized that I had, indeed, finally learned my patience. Why else would I have let Terry leave like that?

Cindy gave Alia a break from her studies that day, and the three of us spent much of the day outdoors, shopping, walking, and half-heartedly playing in the park. The November wind was beginning to bite at our cheeks, but worse was the constant, unpleasantly cold reminder of an absent voice.

Though I had neither the intention nor the means of looking for Terry or dragging her back to New Haven, I was curious as to where she had gone and whether she was alright. I asked Cindy to call up Laila Brown for me and arrange a meeting.

The next day after school hours, Laila met me in the lobby of NH-1. As the evenings were getting a bit too cold for strolls through the park, we went across the street to a small cafe that had opened there last year.

“Where’s your sister today?” asked Laila as she opened the door for me.

“Cindy’s helping her with her homework,” I replied. “Actually, in our case, it’s all homework, but you get the idea. Why?”

“It’s just so strange not seeing her next to you.”

I chuckled. “Alia wanted to come but Cindy wouldn’t let her.”

We sat at what Laila told me was a corner table where we could talk openly without being overheard. The shop was run by the Guardians and outsiders rarely came in, but there was always the possibility of being overheard by an Angel spy.

In order to protect Terry on the road to wherever she was heading, the official Guardian line was that Terry had suffered a horrible training accident, leaving her paralyzed and bedridden in the penthouse. There was no telling how long such a cover story would hold up, but hopefully the Angels wouldn’t be too interested in Terry now that they no longer had any leverage on her.

Laila ordered coffees for the both of us.

“You do drink coffee, don’t you, Adrian?” she asked.

“Sure,” I lied. “All the time.”

The service was quick.

“Sugar? Milk?” asked Laila as the cups were placed on our table.

“Black is fine,” I said, taking a sip and instantly regretting it. “Maybe a cube of sugar.”

Laila added sugar to my coffee for me, and we spent a minute or two drinking silently. I sipped my still-bitter coffee very slowly.

“So,” sighed Laila, “Terry...”

“Yeah,” I said, sighing too. “Terry... You wouldn’t happen to know where she’s going, would you?”

“Only guesses, none of them intelligent,” Laila answered apologetically.

“I just wish I could write her a letter. See if I can’t get it through her thick skull that she didn’t have to leave New Haven on my account.”

“You really like her, don’t you, Adrian?”

“She was a good friend,” I said quietly. “One of my very few friends since I turned psionic.”

“I’m going to miss her too,” Laila said sadly. “I know this is the last thing you need right now. Terry is usually so strong.”

“She was so disappointed that I wouldn’t be able to fight for the Guardians anymore.”

“It must be difficult for the both of you,” Laila said sympathetically. “You might have made a great Knight someday.”

“I doubt it, Laila,” I said, giving her a wry smile. “After all, I’m only in this stupid war to get my sister back from the Angels.”

“You don’t care if the Guardians win or lose?” Laila asked in a startled tone.

“Well, I care, to a point,” I replied evasively.

Laila said teasingly, “I’m guessing God isn’t the only thing you don’t believe in.”

“I don’t believe in werewolves, vampires, fairies, ghosts, UFOs, magic or fate, to name a few.”

Laila laughed. “I always thought of psionics as a sort of magic.”

I shook my head. “I’m sure there’s some science behind it that we just don’t understand yet. Nothing ever happens without cause.”

“In a way, you’re much like Terry, Adrian. So down-to-earth it’s almost painful.”

I shrugged. “I admit when I first gained my power, I thought it was something special. Something magical. Maybe even the beginning of something wonderful. And in a way, it was, but... Well, you know that my parents were killed, and my sister was converted by Larissa Divine, same as your father.”

“Would you tell me about your sister? About Cat?”

“I never told you?” I asked in surprise. I thought that I had told Laila about Cat long ago.

Laila remained silent.

“Laila?” I asked, wondering what was the matter.

Suddenly Laila laughed, saying, “No. I mean, you never told me.”

“Why are you laughing?”

“I’m sorry, Adrian,” Laila said between giggles. “I’m just so stupid sometimes. I was shaking my head, thinking you could see me. You’d think I would have learned by now.”

“Oh,” I said, laughing too. “I really wish I could see you, Laila.” It took me a few seconds before I realized how that must have sounded. I added embarrassedly, “You know, I mean, if I could see you...”

“You’d know it when I shook my head,” said Laila, still laughing.

“Yeah,” I said, staring down at the table. I didn’t want Laila to see my expression, which probably looked as uncomfortable as I felt.

“So,” said Laila, “would you tell me about her?”

“Sure,” I said, happy to be back on a normal conversation. “But on one condition.”

“Death if I tell anyone?” Laila asked innocently.

I chuckled. “No. Actually...” I paused, trying to find the right words to say this without actually saying it.

“Yes?”

“Well, you know Alia’s really feeling down about Terry and... well, Alia likes you a lot and... I – I know you probably have other friends at school who’ll be only too happy that Terry’s out of your life but...” My mouth wasn’t even stammering the right words, and I just ended by mumbling, “It would, um, be nice if we could all still be friends.”

I felt Laila touch my right hand. “Adrian, I’m truly shocked. We are friends, and nothing’s going to change that. Even if Ms. Gifford hadn’t called, I was planning on visiting you today to make sure you and Alia were alright.”

“I just thought with all the trouble you’ve been through on Terry’s account...”

“Nobody chooses my friends for me,” Laila said forcefully, giving my hand a gentle squeeze.

“I remember you said that once about Terry,” I said, pulling my hand free and holding my coffee cup in both hands.

“Well, now I’m saying it about you, Adrian. I’m really mad at Terry for running off like this, and I hope she comes to her senses, but meanwhile we can definitely still be friends.” Laila paused for a moment and then added in a hesitant tone, “That is, if that’s what you want.”

Another uncomfortable silence. My coffee had cooled just enough to gulp, so I did.

In fact, I had caught myself thinking a lot about Laila since around my birthday, and “friends” wasn’t exactly how I pictured our relationship. I remembered how Terry had claimed that Laila felt the same way about me, and all I’d have to do was ask. But getting myself to ask was like trying to levitate New Haven One while wearing a suit of armor. My mouth just wouldn’t form the words.

Instead, I killed the silence by telling Laila about Cat. Laila in turn told me a bit more about her father, and how she feared that he might already have been killed in some battle with the Guardians or another faction. We talked about Terry, and about our takes on the possible outcomes of the Angel-Guardian war.

We had a donut and a second cup of coffee each, and I insisted on paying the bill. Leaving the coffee shop, Laila walked me back across the street to the entrance of NH-1.

“I’d love to say hello to Alia, Adrian,” said Laila, “but I still have a ton of homework waiting. I’ll come over tomorrow or Saturday at the latest, okay?”

“That’d be great, Laila,” I said. “It’s, uh... it’s good to have a friend.”

Suddenly I felt a light peck on my left cheek, and I said uncertainly, “We are, um, friends, right, Laila?”

Laila giggled nervously. “Very good friends, Adrian.”

“I like that,” I said over the thumping of my erratically beating heart. “Very good friends.”

I felt Laila’s nose brush lightly against mine, and then our lips touched for the briefest, and yet longest, of instances.

“See you, Adrian!” Laila called out before I even realized we were no longer kissing. I heard Laila sprint away down the sidewalk. It might have been a full five minutes before I had recovered enough of myself to find my way into the building.

When I returned to the penthouse, Cindy said to me from somewhere near the center of the living room, “So, did Laila know about Terry?”

“Um... yeah... I mean no,” I replied, still in a daze over what had just happened.

“Are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” I lied quietly.

I wasn’t exactly sure how I felt. I was still coming to grips with the fact that I had just kissed Laila Brown. Or rather, she had kissed me. But then, so had I kissed her. Terry had been gone less than forty-eight hours, and the purpose of my chat with Laila had been purely to ascertain Terry’s destination. What had just happened? I felt awful about my sudden happiness. I knew I shouldn’t feel so great, even embarrassedly great, when Alia was still upset, as I certainly should be, over Terry’s disappearance. And I was upset over Terry’s disappearance, just as much as Cindy, Alia and Laila were. Post-traumatic stress disorder wasn’t nearly as maddening as what was going through me now. I wasn’t feeling up one moment and feeling down the next. I was up and down at the same moment.

“Adrian?” said Cindy, coming closer. “What happened to you?”

“Nothing,” I whispered softly.

No doubt Cindy would find out soon enough anyway. And then what would Alia say? Would she tease me again like she had when she claimed that Terry was my girlfriend? I realized that I didn’t care. Alia could say whatever she wanted. I was more worried about what I was going to say to Laila the next time we met.

Cindy said worriedly, “Obviously something happened, Adrian. I haven’t seen you so spaced out since, well, forever.”

“There’s a first to everything,” I mumbled, leaving the living room and heading down the corridor. I could hear the shower running, which meant my bedroom would be Alia-free, so I quickly entered and sat down at the window.

Cindy had followed me. “Adrian? What’s going on? Is Laila alright?”

“I think so,” I breathed. “She went home.”

“Adrian Howell! What is the matter with you?!”

My head snapped toward her voice. “Oh, I’m sorry. It’s just that, um... we, uh... Laila and I, that is... we, um... we kissed.”

A blink later, Cindy let out a deep breath and laughed loudly. “Oh, my goodness! I’m so sorry, Adrian! I was about ready to call the Knights in case you were under some kind of psionic control.”

“I’m fine,” I said, laughing awkwardly. “I mean, I think I’m fine.”

“So, you and Laila are going together now?”

“I guess so.”

“Well, I’m really happy for you,” Cindy said sincerely. “Laila’s a great girl. Terry’s been trying to get you two together for months. It’s a shame she’s not here to see it.”

“I hope she writes,” I said, quickly deflating at the mention of Terry. “So I can thank her.”

“I hope she writes too, Adrian.”

“I’m sorry I scared you, Cindy. My mind was all over the place. And I’m still really sad about Terry.”

“I’m sad about Terry too,” said Cindy. “We’ll all have to work hard to get through this. But you and Laila are in this together, since Terry was friends with both of you. I just hope you don’t forget that your sister misses Terry as much as you do. And she likes Laila too.”

“Don’t worry, Cindy. I won’t forget about Alia,” I said, though I was already pondering what excuses I might make to Alia in order to guarantee Laila and I had a little more time to ourselves.

Terry didn’t return that week, or the next. Eventually Alia stopped asking whether Terry would even write, which she didn’t, but I knew it was on Alia’s mind as much as it was on mine. I didn’t have the heart to suggest that my sister move into Terry’s old room, even if only until Terry came back. Cindy didn’t want to do anything with it either. We had little use for a guestroom in the penthouse.

Meanwhile, Laila and I got a good deal closer. Like Terry, Laila was a year older than me, but unlike Terry, she wasn’t noticeably so. I found that I could talk with Laila just as comfortably as I could before we were dating, if one could even call it dating with my sister hanging around so often. The penthouse always felt a little empty without Terry there, so I understood Alia’s desire to stick close to Laila and me, and I did my best to tolerate her. Laila seemed perfectly happy to have Alia chaperone whenever we went out, and Alia didn’t mind me holding hands with Laila so long as she got my other hand.

With the winter closing fast, I frequently wore the scarf Laila had given me and the sweater Alia had made, and the three of us roamed around New Haven together, strolling through the park or stopping at cafes or restaurants. Laila’s busy school schedule prevented us from meeting daily, but on Saturdays we usually spent the whole day out.

Though just barely within Cindy’s hiding bubble, New Haven contained both a movie theater and a concert hall. I found that I could enjoy most non-action movies just listening to the actors speaking. I hated action movies anyway – too much gunfire and meaningless violence. I had had enough of both. Laila liked classical music, and I developed a bit of a taste for it myself when I first felt the concert hall vibrate with the sound of a full orchestra playing live Mozart.

Being blind, the eyes of the public bothered me very little, but despite how this had all started, Laila preferred to keep our outdoor kissing to a minimum. I didn’t mind that too much. It was nice just to talk with her and hold her hand, and whenever it was more than that, it was something special.

Though Alia had shown no surprise when she first learned that Laila and I were going together, she nevertheless did tease me from time to time, probably because she felt that she wasn’t getting enough of my attention these days. While the three of us played together much as we used to, it was equally true that I no longer spent very much time alone with Alia. And there were occasions, however infrequent, when I insisted that my sister stay home so Laila and I could go out without a nine-year-old tagging along.

Just once, I even went to Sunday church service with Laila, where I finally got to hear Mark Parnell give a sermon. It was strange listening to Mark at the pulpit addressing the crowd like a teacher. My late uncle had taken me to Sunday service a few times when I was much younger, and I remembered how the preacher there had a fiery temper, shouting about heavenly punishment and damnation. In contrast, Mark spoke in a near-whisper about how God loved even the people who were against him. Personally, I no longer believed in his message of “love thy enemy,” but it was nevertheless nice to hear it from someone who did. Mark probably spotted me in the crowd, but thoughtfully refrained from introducing me to the congregation. We talked after the service. I assured Mark that my visit was purely secular, upon which he laughed and said, “You are quickly redefining the word ‘agnostic,’ Adrian.”

Attending Sunday service also meant that I finally got to meet Laila’s mother. Though I couldn’t picture her face, Mrs. Brown seemed very friendly and not at all worried about me dating her daughter. She asked me how Cindy was doing and told me not to give up hoping for Terry’s return. Upon seeing how Mark treated me in the church, Mrs. Brown forgave my lack of faith as easily as Laila had, and I was spared the need for future Sunday visits.

The end of the year came quietly. New Year’s Eve turned out to be a chilly but clear day. Laila came up to the penthouse in the morning and spent the day with us. As with the previous year, there was a New Year’s countdown party for the Council and their families down in the subbasement gathering place, but this time Cindy was going by herself. I had tried to get Alia to accompany her so that I could be alone with Laila, who also wasn’t going to the party, but no such luck.

“Someone needs to keep an eye on you kids while I’m gone,” Cindy said teasingly as she left in the late evening. “Who better than Alia?”

I frowned. Tonight would be my last chance to be with Laila for the next three weeks.

Late tomorrow morning, Laila would be heading off with her mother and another Council member on a journey to visit a handful of independent psionic settlements across the country and beyond, as well as two breakaway Guardian factions. The purpose of this expedition was to establish better relations with them and possibly get them to join us here. Since the two Council members and their escorts wouldn’t return to New Haven until well after Laila’s winter vacation ended, the original plan was for Laila to stay with us in Terry’s old room, but Laila had convinced her mother that the possibility of finding Terry in one of these settlements outweighed anything school could offer. I really didn’t like the idea of not seeing Laila for three whole weeks, especially since Laila wouldn’t even be permitted to make telephone calls during her trip, but I agreed that the possible prize would be worth the sacrifice.

A few weeks ago, Cindy had bought me a radio for my bedroom, and Alia brought it into the living room so we could listen to the countdown, which was still hours away. We left it on at low volume as we talked and played board games to pass the time. I told Laila about how Terry had made fun of me last year for my refusal to drink more than one glass of champagne at the countdown party, and how she spent the first half of New Year’s Day in bed with a hangover so severe that she could barely sit up. I was exaggerating, of course, but not by much.

“That’s Terry alright,” laughed Laila. “I hope she’s doing okay.”

“I’m sure she is,” I said, though my faith in Terry’s resilience had been severely shaken. “If you find her, give her a good whack on the head and say it’s from me. That way, she’ll have to come back here to return it.”

The three of us drank a non-alcoholic toast to Terry, after which Alia suddenly exclaimed aloud, “Look! It’s snowing.”

“Wow, it’s pretty heavy too,” commented Laila. “Maybe it’ll stay on the ground this time.”

It had hardly snowed at all this winter, and it certainly hadn’t piled up enough to have any kind of snowball fight like in previous years. Laila had lamented the lack of snow on Christmas.

Alia wanted to go to the greenhouse where the glass ceiling would allow her to see the snow falling from above. Laila agreed, and I had nothing better to do, so we all stood up and made our way through the library to the greenhouse.

“It’s beautiful,” breathed Laila as we stood in the warm and mildly humid room. “But I hope it doesn’t pile up too much or the roads are going to be terrible tomorrow.”

I tried my best to remember what it had looked like last year. I guessed that some of the glass ceiling might already be covered in snow by now.

“The phone’s ringing,” I said, just barely catching the almost inaudible tone making its way here from the living room. “Alia?”

“Okay, okay!” said Alia, rushing out of the greenhouse.

As my sister’s footstep receded, I felt Laila touch my hand. “I really wish you could see this, Adrian,” she said.

“I can, in a way,” I replied. “I can hear the snow hitting the glass.”

“I can hear it too,” whispered Laila. “I never really noticed that before.”

“There are a lot of things you learn to notice when you’re blind, Laila.”

“Like what?”

“Like how close you’re standing.”

“It’s a little early, Adrian,” Laila said softly, “but Happy New Year.”

I felt our lips touch, and I kissed her back, wrapping my arms tightly around her, my right hand on her back and my left stroking her soft, sweet-smelling hair. I felt her arms around me too, pulling us ever tighter, and I knew she could feel my rapidly beating heart against hers as clearly as I felt hers on mine. As we stood embraced under the soft tapping of the falling snow, I wished with all my being that time itself would freeze solid so that Laila and I could remain this way forever.

I heard Alia clear her throat. “Addy!”

“Who was it?” I asked, hastily disentangling myself from Laila.

“Nobody,” replied Alia. “I said hello, and in a clear voice too, but nobody answered.”

“It must have been a wrong number,” said Laila, giggling nervously. “Everyone’s drunk and calling each other on New Year’s Eve.”

I flipped open the cover of my Braille watch and ran my fingers over the watch hands. “It’s about 11:30. Let’s, um, get back to the radio.”

Laila started to agree, but her words were cut off by a high-pitch siren that suddenly rang out through the penthouse.

“What is that?!” Laila shouted over the blaring noise. “Fire?!”

“Panic alarm!” I said. “Did anyone push the button?”

After a team of Angels had managed to kidnap Cindy from the penthouse back in April, every room had been fitted with a red panic button to call up the building’s security forces. Mr. Baker had warned us that if we ever accidentally pushed one of the buttons, we should keep the front door unlocked or else the Knights would break it down.

“Nobody pushed it?” I asked again.

“No,” Laila and Alia said together.

The alarm went silent. It might have been a malfunction, but I wasn’t about to take any chances. “Safe room!” I said sharply. “Now! Come on, let’s go. We’ll figure it out later.”

Laila took my hand so I could move faster as Alia led us to the game room. Once we were inside, Alia slammed the heavy steel door and locked it. I felt my psionic power drain a little from the heavy shielding that was built into the walls of the vault-like room. I groped under the pool table and found a little something Terry had taped to the underside of it a long time ago.

“You know how to use one of these, Laila?” I asked as I tore off the packaging tape and checked Terry’s pistol.

“Are you nuts?!” cried Laila. “My mother would never let me touch a gun!”

“Well, I’m not your mother,” I said. “It’s either you or Alia if something comes through that door.”

“I’ll take it,” Laila said reluctantly, taking the pistol from my hands.

“It’s on safety,” I said. “There’s a little switch on the left side. Flip it off and all you have to do is pull the trigger.”

“Oh, I hate guns.”

“Me too,” I said fervently. “Where’s Terry when you need her?”

“Addy, the speaker,” said Alia. I had forgotten that this room had an intercom installed to talk to the building’s security.

“Push the button, Alia,” I said.

The intercom crackled to life and a male voice said, “NH-1 Security to Gifford residence safe room. Are you alright in there?”

“Gifford safe room,” I replied. “We’re in and locked. What’s going on?”

“Stay there until we come and get you. Keep the door locked.”

“What’s going on?!” I demanded again, but the intercom had gone dead.

We waited several minutes in silence.

I had Alia try calling security on the intercom again, and the male voice answered briskly, “Please standby. The situation is being dealt with.”

I said to Laila, “I’m not sure, but I think we’re okay. Give me back the pistol. I don’t want anyone getting hurt.”

Laila seemed only too happy to return it. I felt the safety switch to make sure that it was still on and then carefully laid the gun on the pool table.

“Addy, I need to go to the bathroom,” said Alia.

“Well, you’re just going to have to wait,” I told her. “We’re not taking any chances. They said to keep the door locked till they came for us.”

“Addy, I really need to go.”

“Just wait!” I said, annoyed. I was trying to imagine what was going on outside that had caused the alarm to sound, and I really didn’t care if my sister was having personal problems. “Try the intercom again if you want.”

Alia did, but the response was the same, after which the man no longer answered.

No one had broken down the front door, and I was pretty sure that the penthouse was still safe. But two years with psionics had taught me that just about anything was possible. Even if I had the use of my eyes, I would probably still have elected to stay locked in the armored room. The world was dangerous enough without deliberately going out and looking for trouble.

Poor Alia sounded pretty desperate by the time the Knights finally came up to secure the penthouse, and she sprinted out the moment we opened the safe-room door.

Cindy, who had accompanied the Knights in order to save the front door from being battered down, called to us in the living room, “Adrian! Laila! Are you alright?”

“What’s going on?” I asked. “What happened?”

“Where’s Alia?” asked Cindy.

“She’s fine,” I replied. “What happened, Cindy?”

“There was an attack in the lobby. We’re not sure of much else yet, but the Knights thought that they might have been trying to get in here. They sounded the alarm for you.”

“Were they Angels?” asked Laila.

“Most likely.”

I said, “But if they were after you, Cindy, they’d probably know you were down at the party.”

Cindy didn’t reply so I pressed, “Wouldn’t they?”

“Like I said, Adrian, we’re not sure exactly what happened yet,” said Cindy. “You’ll just have to wait for the reports to come in.”

I heard Alia’s footsteps run toward Cindy and guessed Alia jumped into Cindy’s arms. I could still hear the sounds of several Guardian Knights walking about, reporting to a unit leader whose voice I didn’t recognize.

“How far did the attackers get?” I asked.

Cindy replied, “They were stopped in the lobby. There was little chance they would get up here. We have much better security these days.”

“Still, Mr. Baker’s going to ask you to accept a new live-in bodyguard.”

“He’ll ask, I’m sure,” Cindy said casually, “and I’ll tell him to go find Terry.”

I laughed lightly. “At least we’re all okay.”

The phone rang, and Cindy answered it to Mrs. Brown. They talked for a minute, and then Cindy passed the receiver to Laila. The short of it was that, despite this “minor incident,” the peace envoy would depart as scheduled, and Laila was to be given an armed escort home. As the Knights left the penthouse, Laila bid us goodnight, but I accompanied her down to the basement parking lot.

“I wish I was going with you, Laila,” I said. “But I’d probably just slow you down.”

Laila gave me a quick peck on the cheek and whispered into my good ear, “Take care, Adrian. I’ll call if I find her.”

“Godspeed, Laila,” I whispered back. “Be safe.”

Chapter 11: The Last Sky Guardian

We had to wait until the end of New Year’s Day to get the full story on the lobby attack, or as much of it as we were about to get in the short term.

Two non-psionics residing within the New Haven hiding bubble, with no known connections to any psionic faction, had entered New Haven One from the front door. When stopped by building security forces, they opened fire with concealed pistols, injuring one Guardian Knight. Both intruders were shot to death.

Fearing that a larger, better-organized attack might be imminent, NH-1 Security had activated our penthouse alarm to make sure that we were out of harm’s way. And that was all there was to the incident itself, but mysteries remained.

“It appears to have been a suicide attack orchestrated by a pair of Angel puppeteers,” Cindy explained to me in the living room after Alia had gone to bed. “They commandeered the two men’s bodies for the attack.”

“So the men who were killed were totally innocent,” I said, shaking my head in disbelief.

“Yes,” replied Cindy. “The puppeteers were probably very close to our building in order to maintain control over their puppets, but neither Angel was found.”

“You’re sure it was the Angels, then?”

“No, but Mr. Baker thinks it’s unlikely that any lesser faction would have the means to do something like this.”

“Were they after you again?” I asked anxiously.

“We’re still not sure,” said Cindy, “but neither of the attackers had an elevator key, so unless they planned to steal one from someone in the building, they weren’t trying to crash the party downstairs.”

“Were they after me? Alia? Laila?”

“All very unlikely, Adrian,” said Cindy. “For starters, the value of you three to the Angels would only be as hostages, and besides, if they wanted to kill any of you with suicide puppets, they would have a much better chance doing it outside.”

“Then what about the telephone call?” I asked. “Somebody wanted to know whether anyone was home last night.”

“We all agree that the call was suspicious, but we still don’t know who placed it. If the pair was really coming up here, then the most likely target was Terry.”

“The invalid?” I laughed, remembering the Guardians’ stupid cover story about Terry being paralyzed from neck down. “The Angels still believe Terry is living here?”

“We don’t know how complete or incomplete their information on us is, but it’s possible.”

“But why would the Angels want to kill Terry?” I asked, and then added, “Any more than usual, anyway.”

“We’re wondering the same thing,” said Cindy. “We still don’t know. One of the few things we’re sure of is that the Angels knew their chances of success were next to nil. That’s why they used puppets rather than risking their own members.”

“Why do it at all if they know it would fail?” I asked.

“The Angels might have just been testing our defenses. Or, as the Council seems to think, the whole thing could have been a symbolic attack.”

I gaped at her. “A what?”

“A kind of sick New Year’s prank to remind us that they’re still here.”

I didn’t need reminding. “Are we getting another bodyguard?”

“Possibly,” said Cindy, “but nothing has been decided yet.”

Maybe not for Cindy, but there was one thing I had decided: if this ever happened again, I wasn’t going to stand by and let Laila do my shooting for me.

Right after breakfast the next day, I went to the game room and retrieved Terry’s spare pistol from the pool table. Back in my bedroom, I attached my proximity sensor to my left ear. Alia came in as I was double-checking the safety on the pistol.

“Are you going somewhere, Addy?” she asked in my head. “What’s with the gun?”

“We’re going down to the shooting range today, Alia,” I informed her.

“We?” she asked apprehensively.

“That’s right. So if you’re not dressed yet, get dressed.”

Alia remained silent for a moment, so I said a little sharply, “Come on, hurry up!”

“I thought you didn’t like the idea of me learning to use a gun,” said Alia, but I heard her rummaging through her dresser for her outdoor clothes nevertheless.

“I’m not going to teach you to shoot, Alia,” I said. “You’re going to teach me. And you can’t tell Cindy just yet.”

“Why not?” asked Cindy.

“Cindy!” I cried in dismay. “That’s not fair! You’re supposed to announce yourself when you come in the room.”

Cindy laughed. “You hardly gave me the chance, Adrian. Besides, if you had been paying more attention, you would have heard my footsteps.”

I sighed. “I should’ve closed the door.”

“So you’re going to learn how to shoot a gun blind now?” Cindy asked skeptically.

“I just want to know if it’s even possible,” I said, embarrassed at how absurd that sounded. “I felt so helpless the other day.”

“I understand,” Cindy said gently. “If it makes you happy, go ahead and give it a try.”

“Thanks.”

“Just try not to shoot yourself, okay?”

I grinned. “That’s why I’m taking Alia.”

The shooting range was empty when Alia and I arrived, or at least, I couldn’t hear any gunfire. I hadn’t been in here since my talk with Mr. Simms before we shipped off to the Holy Land, but back when I was sighted and regularly training with Terry, I used this room almost daily, so I knew my way around. Whenever I could, I always took the lane closest to the exit, and today was no different. I considered guns a necessary evil, and I liked the idea of being only a few steps away from anywhere but here. Sharing my dislike of firearms, Alia hadn’t been in here with me more than a handful of times, but she knew where the spare ammunition and paper targets were stored. I couldn’t levitate her, so Alia had to climb onto my shoulders to clip a fresh paper target onto the ceiling-mounted rail.

“Set the target ten yards downrange, Alia,” I said.

Alia worked the switch that operated the rail in our lane, and I heard the motor whirring for a few seconds before she announced, “Okay, it’s ready. Ten yards.”

I wasn’t actually worried about accidentally shooting myself, but I needed my sister to adjust the target distance and to tell me if I hit the painted man.

I faced the target, turning my head slowly and listening for the high tone from my humming earpiece. At ten yards, the tone difference between the far wall and the target wasn’t particularly noticeable, but there was enough variation to tell when my face was pointing at the target.

Holding the pistol in both hands, I tried to visualize where the target was. Slowly, one bullet at a time, I fired the gun empty.

Alia had remained silent so I was pretty sure I had missed every shot, but I asked her anyway, “Did I hit anything?”

“I think you nicked the target in the next lane,” she told me.

“That’s encouraging,” I said sarcastically. “How far down is that target?”

“About twenty-five yards.”

“Bring mine up to five yards please,” I said as I loaded a spare clip and checked the safety.

My sister worked the rail switch, and then gave the front of my shirt a little tug. “Ready, Addy.”

“Stand back,” I told her. “Stay behind me.”

“Okay.”

Listening again for the high tone, I fired a single round at about where I pictured the target to be.

I heard Alia jump. “You hit it!”

“Where?” I asked. “Did I hit the painted man?”

“No,” said Alia. “You hit the white part on the top left corner.”

I fixed my elevation and squeezed off another round. “Tell me when I hit the man.”

“You’re close,” said Alia. “A little more to the right.”

Another shot.

“Too much, Addy. Bring it back.”

I moved my head, listening again to the proximity sensor’s rising and falling tone to see if I could locate the center of the paper target. But as I did, I felt my earpiece tilt slightly downward. I put the gun down on the side table and adjusted the device to make it fit more snugly on my ear. This wouldn’t work if the sensor was pointing a different direction every time I took aim. I wondered if it might be better if I somehow mounted the sensor on the barrel of the pistol like a laser sight. That way, I could be assured of the direction.

There was another problem, though. For the moment, I was firing at a stationary target, but in real life, no one would just stand there and wait to be shot. If a moving target were to quickly cut across my field of audio-vision, I would hear the low tone become high for an instant and then become low again, but that wouldn’t tell me which direction the target was running. Perhaps I could get another sensor for my right ear. That way I could listen to the distances in stereo, which would allow me to better track a moving target. Stereo audio-vision might enhance my performance in other daily-life aspects as well. But how could I mount one of these on my jagged right ear? Maybe a pair of lightweight headphones wouldn’t be too impractical.

Alia broke into my thoughts, asking, “Addy? Are we done?”

“Let me just finish off this clip,” I said, picking up the gun again.

“I really don’t like this noise.”

“Neither do I, Alia. Now hush so I can concentrate.”

I fired the gun empty, but according to my sister, I only hit the painted man twice, and that was at a mere five yards. It wasn’t a very promising beginning, but I nevertheless decided that I would pursue this little challenge at least until Laila returned.

Over dinner that evening, I explained to Cindy my desire for a stereo sensor, playing down its usefulness in combat as a bonus extra and focusing on the practical applications such a system would offer. Cindy probably didn’t buy my excuse, but she agreed to have the Guardians create a headset with proximity sensors on both sides.

“If it’ll help you catch a Frisbee, it’ll be worth it,” said Cindy.

“How long will it take to make?” I asked.

“We’ll have to ask the tech department,” replied Cindy. “Your earpiece took a week, but I think a headset would actually be easier to build since it doesn’t have to be light enough to mount on a single ear. They might even be able to extend the battery life. Are you going to practice shooting again tomorrow?”

“I’ll wait for the headset,” I said.

“Good, because it’s a warm winter this year and the snow won’t last forever.”

The snow that began falling on New Year’s Eve had continued for a day and a half, leaving a pretty thick cover over New Haven, but Cindy was probably right in that it wouldn’t last. The next day, I helped Alia make a family of snowmen in one of the park’s clearings. Even though it was a Sunday, Cindy couldn’t join us, but at least my sister seemed happy to finally get some time alone with me outside.

It was wet snow, ideal for packing and rolling into large balls. I rolled the large base snowballs while Alia made the heads and gathered twigs and stones for the arms and faces. We made one snowman representing each of us, Terry, Laila and Cat included. Once the six snowmen of varying sizes were lined up along the jogging path grinning at the few passersby, I turned to Alia and said, “Let’s make one more.”

We did, and placed it at the end of the row.

“What do we call this one?” asked Alia. “Is this Mark?”

“No,” I answered quietly. “This one is Grace.”

I’m not sure exactly when I started to reflect upon the story that the Slayer Charles had told me of his younger sister, but it was probably sometime near the end of November. At first it was a fleeting memory, as easily dismissed as the leaves on an autumn breeze. But then one night, Charles’s words had echoed through my head during a dream I had. “First they raped her. Then they tortured her. Then they burned her alive. Grace was six years old when she died.”

“Who’s Grace?” asked Alia.

“She was, um, the sister of a friend,” I replied uncomfortably, wishing I had simply told Alia that the seventh snowman was Mark.

Alia instantly knew that she was onto a mystery. “What friend?”

“A man named Charles.”

“You mean Terry’s uncle?”

“No.”

“Do you mean the Slayer you talked to on the morning we rescued you?”

In the past, I might have changed the subject or simply silenced Alia, but this time I answered her questions. I told her about Charles. I told her how I had killed Charles’s older sister, and how Charles still took care of me, keeping me alive despite his hatred of psionics. I explained that Grace had been killed by psionics when she was little. I didn’t tell her how.

When Alia ran out of questions, she stood silently holding my hand for a while, and then said simply, “I’m glad we made Grace.”

I turned my head, slowly looking around at the neat row of snowmen, the hum in my left ear rising and falling as my proximity sensor moved over and between the frozen figures: Cindy, Terry, Alia, me, Laila, Cat... and Grace. I wondered what Charles would say if he were alive today.

I had never even met Grace. If she hadn’t been killed, would she have grown up to hunt psionics with the God-slayers like Charles’s other sister, Katie? Quite possibly, and no doubt I would have killed Grace myself just as unthinkingly as I had shot Katie in the forest clearing. But the truth of the matter was that Grace was never given the choice. Someone had made it for her when she was younger than Alia was now.

Who were the Sky Guardians? I might have asked Terry if she were around. Who else could I ask? Mark probably wouldn’t know. Cindy would know or could find out, but I wasn’t sure I wanted Cindy to hear of my sudden interest in Guardian history. Perhaps I could ask Laila when she returned, but then she might go discussing it with her mother.

Part of me feared the answer I might hear. What if the Sky Guardians really were in New Haven? I knew that the Guardians regarded God-slayers in the same way they saw us – as vermin to be exterminated. And every day of my life, I lived in constant reminder of what the Slayers had done to me. I certainly had no pity for them. But the killing of a six-year-old child somehow didn’t fit within the bounds of war, nor did the manner of her death. At least I had given the Slayers a legitimate reason to hate me. What was Grace’s crime aside from being born?

Back when I first discovered that the Guardians regularly tortured their captives for information, Cindy had asked if I really didn’t regret my decision to join the faction. I had kept my regrets to myself. Now I wondered what else the Guardians did that I might be happier not knowing.

I felt Alia tugging on my hand. “Addy? I’m getting cold. It’s starting to get dark too.”

I nodded and said quietly, “Let’s go home, Ali.”

I let my sister guide me back to the penthouse. By now, I could easily navigate this part of town using my cane and the talking compass Terry had given me, but I was feeling the chill too, and didn’t feel like taking the time to tap my way back to NH-1.

By the time we were in the elevator, I had managed to put my thoughts about Grace aside, and for the next few days, my only concern was with Laila. Where she was, how she was, and whether she had found or at least heard about Terry. The peace envoy was reporting its progress to the Council every two days, but so far the only information Cindy could get for me regarding Laila’s trip was simply that it was progressing according to schedule.

Over a Friday lunch, Cindy reported to me what she heard during that morning’s Council meeting, saying, “They’ve just departed from Haddonfield, which belongs to the Avalon Union, so that’s the last of the larger independent factions. Next they’ll be moving on to the smaller settlements, including the Guardian breakaways. With any luck, they’ll make a few more friends at each stop.”

“And Terry?” I asked, entirely uninterested in the political side of the peace envoy.

“Unfortunately, the update didn’t include any information about stray Knights one way or the other,” said Cindy.

“Laila promised to sneak a call in if she found Terry, so I guess she hasn’t,” I said unhappily.

“They’ve only been gone a week and a day, Adrian,” Cindy reminded me.

“It feels like a month,” I said, letting out a long sigh.

Cindy giggled. “Somebody’s in love.”

Alia laughed loudly. I scowled at them both.

Then Cindy said, “Well, here’s some good news to take your mind off of things, Adrian. I got your new headset.”

I nearly jumped out of my chair. “Why didn’t you tell me when you got home, Cindy?!”

Cindy replied dryly, “Because I wanted you to eat a proper lunch before you rushed off to the shooting range.”

I gave her a sheepish grin. “I’ll learn how to catch a Frisbee later.”

The device was just as I had envisioned it. Once the headset was fit snugly over my ears, the left and right proximity sensors were both at eye level and almost perfectly parallel. The rechargeable battery, though somewhat heavier than the single-ear version’s, was good for six solid hours of continuous use. And I was especially pleased to discover that my headset had been carefully designed so that I could still hear all the sounds around me despite the hum in both ears.

The headset’s battery was already fully charged, so I stole my sister away from her afternoon studies and had her accompany me down to the shooting range.

By the sound of it, there were at least two, possibly three people practicing with guns in the shooting range when Alia and I arrived, but my regular door-side lane was open, so Alia led me there and mounted a fresh paper target on the rail.

With no more technological excuses to hide behind, I asked my sister to put the target ten yards downrange, and then proceeded to empty my entire clip without ever hitting the painted man.

I cursed silently when Alia told me the result. The problem wasn’t the headset. It was me. Even with my face pointed at the target, my hands couldn’t align the pistol correctly. Perhaps I needed to put a sensor on the gun barrel after all, but then I’d need to grow a third ear to interpret the data. No, I would just have to practice. If a blindfolded circus performer could throw a pair of axes at a live human being without amputating any limbs, then I could learn how to handle a pistol in the dark too.

“I really don’t like this place, Addy,” complained Alia.

“That makes two of us,” I said, reloading the clip. “Just tell me when I hit something.”

I tried touching the top of the pistol barrel to my nose before stretching my arms out into a firing position. It helped my horizontal accuracy a bit, but still my shots were all over the place. I must have fired more than fifty rounds. I did hit the target several times, but far too accidentally.

“Alia, go on back upstairs,” I said heavily. “Cindy probably has some schoolwork for you.”

“What about you?” asked Alia.

“I’ll practice alone for a while.”

“But how are you going to know if you hit the target?”

“Don’t worry about that. Go on now. I’ll be up before dinner.”

My sister seemed quite relieved to be let off guide-dog duty, and as I heard the door close, I let out a dejected sigh. There was no way for me to practice without Alia’s help, but I didn’t want to keep her down here against her wishes, especially since, if it weren’t for this stupid war, I wouldn’t be here either.

With enough practice, I still might learn to shoot without sight, and it could someday come in handy if there ever really was an attack on the penthouse. But as for other situations, who was I kidding? In an open area, an attacker could be much farther than ten yards away, and I wouldn’t even know who I was shooting at if someone wasn’t at my side telling me.

I still had one full clip, and I decided to fire it empty before heading back to the penthouse. Loading the clip into the pistol, I leveled my head on the paper target. High tone. I fired two rounds, but did they hit? There was no way to tell if my aim was straight.

“Straight!” said a deep raspy voice. A bony hand gripped the top of my right arm and adjusted the elevation.

I knew that voice. “Ralph? Damn it! Let go of me!”

“Try firing now,” wheezed Ralph as he released his grip on my arm.

I pulled the trigger. Ralph’s hands adjusted my aim again. “Keep it level. Head and arms together.”

“Why are you doing this?” I asked.

I felt that my suspicion was more than justifiable. Terry’s grandfather, Ralph Henderson, was a lone-wolf Knight who thought nothing of killing anyone who got in his way. He was a psionic peacemaker and windmaster, which meant he could pacify a person into compliance and create gusts of wind strong enough to shatter windows, but as far as I was concerned, Ralph’s most notable feature was his unappealing personality that precluded any possibility of friendship.

“You want to shoot?” Ralph asked hoarsely. “Who else is going to waste time teaching a blind kid?”

“Why are you?” I asked again.

“It’s my time to waste,” Ralph replied gruffly. “Pull the trigger. Gently.”

I did.

“Bull’s-eye, lad,” said Ralph. “Now lower the gun once and see if you can find the same spot again.”

I couldn’t, but Ralph once again adjusted my aim. I still wondered why he was helping me, but I didn’t complain. There was enough water under the bridge between us that I didn’t feel any great animosity toward him anymore. If he wanted to teach me to shoot, I was more than happy to learn. Whatever our differences, I knew that Ralph was one of the Guardians’ most skilled soldiers.

Ralph continued teaching me for another thirty minutes or so, after which he told me that he was going to be staying in New Haven for ten more days before leaving on another mission, and if I came down here at around 5pm tomorrow, he’d be here to help me. I thanked him, albeit rather awkwardly, and returned to the penthouse.

The next day, Cindy caught me trying to leave the penthouse alone. “You’re not taking Alia?” she asked in surprise.

“I found a better teacher,” I replied.

“Who?”

I wasn’t sure I wanted to mention Ralph. Terry had once told me that it was actually her grandfather who had, many years ago, avenged the last Guardian queen by killing Cindy’s husband.

“Who did you find to teach you, Adrian?” pressed Cindy.

“You don’t know?” I asked in mock-surprise. “You who knows everything that goes on in New Haven?”

“Adrian!”

“It’s Ralph. Happy?”

Cindy asked incredulously, “You asked Ralph to teach you to shoot? And he agreed?”

“Actually, he offered and I agreed.”

“I see,” Cindy said calmly. “Is your fight with him over now?”

“I’m not sure, Cindy,” I replied. “I doubt we’ll ever be friends, but as long as he’s willing to teach me...”

Cindy remained silent, and I asked hesitantly, “Is it okay?”

“As long as you’re okay with it, Adrian,” Cindy replied peacefully.

I nodded. “I’d better go.”

Ralph was already practicing down in the shooting range when I arrived.

“Adrian!” he wheezed. “I was wondering if you’d show up.”

“We have common enemies, Ralph,” I replied in a monotone.

Ralph spent half an hour helping me, correcting my aim and even reloading my pistol for me to save time. When we finished, Ralph was as blunt as Terry in his assessment that I had made absolutely no progress, but he agreed to keep teaching me. I was almost looking forward to the next session.

So it continued all through the next week. My proficiency in Grade Two Braille was now adequate to follow an academic program for the blind, which included dotted textbooks and a selection of listening materials. I studied in the mornings and early afternoons, and in the evenings I met Ralph in the shooting range. Our sessions got longer every time and I was regularly late for dinner, but my aim was slowly improving and it even kept my mind off of Laila’s absence to a small degree.

“I’m leaving New Haven tonight,” said Ralph at the end of our lesson in mid-January, “but if you like, we’ll continue when I return next month.”

“I would like that,” I said. “Thank you.”

Ralph just chuckled.

“Ralph, why are you doing all this for me?” I asked.

“I already told you, lad, it’s my time to waste.”

“Come on, tell me the truth.”

“Let’s just say that I like fighters,” wheezed Ralph. “And you are most definitely a fighter.”

Terry had said that to me before, and I didn’t believe her either, but I chose not to refute Ralph’s claim. Instead, I said, “Would you tell me something?”

“Depends on what you want to know. I have no idea where Teresa is, if that’s what you’re wondering.”

Considering Terry’s relationship with her grandfather, I had guessed as much. I also suspected that Ralph didn’t frequent social gatherings, so as long as I kept my question seemingly innocent, he wouldn’t go blabbing about it.

“I want to know about the Sky Guardians,” I told him.

“What’s your interest in them, lad?”

I figured the truth was as good as any lie. “I heard about them from the God-slayers.”

Ralph’s tone sharpened a bit as he asked, “What did you hear?”

I shrugged. “I heard that they killed many Slayers.”

“That they did, lad,” said Ralph, chuckling quietly. “The Skys were one of the smaller breakaway Guardian groups. After they split from us, they specialized in hunting Slayers. They were hell-bent on destroying every damn Slayer hideout. Good men, all of them. They knew their job and did it well. My kind of people. You would’ve liked them too, lad.”

I ignored that. “Did they rejoin the Guardians here?”

“Well, the Skys were all but destroyed by the Angels a few years back,” explained Ralph. “The only known survivor today is their leader, who joined New Haven a year ago. I thought you knew all this, though, considering who you used to work for.”

“What do you mean?” I asked. “Who is the last Sky Guardian?”

“Jason Simms, of course. He leads the Raven unit now.”

Stunned, I could only manage a weak, “Oh.”

“If you want to know more about how the Skys dealt with Slayer scum, you’d best go ask Jason. Bet you hate those bastards for what they did to you.”

“Something like that,” I breathed.

Ralph asked gruffly, “Anything else you want to know, lad?”

“No.”

“Then if I’m still alive next month, I’ll see you down here.”

“Good luck, Ralph,” I mumbled as I listened to his footsteps leave the shooting range.

Mr. Jason Simms. Swoop. Raven commander. The former leader of the Sky Guardians. The man who hunted Slayers. The man who led the team that raped, tortured and murdered six-year-old Grace. Mr. Simms was a pyroid. Had he personally set fire to Charles’s sister? It didn’t matter. It was done on his watch, which, to my mind, was the same.

I remembered how Charles had once said to me, “Even enemies can grant favors.” If it hadn’t been for his care, I probably wouldn’t be alive today, and the only return I had made was to give him a painless execution. I owed him more than that. But what could I do? Kill Mr. Simms? Admittedly, my morals weren’t quite up to the standards they used to be, but I still couldn’t entertain the idea of cold-blooded murder.

Several times over the next few days, I pondered confronting Mr. Simms or at least taking this up with Mr. Baker, but I didn’t do either. I wasn’t sure what I’d say to my former commander, and I had a feeling that Mr. Baker already knew what atrocities the Sky Guardians had committed under Mr. Simms. A politician like Mr. Baker might have to overlook past crimes for the reunification and future security of the Guardians, but if that was going to be his line, then I didn’t want to stand there and listen to it.

Laila returned to New Haven at the end of the week. Though she must have been quite worn out, she nevertheless came to see me that very day.

“I missed you so much,” said Laila as we embraced in the living room.

“I missed you too,” I said, holding her tight despite Alia’s giggling in the background. “Three weeks is a very long time.”

Cindy asked, “How was your trip, Laila?”

“Well,” said Laila, releasing me, “as you can see, Ms. Gifford, I didn’t find Terry. But I did hear a bit about her. She had stayed with one of the breakaways for a short time last year.”

“Which one?” I asked.

“Walnut Lane.”

“Ah,” said Cindy, recognizing the name. “Mrs. Harding’s group.”

“We were there for two days,” said Laila. “They told us that Terry seemed to be settling in, but then suddenly disappeared.”

Cindy said, “I hope nothing happened to her.”

“Me too,” said Laila, “but Terry’s not an easy person to kill, so I’m not too worried.”

We laughed, and Laila asked, “How have you been, Adrian?”

“Pretty busy, actually,” I told her.

“Another girl?” kidded Laila.

“No,” I laughed. “If you can believe it, I’ve been relearning how to shoot a pistol.”

After a moment of silence, Laila said disapprovingly, “I would have thought that after all you’ve been through, Adrian, you would’ve had enough of this war.”

I nodded. “Believe me, Laila, I have had enough, long ago. But that doesn’t change the fact that, with Terry gone, I’m the only live-in bodyguard here.”

“And you can shoot blind?” Laila sounded incredulous.

“Not very well, yet, but I’m learning.”

“Who’s teaching you?”

“Ralph Henderson,” I said, smiling as I imagined the surprised look on Laila’s face.

Laila had never met Terry’s grandfather, but she knew him well enough by reputation. “I hope you don’t pick up any of his other bad habits,” she said worriedly.

I chuckled. “I’ll be careful.”

With Laila back in New Haven, my life took a sharp upturn for the rest of the month and the first week of February, but then Ralph returned and actually called Cindy on the phone to offer me pistol lessons. Warding off Laila’s objections, I spent an hour or two a day with Ralph in the shooting range.

“I know it looks bad, Laila, but Ralph isn’t teaching me dirty tricks,” I insisted. “What I’m learning is for self-defense.”

“You’re lessons with Ralph are always in the evenings,” complained Laila. “I just wish we had more time together.”

I had felt that too. Owing to my daily sessions with Ralph, I could no longer spend a lot of time with Laila except on Saturdays and after church services on Sundays. I wished it were otherwise, but I couldn’t ask Ralph to change our lesson times, seeing as he was already doing me a great favor by offering to teach me at all. My only justification for giving up the time that I could otherwise have been spending with my girlfriend was that my pistol aim was actually improving. Laila still maintained that I should just let others do my fighting, but she nevertheless supported my desire to be as self-reliant as I could. Laila joked sadly, “At least I have no excuse not to get my homework done.”

St. Valentine’s Day fell on a Sunday that year, and Cindy thoughtfully kept Alia busy with her schoolwork and chores so that Laila and I could have an evening to ourselves. Where we went and what we did is really none of your business.

The next day, February 15th, was Cat’s thirteenth birthday.

Like the previous year, Cindy baked a cake to celebrate, but the party did little to brighten my sour mood that day. I realized that Cat and I had been apart for two and a half years now. I wondered how much my first sister had grown, and what her life among the Angels was like. When the Angels failed to capture me, they had taken Cat in the hope that, as the sister of a wild-born psionic, she would also someday develop psionic powers. Until then, however, my sister was probably kept as one of their slaves, given daily tasks such as cooking and cleaning in some Angel’s house. I wondered again, as I so often did, whether I would ever see her alive again.

Meanwhile, I had gradually come to realize that something was not quite right with my other sister.

New Haven’s youngest Honorary Guardian Knight was no longer as fickle and quick to tears as she had been when I first met her at Cindy’s old house, but she still had her ups and downs. Sometimes I couldn’t get Alia to stop chattering in my head. Other times she remained silent for hours. I had long since gotten used to her un-childlike behavior. That, combined with my own busy life and my inability to see Alia’s facial expressions, was probably why it took me so long to realize that not only was Alia spending more and more time in silence, but she no longer telepathically murmured in her sleep as often as before. On a hunch, I once felt around her bed when she was out of the room, and sure enough, there was the giant stuffed unicorn doll that my sister always slept with when she was feeling particularly insecure. It seemed that Alia had entered an elongated, downward mood swing since the start of the year, the cause of which eluded me, and it was gradually worsening.

“I’ve noticed that too,” said Cindy when I asked her about it. “I asked Alia a couple of times if there was anything troubling her, but she said she was fine. I was actually hoping that you might know something about it.”

“You’re her mother, Cindy,” I said, shrugging. “I don’t know what goes on in Alia’s head.”

“Yet you’re the one she always cuddles with, Addy-corn,” replied Cindy, making me cringe. “I first thought that Alia was just upset with you because you don’t spend as much time with her as you used to, but now I’m not so sure.”

That made two of us. However, I knew that the best way to deal with my sister’s silences was to stay close but give her time to work through her own feelings. Upon reflection, I realized that while I did on occasion lose my temper with Alia, when she was in one of her difficult moods, I always had nothing but patience, probably because deep down I knew how much she needed it.

Cindy, on the other hand, tried to pick Alia’s mind with increasing frequency over the following week. Alia’s insistence that nothing was wrong only fueled Cindy’s worries.

“Adrian, would you please help me with your sister?” Cindy once begged in exasperation. “I just can’t get through to her.”

“I am helping, Cindy,” I insisted. “I’m keeping the peace.”

My concern for Alia aside, I found it rather amusing that, for once, Cindy actually seemed to have less patience than I did. Cindy wanted to dig her way to the bottom of Alia’s troubles, whatever they were, but for my part, I was willing to wait until Alia was ready to talk.

And it wasn’t such a long wait.

Though it had been raining since early morning, I spent the last Saturday of February wandering around New Haven with Laila and Alia. We watched a movie and later went to a bowling alley where I actually managed two strikes, or so Laila told me. Alia was silent for most of the day, gripping my hand even tighter than usual when we were walking together, and while she seemed to enjoy the bowling game, her attention frequently phased in and out. Laila asked her more than once whether she was feeling well, but if Alia answered at all, it wasn’t out loud.

I still had my pistol lesson in the evening, so we ended our date a little before 5pm. After kissing Laila goodbye in the NH-1 lobby, I took Alia back up to the penthouse. Since I was already wearing my headset and my gun was locked in the shooting range, I could have just told Alia to go back up the elevator by herself, but today I wanted to make sure that she was in Cindy’s company before I headed down to the subbasement. At the penthouse door, I almost asked Alia if there was anything she wanted to talk about, but I didn’t.

Ralph was loudly unimpressed with my shooting that evening. Even as I listened for the subtle changes to the humming of my headset’s proximity sensors, my thoughts kept wandering up to the penthouse and whether I was right not to badger my sister into telling me what was bothering her. In the past, patience had always been the key to Alia’s soul, but perhaps this time required a more aggressive approach.

“What’s wrong with you today, lad?” asked Ralph as I emptied my third clip, having hit the fifteen-yard target only twice. “Are your sensors misaligned?”

“No,” I said, touching my headset just to make sure. “I guess my mind just isn’t into this today.”

“Nobody cares about your mind when they’re trying to put a bullet through your head, lad!” snapped Ralph. “Whatever your personal problems, learn to put them aside when you’re fighting or you’ll be too dead to have any problems.”

“Yes, sir,” I replied dully, loading another clip.

I did my best to focus on the distant target, and my accuracy improved a bit, though clearly not enough. Ralph was leaving on another mission, and today was our last time together for a few weeks. Although he was frustrated with my pitiful aim, Ralph nevertheless extended our practice time much longer than usual, and I didn’t get back to the penthouse until after 8pm.

My stomach was growling like a walrus when I announced my arrival, and Cindy quickly reheated my chicken dinner.

“Where’s Alia?” I asked.

“She already ate, bathed, and is in your room. You didn’t expect her to wait for you, did you?”

“Of course not,” I said. “I was just a little worried because she was even more spaced out than usual today.”

Cindy sat with me while I ate, sighing as she said, “Alia still won’t tell me what’s bothering her.”

I smirked. “I’m sure it wasn’t for a lack of trying on your part, Cindy.”

“Very funny,” Cindy said frostily. “Doesn’t it bother you that something has been eating at your sister for weeks now?”

“Of course it bothers me,” I replied gently. “But you’re the one who kept telling me to give her time back when she was little. Take your own advice. Be patient and she’ll come around. Alia is a tough kid.”

Cindy sighed again. “I guess you’re probably right. I just can’t stand to see her like this anymore. She had been doing so well until recently.”

I grinned. “I take it she got tired of you pestering her and asked to be left alone?”

“That just about sums it up,” Cindy replied dejectedly.

“I’ll tuck her in tonight, okay?”

“Sure, Adrian.”

I ate quickly. Far from being unconcerned about Alia, I was actually very worried because she hadn’t even come out to greet me when I came home.

As I quietly entered my bedroom, I heard Alia’s footsteps rush up to me and then felt her arms wrap around my waist.

“Hey, Ali,” I said in a surprised tone as I patted her back, “what’s with you today?”

Alia remained silent, but her arms tightened even more, and I could tell she was shaking a little.

I joked mildly, “You haven’t tried to break my backbone like this since I drowned on that boat.”

Still silent, Alia released me.

I knelt down and put my hands on her shoulders. “Alia?”

More silence.

“Okay,” I said, standing up again. “No words, then. Just sit with me.”

I led her to our window-side chair and sat beside her, putting an arm around her side and pulling her close. I listened to her soft breathing and the quiet pattering of the rain on the window. We sat there together, perfectly still, not speaking, for what felt like an hour or more. I knew better than to break the silence first.

Suddenly I felt Alia shift her weight a little, and I wondered for a moment if she was falling asleep, but then I heard her telepathic voice in my head say faintly, “Addy, I want to ask you something.”

Finally, what just might turn out to be a breakthrough, but I wasn’t going to make a big deal of it. I shrugged and said casually, “So ask.”

Alia said slowly, “I’m afraid it might upset you.”

“Oh?” I said, taken aback. “Well, I know I’ve been upset about a lot of things in the past, Ali, but right now, you’re obviously the one who’s upset, not me.” I gave her shoulders a gentle squeeze. “I know something has been hurting you for a long time now, and I wouldn’t mind sharing some of your pain, if you’d let me.”

Alia took a long, deep breath, and then whispered into my mind, “Would you tell me about the Slayers?”

“You’re right, Alia,” I said. “The Slayers aren’t my favorite topic. But you remember back when we made those snowmen how I told you about Charles and his little sister, Grace, don’t you?”

“I remember, Addy.”

“So you know that I don’t mind talking about the Slayers, if that’s what you really want to talk about.”

I suspected that Alia was worried the topic would upset me only because it clearly upset her, though I still couldn’t fathom why. Had my sister seen something while assisting the Knights’ raids on the Slayer houses? Something that had given her a heavy dose of PTSD? I hoped not, because that would have been my fault, and I knew I had caused Alia far too much pain and suffering already.

“It’s okay, Alia,” I said to her reassuringly. “Ask me anything you like.”

Alia took another deep breath. “When you were there... under that house... how did you survive?”

“Well, I already told you that Charles helped me a lot. Aside from that, I just held on to the hope that someone would find me before I died. After all, I was blinded and chained to the wall. There was no escape on my own.”

“Were you all by yourself?”

“I was for most of the time.”

“What were you doing?”

“Just sitting. Sitting and thinking.”

“What did you think about?”

“Lots of things, Alia,” I said, giving her a smile. “I thought about you. I thought about how scared you were of me when we first met.”

Alia laughed weakly. “I remember.”

“And I thought about how scared I was of Cindy when I first met her.”

“You were?” Alia asked in a surprised tone.

I nodded. “I almost jumped off a building to escape her.”

“What else did you think about?”

“Well... I thought about Cat. And I thought about the Angels, and the Slayers. I thought about how different we are.”

Alia remained silent for a few heartbeats. Her shoulders were quivering slightly again, and I got the feeling that she was struggling with something which had been poisoning her for so long that she wasn’t even sure she wanted to part with it anymore. When my sister spoke again, I could barely hear her telepathy.

“Addy,” she whispered, “what are the Slayers really like?”

I didn’t want to go into the graphic details. Besides, having been in Father Lestor’s basement herself, Alia had already seen firsthand what they had done to me.

I shrugged as I said, “What can I say? The Slayers want us dead. They fear us and hate us. Not for who we are, but what we are.”

“What are we?”

“I don’t know that, Alia. I wish I did.”

Alia let out a quiet sob. “I think my parents didn’t know either. I think that’s why they hated me so much.”

Alia had never once mentioned her parents before today, and now I knew why it had taken her so long to get to this point. I pulled Alia onto my lap and hugged her tightly from behind.

Her telepathic voice trembling, Alia whispered, “I think my parents might have been Slayers, Addy.”

“Alia, your parents...” I stopped myself. Alia still didn’t know that she had been kidnapped as an infant. Alia’s keepers weren’t God-slayers, but considering what they had done to her, they might as well have been.

Alia’s whole body was shaking as she sat in my lap, and I felt her warm tears dripping onto my arms wrapped around her chest as she continued, “When I was little, every day was pain. Pain and fear. They said I had the devil in me. They said they had to draw the devil out from my blood. They did things to me. They hurt me.”

“I know, Alia,” I whispered, remembering the chill I had felt when I first noticed the crisscrossing scars across her back. Knowing nothing of psionics, Alia’s keepers had nevertheless learned early on that Alia couldn’t speak into their minds when she was bleeding.

“They put me in a room with no windows, Addy. Like the one I found you in. They tied me to a table, and they... they...” my sister’s telepathic voice trailed off, leaving a ghastly silence.

“They’re gone now, Alia,” I said soothingly, hugging her even tighter. “That is never going to happen to you again.”

“They hated me so much, Addy. I just wish I knew why.”

So that was why Alia wanted to know about the Slayers. A mere seventeen days in Slayer captivity had nearly killed me. Alia had to survive her psychotic keepers for years.

“I wish there was always a reason why people hate,” I said sadly. “If there was a fair reason, maybe something could be done.”

My sister didn’t reply. I kept my arms around her, gently rocking her back and forth on my lap. She was still dripping tears, but a little less than before, and she wasn’t shaking so badly either.

I knew that the only reason Cindy hadn’t yet told Alia that her “parents” were really her abductors was that Cindy didn’t want to open up an old wound by discussing Alia’s past with her, at least until Alia was old enough. My sister still wasn’t quite ten years old, but Cindy herself had admitted that “old enough” was a debatable point. And since Alia had brought the subject of her parents up herself, I decided to go ahead and tell her.

“The people who hurt you weren’t your parents, Alia,” I said quietly.

Alia remained silent, and I continued, “Cindy told me, and she was going to tell you too, someday when you were ready to talk about it. The people you called your parents weren’t your parents. Your real parents loved you very much. The people who hurt you had taken you from them when you were just a baby.”

“But... why?” asked Alia in a tiny voice.

“Your real parents were psionics,” I explained. “Your keepers claimed they had rescued you from your ‘demonic’ parents. Your keepers weren’t Slayers, but just as bad. They believed that anyone who could do the things we can do must have the devil in them.”

“They said they would cure me of my evil.”

“Which goes to show how little they understood you,” I said, and then added firmly, “Don’t you ever think of them as your parents again, Alia, because they’re not. They never were.”

I felt Alia nod slowly and wipe her eyes. “They’re not my parents,” she said quietly.

“They’re not,” I repeated.

“They’re not,” Alia said again in a resolute tone, breathing deeply. She wasn’t shaking anymore, and I breathed easier too.

Alia asked hesitantly, “Addy, where are my real parents?”

“I’m sorry, but we don’t know,” I said. “If someday we find out, we’ll make sure you get to meet them. But for now, I think Cindy is as good a mother as anyone can hope for.”

“Cindy found me in the woods,” Alia said in a hushed voice. “She saved my life, but I didn’t trust her for a long time. I didn’t talk to her. It was like everything was dark around me and... and I didn’t want her to hate me. When I started living with her, I was like an animal. I just ate and slept.”

“You had been treated like an animal. That’s only normal, Alia,” I said. Then I smiled, saying, “Look at you now. You’re going to be ten years old in a few weeks. You’re a healer, and the youngest-ever Guardian Knight. You can go outside. You can talk, and swim, and ride a bike. You helped us escape from that terrible underground place. You helped Terry and me rescue Cindy. You’re not afraid of anything, Alia. Cindy loves you very much, and so do I. I don’t know how I would have survived your keepers if I had been you, but I’m glad you did. And I hope we find your family someday.”

Alia rested the back of her head against my chest, saying softly, “You are my family, Addy. You and Cindy. And Terry if she ever comes back.”

“And Mark,” I added, relieved that Alia sounded so at peace.

“And Mark,” agreed Alia. “And Cat when you find her. And Laila when you two get married.”

“Alia!” I said warningly, and suddenly my sister laughed. It was her first real laugh in weeks, and I wished Cindy could hear it too.

“Come on, Ali. I’m sure it’s past your bedtime by now,” I said, picking her up and carrying her over to her bed.

As I tucked her in, Alia asked timidly, “If I tell you a secret, Addy, will you promise not to laugh?”

“I’ll try my best,” I said.

“When we were trapped down in the PRC, and we shared that bed, I wondered if that meant we were married.”

I couldn’t help it. I burst out laughing.

“Addy! You promised you wouldn’t laugh!”

“I said I’d try,” I replied, still chuckling.

I felt Alia’s pillow smack into the side of my head. “Addy!”

“Sorry,” I said, biting my mouth to keep it straight. “I guess that’s not so silly when you’re only seven years old. Here, how about I tell you a little secret in return?”

“Okay,” Alia said happily.

“Every once in a while, I actually miss sharing the bed with you.”

“Does that mean I can still sleep with you in your bed sometimes?” Alia asked in a hopeful tone.

“No,” I replied flatly. “Now go to sleep. I’ll be back after I take a shower, and you had better be snoring by then.”

“I don’t snore.”

I gave her another quick hug before I grabbed my nightclothes, turned off the light and left the room.

Cindy was meditating in the living room, and I explained to her what had just happened.

“I suspected it was only a matter of time before Alia would want to know more about her past,” said Cindy. “I guess Alia is growing up too.”

I said hesitantly, “I was afraid I might be jumping the gun, discussing her past with her before she was, well, older.”

“It’s alright, Adrian,” Cindy replied peacefully. “If she brought it up, then she had the right to know.”

“You still don’t know who her parents are?” I asked.

“To the best of my knowledge, they’re not with the Guardians. Possibly some smaller faction.”

“Possibly the Angels,” I replied evenly.

“Possibly,” agreed Cindy.

What if Alia’s biological parents really were Angels? What if the Guardians had already killed them? What if they hadn’t, but were about to? I remembered how Charles had mentioned psionic families being torn apart in the inter-faction conflict. My sister had no memory of her biological parents. If they were Angels, maybe it was better that she remained ignorant.

“Alia’s asleep now,” I said.

“How do you know?” asked Cindy.

“I can hear her mumbling in my head.”

Cindy chuckled. “She still does that, huh?”

I shook my head in wonder. “How does she do it, anyway? Use her telepathy in her sleep, through walls... It’s like she always knows where I am.”

“She knows you’re always close.”

“I think I’ll go take my shower.”

As I stood under the steaming hot water, I reflected that my sister had only wanted to know why there were people who hated us so much. She wasn’t the least bit bitter. Alia had never once shown any resentment toward the many people in her life who had hurt her, except perhaps me, and such times were so short-lived that I often envied her inability to hold a grudge. But unlike her, I could and still did hold many.

I remembered that Cindy had killed Alia’s abductors. It was the only time Cindy had directly taken any human life. She had told me that it was her single greatest regret, though I couldn’t understand why. As far as I was concerned, there was no punishment severe enough for people who would do that to a child. Alia’s keepers were dead. Good riddance.

And that brought my thoughts back to Mr. Simms.

Hearing the pain in Alia’s telepathic voice as she talked about her abductors had solidified my own desire to see the former Sky Guardian pay for what he had done to Charles’s sister. Mr. Simms lived alone, and I was still a Raven Knight. How hard would it be for me to simply knock on his door and shoot him dead?

The problem wasn’t killing him, but getting away with it. Blind, I couldn’t guarantee that there were no witnesses. If I were caught, I would either be jailed or banished from the Guardians, thereby losing the only support I had in getting Cat back from the Angels. I couldn’t risk that for a dead Slayer, no matter what I owed him.

As I toweled myself dry, I could still hear Alia in my head. I stopped to listen to her quiet murmuring for a moment. And I knew then that if ever the opportunity presented itself, I would make sure that Mr. Simms got his due.

Chapter 12: A Finding-Day Surprise

My sister seemed a bit more her normal self the next morning, which was still a far cry from the average nine-year-old, but reassuring nonetheless. She still had her bouts of silence, of course, but they became somewhat less frequent as the days passed, and with her renewed cheerful chattering in my mind, I even managed to forget about Mr. Simms for a while.

Alia had good reason to be happy, as her first double-digit birthday was just around the corner. Alia knew, and it didn’t bother her, that her actual date of birth was a mystery. March 24th would be her “finding day,” marking the day that Cindy had rescued her from the forest.

With Ralph out on another mission, I could spend weekday afternoons with Laila while still having enough time to spare for Alia. The weather was already getting warm enough to occasionally go out without a jacket, and the early-spring winds were ideal for kite flying. No longer able to tell the difference between light and shadow, I had pretty much forgotten what it was like to be sighted. My life had become as normal as it ever got for a blind teenager in a psionic town.

Somehow, I knew it wouldn’t last.

I had Cindy do Alia’s birthday shopping for me. My sister’s mouth-speaking was now so good that, except for an occasional lisp, no one would guess that she ever had a speech impediment. Alia, who loved to take infuriatingly long baths, had recently started singing aloud in the tub. Usually it was just nonsensical verses, but Cindy encouraged it, and so did I when I asked Cindy to purchase a children’s handheld sing-a-long player for Alia’s birthday.

“Sounds like a pretty noisy toy, Adrian,” warned Cindy. “Are you sure you want to get her this?”

I smiled, saying, “Well, I’m sure she’ll drive me crazy with it, but then again, what are sisters for?”

We celebrated Alia’s birthday on a Wednesday evening, and both Laila and Mark came early enough to help with the preparations. Cindy asked me to keep Alia out of the penthouse while everyone put up decorations.

I took my sister for a long walk through the park, stopping at the playground to give her some time on the swings. I would have pushed her back for her, but the last time I had tried that, her swing had smashed into my forehead.

“Ten years old, give or take,” I said as I stood by and listened to the creaky chains on Alia’s swing. “How does it feel?”

“Great, Addy,” said Alia. “I’m almost surprised I lived so long.”

I laughed. “I know what you mean.”

The next moment, Alia screamed shrilly as a hand suddenly grabbed my right forearm and twisted it painfully around behind my back. Before I could react at all, I was shoved facedown onto the ground.

A harsh female voice hissed nastily, “Well, if it isn’t the famous Adrian Howell and Alia Gifford! No tracer bands, no Knights in sight. I could kill you both right here and be clear of New Haven before your blood cooled. Guardian VIPs really should have better protection.”

Futilely trying to break free of the iron hand pinning me to the ground, I shouted back furiously, “Well, our stupid bodyguard up and quit on us when we needed her most! What the hell are you doing here, Terry?!”

Terry released my arm. “I came for Alia’s party, of course.”

My sister had stopped screaming, and I now realized that it had been a cry of joy. As I picked myself up, I heard Alia jump off the swing and, bawling her eyes out, rush up to us.

“Terry!” Alia cried loudly. “Terry! Terry! Terry!”

“It’s alright,” said Terry, whose voice sounded just a bit watery too. “I’m back, Alia.”

I sorely wished I could see her. “Are you alright, Terry?” I asked hesitantly. “I mean, how are you doing?”

“I’m better,” replied Terry, lightly touching my arm. “Actually, I had been back since yesterday, and Cindy already knows. I was planning to surprise Alia at the party, but seeing you two here, I just couldn’t resist.”

I wasn’t sure which I wanted to do more: hug her or punch her. But even sighted, I probably couldn’t have done either, so I settled for a wry smile. Then I felt the hands on my Braille watch. “It’s about time we start heading back. They should be ready.”

Cindy wasn’t the only one who already knew about Terry’s return to New Haven. Laila had apparently heard from her mother, and Mark from Cindy. Over the party, I asked Terry several times where she had been and what she had been doing, but Terry flat-out refused to answer, saying only, “You’ll find out later.” I couldn’t bring myself to ask if she was going to stay.

We told Terry what had been going on here, though.

When Terry learned that Laila and I had been seeing each other since the day after Terry’s departure, she laughed loudly, saying, “Well, I’m glad to see neither of you wasted any time missing me!”

“That’s not fair, Terry!” Laila and I said in unison.

“I’m kidding!” said Terry, giving me a push from the side. “Where’s your sense of humor?”

Terry shrugged off our story of the New Year’s Eve attack as a petty Angel prank, insisting that since they didn’t have a chance from the start, there was no reason to worry about it. She did apologize to Laila for putting her into a position where she had to hold a gun, but then added in an accusing tone, “Adrian would never let me teach Alia how to shoot.”

“Hey, I’m not against it anymore,” I said, putting my hands up in defense, “but Ali hates guns as much as I do.”

Terry asked Alia in a surprised tone, “And you a Guardian Knight and all?”

“Sorry, Terry,” Alia replied meekly. “But Addy’s right. I’m a healer.”

Terry laughed. “Nobody’s perfect.”

I then told Terry how I decided to learn to shoot blind, to which she showed no particular surprise until she discovered who my new instructor was.

“My grandfather?!” Terry asked incredulously. “How do you stand him?”

“The same way I survived you in the dojo, Terry,” I retorted. “By having no choice.”

“Thanks a lot, Half-head!” said Terry, and then added nastily, “At least your aim can’t be much worse than when you first started learning to shoot.”

“Ralph won’t be back for a while. Maybe tomorrow you can come down to the shooting range with me and see for yourself,” I said, hoping that Terry might hint at how long she was planning to stay.

Terry didn’t take the bait, replying simply, “Maybe.”

After the cake, Alia received what sounded like an unnecessarily large addition to her wardrobe, mostly spring and summer clothes, as well as two board games that she could play with a blind brother. The sing-a-long player I gave her contained more than fifty children’s songs, including a few that Alia already knew, and I could hear her jumping up and down as she read through the list. Batteries weren’t included, but we pulled them out of my radio, and we spent much of the next hour going through her favorites and teaching her a few more. As delighted as my sister was with her birthday gifts, I could tell that her personal best present was simply that Terry had come back.

After Alia had gone to bed that night, Terry led me to the greenhouse for a private chat. The way Terry solemnly requested my company, I had a feeling that I was about to hear the real reason she had returned to New Haven, and I wasn’t disappointed.

“So, Adrian, you wanted to know where I’ve been and what I’ve been doing,” Terry began slowly. “Well, I’m still not going to tell you because I know you wouldn’t approve. But I will tell you why I came back. I found someone who just might be able to heal your eyes.”

“You found – what?!” I sputtered, disbelieving my ears.

“I can’t guarantee it, but I’m pretty hopeful.” Terry tapped me on my left shoulder. “I think you’re going to see again.”

I was still having trouble grasping the idea. “I’m... You mean that...”

Terry said cautiously, “I don’t want to get your hopes up too high, because it might not work, but we’re definitely going to try.”

I had to take two slow breaths before I could ask, “How? Did you find a regenerative healer?”

“No, but I’ll admit that the cow was on the right track. I found something almost as good.”

“What?”

“A reconstructive healer,” replied Terry. “That’s what I call him, anyway. He’s one of a kind, Adrian. He can’t re-grow lost parts, but he can heal things so that only the smallest of scars remain. Often there’s no scar at all. Somehow, when he heals injuries, as long as the torn flesh is all still there, it comes back together like a neatly fitting puzzle.”

“But my eyes are already healed,” I said, shaking my head.

“I know. We’re going to re-damage them.”

I threw a blank stare in Terry’s direction, and she explained, “We’re going to get a qualified eye surgeon to carefully recreate the damage to your eyes, and then have this healer re-heal the new damage in order to restore your eyeballs into their proper shape.”

I scoffed at the idea. “That’s like unscrambling eggs to make them sunny side up.”

“That’s why I warned you not to get your hopes up too high,” said Terry.

“It’s insane, Terry. I mean, this is even worse than your usual insanity.”

“Well, sure it’s insane, but what do you have to lose?”

“Nothing,” I admitted. “Except that it’ll probably hurt like hell.”

“I’m pretty sure you won’t be conscious during the operation.”

“I’ll do it,” I said happily. “Just answer me a few things, though.”

“Depends on the questions.”

“Where did you dig up this reconstructive healer?” I asked.

“I found him,” Terry replied evasively.

“Where, Terry?” I asked again.

“Somewhere.”

“Where?!”

Terry snapped at me, “I kidnapped him from an Angel fort! Don’t bother asking me how because I’m not going to tell you.”

“I’m probably better off not knowing,” I muttered.

“Believe me, you are.”

Then I laughed and said, “You planned it this way from the start, didn’t you? You wanted us to believe that you were just going away to live peacefully so we wouldn’t be worried about you.”

I heard Terry sigh. “I wish I could say that was true, Adrian, but no. I really had given up once. It was that hopeless. But after I got some rest, I went back to the Historian by myself and begged him again for his help.”

“And the Historian told you about this reconstructive healer?” I asked.

“That’s right.”

“Why didn’t he tell you the first time you went?”

“I don’t know,” said Terry. “I didn’t ask him why. That’s not the kind of question you ask the Historian if you want to stay on his good side. Anyway, he knew about this healer and he also knew that I had left the Guardians, so he agreed to direct me to the Angel fort only if I swore not to enlist any Guardian help in taking it.”

“But why?” I asked, not understanding at all. “I thought you said that the Historian’s vow was to never use his psionic powers to change the course of history. All he gave you was information. Isn’t that fair game?”

Terry replied in a slightly uncomfortable tone, “Well, the truth is, when I went to him the second time, I had no gifts to trade. I told you already, but the Historian is a very fickle person. When he learned that I had nothing to offer him, he asked me instead for my resolve.”

I raised my eyebrows. “Your resolve?”

“The Historian wanted to see how much I was willing to risk for you, Adrian. He said that if I went alone, the price of his information would be appropriate because the odds would be against me.”

Shocked, I asked, “And you actually decided to honor this promise after you got the information you wanted? Why didn’t you just return to New Haven for help? I know you’re strong, Terry, but aren’t you the one who said there’s no need to deliberately put yourself in danger?”

Terry said seriously, “Anyone who breaks a promise with the Historian is deliberately putting themselves in danger, and lots of it. I’d face an army of Angels over the Historian any day.”

So much for the cute guy.

I grinned, saying, “I distinctly remember you promising Cindy that you’d give up looking for a cure.”

“Well, some promises are made to be broken,” said Terry. “I’m not very good at giving up.”

“I’m sorry I called you a coward.”

“Don’t be,” Terry replied peacefully. “I was, and in some ways, I still am. Everyone has limits, Adrian. Even me.”

I didn’t know how to respond to that, and there was a short, uncomfortable silence. But then Terry suddenly laughed, adding threateningly, “But once you get your eyes back, you had better be ready for some serious pain because I’m going to get you back into shape.”

I laughed too. “It’s great to have you back, Terry.”

“Thanks,” said Terry. “In case you’re still wondering who telephoned here on New Year’s Eve just before the Angels’ attack, it was actually me. I was about to head out to meet the Historian, and I just wanted to hear your voice and make sure you were alright, but I was happy to settle for Alia.”

I finally found the courage to ask, “Terry, are you back for good?”

“I’m back for now,” she replied. “One step at a time, okay?”

It wasn’t okay but I nodded anyway.

I wasn’t at all surprised to find that my sister was still awake when I returned to our bedroom later that night.

“Are you really going to be able to see again, Addy?” she asked the moment I entered.

“Well, Terry seems to think so,” I replied, lying down on my bed. “How did you know about that, anyway?”

“Cindy told me when she was tucking me in.”

“Figures,” I muttered. Cindy would have known since yesterday that Terry had returned to New Haven with an Angel prisoner in tow.

“It sure would be nice if you got your eyes back,” said Alia.

“I suppose,” I agreed quietly.

Alia asked in a surprised tone, “Don’t you want to see again?”

“I really don’t care one way or the other, Alia,” I said flatly. “Now go to sleep.”

I’m sure Alia knew I was lying, but she didn’t contest it. Of course I would have liked nothing more than to believe beyond doubt that I was only days away from a brilliant world of light and color, but I couldn’t allow myself hope. It would be too painful to go through that disappointment again.

The next day after breakfast, Terry took me down to the holding block in the subbasement.

The last time I had been down in the holding block was back when Terry had been locked up for her involvement in Cindy’s abduction. Lining one wall of the large concrete room were eight jail cells with thick iron floor-to-ceiling bars. Each cell wasn’t much bigger than a walk-in closet, and contained only a bed and toilet bowl.

At least, that was how I remembered it. Being led there by Terry, I knew we had arrived only when the heavy steel door clanged shut behind us and I breathed in the cool, stale air.

Terry led me closer to one of the cells, announcing, “Here he is, Mr. Kremer. This is Adrian. Heal him, and you are free to return to the Angels.”

I heard the sound of creaking metal as Mr. Kremer probably stood up from his shoddy bed.

“Very well, Adrian,” he said quietly. “Let’s have a look at you.”

I took another step forward and found the bars with my hands. Gentle fingers touched my face, slowly spreading my eyelids open for a few seconds. “Hmm...” said Mr. Kremer. “Well, these are quite damaged, I see.”

Mr. Kremer, who sounded like a middle-aged man, seemed strangely calm for an Angel in Guardian custody. Perhaps his lack of fear came with the knowledge of the special position of healers among psionic factions.

Mr. Kremer asked, “Can you handle truth, Adrian?”

I nodded solemnly, and the healer said, “Deliberately damaging and re-healing an organ as complex as the human eye is... Well, you have to understand that this has never been tried before. If this is to be the price of my freedom, I certainly wouldn’t mind giving it a shot, but you must accept that it will be a bit of an experiment.”

“I’m quite used to experiments,” I replied evenly. “If it works, great. If it doesn’t, I’m no worse off.”

Mr. Kremer seemed to smile as he said, “If that’s how you feel, then the sooner the better so I can be on my way.”

Terry said, “We’ll have our surgeon here tomorrow morning.”

The damage would have to be done by a skilled eye surgeon who would cut open my eyeballs in exactly the same way that they were originally damaged, or as close to as humanly possible. This meant that the Guardians were going to bring an ophthalmologist to New Haven, probably using a peacemaker to keep him sedated, and then alter his memory after the operation. I felt a little sorry for the drafted doctor, but at least he was guaranteed a safe (if somewhat confusing) trip home.

As we left the holding block, I asked Terry, “Do you really think the Guardians will honor your promise to release the Angel when he’s finished with me?”

“They won’t have to,” Terry replied crisply. “I’m not about to honor it either. His conversion is old and weakening. Give him another year and he won’t even want to return to the Angels.”

“Wait a minute, Terry!” I exclaimed, aghast. “You kidnap that guy, he does me a great favor, and then we keep him locked up?”

“He’ll thank us later,” said Terry. “Probably. And even if he doesn’t, we won’t keep him locked up forever. Besides, Adrian, he’s not doing you a favor. He’s doing me a favor. I can see you learned to live without sight.”

The day passed slowly, and I spent most of it forcing myself to read my Braille schoolbooks and keep my hopes down. Mr. Kremer had sounded even less sure than Terry, and I wasn’t going to let my feelings take another rollercoaster ride. My operation would be first thing tomorrow morning. One way or another, I would know soon, and there would be plenty of time to be happy afterwards.

I asked worriedly over dinner that evening, “Cindy, do psionic powers fade if you don’t use them?”

“Not that I know of,” replied Cindy. “You might find it awkward to use your telekinesis if you haven’t in a while, but it’s just like riding a bike. You still hover in your sleep, don’t you?”

“Sometimes,” I admitted. “But not nearly as much as before.”

Chuckling, Cindy said teasingly, “Alia told me you crash-landed on her bed just last week.”

“That’s like the only time this year, Cindy!” I said defensively. “And she didn’t have to go blabbing about it...”

“Someday you are going to see the virtue of wearing a tether.”

I shrugged.

As hard as I tried not to be hopeful, I couldn’t help some speculation on what life with sight would be like. I smiled as I remembered the exhilaration I felt when I flew at top speed for the first time. Soon, I might fly again.

One night’s fitful sleep, and the day of my operation was already upon me.

Laila, who had already missed too much school this year, couldn’t be there for my operation, but she called me up during breakfast to wish me luck.

“I know you don’t believe in it, Adrian,” she said, “but I’ll pray for you anyway.”

“Thanks,” I replied. “It couldn’t hurt.”

“Love you, Adrian.”

“I’ll see you at dinner tonight, Laila. I hope.”

I ended up leaving most of my breakfast untouched. I certainly wouldn’t have minded a little divine intervention right about now.

Just before 9am, Terry and Alia led me down to the healers’ office, which was still operating in our building. Cindy had gone early to talk with the ophthalmologist, and Guardian Knights had brought Mr. Kremer up from the holding block, so everyone was already gathered when we arrived.

By his voice, I recognized the ophthalmologist as the same man that Cindy had sent me to for a third opinion last summer. He, of course, didn’t remember me. I knew by the man’s credentials that I was in the best hands possible, but what gave me the most comfort was that Cindy was going to be assisting in this highly irregular operation.

“I won’t be able to do much more than pass the tools,” said Cindy, “but at least it gives me an excuse to be here.”

I was told to lie face up on one of the beds.

Cindy said, “I’m going to give you a shot that’s going to put you to sleep for the next five hours or so. You’ll be pretty groggy when you wake, and there will be bandages wrapped around your eyes. You must be careful not to remove them. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” I replied, breathing deeply.

Terry said to me, “I’m going to take Alia back upstairs and return when you wake, Adrian.”

I felt my sister squeeze my right hand. “Good luck, Addy.”

“It’s going to be okay, Adrian,” Terry said quietly. “I know it.”

But I shook my head and said, “It’s not okay, Terry.”

“What?” Terry asked in a surprised tone.

“It’s not okay!” I insisted, sitting up and turning to her. “What you said the other day, about taking things one step at a time. It’s not okay at all! Promise me, Terry, that even if this doesn’t work, you won’t run off again. Promise you’ll stay with us.”

“Adrian, I can’t promise something like that.”

“Then I won’t do this,” I said, getting up from the bed.

Terry nearly shouted, “Okay, Adrian! I promise!”

I cocked an eyebrow. “Another promise made to be broken?”

“No,” said Terry, unhappy but nevertheless resolute. “This time I really will give it up. It won’t be easy, but I’ll stay. I promise, okay?”

I heard Alia let out a loud yelp of joy, and I joined her. Cindy and even some of the Knights were laughing too. I couldn’t honestly say I no longer cared about the outcome of the operation, but I felt that even if I didn’t regain my eyesight, the day was already a success.

I lay back on the bed and took a few calming breaths before I said, “Okay, I’m ready now.”

I smiled as I felt Cindy’s needle prick my left arm. “See you soon.”

Suddenly my head was spinning so horribly that I couldn’t even sit up on the bed. Yawning, I realized that I was still conscious. When would the medicine make me fall asleep so that the operation could begin?

“Cindy?” I called out groggily. “Cindy? I think the shot wasn’t enough.”

Cindy didn’t reply. I slowly brought my hands to my face and felt some kind of cloth wrapped tightly around my head.

“I wouldn’t take that off just yet, Adrian,” said Cindy’s gentle voice as her footsteps approached.

“It’s over?” I asked dazedly.

“It’s over,” confirmed Cindy. “I’ll call Terry and Alia, and then bring you some water, okay?”

“How was the operation?” I asked when Cindy returned. “Am I going to see again?”

“We won’t know until we take the bandages off, which we can do just as soon as we move you to a darker room.”

“The bandages are just to protect me from the light?”

“That’s right. Your eyes are already as healed as they’re going to be, Adrian, and I can assure you that they look a lot more normal now.”

Cindy had emphasized “more,” which meant that my eyes had failed to reconstruct completely. That was no real surprise, considering the way they had been damaged, but would I really see through them? Right now, even partial peripheral vision would be a dream come true.

Terry and Alia arrived, and now that my head was no longer spinning, I could get up from the bed. I was led to another room and seated on a soft chair.

As Cindy slowly unwrapped the cloth from around my head, I could tell that I wasn’t the only one holding my breath.

I opened my eyes.

Blackness. I blinked a few times. Everything was still a dark shade of gray.

“Can you see anything?” asked Terry.

“I’m not sure,” I replied.

I blinked again, and then closed my eyes for a few seconds.

When I reopened them, Terry and Cindy were looking at me anxiously. Alia smiled.

“I can see your faces,” I whispered. “I can see you all.”

I was trying desperately to keep my sight from being blurred with tears, but it was useless. “I can see!” I repeated over and over, even after I was rendered quite blind with tears. “I can see everything!”

Once I was calmer, Cindy slowly raised the lighting in the room, which was operated with a dial rather than a switch. The room had some cardboard taped over the only window. According to the ophthalmologist, who was watching the changes in my irises, my new eyes were adjusting quickly enough.

I didn’t worry much about my irises, my attention focused on Cindy, Terry and Alia. My sister was still quite small for a ten-year-old, but looked taller than I remembered, and her shoulder-length hair suited her well. Terry looked tired and not yet completely recovered from her long journey. What had she seen and done that she refused to tell me about? Cindy was just as I remembered her. Her quiet, contented smile warmed my heart, and though I had lived with her all this time, it still felt wonderful to see her face again.

The doctor turned the lights up and down several times before he was convinced that I could leave the room. In another room, he gave me a series of tests to see if I was in any way colorblind, which I wasn’t. I didn’t even need glasses. It was, as he called it, a complete recovery. I knew that the Knights were going to erase the doctor’s memory of this, but I thanked him many times anyway. As for Mr. Kremer, he had already been returned to the holding block, and Terry insisted that I not go down to thank him until he was in a better mood.

Returning to the penthouse, I first went to the bathroom mirror to examine my new eyes. They certainly weren’t as I remembered them. They were the right shape, but ever-so-slightly smaller and deeper in my eye sockets. And the strangest part was the color. My eyes used to be light brown. Now, my right eye was a mixture of brown and reddish purple, and my left eye was a light shade of yellow-green.

“Wow,” I breathed as I stared at my reflection. I could hardly recognize myself.

It wasn’t just my eyes. My dark brown hair was about the same length as Terry’s, completely covering my ears and almost touching my shoulders. I had started shaving several months ago, but I discovered that I hadn’t been doing it very well. Short bits of beard sticking out from my chin gave me a grimy, vagrant-like look. It wasn’t the face of a stranger, but of a distant, long-lost relative. I was happy to discover that I was, if only a bit, taller.

Now to see if I was still a real psionic. I tried focusing my telekinetic power on my plastic drinking cup, levitating it up a few inches before setting it back down. That was easy. Next, myself. It took a little calming down, but I soon felt my feet lift off from the floor. I raised myself up higher until the top of my head was only an inch from the ceiling. I slowly turned around once on the spot. Yes, I thought happily, I can fly.

Suddenly Terry walked into the room and exclaimed, “What are you doing up there?!”

My telekinetic focus failed for an instant, but I somehow managed to stop myself just before I hit the hard tile floor.

“Don’t do that, Terry!” I said as I righted myself in midair and touched my feet back down onto the bathroom floor.

When I told her why I had been levitating, Terry nodded and said, “Just like Cindy told you, right? You don’t forget how to do things like that. The problem is getting you back into shape physically.”

I looked at myself in the mirror again. I didn’t think I looked particularly fat or flabby or anything, but Terry was right in that I hadn’t done any physical training in months.

“Just give me a week more to be lazy, Terry,” I said.

“You get today and that’s it.” Terry smiled diabolically. “You wanted me back. Now I’m back.”

“Fair enough,” I agreed.

I didn’t ask Terry again what she had done at the Angel fort. That was Terry’s story, not mine, and I respected her decision not to share it. I already knew how much Terry had suffered since the Holy Land, and as much as I was grateful to her for restoring my eyesight, I was also happy for her. I was happy that she was finally at peace with herself. Terry really was back now – in every way that mattered.

I spent much of the afternoon going from room to room just to look at random things: the ceiling fan in the living room, the floor mats that Cindy had placed in front of every door, the forks and spoons in the kitchen, even the little knobs on my desk drawers. You might think that a person who had just regained his eyesight after more than eight months in darkness would want to see beautiful scenes such as sunsets or the ocean, but the little scratches on the side of a pencil were just as interesting to me. Everything was suddenly new and equally amazing. Sort of like being born.

I flipped through the old Grade One Braille books that Alia used to help me with: storybooks with no pictures, but plain text on one page and raised dots on the other. I examined my proximity headset, and fingered my kiddie cane. All the things I suddenly no longer needed. Strangely enough, I realized that I was actually going to miss being blind. Not a lot, but I would.

A little before dinner, I decided to disregard Terry’s warning and visit Mr. Kremer down in the holding block, not only to thank him but to offer an apology on behalf of the Guardians who had broken their promise to release him. I had expected the man to be furious with me and braced myself for a good shouting, but Mr. Kremer was surprisingly cordial. Before I could say anything, he congratulated me on my recovery and assured me that he bore me no ill will. It would have been a lot easier if he had hated me. His pleasant sincerity made me feel so horribly low that I couldn’t bear to look at his face as I mumbled my thanks.

“It’s not like I wasn’t expecting this of the Guardians,” Mr. Kremer assured me.

“But it’s not right that you should have to pay for my mistake,” I said miserably, staring down at his feet.

“Many things in this world aren’t right, Adrian,” Mr. Kremer replied gently. “Getting caught was my mistake.”

I wanted to help him but, under the circumstances, I doubted anyone could convince the Guardian Council to let such a precious healer return to the Angels. Perhaps Terry was right. Perhaps Mr. Kremer would choose the Guardians in the end. But that thought did little to ease my guilty conscience or lessen my contempt for the Guardians’ lack of principles. And the sad truth was that I was just as much indebted to the Guardians as I was to Mr. Kremer, so there was really nothing I could do. I wished him well and left.

Too nervous to eat breakfast and drugged unconscious during lunch, I was quite famished by dinnertime. Laila joined us, having learned over the phone from Terry that my operation had been a success. Laila hugged me in the living room when she arrived, and though that was nothing unusual for us, I felt rather self-conscious about it now that I could see that others were watching.

I laughed when my sister, out of sheer habit, started to telepathically tell me what was where on my plate.

“I can see it, Ali,” I said, patting her back.

Alia gave me a sheepish smile, saying, “I’m really going to miss taking care of you, Addy.”

“Don’t worry, Alia,” laughed Terry. “Now that your brother can see, I’m sure he’ll quickly find another way to get himself hurt again.”

I glanced at Cindy, whose lips carried a hint of a frown. She thought that I was already planning to rejoin the Raven Knights. True enough, if it hadn’t been for what I learned about Mr. Simms, I might have. For the present, I was content just to look at things. During the meal, I looked mostly at Laila.

After dinner, Terry agreed to keep Alia occupied so that I could have some time alone with Laila in the greenhouse.

The sun had pretty much set already, and we sat silently holding hands for a few minutes.

As I gazed into her amber eyes, Laila seemed to blush a little, saying, “It’s kind of strange to know you can see me now, Adrian.”

“You’re so beautiful, Laila,” I whispered. “I don’t think I ever really saw you before.”

Laila giggled, saying, “You saw me before you went blind.”

“But I didn’t pay any real attention,” I pointed out. “I never actually noticed you until after I lost my sight.”

“What if I had been ugly?” Laila asked playfully.

“Please don’t make me answer that.”

“Well, what if?” she pressed, wrapping her arms around me.

What if I said it didn’t matter if she was ugly? Then she’d think I didn’t care that she looked good. What if I said it did matter? Then she’d think I only cared about how she looked. Girls were masters at entrapment.

“I love you, Laila,” I said, holding her tightly. “But I’d love you even more if you didn’t ask impossible questions.”

Chapter 13: The Gathering of Lesser Gods

It had taken me months to get used to blindness, but only a few days to get used to sightedness. That isn’t to say everything immediately returned to how they were. Alia still occasionally tried to take my elbow and guide me when we were outside, and I still absentmindedly ran my fingertips along the walls as I walked down the corridors.

Cindy laughed when she caught me feeling the hands of my Braille watch, saying, “I guess old habits die hard.” With the glass cover down, my Braille watch looked just like a normal analog wristwatch, but I liked to lift the cover and see if I could still correctly tell the time with my fingers.

Terry soon showed me exactly how out of practice I was in my CQC skills. Clumsy and easily disoriented in the dojo, I first questioned my new eyes, wondering if perhaps my depth perception was faulty. But no, I was really that bad.

“We can’t have you rejoining the Ravens moving like this!” Terry shouted in frustration near the end of our fourth unproductive day of training. “Mr. Simms would never take you! And even if he did, I wouldn’t!”

“I’m not rejoining the Ravens, Terry,” I replied, knowing that some things would never return to how they were.

“Why ever not?!” demanded Terry. “No other unit would have you until you’re old enough to learn blocking.”

The dojo was empty, and I had no reason to keep this from Terry, who had been hinting that she herself would soon be returning to Mr. Simms’s unit. I told her about Charles and Grace, and what I had discovered about Mr. Simms. The one person I believed I could trust this with was Terry, and I told her the whole story. It was hard to tell how Terry took it. She listened intently, but seemed skeptical when I finished.

“How do you know that this Slayer was even telling the truth?” she asked.

“I just know,” I insisted. “If you had heard him speak, you wouldn’t doubt him either.”

“Well, maybe,” said Terry, unconvinced. “Even so, Mr. Simms saved your life too. As did we all.”

“I know,” I said quietly.

“Why didn’t you tell me all this last year?”

“I didn’t know Mr. Simms was involved,” I explained, “and I didn’t want it to look like I was siding with the Slayers, because I’m not. You’re right that I owe the Guardians for my rescue. But I wouldn’t have been alive to be rescued if Charles hadn’t helped me. Besides, even if he hadn’t, what the Sky Guardians did to his sister was still wrong. I can’t just stand by and pretend I don’t care.”

Terry shrugged. “Far greater crimes have been committed in this war, by us and every other faction out there.”

“I don’t doubt it,” I said darkly. “But this is personal.”

“Yeah, well, you always were an idiot, Adrian,” said Terry, rolling her eyes. “Even if you’re not returning to the Ravens, you still need to get your skills back. And you stay clear of Mr. Simms, understand?”

I did.

Terry continued to train me, but I could tell that it was going to be a long and arduous climb.

Ralph Henderson returned to New Haven just over two weeks after my operation, and Alia and I bumped into him in the basement parking lot of NH-1.

My sister and I were just getting ready to go cycling when we saw Ralph’s rusty blue convertible coming down the entrance ramp. Parking near us, Ralph stepped out of his car and said to me in his raspy voice, “So you got your eyes back, did you, lad?”

“Yes,” I answered as Alia gripped my hand tightly. My sister still hadn’t gotten over her fear of Ralph.

Ralph ignored her. “Then you won’t be needing me anymore, eh?”

“No,” I replied, “but I thank you for all you did to help me.”

Ralph snorted loudly. “As long as you can fight, it doesn’t matter.”

Terry’s grandfather looked older than I remembered him. He had always reminded me a little of a scarecrow, weathered and gangly, but now his curly white hair was starting to get a little thinner. Though I wouldn’t have dared to say it to him, I thought that he looked ever-so-slightly... frail. I wondered how old he really was.

“Terry’s back,” I told him.

“I heard,” Ralph replied gruffly as he disappeared into the elevator.

I wondered what went on in that man’s head, but even if I were a delver, I wasn’t sure I’d understand him. Why did he hate Terry so much? I knew Terry hated talking about her grandfather, but I couldn’t resist asking her in the dojo that evening.

“I don’t know and I don’t care!” was Terry’s reply. “He’s your friend, not mine.”

“Ralph was never my friend, Terry,” I said. “But he did try to help me when we all thought you had run away to hide.”

“Whatever,” Terry said stiffly. “Anyway, get your mind off of my grandfather for a moment, because we have bigger things happening now.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Do you remember Riley O’Neal?” asked Terry.

I gave her a puzzled look. “Not really. Have I even met a Riley O’Neal?”

“Well, sure you have,” said Terry, throwing me an evil grin. “You killed him.”

“You mean Riles?”

Terry nodded.

I had shot Riles to death in the engine room of a large derelict towboat early last year. The Angel had made the fatal mistake of assuming that I wasn’t ready to kill. I wasn’t so sure myself until I pulled the trigger. Though he was unarmed, after what he had done, I found that I had no regrets whatsoever regarding his death.

“So what about him?” I asked.

Terry smiled. “It turns out he was Larissa Divine’s favorite baby nephew.”

I gaped.

Terry continued happily, “Apparently Queen Divine is very upset. That’s probably why the Angels staged that attack on New Year’s Eve.”

“That doesn’t make sense, Terry,” I said. “Cindy told me that if the Angels wanted me dead, they would attack me outside rather then trying to storm our home.”

“True,” agreed Terry, “but the Angels don’t know that you killed Riles, Adrian. They think I did. Mr. Baker told me yesterday when I went to him asking to be reinstated.”

“Then it’s your life that’s in danger,” I said.

“Not exactly,” said Terry. “Not anymore, anyway. You see, Mr. Baker also told me that the Angels have officially called for a blood trial to settle this.”

The way Terry said that, I could tell that she had once again forgotten I was a wild-born. “A what?” I asked.

“A blood trial, Adrian,” repeated Terry. “A gathering of lesser gods.”

“A what?” I asked again.

Terry sighed heavily. “It’s a kind of tournament, Half-head. A gathering of lesser gods is sometimes called to settle personal disputes between psionic faction leaders, most commonly between the Guardians and the Angels, without resorting to an all-out battle that could endanger our secrecy. They’re more commonly known as blood trials because the idea is to let fate decide the winner through a series of one-on-one duels to the death.”

A gathering of lesser gods... I had decided long ago that anyone who seriously considered psionics as gods was just being stupid. But even psionics called themselves lesser gods sometimes, and if these lesser gods gathered to let fate settle their disputes through a series of duels to the death, then I could only conclude that a gathering of lesser gods was a gathering of stupid people.

“How many duels?” I asked.

“Usually three battles,” said Terry, “and I heard from Mr. Baker that this time will be no different. Blood trials have been going on between the Guardians and the Angels ever since they split from each other seven hundred years ago. Sometimes they happen every few years, sometimes not for decades, but when one side calls for it, the other side has to agree or risk losing face and undermining the confidence of their followers.”

“Then Mr. Baker is going to agree to this?” I asked.

“That’s for the Council to decide, but I’m pretty sure they will. It’s almost unheard of to decline a challenge like this.”

“Have you ever been to one of these, uh, trials, Terry?”

“No. In fact, there hasn’t been a blood trial between the Guardians and Angels in over fifty years. You’d have to be as old as my grandfather to have actually attended the last one.”

“But you’re planning to go this time, aren’t you?” I asked. “To fight?”

Terry nodded. “I figure if the Angels called this trial to avenge Riles, I might as well be there in person for them. You see, the blood trial naturally comes with a prize for the winning side. I don’t yet know what Mr. Baker is going to demand of the Angels if we win, but if we lose, the Angels have already stated that the Guardians have to hand me over to Larissa Divine. I guess the Angels are planning to show me firsthand what they did to my brother.”

I stared at her in horror. “But you didn’t kill Riles!”

“It doesn’t matter,” Terry replied evenly. “You’re in no condition to fight, Adrian. I’ve already submitted my name to the Council for consideration. If you want, you’re welcome to give it a shot too, but take my word for it, you don’t stand a chance.”

“I can’t let you do this, Terry!”

“You can and you will!” Terry said fiercely. “I’m the one who taught you how to kill, Adrian. I’m still your master in all things combat-related, and you will do as I say!”

We glared at each other silently for a moment. Then Terry smiled and said, “I don’t doubt your guts. Believe me, I’d trust you with my life any day, but I want this battle, Adrian. It’s my chance to take one back for Gabriel.”

I exhaled and nodded slowly. “But will the Council even let you go? I mean, seeing as you can’t block psionic control any better than me...”

Terry explained, “Since the Angels called for the gathering, we get to choose our combatants first, and then the Angels are honor-bound to choose opponents of similar powers. Blood trial battles are traditionally fought only between destroyers or non-psionic slaves. No controllers, no projectile weapons. If we send a pyroid, they will choose a pyroid to meet him. When I fight, the Angels will have to match me with a non-psionic.”

At sixteen years old, with only one hand and no psionic powers, Terry Henderson was nevertheless among the best fighters in New Haven, beating seasoned Knights in training matches with considerable ease. Her legal guardians, Ralph and Uncle Charles, had long since given her the freedom to do whatever she wanted, so there was a good chance that the Council would vote in favor of allowing Terry to join this gathering of lesser gods, especially since it was Terry’s own life that was being placed on the trophy shelf.

I said quietly, “Cindy is going to blow her top when she hears you’re going to fight.”

“I already told her last night after you went to bed,” said Terry. “She certainly wasn’t thrilled about it, but she agreed not to interfere with the Council’s decision. Cindy knows that if we lose this trial, Mr. Baker will have to give me to the Angels. I’d rather take part in choosing my own fate. Cindy understands that.”

“I knew she was upset about something this morning,” I muttered, remembering how Cindy was unusually quiet at breakfast.

“Don’t worry, Adrian, she’ll–”

“–get over it,” I finished for her, and Terry laughed.

Then Terry said, “I’m guessing you’re not about to agree with this either.”

“It’s not really my place to agree or disagree, Terry,” I said quietly.

I hated the idea that Terry’s life was on the line because of something I had done, but this wasn’t the first time she would risk her neck for me. Besides, I knew that Terry would have jumped at the opportunity to join the blood trial no matter what the cause. Her primary enemy was the Angels, and here was her chance to kill one.

Terry asked, “Will you at least come along with me to the trial? There are always large crowds of witnesses at these events, and the chosen combatants can bring anyone they want.”

“Of course I’ll go,” I said. “That is, if the Council really decides to send you.”

Terry raised her eyebrows. “You doubt my chances?”

“Not really, but there are a lot more Guardians in New Haven these days.”

“We’ll see,” said Terry. “Now go on back upstairs, Adrian. I can’t be working with you all the time. I want to do some training by myself.”

I did as I was told, and found that Cindy had just returned from a Council meeting where they had discussed the very same topic. As I helped prepare dinner, I asked her if the Council was seriously considering sending Terry to this gathering.

“Terry’s name came up,” Cindy said stiffly, “along with several of our other top fighters.”

“She really wants this, Cindy,” I said.

“I promised her I wouldn’t interfere, and I won’t,” replied Cindy. “But the Council isn’t going to decide anything until next week. We haven’t even formally accepted the Angels’ challenge yet. If it’s even going to happen, it won’t be for a while.”

And that was all we said about it for the next few days. Terry was in the dojo from dawn to dusk, training and sparring with other Knights. Neither she nor Cindy seemed to want to discuss anything more about this sudden turn of events until they heard the Council’s decision. Meanwhile, Cindy put me on double time to catch up in my academic studies, but my mind kept wandering to Terry working out in the subbasement. I knew she wanted nothing more than to get one back for her brother, who had been tortured to death by the Angels, but I feared that even Terry was only human, thus susceptible to death.

I met Laila over the weekend. Outside was warm, sunny spring weather, and I knew that my sister would be furious with me if I were to leave her at home on a day like this, but I did so anyway, carefully sneaking out of the penthouse in the early afternoon. As I strolled through the park with Laila, I really wanted to talk about something more peaceful, but I couldn’t help asking her what she thought of the chances that the Council would accept the Angels’ call for a blood trial.

“My mother is dead set against it,” said Laila, “but hers is just one vote. I’m pretty sure they’ll accept.”

“To keep a virtually nonexistent peace, they’re really going to bet Terry’s life?” I asked, once again disgusted with the Guardians’ complete lack of principles.

“Terry made it perfectly clear to the Council that she wants exactly that,” said Laila, shaking her head. “I really worry about her sometimes.”

I laughed nervously. “Terry has always worried me.”

“You’re going with her, right?” asked Laila.

“Naturally,” I said. “If something happens to Terry because of what I did... Maybe I can’t help her, but I’ve got to at least be there.”

“And your sister?”

I nodded. “She’s coming too.”

I had learned from Terry that the blood trial matches didn’t always result in the death of one combatant, but like the gladiator battles of ancient Rome, death was quite common, and sometimes even victors died of their wounds before psionic healers could save them. Alia wouldn’t be the only Guardian healer at the trial, but the more the better. Assuming that the Guardians would accept the Angels’ challenge, my sister had already insisted on accompanying us, and I knew that Terry trusted her skills just as much as I did.

“Good,” Laila said happily. “Then I won’t be too lonely.”

I asked in surprise, “You’re coming too?”

“If the Guardians are going at all, then my mother will go, and so will I.”

Catching the look of disbelief in my eyes, Laila added, “I don’t think my mother will actually let me see the fights. I’m not so sure I want to see them myself. I may never have fired a gun, Adrian, but I have seen people die, and I... well, I still have to be there. For Terry. That’s why you and Alia are going, isn’t it?”

“I suppose.”

Laila smiled. “I’m sure we’ll have very good security, but I’d still feel safer knowing you’re around.”

“What do you mean?” I asked. “We’re just spectators, aren’t we?”

Laila shook her head and said gravely, “As often as not, a gathering of lesser gods is just an excuse for factions to meet in semi-civil conditions to parley or spy on each other. At least one side will have some secret agenda, and even when it’s a clean event, it’s common for scuffles to break out between the witnesses. The Angels suggested two hundred and fifty witnesses on each side this time, Adrian. That’s five hundred people with grudges all crammed into one arena, and most of them will be psionic. Once, a few hundred years ago, a large gathering escalated into an all-out battle and fewer than ten survivors walked away from it, or so my mother once told me.”

“I never thought of that,” I said, feeling a touch of regret in agreeing so casually to let my sister join us. “But if it’s so dangerous, why is your mother letting you go?”

“For the same reason she lets me be Terry’s friend,” Laila replied stoutly. “Good guys don’t hide.”

I sorely wished that I could see the Guardians as the “good guys,” but I couldn’t. I remembered Ralph’s words when he first took me from my home: “There are no bad guys in this war, lad, because there aren’t any good guys either. It’s just survival, see?” I felt that I finally did see. Given the choice, I’d still side with the Guardians, but if they agreed to this blood trial under the Angels’ terms, then they weren’t all that better than the Angels themselves.

Laila gave me a quick peck on the cheek. “So you had better be ready to protect me if something happens, Guardian Knight.”

I nodded solemnly, and Laila giggled.

The Council voted the following Tuesday afternoon, and naturally Cindy was the one who heard it first.

“In two weeks’ time, the Guardians will meet the Angels in a gathering of lesser gods,” Cindy announced over dinner that evening.

“And?” asked Terry, not meeting Cindy’s eyes.

“You’re going, Terry,” Cindy said simply.

Terry remained expressionless, nodding and saying quietly, “Good.”

Cindy turned to me. “Adrian?”

“I’m going too,” I replied. “Alia?”

My sister nodded silently.

Cindy would have to remain in New Haven to maintain her hiding bubble, and I had considered trying to convince Alia to change her mind and stay behind as well, especially after Laila’s warning about how blood trials could suddenly turn extra bloody. But after all that Alia had seen and done already, I knew it would be wrong. Besides, I could see in her eyes that there was absolutely no persuading her to stay at home this time, so why bother trying?

“Who else has been chosen to fight?” asked Terry.

Cindy replied, “The Lancer Knight Ms. Lillian Dallas, and your Mr. Jason Simms of the Ravens.”

I had never heard of Ms. Dallas, but the fact that Mr. Simms had been selected to fight sparked my interest, and Terry shared it too.

“I know Ms. Dallas is an amazing telekinetic and pyroid,” said Terry, “but why Mr. Simms? He’s an above-average pyroid, for sure, but not by much.”

“I’m certain the Council has its reasons, Terry,” said Cindy. “After all, Mr. Simms does have a good deal of actual combat experience.”

“Oh, sure, with guns,” grumbled Terry, still not at all convinced. “I should have been given a say in this. It’s my life, after all.”

I was about to say something in agreement, but Terry quickly asked, “What’s Mr. Baker going to request of the Angels when we win?”

“A ceasefire,” replied Cindy. “Five years of peace.”

“It won’t last that long,” Terry said darkly. “It never does.”

Cindy shrugged. “I’m guessing that Mr. Baker is hoping for a few years to wait out Larissa Divine’s natural life.”

“He’ll be lucky to get a few weeks.”

Terry disappeared into her room right after dinner. These past few days, Terry was always so tired out after spending her whole day in the dojo that she actually went to bed an hour before Alia. While my sister was singing herself silly in the bathtub, I sat cross-legged with Cindy on the living-room floor, but neither Cindy nor I was in a meditative mood.

Looking up out of the living-room window at the cloudy night sky, I asked quietly, “You agree with Terry that the Angels would never give us five years of peace, don’t you?”

“Yes, Adrian,” said Cindy. “The Angels would be bound to their agreement only until they could make an excuse to break it.”

“Such as?” I asked.

Cindy replied grimly, “They might use a puppeteer to take control of a Guardian Knight, make him attack one of the Angels’ own members, and then claim that the Guardians broke the peace. It’s been done that way in the past.”

“And Mr. Baker believes that too, doesn’t he?”

Cindy’s reflection in the glass nodded.

I turned to her. “The Angels want something real, Cindy. They want Terry’s life. What’s Mr. Baker playing at? Why doesn’t he ask for something real in return?”

By “something real,” I meant things along the lines of Cat, and perhaps Laila’s father, but I didn’t want to sound selfish.

“I’m not exactly sure why Mr. Baker made his request, but I want you to be extra careful with Alia and Laila when you’re over there,” Cindy said in a concerned tone. “This whole thing may turn out to be a lot more dangerous than you think.”

“I heard from Laila about the time there was an all-out battle, Cindy,” I said, trying not to make it sound like I was brushing off her warning. “But that was only once in seven hundred years.”

“I know, Adrian,” Cindy said patiently, “but we haven’t had a blood trial in over half a century. And times have changed. Even back in an age when people put greater value on honor, it was a standard part of these gatherings to try to sneak something past the other side. Espionage, assassination... Today, there is no longer any honor in how people behave.”

“You think the Angels will try something? You think they called for this trial just to...”

But Cindy shook her head. “The Angels are the superior force, Adrian. They have less reason–”

“You mean the Guardians!” I cut across her. “You think the Guardians will break the trust!”

“I don’t attend every Council meeting, Adrian, so I can’t be sure, but I find it hard to believe that the Council would agree to this blood trial if there was nothing under the table. The Angels know that too. They’ll be expecting it, and so should you.”

I took a moment to steady my breathing, and then asked, “Assuming the Guardians do try something, what should I do?”

Cindy gave me a hesitant look. “Would it be too much to ask, Adrian, that you stay out of the way and keep the girls safe?”

“Don’t worry, Cindy,” I said quietly. “I’ve learned my lesson more than once. I’ll be a good boy this time, okay?”

Cindy smiled sweetly. “That’s all I ask.”

That didn’t prevent me from being curious, though. During that week, between her daily physical training sessions in the subbasement, Terry made several visits to individual Council members’ homes and twice had dinner at Mr. Baker’s place on the thirty-ninth floor. Whenever I could, I pestered her for information, but Terry always answered, “It’s all need-to-know, and you don’t.”

Our departure from New Haven was scheduled for the last day of April, and there were only three days left till then when Terry finally decided that her muscles hurt too much and she needed a half-day break from her training.

Playing nine-ball with Terry before dinner that day, I asked, “You’re really looking forward to this trial, aren’t you, Terry?”

“They wouldn’t allow me to go if I wasn’t,” Terry replied evenly. “Ms. Dallas is no different, Adrian. She has a personal score to settle too. Both of her parents were killed by the Angels.”

“What about Mr. Simms?”

“That’s his business,” said Terry, hinting at another need-to-know issue.

I asked worriedly, “Do you really think Mr. Baker will hand you over to the Angels if we lose?”

“If we lose, Adrian,” Terry said slowly, “I probably won’t be alive to find out. But the trial is two out of three, so there’s a chance I’ll still be breathing. Then we’ll know.” Terry chuckled, and then continued lightly, “Think positive, Adrian. I’ll win my round, and Ms. Dallas has a good chance of winning hers. Mr. Simms is the weakest link, and if he gets himself killed, you won’t have to worry about little what’s-her-name anymore.”

“I don’t care about Grace and Charles right now, Terry,” I said, feeling genuinely insulted. “I’m worried about you.”

“Well, don’t be!” snapped Terry. “I’ll be fine. You just make sure Alia and Laila stay safe.”

This was the third time I had heard that line. “Cindy already told me the same, Terry. What is going on here?”

“You don’t want to know, Adrian.”

“Yes I do, Terry!” I said angrily. “Cindy thinks that the Guardians are planning something dangerous. And don’t give me that need-to-know crap either. If I’m really supposed to keep anyone out of danger, I need to know what we’re up against.”

Terry faced me across the pool table, giving me a long and hard look. Then she grinned, saying, “Alright, Half-head, but I can’t tell you everything. For starters, I don’t yet know everything, and I can’t tell you half of what I do know. I’m only going to say this once, so keep your ear open and your mouth shut.”

“Just tell me what you can, Terry,” I said, annoyed at the ear remark.

Terry smiled slyly. “Cindy’s right, of course. There’s plenty under the table, but for once, I actually know more about it than the Heart of New Haven. Blood trials have been going out of style for a while, and including the last one, which was more than fifty years ago, there have been only six in the last two centuries. Why would the Angels call for one now?”

I shrugged. “Queen Divine must have liked Riles a lot.”

“It was a rhetorical question, dummy!” said Terry, shaking her head. “First off, Riley O’Neal was never all that important to Larissa Divine. She’s lost closer people and didn’t ask for a blood trial. Think about this, Adrian: Blood trials are usually called for by the lesser of two factions because they’re the ones who stand to gain more from winning. Yet the Angels called for this trial. If the Angels really wanted to avenge Riles, they could have dealt us proportional damage without risking public exposure. There was never any real need for all this theater.”

“Then why?” I asked.

“Larissa just wanted an excuse to call for a trial.”

“But you just said that blood trials are usually called by the lesser faction.”

“Exactly,” said Terry. “That’s why this is all so fishy. The Council thinks that Larissa wants to start an all-out war to end this conflict for good, even if it means the risk of exposing psionics to the whole world. The Angels have really grown over the last few years, taking over many small Guardian settlements as well as assimilating other, lesser factions. Even fairly large organizations like the Meridian and the Avalon are losing ground fast.”

“You mean if the Angels really wanted to, and if they didn’t care about being exposed, then they could crush us fairly easily?” I asked.

“They could,” Terry said grimly. “But it’s also true that Larissa’s power as a master controller is waning in her old age. She’s probably having trouble finding the energy to keep converting new arrivals and reconverting those who would otherwise betray her. So while she still has the loyalty of her people, she needs to create an excuse to rouse them to arms.”

I asked skeptically, “Why does a master controller, who can psionically control people’s loyalties, need an excuse to get her followers to attack us? Why can’t she just order them?”

“Because only the very recently converted would jump to their deaths on their master’s say-so,” explained Terry. “And as you already know, Half-head, not every Angel is under conversion. There are plenty of followers who are loyal to the Angel cause but might not willingly support a move this big and dangerous. Besides, even those who are enslaved would be a lot more willing to fight if there is a legitimate reason.”

“That’s why she wants a trial?”

Terry nodded. “She’s going to be there, Adrian. In person. She knows the Guardians agreed to the blood trial only because we know she’ll be there, and she hopes we’re going to try to assassinate her during the tournament.”

“Are we?” I asked.

Terry laughed. “Of course we will, if we get the chance. But most likely, we won’t. That’s their trap. When we fail to kill her, the Angels can use our attempt as an excuse to attack us in full force.”

Terry paused for a moment, and I said impatiently, “Go on.”

Terry continued in a quiet tone, “What the Angels don’t know, Adrian, is that we now know who their younger master is, and she is going to be there too. If we can kill the second master, the Angels would be put into a very bad corner. Larissa Divine probably won’t be able to declare an all-out war over Number Two’s death since the second master’s identity is unknown even to most Angels. And even if it does turn into a war, we’d probably still be able to keep the Angels at bay until Larissa dies of old age, and then they would break apart like the Guardians did after Diana Granados was killed. Maybe then, the Angels will give up their plans to take control of the world.”

Mr. Baker had once said that the Angels’ monopoly on master controllers was costing us this war. Ending that monopoly was the only way to even the balance of power.

“Sounds like a real long shot,” I decided.

“The Council thinks it’s the best shot we have. And if we succeed...” Terry grinned. “Once Larissa dies of old age...”

I grinned too. “Cat would be free.”

Terry nodded. “Everyone would be free. Everyone who wants to be, anyway.”

Even if the Guardians’ plot succeeded, it would still take several years before Queen Divine died of old age, but with any luck, it might be before Cat was old enough to develop psionic powers and be conscripted into the Angel-Guardian war. As long a shot as this might be, it was definitely worth a shot.

“There are no master controllers anywhere else in the world today,” said Terry, looking into my eyes. “Do you know what that means?”

I did. “Imagine a world without masters,” I breathed. “Everyone would be free... forever.”

Terry nodded. “So you see, Adrian, that this trial is much bigger than any of us. Dead Riles and I are just tiny cogs in the gears.”

“Yet you seem to know an awful lot about the gearbox,” I said evenly.

Terry chuckled. “The Council thinks that Ms. Dallas, Mr. Simms and I are among the most likely to come close enough to the Angels to take out the second master. That’s why we were let in on this. Mr. Simms was chosen specifically because, despite being the leader of the Ravens, he is actually one of the best psionic blockers in New Haven. No Angel mind controller is going to stop him from acting if he gets the chance. In addition, we have a dedicated team of Lancer Knights that will try to infiltrate the Angel witnesses and assassinate Number Two. We’re leaving as little to chance as we can.”

I asked, “Who is the second master?”

“You mean what’s her name?” asked Terry. “I haven’t been told yet. Names are among the easiest things to delve out of people’s minds, even from a mild distance, so only a few select members of the Council currently know the master’s name. Everyone who needs to know will be given her name at the last possible moment, along with a complete physical description, and believe me, nobody is going to tell you.”

“I suppose it doesn’t matter,” I said, shrugging. “Still, I’m glad that the raid on the Slayer camp turned out to be worth it. The Guardians did learn who the Angels’ second master was, after all.”

Terry shook her head. “Actually, Adrian, we didn’t find anything on Number Two at the Holy Land.”

I stared at her, trying to make sense of the strangely pleased look she was giving me.

Suddenly Terry smiled broadly and said, “We found it at your Slayer house, Adrian! It was in the computer files we pulled from Father Lestor’s study. Even the great Historian never knew who the Angels’ Number Two was. If you hadn’t been caught, we might never have discovered her identity.”

I threw Terry a wry grin and said, “Well, I’m glad to have been of service.”

Terry laughed. “You get caught wonderfully, Adrian.”

I had no rejoinder to that. I certainly couldn’t claim to have done anything deliberate that led to the Guardians stumbling upon this important information, but at least a small part of the pain I had gone through was now worth it.

“Adrian, listen close, okay?” said Terry, and I was surprised at the fear in her voice. “You might be getting tired of hearing this, but I’m going to tell you again. Keep Alia and Laila safe! If we do succeed in killing the second master, there’s really no telling what will happen next. Laila is my best friend and Alia is as good as a sister to me now. Keep them safe, Adrian! Trust me, and trust the Guardians to do the rest.”

I trusted Terry, of course, but my trust in the Guardians was far from solid. There were two hundred and fifty Guardians going to witness this blood trial, and only a handful of them knew the real purpose of their trip. Certainly everyone going would know that an all-out war is possible, but just like anyone getting into a car knows that a crash is possible, the Guardian witnesses weren’t actually expecting a war, and thus weren’t going to be properly prepared. Even though I could appreciate the significance of what the Guardian Council was attempting, that they would risk these people’s lives for the sake of their secret agenda made me wonder whether a world without master controllers would really be all that different.

I counted down the final days to our departure spending as much time with Cindy as I could, cooking with her and helping her with all the chores around the house. As usual, Alia stuck close to us, and though I knew Terry was preparing for what might be the last moments of her life, I still managed to pretend for a short while that we were a normal, peaceful, happy family.

On the morning of our departure, Cindy gave Alia and me two full weeks’ worth of individual hiding protection each, and I was genuinely grateful for it. Then Terry, Alia and I took turns hugging Cindy goodbye. Cindy had agreed not to follow us out of the penthouse, making her farewells comparatively short and tolerable.

Cindy said to Terry, “I know I’m not your mother, Terry, but as your employer, I have to insist that you come home alive. That’s an order.”

Terry chuckled at that, giving Cindy a smart salute and replying, “Understood, Ms. Gifford!”

Cindy turned to Alia next, holding her tightly and saying, “I love you, Alia. Be safe, and make sure you mind your brother and Terry, okay?”

Understandably, Alia answered with her telepathy.

I asked her, “Are you really sure you don’t need to take your unicorn, Ali?”

Alia shook her head and said aloud, “I’ll be okay, Addy. Really!”

Cindy had already suggested this twice the day before, but my sister insisted that she would be fine without her favorite horned beast. I was pretty sure that she was just putting on a brave face for Cindy and me, but I didn’t press the matter any further. If Alia really wanted to play Guardian Knight and rough it out, she had the right.

Terry helped Alia with her bag as they left the penthouse together, leaving me behind with Cindy. Earlier that morning, I had asked Terry to guarantee me some time alone with Cindy before we left New Haven.

Cindy didn’t seem at all surprised at my lingering, turning to me and saying with a brave smile, “So, once more unto the breach, huh?”

Not having read any Shakespeare at that age, I hadn’t a clue what she meant by that, but I nodded anyway.

Cindy hugged me and said, “Remember that you promised to be good this time, Adrian. Stay out of trouble.”

Two weeks ago, Cindy had suggested that I would be facing dangers I didn’t know, but it was Cindy who didn’t understand just how dangerous this was going to be. Before I left New Haven, I had to ask her one last, burning question.

“Do you still trust the Guardians, Cindy? I mean, do you trust the Council?”

Cindy let out a quiet sigh. “I’ll admit my confidence in the Council has been shaken a bit recently. But there are good people on the Council too, like Laila’s mother.”

“But that’s the exception,” I argued. “You know they’re wrong to accept this trial.”

“I know,” Cindy said calmly. “But don’t forget that it was the same Council that voted to rescue you from the Slayers last year.”

“Which they never would’ve done if I wasn’t your son,” I pointed out.

Cindy smiled. “You have to try to see the good in people, Adrian. Especially when it looks like there isn’t any.”

I remained silent. Cindy peered into my eyes and asked gently, “What’s the matter? Are you having second thoughts about going?”

I shook my head. Then I hugged her again and whispered, “I’ll bring them back safe, Cindy. I promise.”

Chapter 14: The Arena and the Phantom

The once-thriving industrial town had closed the last of its three factories over two decades ago, and the population had dropped to less than a fifth of what it once was. What remained was a mess of derelict houses, crumbling apartments and boarded up store windows. The few residents who remained were those who had nowhere else to turn. The town didn’t even have an operational movie theater, to say nothing of any kind of tourist attraction, so an observant citizen might have wondered why there was a sudden surge of motorcycles, sedans, SUVs, vans, minibuses and motorhomes pouring in from who-knew-where.

We weren’t just passing through. On the outskirts of this town lay the abandoned factory where we would meet the Angels in a gathering of lesser gods. The first such gathering in more than half a century.

The Angels had already arrived several days prior, and I didn’t know their exact vehicle count, but the Guardian rides alone numbered nearly a hundred. I was sitting in the back of Cindy’s Guardian-issued silver sports sedan. Alia was curled up at my side, fast asleep, and Laila sat up front next to Terry, who was driving.

Over the course of the four-day journey here, Terry had taught me how to drive, saying that, since I could see again, it was high time I learned to do something useful. I discovered that Terry, though still unlicensed, was actually a conscientious driver when she wasn’t tearing through the city in a stolen police car. After a few hours on the freeway and some practice during our evening rest stops, I had become fairly confident in everything but parallel parking. Laila still didn’t trust my skills enough, though, so whenever I was at the wheel, she rode in her mother’s small camper, taking Alia with her. Terry obviously didn’t trust me yet either, because once we got closer to the town and the Angels waiting in the factory beyond, she took the wheel. Just in case.

In a blood trial, the challenged party – the Guardians in this case – got to choose their champions first, but the challengers prepared the location. The Angels had probably paid off or psionically dealt with town officials to keep prying eyes out of our gathering. If there were any vagrants staying in the abandoned factory, the Angels would have seen to it that they quietly disappeared.

The Angels weren’t quite kind enough to send us a gold-embossed invitation card with a detailed map of the factory, but we weren’t going in blind. The Guardian Knights had obtained prints of the factory layout and passed them out to all the witnesses prior to leaving New Haven. Though I had already committed it to memory, I glanced over my copy again as Terry followed the Guardian car train out of the town and up a pitted asphalt road.

The main factory building was a monstrous rectangular concrete structure. According to the map, the building ran north-south, and was nearly twice as long as it was wide. The visitor and employee parking lot was to its south, just inside the main gate. There was a separate square three-story office building in the southeast corner of the compound, and across from a service road that ran along the east side of the factory building sat a neat row of warehouses. At the north end of the service road was a loading area where a fleet of semi-trailers could park. This was where the Angels had set up their camp. The Guardians would take the front parking lot near the office building.

As we approached the main gate, I woke my sister and helped her tighten her seatbelt. We had driven several miles from the town’s last derelict home, and I suspected that even the sound of a small cannon blast wouldn’t carry back to civilization from here. While I had been reassured many times that the Angels would be politically cutting their own throats were they to ambush us upon our arrival, I remembered Cindy’s warning about the loss of honor in modern times, and braced myself.

There was no need. Our car train quietly crept through the rusty main gate, which had a large metal “Closed” sign bolted to it. “Permanently” had been sprayed over the sign in red paint.

This would be our home for the duration of the blood trial.

The trial was as much a political show as a fight, extending over an entire week. The battles would be fought one at a time, with forty-eight hours between matches. The idea behind this was that faction leaders could, during the in-between time, exchange everything from taunts to hostages, spy on each other or negotiate truces.

The first battle, scheduled for the evening of the next day, was to be fought between Ms. Dallas and her selected Angel opponent, another telekinetic pyroid. Terry would have preferred to fight the first match, but for reasons known only to himself, Mr. Baker had scheduled Terry for the second. The rationale for putting Mr. Simms last was simple: he would be pitted against one of the Angels’ best pyroids, and chances were he’d lose, but if both Ms. Dallas and Terry won their fights first, the trial would be over before that happened.

The Guardians were arranging their camp in a defensive perimeter, parking the largest of their motorhomes bumper to bumper in a line to create a wall facing the factory building. The smaller cars, including our sedan and Laila’s camper, parked behind. I realized that since the Angels had arrived first, they were obliged to camp in the farther side of the compound, which was decidedly advantageous for the Guardians if the need arose for a speedy getaway. The Guardian cars behind the wall of motorhomes were all parked facing south toward the compound’s exit.

While Mr. Baker wandered around chatting with who-knew-who, the Guardians who had arrived in normal cars were pitching their tents, without stakes, on the concrete next to their vehicles. We soon learned that dignitaries such as members of the Council, chosen combatants and (fortunately) their friends would be given slightly better accommodations. Laila joined her mother in their camper while Terry, Alia and I were directed toward the main office building, where Guardian Knights were checking for possible Angel traps before cleaning out the first-floor rooms and supplying them with bedrolls, blankets and pillows. We were each offered a separate room, but my sister wasn’t about to have that, and Terry decided to bunk with us too. We brought in our own sleeping bags from our car and spread them out under the Guardian-issued bedrolls for additional comfort.

In a few minutes, the Guardians had set up several portable generators in their camp and pulled electrical cables up into the office building. The factory hadn’t had running electricity in years, and many of the ceiling-mounted lights were either broken or missing, but enough remained that we probably wouldn’t be needing flashlights after dark. The Guardians were still testing out the power grid, so our room lights were flickering feebly, but fortunately it was still early evening and there was plenty of light coming in from the cracked window.

Laila stopped by to examine our temporary residence.

“This place is really creepy,” she said, glancing around our room, her eyes resting uncomfortably on some of the more colorful graffiti on the walls. “Are you sure you don’t want to stay in our camper? My mother says you’re all perfectly welcome.”

“It’s okay, Laila,” said Terry. “It would be a little crowded for five.”

That was putting it mildly: Laila’s family camper was one of those tiny one-room box types.

“Well, I do hope none of you run into any ghosts here,” said Laila.

I shrugged. “I’m more afraid of the living.”

“Me too,” said Alia, and we laughed.

A few minutes later, a crisp female voice amplified on a loudspeaker called for the Guardians to assemble outside for a short meeting. Exiting, we joined the crowd that was forming around the office building.

I looked around at the people coming out of their cars, tents and motorhomes. Only about a third of them were actually Knights. The rest were ordinary Guardians, and many of these weren’t destroyers or controllers. Some, like Laila and her mother, weren’t even psionic. Terry had told me that the Council’s decision to mix a large number of Guardian civilians into the witness group rather than bring only Knights was a deliberate ploy to keep the Angels off guard, though how effective this would be was yet to be seen. Mr. Baker had apparently made it clear to everyone that this was a come-at-your-own-risk event. Even so, some had arrived with their entire families, including children, though none quite as young as Alia. Would the children actually be permitted to watch the battles? I wondered what kind of insane parents would bring their own kids to a blood trial.

“There’s my mother,” Laila said happily, unnecessarily pointing her out in the crowd. I had first seen Laila’s mother with my restored eyes when we left New Haven four days ago, and she looked a lot like Laila. She was currently having a quiet chat with Mr. Baker and, of all people, Ralph.

Laila’s mother noticed us and waved. I had promised Terry to keep my mouth shut, so neither Laila nor Alia knew what Mr. Baker was plotting at this event. I suspected that Mrs. Brown, despite being a member of the Council, didn’t know either. She had been against the Guardians accepting the Angels’ challenge, and had probably been kept out of the loop. No doubt Ralph would be in the know, though. He and Mr. Baker weren’t always on the best of terms, but Ralph was a trusted Knight well within the inner circle. What would be his part in the Council’s plans?

Once the crowd was large enough, Mr. Baker strode around it and stood with his back to the front door of the office building, beaming at the Guardians in full politician mode. He was flanked by four of his security guards, one of whom I recognized as the shape-shifter, Mr. Ted Williams. Mr. Williams smiled and nodded when our eyes met. It had not yet been a whole year since he had tested me in the form of Lindsey Taylor, and I remembered my failed little mission and how much easier life had seemed when my only problem was a nosy reporter.

Finally, as the Guardians became hushed, Mr. Baker ceremoniously cleared his throat and began by thanking everyone who had come to witness “this momentous event” as he put it. Then Mr. Baker formally introduced Terry, Mr. Simms and Ms. Dallas to the crowd, calling them forward and having them stand by him.

The telekinetic pyroid Ms. Dallas, I saw, was a rather petit woman in her late twenties, with very short blond hair and a formidable chin. There were so many psionic destroyers around me that I couldn’t focus on Ms. Dallas well enough to gauge her strength as a double-destroyer. She certainly didn’t look like someone who would be seen walking into a gladiator arena. But looks could be deceiving, especially for psionics, and since Terry trusted her strength, I had no reason to doubt her.

“Our three heroes!” announced Mr. Baker at the end of the introductions. “May they fight well and true!”

Not that I even believed in heroes, but none of them looked the part. Terry was frowning and bowing her head slightly, Ms. Dallas was shifting her feet uncomfortably, and Mr. Simms stared silently back at the cheering crowd with an almost bored expression.

Once the applause had died down, Mr. Baker once again assured the people that the three Guardian warriors chosen for this blood trial would win the five-year peace that the Angels had promised. There was only scattered applause at this, and I guessed that many of the witnesses agreed with Terry’s view that such a peace would never last.

Before dismissing the crowd, Mr. Baker dished out a few reminders: Never leave the camp area alone, never leave without good reason, and never leave without informing the Knights. The entire factory compound, aside from the faction camps on the north and south ends, was officially neutral ground. But the short of it was that if you were caught with your pants down, you were fair game. There seemed to be little doubt in anyone’s mind that witnesses from both sides would find reasons to start little blood trials of their own during the course of this week-long event.

As the Guardians dispersed, some of those who had already finished setting up their tents began wandering past the line of motorhomes and into the main factory building.

“Want to go look inside?” suggested Terry.

“Is it safe?” asked Laila.

Terry shrugged. “Nothing’s completely safe here or anywhere. Come on. We might as well go take a look at the place now.”

Alia hesitantly looked up at me. I smiled at her and said, “Come on, let’s go check it out.”

Laila quickly informed her mother where we were going, and then the four of us followed the other small groups of Guardians into the main factory building, which was a six-story dirty concrete monstrosity with an arched roof. Though the building clearly would never see any kind of lawful use again, it was at least as sturdy as it was dusty, which would probably be important considering the kind of battle that was going to be fought under its roof tomorrow. We walked down a short corridor to a giant pair of steel doors that opened into the main factory floor.

My first impression was that it looked a bit like an airplane hanger, though without an exit large enough to run an airplane through. The ceiling was at least three stories up. There were walkways along the walls at various heights, as well as plenty of windows, most of them still intact, though horribly dirty. The gradually waning sunlight that filtered in through the dust made the place look strangely still, highlighting the cold emptiness. A few rusty bits of metal and broken-down engines lay against the side walls, but whatever assembly lines or other machines that used to be here had been removed ages ago. Our footsteps echoed through the colossal room, and very few people spoke. It was a far cry from a Roman gladiator arena, but I felt it suited us well.

We weren’t the only visitors to the factory floor.

On the far north end of the room, entering through another pair of heavy steel doors, the Angels were quietly gathering. They weren’t here to observe the building, which they already had days to do, but to look at us.

By now there must have been about fifty Guardians standing on our side, and soon the Angels matched us in number. Both groups stared across the room at the other, whispering, pointing, occasionally gesturing or shouting obscenities. But both groups kept their distance. Some, just to show off their bravery, stepped a little closer to the center of the arena, but nobody crossed it.

“Anyone you know, Terry?” I whispered.

Terry shook her head. “We killed most of my Angel buddies last year.”

I didn’t see any children on the Angels’ side, and I wondered how many of the Angels were civilians as opposed to Seraphim – the Angels’ equivalent of the Knights. Perhaps all of them were Seraphim. After all, the Angels were expecting, or at least hoping for, an attack. But then again, in order to invite an attack from the Guardians, perhaps the Angels too had mixed a fair number of civilians into their witness pool and kept their Seraph count down. It was impossible to tell, but I did sense a fair number of destroyers among them.

As I felt my way through the various destroyer powers around me, I guessed that Alia and I were among the very few here who were psionically hidden. Perhaps a few hiders were keeping their own powers concealed, but neither the Knights nor the Seraphim had bothered to put proper hiding bubbles over their camps or the arena. I supposed that this was a deliberate show of strength and bravado by both sides. Thanks to Cindy’s hiding protection, I wouldn’t be a part of that, which was fine. I hadn’t come here to show off in front of the Angels. I had come for Terry, and to protect Laila and my sister.

“Satisfied?” Laila asked Terry.

“This will do fine,” said Terry, but I couldn’t be sure if she was referring to the arena or to the Council’s secret plans.

We returned to the comparative safety of our camp and joined Laila’s mother for dinner. While everyone was, of course, free to prepare their own food if they wanted, regular meals were provided at the expense of the Council by a dedicated team of cooks working out of a converted motorhome.

Once again, our special status came in handy in that we didn’t have to line up to receive our dinner. Bowls of steaming-hot beef stew and plates of bread and salad were delivered to Laila’s camper, where we spent the evening talking, playing cards, and even singing a few tunes on Alia’s sing-along toy. Alia had already run the batteries dry twice during our trip out here, and while a hundred repetitive Somewhere Over the Rainbows was hard to forgive, I had to admit that my sister’s singing voice was as good as any average kid, which for her was something to be exceptionally proud of.

“It’s hard to believe there was ever a time Alia couldn’t even speak,” said Laila’s mother.

Terry laughed. “Sometimes I regret bullying her into it.”

While Cindy and I had worked extensively with Alia to get her to speak aloud long before Terry had come into our lives, if it hadn’t been for Terry, Alia might never have overcome her speech impediment as completely as she had now. I once again felt how much we owed Terry, who had sacrificed her own brother to save Cindy from the Angels, and risked who-knew-what to bring me back from the darkness. I wished that there was some way to keep Terry from having to fight in this blood trial. But then again, as I kept having to remind myself, she didn’t have to. She wanted to.

The sun had long since set when we left Laila and her mother for the night.

“Laila was right,” Alia said uneasily when we returned to our room. “This place really is creepy.”

Terry smirked. “Still afraid of the dark, kid? If you want, you can go spend the night with Laila.”

Alia shook her head.

“Let’s get ready for bed, then, okay?”

By now, in addition to electricity, the Guardians had restored running water to the office building, which meant we wouldn’t have to borrow the washrooms in the motorhomes. Our building had several shower stalls and we even got, if not hot, at least lukewarm water from the pipes. Alia did her best not to complain too much, but I knew she missed the big Jacuzzi bathtub back in our NH-1 penthouse. We had been borrowing the facilities in Mr. Baker’s extra-large motorhome on our way here, but by Alia’s standards, those were already seriously lacking.

“We’ve lived in worse places,” I reminded her as we changed into our nightclothes.

Alia disagreed. “Even our room at the PRC had a proper bathtub.”

“It’s only for another week, anyway,” I said, deliberately leaving out the days required for the trip home.

“I’ll survive,” Alia said unhappily.

We had lined up our three bedrolls in a neat row, with Alia’s sandwiched between Terry’s and mine. The three of us had been camping every night on the long car trip out here, but that was in a tent with sleeping bags. This was more like a sleepover – except that we were in a graffiti-covered concrete room in a crumbling office building at the corner of an abandoned factory compound that housed two hundred and fifty people who wished us bodily harm. That wasn’t the kind of happy thought that led you into a deep and peaceful slumber. Despite my sister’s soothing telepathic murmurs, I lay awake for a long time after she and Terry had fallen asleep.

The next morning, I woke to Terry’s rude laughter and realized that sometime during the night, Alia had found her way over to my bed and put her arms around my chest, resting her head against mine.

“Now I know why you two share a room,” Terry said between giggles. “Wait till Laila hears about this!”

“You are getting too old for this, Alia,” I grumbled, shaking my sister awake.

Laila’s mother was breakfasting with the Council, so Laila joined us in our room that morning, and Terry lost no time embarrassing Alia and me. My sister denied deliberately crawling into my bed. She insisted that she must have rolled over in her sleep, which was highly unlikely, but I gave her the benefit of the doubt if only to avoid an argument. As strong as Alia was, being five days out of New Haven, away from Cindy and in the middle of this horrible event, I could hardly blame her for feeling insecure.

Terry wanted to get some training time to keep her skills sharp, so she found a separate room and a few Knights to spar with. Laila, Alia and I watched Terry for a while and later retreated to our room, playing games and counting the hours to the first match.

“I’m not going today,” Laila announced after lunch.

“Your mother said no?” Terry asked in surprise. “After bringing you all the way out here?”

Laila shook her head. “She didn’t say either way, but I don’t really feel like watching someone get killed. Even if it is an Angel.”

I was feeling exactly the same way. And besides, there was no guarantee that a stray telekinetic blast or fireball wouldn’t find its way into the spectators.

“I think I’ll stand down too,” I said.

Laila backing out gave me the perfect excuse to follow suit and keep Alia out of harm’s way as well. After all, the Guardians had other healers that could take care of Ms. Dallas if she got hurt.

“I’m still going,” Terry said resolutely. “She’s partly fighting for me, after all.”

“When you put it that way, I kind of feel like a traitor,” I said meekly, and Laila gave Terry an apologetic look as well.

Terry smiled. “It’s alright, both of you. You’re probably right in staying behind, anyway. Even in that big room, there’s no telling what’ll happen.”

“I’ll be there for your round, Terry,” promised Laila.

“Me too,” I said quickly. “At least when you fight, there won’t be any psionics involved.”

We said no more about it, and as the hour approached, the Guardians slowly began to filter into the factory building. Terry joined the procession as Laila, Alia and I stood by and watched. Ms. Dallas had already entered the building, and I wondered if I would see her alive again.

Soon the only people left were a few Knights in charge of camp security and a handful of Guardian witnesses who, like us, had a change of heart and weren’t going to witness anything. During yesterday’s speech, Mr. Baker had asked the parents of the few underage attendees to keep them out of the arena, and some had complied with his request.

I spotted a teenage boy arguing loudly with his apparently telepathic mother, who wasn’t replying verbally but was shaking her head so furiously that I wondered when it would fly off. The boy was probably not much older than me, and the argument was about whether or not he, like his father who had just entered the factory, should be allowed to watch the match. I listened, half-amused, as the boy whiningly made his case over and over. It was obvious that he had never seen a drop of blood spilt in his entire life, but the boy nevertheless thought he was mature enough to watch someone die horribly. I both pitied and envied him.

I also wondered what Terry was about to witness. Perhaps I was missing some great and historic battle. Something that might even teach me a little more about how to fight as a psionic destroyer. But no. In my experience, there were necessary risks and unnecessary risks, and the best course was always the one that kept the unnecessary risks to a minimum.

“That mom should just let him go,” I muttered. “Then he’ll learn what he’s made of.”

“Let’s go back to my camper,” suggested Laila. “I think there’s some coffee left in the pot.”

I wasn’t interested in the coffee, but it was nice to sit in a cozy room with Laila, and we managed to touch lips a few times even with Alia looking on and giggling.

According to the camper’s clock, it was still a few minutes to 4pm. That was when the speeches would start. The Angels, perhaps Larissa Divine herself, though more likely a representative, would announce their so-called grievances, and then the Guardians would reply, and there would be more talk, no doubt punctuated by rude shouts and gestures until everyone was talked out, riled up, and ready to watch someone die. At least, that’s how I pictured it from what I had heard so far.

There was a sharp rapping on the camper door. I opened it to Mr. Ted Williams, who didn’t even bother saying hello, but jumped straight to, “Are you still a Raven Knight, Hansel?”

“I’m not exactly sure,” I replied. “Why?”

“We could use an extra pair of hands,” he said. Glancing past me, he added, “And maybe a healer too.”

Laila asked, “What’s going on? I thought you were with Mr. Baker.”

“I’m in charge of camp security today, Miss Brown,” Mr. Williams replied curtly. “And I’m sorry but I’m in a bit of a hurry now. Hansel?”

“I’m coming,” I said, stepping out of the camper. When Alia tried to follow, I reflexively turned to her and said, “No, you stay here with Laila.”

My sister glared at me. “I’m coming too, Hansel.”

I could sense Mr. Williams’s impatience, so I shrugged and said, “Suit yourself, Knight. Just stay close, then.”

As I helped Alia out of the camper, Laila called worriedly after us, “Both of you be careful.”

Alia turned her head, threw Laila a quick smile and said, “Always.”

I nearly laughed out loud.

Taking Alia’s hand, I kept pace with Mr. Williams’s quick-march as he led us toward the defensive wall.

“So what’s going on, sir?” I asked. I had forgotten Mr. Williams’s call sign, and I couldn’t call him by name since he had referred to me as Hansel.

“We’re not entirely sure yet, but one of our spotters on the office roof reported a possible Angel phantom. We don’t have any fliers in the camp now. I was hoping you could give us an extra bird’s-eye view.”

“A phantom?” I asked, remembering Mr. Watson’s invisibility trick. “You mean a pair of floating eyeballs?”

Mr. Williams seemed to smile. “That’s correct, Hansel. Our spotter thinks he saw the phantom’s eyes just as they left the Angel camp, but then he lost sight of them. My finder can’t pick him up either, so he’s either a hider himself or has protection. Assuming this phantom is inbound, he could be leading a team of Seraphim toward us.”

I remembered how Mr. Watson had called himself a “half-baked phantom” since he could only turn his own body invisible. Many phantoms could turn other things and people invisible as well. Now I understood Mr. Williams’s real concern: one phantom with visible eyeballs could be leading any number of completely invisible (and psionically hidden) followers so long as everyone held hands.

“How long ago was the sighting, sir?” I asked.

“Long enough that they could be here by now,” Mr. Williams replied grimly. “Up in the air, Hansel. Right now! Gretel can stick with me.”

I gave Alia a quick nod and kicked off from the ground, using my telekinetic power to pull my body about ten yards up into the air. I wanted to cover as much territory as possible without going so high that I would miss the tiny pair of eyeballs approaching the motorhome barrier.

My heart pounding, I did my best to stay calm and look around slowly. The pavement was a shade of dirty gray. From above, the phantom’s eyeballs should look relatively red. So far, nothing.

Through the corner of my right eye, I saw Mr. Williams, pistol drawn, jogging up to one of the gaps between the motorhomes, Alia fast on his heels. I knew that Alia’s presence was hidden by her personal hiding bubble, but that didn’t make her impervious to bullets, blasts and everything else. It irked me that Mr. Williams wasn’t paying as much attention to Alia’s safety as I wanted him to, but right now I had to focus on scanning for the missing phantom.

Five rapid gunshots echoed across the parking lot. They hadn’t come from Mr. Williams, but from a different gap farther down the motorhome line. I flew toward the source of the sounds, descending as I went.

I recognized the face of the Lancer Knight who held the smoking gun, but I didn’t know his name. The Knight stood over the Angel phantom, who had returned to a visible state the moment he had been shot. Breathing heavily, the phantom lay face up on the concrete, his shirt a bloody mess where one bullet had entered his abdomen. The fact that he was wearing clothes meant he was a fully capable phantom. I looked around nervously.

The Knight said to me, “I can’t sense any others nearby.”

“I’m alone,” croaked the Angel. “Help me. Please.”

I looked down at his face, which was contorted with pain. The man had short gray hair and somewhat wrinkly skin, and I guessed he was about fifty years old. He had dark blue eyes.

“Gretel!” I called out.

There was no need, as by now Mr. Williams and Alia, as well as several other Knights, were crowding around from all directions.

“Give me space!” shouted Alia, pushing past me and kneeling beside the Angel. “And somebody pull that cloth out of his wound. I can’t get any blood on my fingers or I’ll be drained.”

The “somebody” ended up being me. I telekinetically pulled the Angel’s bloodied shirt up so that Alia could heal him. Alia quickly put her hands up close to the torn flesh, but I stopped her before she started to work her power.

“Wait up,” I said to her. “The bullet’s still in there.”

“Can you get it out?” she asked into my mind.

“I’ll try.”

A bullet surrounded by bloody flesh was a fair bit of metal. It certainly wasn’t beyond my telekinetic power to control, but I couldn’t actually see the bullet, which complicated things to no end. I had to ask Mr. Williams to pry open the wound with his fingers so I could lift out the metal slug, and two Knights had to hold the Angel phantom down to keep him from thrashing about in agony. I felt a sort of grim satisfaction putting the Angel through that, though my eardrums hurt from all his screaming. Once the bullet was safely removed, Alia healed up the wound, leaving behind a pretty messy scar but the Angel still breathing.

“We’ll take it from here,” said Mr. Williams. “Thank you for your help, Hansel and Gretel.”

I ignored the chuckling from the other Knights at the mention of our call signs, and led my sister back to Laila’s camper. There we stayed until we heard the sounds of the Guardian witnesses returning to the camp at a little past 5pm. Looking out the camper’s little window, I knew instantly from everyone’s expression what the outcome of the first battle was.

“The fight lasted twelve seconds,” reported Terry over dinner. “A single focused blast straight through the bastard’s skull.”

“Glad I didn’t line up for that one,” I laughed, trying not to imagine the Angel’s brains splattered over the factory floor. Ms. Dallas had apparently suffered some second-degree burns for her utter devotion to her telekinetic aim, but Guardian healers had already taken care of her, and she was currently celebrating with her friends in the camp.

“We also got a look at our opponents for the second and third fights,” Terry said casually. “Mine’s a real beast. Lots of muscles and probably some pretty good reflexes behind them too. But I’m faster.”

“Are you going to win?” Alia asked worriedly.

Terry grinned. “I always win, Alia. You know that.”

In combat, Terry had a pretty decent track record so I kept my mouth shut, but Alia knew just as well as I did that nothing was ever “always.” My sister continued looking at Terry in a way that made her uncomfortable enough to change the subject.

“I heard you guys saw some action today too,” said Terry. “Spider says there may even be a few in New Haven that remember Mr. Jenson.”

Terry had attended a short Council meeting before dinner and had already gotten the details from Mr. Ted “Spider” Williams.

The Angel phantom, Mr. Jenson, was actually a former Guardian, taken by the Angels long before the death of the last Guardian queen. He was currently locked in the basement of the office building, and the Knights had already questioned him as to why he had tried to sneak into the Guardian camp. According to the phantom’s account, with his psionic conversion wearing thin, he had used this opportunity to defect back into the Guardians where he hoped to be reunited with his lost son. He wasn’t a hider himself, but had received hiding protection prior to leaving his Angel settlement.

Guardian delvers had confirmed Mr. Jenson’s story, but that didn’t mean the Guardians completely trusted him just yet. Delvers could only read current thoughts going through a person’s mind, and as such, they could sometimes be fooled. Thus Mr. Jenson would remain under strict guard until the blood trial was over, and once back in New Haven, the Council would decide his fate. Mr. Jenson himself seemed perfectly happy with that arrangement, especially since the Angels were none too happy to discover a traitor among their ranks just as their first hero lost his head to Ms. Dallas.

“There’ll be some fights breaking out between the witnesses tonight,” said Terry. “You can count on it.”

“Which means we’ll be turning in early,” I announced. It was already only an hour from Alia’s usual bedtime anyway.

We were eating in Laila’s camper, but once again Mrs. Brown had dined with the Council. Laila was apparently used to this kind of thing at home. “That’s a working mother for you,” she laughed.

Nevertheless, I didn’t want to leave Laila alone after what happened today, so we stayed just until her mother returned to the camper and then parted company.

“Now it’s my turn to have a one-on-one chat with Mr. Baker,” said Terry as the three of us made our way back toward the office building. “I think I’ll go straight there and join you in our room later. I shouldn’t be more than an hour or so, but don’t wait up for me if I am, okay?”

“Sure, Terry,” I said, and watched Terry jog off toward Mr. Baker’s motorhome.

More plotting, no doubt. As I was unable to block psionic control, it was for the best that I knew as little as possible about the Council’s plans concerning Number Two, but that didn’t make my curiosity any easier to bear.

“I wonder what Terry is talking about at her meetings,” said Alia as we entered the office building and headed toward our room.

“I have no idea,” I replied stubbornly, knowing Alia could see straight through my lie. “Anyway, like she keeps telling us, it’s none of our business.”

By the time we had showered and changed into our nightclothes, I could already hear several people shouting outside. Guardian and Angel witnesses alike had stepped out of their camp fortifications and were rudely daring each other to come closer. Neither the Knights nor Seraphim would be involved in such juvenile nonsense, but the ordinary Guardians and Angels had personal scores to settle and egos to flaunt.

Let them have their fun, if getting hurt and hurting others was fun for them. What did I care?

“I wish they weren’t so noisy,” Alia said nervously into my mind.

“You’re not afraid, are you?” I asked.

Alia looked away. “Well...”

I laughed. “Oh, come on, Ali! We ended up having a nice little adventure today, didn’t we? And you got to prove once again what a fearless Guardian Knight you are.”

Alia kept her eyes on the wall, and I whispered into her ear, “So I guess you won’t be rolling over in your sleep tonight, huh?”

Suddenly Alia turned to me misty-eyed and telepathically burst out, “Okay! I lied about last night, Addy! But I had a really, really bad dream.”

“I suspected as much,” I said, trying not to smile too much.

“I’ll probably have another one tonight,” Alia said miserably.

“That’s what you get for being a soldier,” I informed her. “Besides, after helping the Ravens take down three Slayer groups last year, I thought you’d be used to this kind of thing by now.”

“That’s different, Addy! Terry always kept me away from the fighting, and even then, every night I kept waking up and... and...”

“I’m guessing Terry never let you sleep in her bed.”

Hugging me tightly, Alia gave me her most pitiful, pleading look. “Oh, come on, Addy. Just while we’re here?”

I looked silently back into her eyes for a few seconds, and then shook my head in resignation. “What am I going to do with you, Alia?” I sighed. “Alright, but just while we’re here. I’m sure Terry will be nicely amused when she gets back.”

“I’m really sorry.”

“It’s alright,” I said, rubbing her back. “But I knew we should have brought your unicorn.”

Alia managed a weak smile. “You’re my unicorn, Addy.”

I let Alia put her pillow next to mine and she snuggled up against my side, our blankets overlapping. In size, my sister still looked no more than seven or eight years old, and I sometimes wondered if Cindy really had her age right. I stood by my belief that, at least when the sun was shining, Alia was completely fearless, but feeling her arms tighten around my body, I wondered how much longer it would take for her to overcome her nighttime dependence on me. Then I heard several gunshots ring out over the escalating angry shouts outside, and decided that I didn’t mind snuggling with Alia for the next few nights. Not in the least.

I kept my eyes open long after Alia had fallen asleep, but Terry didn’t return, and I eventually fell into a fitful slumber in which I dreamed of watching Terry fight a dragon in an arena made of giant black bones. I woke once in the total darkness and, from the sound of her breathing, deduced that Terry had returned and was already asleep. My Braille watch read 2am.

I wanted to stretch a bit, but my sister was still latched onto me and I didn’t want to risk waking her by prying her off. As I closed my eyes again, my thoughts wandered down to Mr. Jenson in the basement. What was it like to go back and forth between factions, being converted and seeing your own family and friends as the enemy? If I were to be converted, would I turn against Cindy and Alia? Would I fight Terry to the death? I didn’t want to find out. Psionic conversion, I decided, was a little death and rebirth. It fundamentally changed who you were, and that was a truly frightening thought.

As for Mr. Jenson, he was lucky to be alive at all. Mr. Baker had taken every psionic healer he had into the factory, leaving Mr. Williams with only a handful of useless Knights. If Alia hadn’t been there, the phantom would have bled to death on the concrete. It made no difference to my sister whether she was dealing with a friend or a foe. If someone was hurt, she would heal him. In contrast, while I had done my part to save the phantom’s life, I was merely assisting Alia. I really hadn’t cared at that time whether Mr. Jenson lived or died.

But I would.

Chapter 15: Discovery and Decision

“You two are truly unbelievable!” was Terry’s first comment the next morning.

I didn’t bother responding. My body felt stiff from being unable to move all night, but at least my sister was in good spirits.

“So how’d your meeting go last night, Terry?” I asked casually over breakfast.

Laila had joined us in our room because her mother was eating with Mr. Baker and other dignitaries. Terry’s eyes darted toward my girlfriend for a fraction of a second before she replied, “As always, Half-head, most of it’s need-to-know. But I’ll tell you one thing: The Seraphim have been exceptionally cordial so far. No traps, no spies, at least as far as we can tell. Of course, regular witnesses from both sides bled a little last night, but no one died.”

“That’s comforting,” I muttered sarcastically.

After breakfast, Terry asked Laila and Alia to return the trays to the kitchen motorhome while ordering me to stay behind and help her tidy up the room. I quickly found out why.

As soon as Laila and Alia were gone, Terry turned to me and said, “I have to tell you something very important.”

“I thought I was on need-to-know,” I said mildly.

Terry didn’t smile. “This you definitely need to know. And you have to promise me that you’ll keep it to yourself. You’re going to find out soon enough anyway, but I want you ready for it now, because I know your temper, and I don’t want you doing anything exceptionally stupid. You’re not going to tell anybody. Especially Laila.”

“Laila?” I repeated, confused. “I can’t promise that until you tell me what it is.”

Terry grabbed my left ear and pulled hard. “You’ll promise or I’ll balance your head, Adrian!”

“Ow!” I screamed. “I promise, okay?”

Terry let go. I massaged my throbbing ear as I asked, “What’s going on? What does this have to do with Laila?”

“I’ll get there,” said Terry. “First, you need to know that both Larissa Divine and Number Two were at the first battle, or so I’m told. I still don’t know the identity of Number Two. The problem is that both are far too well protected for us to attempt a hit during the fights. The Angels probably still don’t know that our main target is Number Two, but they’re not taking any chances with either master. If we try to kill either one during a battle, chances are we’ll fail. And not only that, but we’ll fail very visibly, and that’s very bad.”

“And Laila?” I asked impatiently.

“It’s her mother, Adrian. The Council is thinking of, uh, ‘accidentally’ letting her get caught by the Angels.”

“What!?”

“Keep your voice down!” hissed Terry. “This is what Mr. Baker likes to call a calculated risk. Injuries and deaths between individual witnesses won’t help us because that’s just a normal part of the blood trial. But if the Angels were to capture a member of our Council, then Mr. Baker would have the perfect excuse to send a team of Knights into the Angel camp and, in the process of rescuing her, eliminate Number Two. Maybe even Divine.”

“But Laila’s mother could be killed or converted before the Knights rescue her,” I argued.

Terry agreed. “That’s why it’s a calculated risk.”

“I am so sick of that line!” I spat vehemently. “And to think they’d do that to a member of their own Council! Just because she voted against accepting this blood trial?!”

Terry grabbed my good ear again. “Voice down, Adrian! You talk like Mrs. Brown isn’t in on this. She volunteered, Half-head.”

My next words never made it out of my mouth.

“That’s better,” said Terry, releasing me. “Laila’s mother voted against the blood trial only because she disagreed with allowing me to be the Angels’ prize. But as a result of her opposition, she was kept in the dark about the actual assassination plan. She probably assumes, as the Angels do, that we’re after Queen Divine.”

I gave Terry a disbelieving frown. “Why would she volunteer to be a part of a plan she doesn’t even know about?”

Terry rolled her eyes. “Because she supports the Guardians, Adrian. She knows that the Council is planning something, even if she doesn’t know exactly what it is. She knows that we need an excuse to send Knights into the Angel camp. Laila’s mother could sneak over there on the pretense of looking for clues about her lost husband. She’s pretty fair at blocking mind reading, and even if they get through her defenses, they won’t learn any more than they already think they know. All of our other VIPs know too much to risk sending into the Angel camp.”

“Laila’s father isn’t actually in that camp, is he?”

“Of course not,” said Terry. “But that doesn’t matter. If you thought someone over there knew where Catherine was, wouldn’t you go?”

Terry had a point, but I shook my head. “Not if I thought I wasn’t coming back.”

“Well, Laila’s mother is pretty sure she’ll be coming back.”

“And if she doesn’t?” I asked. “What of Laila?”

Terry nodded. “That’s why I’m warning you now, Adrian. It’ll be up to Mrs. Brown whether or not to tell Laila beforehand, and if she does, great, but if she doesn’t, that’s her business. When the time comes, I don’t want you to freak out like you did just now. And if something does happen to Laila’s mother, well, you’re Laila’s boyfriend. You can–”

I cut across her, snapping angrily, “Tell her to get over it?!”

Terry frowned. “I was going to say, ‘comfort her.’”

I sighed. “And when is this all planned for?”

“Not sure yet, but definitely not today or tomorrow,” said Terry. “We’re still gathering information. If we’re lucky, we’ll be able to nail Number Two without sending Laila’s mother at all. I’m just giving you a heads up in case it turns out that way.”

“Well, thanks!” I said sarcastically. “This’ll certainly brighten my day.”

Laila might lose her only parent in a few days and I was obligated to pretend like I didn’t know. I cursed loudly.

“Adrian,” Terry said softly, “please don’t think I like this or agree in any way. I’m not asking you to either.”

“Hold that thought, Terry,” I said as the illogic of Terry’s information hit me. “You just said they won’t send Laila’s mother tomorrow.”

“Yeah?”

“Well, you fight tomorrow, Terry. And if you win...”

Terry raised her eyebrows. “If?”

“Okay,” I said hastily, “when you win, this trial will be over.”

“You got me,” said Terry, grinning. “Alright, but this is also top secret, Adrian. The trial isn’t going to be over tomorrow because I’m not going to win.”

I stared at her. “You mean you’re going to lose on purpose?”

Terry nodded. “We’re going to need more time. Mr. Baker was very specific about this at the meeting. I don’t plan on making it an easy fight, but yes, I’ll lose. No doubt they’ll carry me out bleeding and unconscious.”

“What if they carry you out dead?” I asked, horrified at the thought of what the man Terry had described as a beast might do if Terry deliberately let her guard down.

Terry shook her head. “I’m the prize, remember? Even if that’s just an excuse for this trial, Larissa Divine will still want me alive.”

“I thought you were here to kill an Angel.”

“I’m here to kill all the Angels!” snapped Terry. “If being beaten to a pulp serves that purpose, I’ll do it.”

I asked anxiously, “But then what if Mr. Simms loses the third match?”

Terry smiled. “Don’t worry about me, Adrian. I know what I’m getting into.”

“They’re back,” I said, hearing Laila and Alia’s footsteps coming from down the corridor.

“What’s the matter, Adrian?” Laila asked the moment she stepped into the room.

I quickly wiped the scowl off my face. “Nothing.”

Alia, having followed Laila into the room, laughed and said, “Addy always says ‘nothing’ when something’s really, really wrong.”

I threw my sister a warning look: zip it or you’ll sleep alone tonight!

“Don’t mind Adrian,” Terry said casually. “He’s just mad because I refused his offer to trade places with me in tomorrow’s fight.”

And that’s where we left it for the morning.

It was not until mid-afternoon that things, already messed up in more ways than I cared to count, suddenly took yet another deep dive into the surreal.

So far, I had spent much of the day contemplating whether or not I should flat-out defy Terry and tell Laila everything I had heard. Laila might lose her mother before the week was out, and if I was her, I’d want to know. But beyond the possibility of having my remaining ear torn off by Terry, I did understand the Guardians’ need for secrecy. This was our one real chance to even the playing field. If Laila’s mother could keep a secret like this from her own daughter, then I would have to keep it as well.

As for Terry deliberately losing tomorrow’s fight, I knew it was futile to argue. Terry always did whatever she believed in. This would be no different.

Terry had skipped her training that day and the four of us were playing cards in our room when, my restlessness finally getting the better of me, I said, “I want to see the Angel camp.”

“Why?” asked Laila.

“Just curious.”

“You’re not to cross our barrier, Adrian,” said Terry.

Even in the daylight, witnesses from both sides were “mingling” in the north-south service road that ran between the main factory building and the warehouses lining the east side of the compound. Gunshots were rare, but injuries were fairly common. Just before lunch, Alia had assisted another Guardian healer to treat a man who had suffered electrical burns on his chest and arms: the result of a duel with an Angel spark. The Angel reportedly lost a good deal of blood too, but that was someone else’s problem.

“I have a pair of binoculars in the camper,” Laila said helpfully. “If you like, we can get up on this building’s roof and look from there.”

We did just that. In addition to a pair of Guardian Knights, the roof of our three-story office building already had a fair number of spectators, some observing the Angel camp in the distance while others exchanged taunts with Angels who had ventured down the service road.

We took turns with the binoculars, and I saw that the Angels too had come with a fair number of motorhomes, which they had arranged in a full circle around their smaller cars and tents which were huddled together on the north side of the factory compound. Unfortunately, the line of warehouses on my right and the factory building on my left blocked much of the view, and at this height I couldn’t see the inside of the Angel encampment very well.

“It’s not against the rules to fly here, is it?” I asked.

Terry shrugged, which I took as a no.

Fortunately, Laila’s binoculars were a relatively cheap pair, made mostly of plastic rather than metal, so they didn’t hamper my levitation greatly. I slowly floated upward until I was high enough to see past the Angels’ motorhome barrier and watch the Angel witnesses walking about inside their camp.

I heard one of the Knights call up to me, “You’re going to get yourself shot, Hansel!”

I ignored the warning.

Lowering the binoculars for a moment, I noticed that there was an Angel telekinetic hovering directly over his camp at approximately the same altitude as myself. He was looking back at me with his own pair of binoculars, and as a combination joke and taunt, I waved to him. To my surprise, he actually waved back.

Putting the binoculars back up to my eyes, I once again scanned the Angel camp. I watched as several small groups of Angels set up outdoor cooking equipment in preparation for dinner while others talked, occasionally gesturing wildly. Perhaps they were talking about the fights that were taking place outside the walls.

I saw the side door open on one of the motorhomes that made up the far side of the Angels’ circular barrier.

And out stepped Cat.

I hadn’t seen my lost sister in nearly three years, and even through the binoculars I was too far away to see her very clearly, but I knew in an instant that it was her. I didn’t wonder what Cat was doing there. That question would come later, along with many others. At that moment, I just watched. Cat briskly walked alone between the cars and tents, heading toward the southernmost motorhome. In a moment she had disappeared behind it. I trained my binoculars on the windows, but the curtains were drawn on this side.

I hadn’t a clue how long I had been levitating, but I was rapidly reaching my limit. I didn’t want to come down. I had to see Cat again if only to make sure that I hadn’t imagined her.

I hit the roof of the office building so completely out of breath that it took nearly a minute before I could say anything at all, and when I did, it was, “Wait a minute. I’ll be back.”

I levitated again, and when I refocused the binoculars on the Angel camp, I saw Cat’s long hair lift slightly in the breeze as she walked back toward the farthermost motorhome.

There was no question about it. Whatever the reason, my first sister had come to the blood trial.

I made a quick mental note of the size and color of the motorhome Cat had returned to, as well as the ones to its left and right.

“What did you see?” asked Laila when I landed again.

“Nothing,” I panted. “I mean, just Angels.”

“Happy now?” said Terry. “There’s nothing to see. It’s not like Larissa Divine’s about to take a stroll outside.”

“I guess so,” I said. I was still in a mild state of shock, but the girls seemed to regard it as overexertion from my prolonged levitation.

“Let’s go on back downstairs,” said Laila.

I’m not exactly sure why I didn’t tell them all on the spot that I had seen Cat in the Angel camp. Perhaps I was just in a secretive mood after what I had heard from Terry that morning, but I didn’t want Laila or even Alia to know about Cat just yet. I wanted to talk privately with Terry first.

That wasn’t easy considering the fact that Laila had nowhere else to be and Alia was still my semi-Siamese twin. If absolutely necessary, I would wait till nighttime when Laila returned to her camper, and with any luck I could disentangle myself from Alia after she fell asleep. But given the choice, I wanted to talk to Terry sooner.

An hour later, just before dinnertime, my wish was granted in the form of a messenger who came to our room to announce that Laila was to eat with her mother that evening, and the rest of us weren’t invited.

“That’s odd,” said Laila, not noticing the knowing glances Terry and I exchanged. “I can’t imagine why my mother wouldn’t invite you all.”

I shrugged. Laila would find out soon enough, and as far as I was concerned, it was for the better.

After seeing Laila off, Terry said quietly, “I wasn’t sure Laila’s mother would really tell her. I guess she deserves more credit than I thought.”

“Terry, we need to talk,” I said, aware that Alia was listening to our conversation.

“Is it something Alia shouldn’t hear?” asked Terry.

“Well, you seem to think so. Personally, I don’t mind if she hears.”

That wasn’t entirely true, but I didn’t want to upset Alia.

“Then we’ll just have to get rid of your nosy sister, won’t we?” Terry smiled and said to Alia, “Go shower now, and we’ll eat after you get back. Make sure you take your time.”

Alia shook her head vigorously. “No fair, Terry! Addy said I could listen!”

“Guess what?! I’m not Addy!” snapped Terry. “Now go or you’ll get the tickling of a lifetime!”

Alia stamped her feet in anger but obeyed. Grabbing her towel and nightclothes, she blew Terry a big raspberry and then disappeared from the room.

After locking the door, Terry turned to me and asked brusquely, “So what is it, Half-head?”

“I’ve got a real problem, Terry,” I began slowly.

Terry laughed. “Adrian, Laila’s got a real problem since her mother volunteered to be fish bait. I’ve got a real problem because tomorrow I’m going to be beaten senseless in front of a cheering group of Angels. What kind of real problem could you possibly have?”

“My sister is here,” I told her.

Terry threw her hands up in exasperation. “You invited her to tag along!”

“I’m not talking about Alia!”

I gave Terry a moment of silence to let it sink in.

“You mean your sister-sister?” Terry asked quietly. “You mean Catherine?”

I nodded. “I saw her today. In the Angel camp.”

“You’re sure?” asked Terry. “There were no children on the Angel side of the witnesses yesterday.”

That wasn’t so hard to believe. Cat was thirteen years old, and whoever had brought her to this gathering had no doubt left her in the camp during the first fight.

“Trust me,” I said. “I’d know my own sister, Terry.”

Terry whistled softly. “This could complicate things.”

“Yeah,” I said sarcastically, “like things aren’t already complicated enough.”

Terry smiled grimly. “You were right not to let Laila know. She’d tell her mother and then Mr. Baker would know.”

“Then you agree that Mr. Baker won’t help me?”

Terry nodded. “Not a chance. Not now, not here.”

In the past, Mr. Baker had promised more than once that he would help me retrieve Cat from the Angels, but there was no way he was going to risk upsetting his delicate covert operation for my sister.

Terry sighed. “Baker is liable to lock you up just to keep you from doing anything stupid.”

“Well, his concern wouldn’t be unfounded,” I said, grinning. “After all, I do have a bit of a reputation for rash actions.”

“So you’re planning to infiltrate the Angel camp all by yourself, then?” Terry asked skeptically.

“Of course not, Terry. You’re going to help me.”

“Like hell I am!” Terry said angrily. “Don’t you get it, Half-head? You already know all about our plans to kill Number Two. I should never have told you anything.”

“You’re right, Terry, you shouldn’t have,” I said evenly. “But that doesn’t change the fact that I’m going over there with or without your help.”

“You would risk the Angels finding out our plan if they caught you and delved you? You’d risk everything the Guardians are working for here?”

“Sure,” I replied unhesitatingly. “Wouldn’t you?”

Terry pursed her lips, but I knew she understood. There was little Terry wouldn’t have done for Gabriel.

“Besides,” I added, “as for the Angels reading my mind, they’d have to catch me first.”

“Which they will,” Terry said matter-of-factly.

“Which they might,” I contradicted. “I still have Cindy’s hiding protection, remember? And even if they did catch me, if they believed I was really only after Cat, they wouldn’t be in such a hurry to delve me. After all, I’m still not old enough to safely delve. I could probably pass for fourteen or even thirteen years old.”

“You could pass for five, Addy,” Terry said nastily. “But that won’t stop them from delving you if they thought for a second that you were a part of the Council’s plans.”

“I’ll make sure they don’t,” I said. “Please, Terry. You’ve got to help me.”

Terry shook her head. “Your sister has been converted, Adrian. She’s an Angel whether you like it or not.”

I knew that children were particularly susceptible to psionic conversion, and Cat would have been ten years old when she was converted by the Angel master. I bit my lip as Terry logically pointed out, “Even if you did manage to get to her, she wouldn’t want to come back here with you. Not while Larissa Divine is alive.”

“I’ll let Cat be the judge of that, Terry,” I said. “Please. I have to at least try.”

“If the Council is successful, then in a couple of years–”

“Damn it, Terry!” I shouted furiously. “I’m not going to wait a couple of years! In a couple of years she could be dead! My sister is here right now! I might never get another chance like this.”

Terry said warningly, “If you force her, her mind could be destroyed.”

I knew that too. “I won’t force her,” I promised. “I’ll just talk to her and give her the choice.”

Terry remained silent.

“Come on, Terry,” I pleaded. “The Council still needs a reason to send Knights into the Angel camp, right? What difference would it make if I took Mrs. Brown’s place?”

Terry let out a loud huff. “Adrian, you are completely insane.”

“Then I’m in good company,” I replied evenly. “And don’t tell me that I’m not ready for something this big because I know I’m not and I’m going anyway.”

I dared not imagine what Cindy might have said to that, especially after I promised her I’d stay out of trouble this time. So much for being a good boy.

“What do you want me to do?” Terry asked resignedly.

“I just need a way in,” I told her. “I need to know how Mr. Baker was planning to send Mrs. Brown into the Angel camp.”

“That’s easy,” Terry said with a frown. “Laila’s mother was going to have one of our phantoms turn her invisible.”

“That’s a thought,” I said, “if I could get a phantom to help me.”

“Wrong, Half-head,” said Terry. “Floating eyeballs, remember? The Angels would be looking for that kind of thing. You’re forgetting that the whole point of Laila’s mother going over to the Angel camp is to deliberately get caught.”

“Oh, right,” I said, feeling stupid. “Well, I can’t get caught. At least not until I find Cat and have a chance to speak with her. There has to be some other way to get inside.”

Terry stared up at the ceiling for a moment before saying slowly, “Well, there are several service tunnels that run under the compound, but they don’t surface inside the Angel camp. One of them will get you to the far end of the warehouses, pretty near their barrier, but you’ll still have to find a way past the sentries.”

That wasn’t helpful in the least.

I said rather embarrassedly, “My first idea was to wait for night, fly really high up and then drop into the camp from above. But I suppose that would be, uh...”

“Suicidal,” confirmed Terry.

“Then I guess invisibility is still my best option.”

Terry shook her head. “That’s a non-option, Adrian.”

“It’s the perfect option,” I argued.

“Eyeballs, Adrian!” Terry cried in frustration. “Eyeballs!”

“No eyeballs,” I replied.

“What?”

“No eyeballs!” I insisted. “The phantom could make me completely invisible, eyeballs included.”

“But you’d be blind as a bat, Adrian.”

I shrugged. “So what? Do you really think I couldn’t find my way out there blind?”

Terry narrowed her eyes. “Even without your ridiculous headset?”

I had left my ridiculous headset back in New Haven, along with my cane and talking compass. Perhaps there was a lesson about preparedness to be learned here, but I ignored it.

“I’ll manage,” I answered with as much conviction as I could muster. “Terry, if I were completely invisible as well as psionically hidden, as long as I didn’t pass right next to a finder or a destroyer, I’d be safe, right?”

Terry looked thoughtfully at me for a moment, but then she frowned again and said, “Still won’t work.”

“Why not?”

“Because no Guardian phantom is going to help you without Mr. Baker’s explicit permission, which he will definitely not give.”

“How about Mr. Jenson?” I suggested. “He owes me.”

Technically, Mr. Jenson owed Alia much more, but I did pull the bullet out of his gut, after all.

“He’s a former Angel, Adrian,” Terry pointed out. “We don’t know if he really came here to find his son. How can you trust him?”

“That man risked everything to come here. I can trust in that.”

“It makes no difference,” said Terry, shaking her head. “Mr. Jenson is locked downstairs with two Knight sentries.”

I raised my eyebrows. “Only two?”

“Two very capable sentries,” Terry said seriously. “And you won’t be able to pull a stunt like you did last year when you busted me out of jail. We don’t have any official business to go down there in the first place, so they’ll be on their guard the minute we show our faces. And even assuming we manage to neutralize the sentries without anyone hearing, it would still take some time to convince Mr. Jenson to help. The sentries get regular calls from the command post, and if they don’t answer, someone’s going to come down to find out why.”

I looked at Terry unhappily. “You’re just one big bag of ‘no’ today, aren’t you?”

Terry shrugged. “I’m telling it like it is, Adrian.”

I wasn’t going to give up easily – or at all for that matter. There had to be a way in. I closed my eyes, and Terry kindly gave me a minute of silence to think it over. To my own surprise, I really only needed one minute.

“Alright,” I said slowly, “then I need you to find a way for Mr. Baker to secretly discover that I know that Cat is here. Think you can do that?”

“What for?” Terry asked in surprise. “We already agreed that we don’t want Mr. Baker to know about your sister.”

I shook my head. “I don’t want Mr. Baker to know that I know that he knows that I know that Cat is here.”

Terry gave me a blank stare. “Say that again.”

I did, and then I waited patiently for Terry to figure it out. Terry asked uncertainly, “You mean you’re going to use Mr. Baker?”

“No,” I replied, grinning. “He’s going to use me. Laila’s mother may not know the details of the Council’s plan, but as a member of the Council, she knows many of the Guardians’ other secrets. From Mr. Baker’s perspective, I’m definitely the safer bet because he thinks I’m as clueless as Mrs. Brown about the plan to kill Number Two. And being Cindy’s son, I’m just as good a reason for Mr. Baker to send a retrieval team into the Angel camp.”

Terry shook her head. “Mr. Baker would never deliberately risk you again. Not with Cindy waiting back home.”

“He would if he thought he could claim ignorance later,” I said confidently. “Mr. Baker is painfully pragmatic. He’s even worse than you, Terry. He’ll accept a calculated risk. If he knows that I know that Cat is here, and also thinks that I don’t know that he knows, then he won’t be in a hurry to stop me. Quite the opposite. He’ll want me to do something rash. As long as he could be rendered blameless, Mr. Baker would secretly help me make the crossing.”

Terry still looked skeptical. “You really think he’d do that?”

“I’d bet my left ear on it, Terry. If he knows I want to turn invisible, he’ll give me some official business with Mr. Jenson or find some other way to get another phantom to help me without making it look like the order is coming from him.”

Terry laughed. “Like I said, Adrian, you really are completely insane.”

“But it’ll work.”

“It might work,” Terry reluctantly agreed. “But you’re walking a razor’s edge here, Adrian. I never knew you to be such an optimist.”

I chuckled. “Optimism is a last resort when there’s no realistic plan.”

“Hold that thought,” said Terry, walking over to the door and deftly turning the lock and knob at the same time.

Alia tumbled into the room.

“How was your shower?” asked Terry as she roughly pulled Alia to her feet. “I see you dried your hair well. In fact, it’s hard to believe it was ever wet at all.”

“You forgot to change, too,” I said, telekinetically gathering Alia’s towel and nightclothes from the corridor floor and dumping them over her head. “How much did you hear?”

Alia closed the door and replied meekly, “Everything.”

Not knowing about the Guardians’ plot to kill Number Two, Alia probably hadn’t understood all of our conversation, but she had understood enough. “You’re going to risk your life again, Addy?” she asked with a worried frown.

I nodded. “She’s my sister, Alia. Just like you. If you were over there now, you know I’d go get you back.”

Alia’s frown deepened. “I know that, Addy. I just don’t want to lose you again.”

I knelt down in front of her and gave her shoulders a squeeze. “And I hope you won’t. But we all do what we have to.”

“Then I’m going too,” she said.

“Not this trip,” I said firmly.

Alia looked like she was about to protest, but I quickly said, “Believe me, I’d take you if I thought you’d come in handy. But I’m going in blind and possibly escaping by air. For once, I’m afraid you’ll just slow me down. Listen to me just this once. Please.”

“But I want to help you, Addy.”

I smiled. “Good, because I’m probably going to need you to bail me out again. And these aren’t dumb Slayers we’re dealing with this time.”

Alia, after a moment’s pause, nodded slowly. “Okay.”

Serving time for the evening meal was almost over, so the three of us rushed over to the kitchen motorhome to grab our dinner trays and then hurried back to continue our discussion. I glanced over at Laila’s camper on our way back to the office building. Had Mrs. Brown already told Laila about volunteering to be captured by the Angels? The curtains were drawn in the camper. I wondered how Laila was taking the news.

Back in our room, we ate quickly.

When we finished, Terry said, “We still need a real plan.”

As far as I was concerned, the best plan was always the simplest plan. “Well, if you don’t mind playing double-agent again, Terry, you could just straight-out tell Mr. Baker that you overheard me talking to Alia about this. If he trusts you enough to ask you to be beaten to a pulp, no doubt he’ll trust you to keep his secret on this too.”

“Fair enough,” said Terry. “Conveniently, I actually have a meeting with him and the Council later tonight and I can probably get him alone for a minute or two.”

“You’ll have to make sure he knows that I want some time alone with Mr. Jenson.”

Terry frowned. “The real problem is getting you out.”

“Meaning?”

“Like you said, Mr. Baker thinks you’re clueless. He won’t consider you a security risk, so chances are he won’t be in a great hurry to retrieve you once you’ve crossed over. Instead, he’ll take his time to get his Knights extra organized to raise the chances of successfully pulling off the hit on Number Two.”

“That’s not good,” I said. The longer I stayed in the Angel camp, the greater chance I would have of being caught and delved.

“It’s not good at all,” agreed Terry. “We’ll need to make sure that we can push Mr. Baker into acting when we need him to.”

I glanced at my sister. “Mr. Baker is a politician. All we need to do is push him politically. Alia will do it.”

“How?” Terry and Alia asked in unison.

In response, I grabbed a pencil and tore a sheet of paper out of Alia’s drawing book.

“What are you doing, Half-head?” Terry asked impatiently.

“I’m writing a secret note to Alia,” I replied. “After all, she has a right to know where I’m going.”

Watching me rapidly line the paper with little black dots, Terry ventured, “Braille?”

“Alia can sight-read Braille,” I reminded Terry. “When the time comes, she’ll tell Mr. Baker about this note. Because nobody else here can decipher it, Alia will have to read it aloud in front of all the Guardians. She’ll conveniently forget she’s telepathic.”

“What does the message say?” asked Terry.

Alia, looking over my shoulder, read aloud, “Mary had a little lamb. Its fleece was white as snow. And everywhere that Mary went, the lamb was sure to go.”

I laughed. “You don’t actually read the words written here, Alia. This is just for show. I don’t want to write anything real on this paper in case someone finds it and actually does know how to read it. But when the time comes, you’ll pretend it says something like, ‘I’m going into the Angel camp to find my sister.’ If you read it in front of all the Guardian witnesses, Mr. Baker will have to send in his team immediately or risk Cindy thinking he deliberately left me in danger.”

Alia looked uncomfortable. “I’ve never talked in front of a large group of people before.”

“You’re not about to freeze up on me, are you?” I asked, looking carefully into her eyes.

“I’ll be fine, Addy,” Alia said determinedly.

“Good.”

“Just one thing, Adrian,” Terry said warningly. “Even if we publicly force Mr. Baker to send in his team, you’ll still be a secondary objective. The team will want to take out Number Two first.”

“I know that,” I said calmly.

“Then do you know that the Knights may be destroyed or have to retreat before they get to you? Just because Mr. Baker sends in the Knights is no guarantee that they’ll actually rescue you. What then?”

“I’ll cross that bridge when I come to it.”

“Fair enough,” said Terry. “How soon do you want retrieval?”

“That’s tricky,” I said. “I’m planning to go during your fight tomorrow. I don’t think I can bear to watch you deliberately lose to an Angel anyway, so I’ll leave you in Alia’s capable hands. Besides, Cat will probably be left behind in the Angel camp again, so that’s my only real window of opportunity. If I’m not back by, say, half an hour after the battle, then I’m going to need fast retrieval.” I smiled and added, “With any luck, I’ll be back with Cat well before that.”

Terry rolled her eyes. “With any luck, Adrian, you’ll just barely avoid being killed again.”

I shrugged. “I’m sure that’ll be fun too.”

Wanting to check up on Laila, I offered to return our dinner trays. Alia asked to tag along, but I refused. Levitating the stack of trays and dirty dishes in front of me, I left Alia and Terry in our room and quickly stepped out of the office building.

The sun had nearly set, and I could hear angry shouts and taunts beyond the motorhome barrier, punctuated by the occasional gunshot fired into the air. I knew it was mostly steam-blowing, but it still rattled me every time a shot rang out. Afraid that I’d lose my telekinetic focus, I gave up levitating the trays and carried them in my hands.

Once I was free of the dirty dishes, I doubled back toward Laila’s camper. The curtains were still drawn, and I hesitated to knock on the door. After all, I didn’t want to interrupt an important private conversation.

I knocked.

Mrs. Brown opened the door.

“Adrian?” she said, looking down at me. “Where’s Laila?”

“She’s not here?” I asked.

“She went to see you after dinner.”

“Oh,” I said. “How long ago?”

“A few minutes.”

“I must have just missed her. I was returning our trays. Laila’s probably in our room with Terry and Alia by now.”

Mrs. Brown smiled, but only her mouth. “I’m sorry, Adrian, but I told her not to stay out late tonight. This isn’t New Haven, after all.”

“I understand, Mrs. Brown,” I said. “I’ll walk her back.”

“Thank you,” Mrs. Brown said stiffly, and closed the door.

I found Laila standing by herself near the office entrance, staring down at her feet.

“Laila?” I called softly.

Laila turned slowly. “Adrian...”

As Laila lifted her face, I noticed that her eyes were red and puffy. Suddenly I felt really uncomfortable: I had never before seen Laila in tears.

I stepped up to her and gave her a weak smile. “By the looks of it, you had a pretty rough talk with your mother.”

“Please don’t ask,” said Laila, putting her forehead onto my shoulder.

“It’s alright,” I said gently as I put my arms around her. “You don’t have to say anything.”

I certainly didn’t want to admit that I already knew, and Laila had obviously been strictly warned not to tell me. That was fine. Laila felt bad enough. I had no need to pry.

“I’m really sorry, Adrian,” said Laila, her voice cracked. “What my mother told me... I’m not supposed to tell anyone.”

“It’s alright,” I said again. “You don’t have to tell me.”

I held her close as we wandered our way back into the parking lot. I didn’t want to return Laila to her mother just yet, and Laila certainly seemed in no hurry herself. Our feet eventually found our way over to Cindy’s sedan, where we sat side by side on the hood. Laila didn’t say anything, and though I was quite used to that from Alia, with Laila I strongly felt the urge to fill the silence.

A sudden burst of machinegun fire made me flinch violently, and I saw Laila jump a bit too.

“Some gathering, huh?” I said weakly.

Laila nodded. “Some gathering.”

Suddenly Laila turned to me and said, “I’m really glad that you came, Adrian. To this trial, I mean.”

“You said it yourself, Laila. Good guys don’t hide,” I said quietly. Then I grinned, adding, “Besides, you’re forgetting that I’m a Guardian Knight. I live for this kind of thing.”

Laila shook her head. “I know you better than that, Adrian. You’ll never really be a Guardian Knight.”

“Terry seems to disagree,” I said.

“Terry just sees what she wants to see. You don’t buy into this awful war. You don’t fight for ideals. You only fight for people.”

Laila might have been accusing me of being unprincipled, but I took it as a compliment anyway. I understood why she was so upset with her mother today.

Laila wiped her eyes and smiled at me. “I think that’s why I like you so much.”

“I sometimes wondered,” I mumbled. “I could never figure out what you saw in me, Laila. Especially after I went blind. Not that I’m complaining. I love being with you. But why me? There must be plenty of cool guys at your school.”

“No one like you, Adrian.”

I remained embarrassedly silent, and Laila continued, “The first day I met you, I already knew you were different. You’ve really been there and back. You don’t just pretend to be cool. You really are.”

“No one has ever accused me of being cool before,” I said. I wasn’t about to remind Laila that she had once described me as “too cute.” After all, Laila was still half a head taller than me.

How I wished I could tell her not to worry, and that her mother wouldn’t be risking her life for Mr. Baker’s plot. But what would Laila think if she learned that I was planning to take Mrs. Brown’s place? There was nothing I could say to comfort her.

Instead we sat together on the hood of Cindy’s sedan and talked of trivial things: what we were going to do when we all returned safely to New Haven, and how long Terry’s fight tomorrow would last and whether she would sustain even a single injury before winning...

It might have been funny if it weren’t so sick. We sat there lying to each other, Laila acting as if she didn’t know anything about her mother’s role in the Guardians’ assassination plan, and me pretending I didn’t know what was going through Laila’s mind. Even if Laila had confided her secret in me, I couldn’t have told her that I was planning to take her mother’s place. I couldn’t have told Laila that Terry was planning to get beaten in tomorrow’s fight. If I knew how horrible Laila felt having to keep her mother’s secret from me, it was only because with so much more to hide from her, I felt utterly disgusted with myself. I was almost relieved when Mrs. Brown found us and took Laila back to her camper.

I walked back to our room where I found Terry sitting alone with her back propped up against the wall, glancing through some papers.

“You were gone awhile,” remarked Terry, standing up. “How was Laila?”

“Understandably distraught,” I replied. “Where’s Alia?”

“Showering,” said Terry. “This time for real. She should be back soon. Are you going to let her sleep with you again?”

I nodded. “If she wants. I promised she could as long as we’re here.”

Terry chuckled quietly. “Sometimes I wonder if you’re her brother or her mother.”

“Sometimes I’m not so sure myself,” I said with a sigh.

Terry asked worriedly, “Are you sure you really want to do this, Adrian? I know Catherine’s your real sister and all, but one false move and you’re either dead or converted. Either way, Alia’s going to be really sad.”

I narrowed my eyes. “Please don’t start talking like Cindy. It doesn’t suit you at all.”

“Alright, then,” Terry said evenly as she stood up, “I’m off to my meeting. I’ve got to try to get Mr. Baker alone afterwards, and I don’t know how long that’ll take. As soon as Alia gets back, you shower and go straight to sleep. You’ve got a big day tomorrow.”

“Since when were you my mother?!” I said, annoyed. “It’s barely 9pm. Besides, as far as big days go, you’re the one who’s walking into the arena tomorrow.”

“Better than where you’re going, Adrian,” said Terry, walking to the door. “See you in the morning. Wish me luck.”

As the door closed behind her, I shut my eyes and slowed my breathing, hoping to come to grips with what I had just committed myself to. It didn’t work. I shook my head furiously, trying to clear my mind. When I opened my eyes, though I could see the room I was standing in, I nevertheless felt as blind as the day the Slayers had taken my sight. Blind to the future. Where would I be in twenty-four hours?

The door opened again, and Alia stepped in, her hair still dripping water down the back of her nightclothes. She swiftly trotted up to me and, throwing her arms around my waist, said in a shaky telepathic voice, “Addy, I’m really scared for you.”

“I’m a little scared for me, too,” I said, looking down into her anxious eyes. “But you know I have to do this.”

Alia nodded silently.

“Besides,” I added, “there’s no guarantee that Terry will even manage to get Mr. Baker to help me. One thing at a time, okay?”

That was good advice for the both of us. Focus on the present. The future would come soon enough.

I took a little extra time in the shower, which calmed me just a little. But as I lay down with Alia on our combined bed, I realized that I was still so completely wound up by all that had happened that there was no way I could simply close my eyes and fall asleep.

The angry shouts and gunshots outside seemed a little more distant that night. Clearer were the sounds of Alia’s faint breathing and my own heavy heartbeat. My eyes wide open in the semi-dark room, I could still see Cat walking through the Angel encampment. I could see Laila standing alone by the office building, her eyes red with tears. How would Laila feel if, in taking her mother’s place, I were to be killed tomorrow? What of Alia and Cindy, and even Terry? And what of me? Was I celebrating the last night of my life on this planet?

Focus! Focus on the present. Sleep now. Tomorrow could wait.

I heard the door open, and Terry whispered, “Still awake, Half-head?”

“Yeah,” I breathed. “How’d it go?”

“Well, I did the best I could. Don’t expect a miracle, though. Baker doesn’t lead the Guardians by being stupid.”

Chapter 16: The Crossing

Laila didn’t visit until well after breakfast the next day. She seemed, if not cheerful, at least composed. Terry had gone outside to spar with some Knights, leaving Alia, Laila and me to sit around playing card games to pass the time.

Earlier in the morning, Terry and I had impressed upon Alia the importance of keeping her mouth shut around Laila. That wasn’t so hard for Alia, for whom silence was second nature. My sister certainly looked a lot calmer than I felt. I had been hoping that Mr. Baker would send for me first thing in the morning, but he didn’t. I wondered if he might send for me during breakfast, but he didn’t. And after breakfast, still no word. Terry’s battle was scheduled for 4pm today, and it was already nearly lunchtime. Would Mr. Baker really take the bait? He now knew that I knew that Cat was at this gathering, and he also knew that I was planning to attempt contact. He would either assist me or stop me. But when? The one thing I could never get used to about a conflict was waiting for it.

Probably sensing the restlessness in my body language, Laila asked me, “Are you worried about Terry’s battle today, Adrian?”

“Yeah,” I said. It wasn’t an outright lie. I was, in fact, quite worried about what would happen to Terry this afternoon.

“I’ve never seen Terry lose a fight,” said Laila. “I’m sure she’ll be okay.”

I nodded, wondering if Laila already knew of Mr. Baker’s order to have Terry deliberately lose her match. Perhaps she did, since she knew that the Council wasn’t sending her mother into the Angel camp today, meaning the tournament would have to continue. I dared not ask, though. Just another secret we were keeping from each other.

I wasn’t at all hungry for lunch, but I forced myself to eat a little. Laila and Alia both shared my lack of appetite, and we ended up returning our trays with more than half of the food uneaten.

Still no word from Mr. Baker.

Terry returned to our room a little after 1pm in an exceptionally foul mood.

“Cowards!” spat Terry when we asked. She was referring to the Knights she had been sparring with. “They refuse to give it their all! They’re afraid I might lose an eye or something before my afternoon match. If I wanted a training dummy, I could’ve just used Adrian.”

I was about to offer a rejoinder when there was a knock on the door, and I telekinetically opened it to none other than Mr. Baker himself. I didn’t have to pretend to be surprised, because I was surprised. I hadn’t expected him to come in person. Mr. Baker was followed into the room by six Guardian Knights, including Mr. Ted Williams.

Glancing at the four of us, Mr. Baker said, “Might I have a word with Hansel and Gretel?”

I groaned. “Oh, please, Mr. Baker. Can we cut the call signs in this room?”

“Of course, Adrian,” said Mr. Baker, chuckling. “It was merely a formality. I am here on official Guardian Knight business.”

“I wasn’t expecting a social call during an event like this,” I said with a grin. “How can we help you?”

Laila looked at Mr. Baker uncomfortably and asked, “Um, is this a private conversation?”

“No, no,” Mr. Baker said lightly. “You and Terry are welcome to listen.”

Apparently Mr. Baker wanted witnesses.

Mr. Baker cleared his throat once and said, “So, Adrian, I have, um, a favor to ask of you.”

“Anything, Mr. Baker,” I said, trying futilely to steady my heartbeat which had just gone into overdrive.

“You understand that in all likelihood, this gathering will end today?”

“Meaning?”

“Well, Ms. Dallas won her match the other day, and I think we both can agree that the chances of the Angels having found a non-psionic more capable in combat than Terry here is practically nil. When Terry wins her round later this afternoon, we all get to go home.”

“That’s good news, Mr. Baker,” I said, forcing a smile. “What is it that you wanted to ask of me?”

Frowning, Mr. Baker said, “Well, you see, the Angels have never been known to keep their word in this conflict. Even now, as they outnumber us, we fear they may have some secret agenda. After all, they were the ones who requested this blood trial in the first place, even though, traditionally, it is the losing side that calls for this kind of gathering.”

“Are you afraid that the Angels might attack us in full force when Terry wins?” I asked.

“It’s certainly possible, but unlikely,” said Mr. Baker. “No, we fear there may be something more subtle going on. Perhaps an attempt on the lives of the Council members here. Or perhaps even me.”

“What can I do to help?”

“You and Alia saved the life of the Angel phantom, Mr. Jenson, two days ago. He would probably have bled to death had you not been there.”

“Alia saved his life,” I said. “Anyone could have pulled out the bullet.”

“Nevertheless, it was you,” replied Mr. Baker. “And that puts Mr. Jenson in your debt, so to speak. You see, we’re still not entirely certain that Mr. Jenson came to our side for the reasons he claims. More importantly, his conversion, though quite weak now, is still keeping him from willingly giving away any of the Angels’ secrets.”

Terry asked calmly, “Are you saying that his conversion has weakened enough for him to defect, but he’s still loyal to the Angels?”

“That is correct, Terry,” replied Mr. Baker, and I couldn’t help smiling to myself as I watched this charade. No doubt Terry had been told by Mr. Baker to play dumb in front of his guards.

Mr. Baker continued, “As Mr. Jenson has shown his willingness to join us, we would prefer not to forcibly interrogate him if it can be avoided.”

“How very humane of you,” Terry said sarcastically.

Ignoring her, Mr. Baker turned to me again and said, “I would like you and Alia to speak with Mr. Jenson. As he owes you a life debt, speaking with you may help him overcome his conversion and inform us of any secret plans the Angels have regarding this blood trial.”

“But Mr. Jenson isn’t even a Seraph, is he?” I asked. “Would a regular witness really know of any Angel plans?”

“It’s quite possible he knows nothing,” said Mr. Baker. “But if he does know anything at all, you’re the best bet for getting him to talk. I’m sorry I didn’t ask you this yesterday when we had more time. I was hoping we might discover the Angels’ plans without asking you or especially Alia to get involved, considering how Cindy feels about the two of you.”

I grinned. “Cindy’s not here.”

Mr. Baker remained unsmiling. “No, she’s not. But nevertheless I do not want to put either of you in any unnecessary risk. Unfortunately, we are running out of time. If the Angels are planning something, chances are that they are planning it for today. Perhaps even during Terry’s fight. That is now less than two and a half hours away.”

“It is no problem, Mr. Baker,” I said in a confident tone. “Mr. Jenson is locked in the basement of this building, isn’t he? I’m sure there’ll be no risk involved in talking with him. But if I’m to convince him to talk to me, it might be best if your security guards gave us some privacy.”

“My thoughts exactly,” agreed Mr. Baker. “I will make it so. When will you talk to him?”

“We’ll go right away,” I promised.

“Terry can escort you down,” said Mr. Baker. “If Mr. Jenson tells you anything at all, please find me immediately. If you can’t get anything from him, thanks for trying, and I’ll see you at Terry’s match.”

Don’t count on it. I nodded and smiled, and Mr. Baker and his escorts left us.

I turned to Laila and said apologetically, “Mr. Baker’s orders. We’ll be back as soon as we can, okay?”

“No problem,” said Laila.

Terry, Alia and I were about to leave, but then Laila suddenly changed her mind and asked brightly, “Actually, can I come with you, too?”

I hesitated. I couldn’t let Laila hear what I had to say to Mr. Jenson, but nor could I refuse her company without arousing her suspicion. Terry was watching us uncomfortably.

“Um, sure, Laila,” I said uneasily. “You can come if you like.”

Alia said worriedly into my head, “Addy? Do you really want Laila to come with us?”

I couldn’t answer my sister aloud without revealing that she was using her telepathy, but Alia had a solution to that too: “Scratch your head if you want me to keep Laila here.”

I did, and Alia said aloud, “Addy, I’m really scared. I don’t want to see Mr. Jenson again.”

“It’s okay, Ali,” I said. “I’ll talk to him myself. You can wait here.”

“No, Addy! I don’t want to stay here alone either.”

Alia was a horrible actor, but Laila seemed to buy it. “I’ll stay here with you, Alia,” she said reassuringly. “Let your brother do his job.”

“Thanks, Laila,” said Alia, and I did my best not to cringe.

Terry and I exited the room and, once we were in the hall, I let out a huge sigh of relief. Terry laughed lightly. “So far so good.”

Terry led me down a flight of stairs into the building’s basement, and we followed a narrow corridor lined with rusty pipes until we came to a steel door. It was guarded by two sentry Knights: one telekinetic, one spark.

Upon seeing us, the spark smiled and said, “We were told that you were coming. The prisoner is inside. He is not restrained. He has been peaceful so far, but please do be careful.”

“I’m sure we’ll be alright,” Terry replied coolly.

“Here’s the key and a radio,” said the telekinetic, handing a silver key and a transceiver to Terry. “We’ve been given a break until you’re finished, and we gratefully accept. God knows we’ve been standing down here too long. Call us when you need us back.”

The spark grinned, adding, “And take your time, please.”

With that, the sentries headed down the corridor toward the stairs. There was nobody else in sight.

“Too easy,” I remarked as Terry unlocked the steel door.

Inside was the building’s boiler room. As we entered, Mr. Jenson got up from a folding lawn chair. In addition to the chair, the Guardians had supplied him with a decent bedroll and a few magazines to pass the time.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Jenson,” I said pleasantly.

“Is it now?” he replied. “I’ve lost all track of time down here.”

“Do you remember me?”

“Yes,” said Mr. Jenson. “You were with the healer girl who saved me.”

“Hansel also saved your life,” said Terry, stepping closer to Mr. Jenson. “I’m Rabbit.”

“Yes, I know who you are, Ms. Henderson,” said Mr. Jenson. “This gathering was called on your account, after all.”

“Mr. Jenson, I’m Adrian Howell,” I said, choosing not to use my call sign as I walked up to him and put out my right hand.

Mr. Jenson seemed a little surprised, but recovered quickly and shook hands with me.

I decided to jump right to the point of my visit. “You’re a phantom, right?” I asked. “You can turn things invisible?”

“That is correct,” confirmed Mr. Jenson. “But you already know that.”

“If you were to turn me invisible, how long would I stay that way?”

“At you’re size... up to seven or eight hours, I suppose. Why?”

I ignored his question and asked another. “Is there a way for me to turn visible before that?”

“Sure,” Mr. Jenson said in a surprised tone. “All you have to do is shake it off. You’re a wild-born, aren’t you?”

Terry was staring at me in utter disbelief, so I said defensively, “What?”

“You came down here not even knowing how to reappear?” she asked, shaking her head.

Who knew how many other things I had yet to learn about psionic powers? I was quite used to being ignorant by now.

“What is all this about?” asked Mr. Jenson.

“It’s about you repaying a life debt you owe me,” I said. “I want you to turn me invisible.”

“Whatever for?”

“That’s none of your business,” I replied tersely. “I have my reasons.”

Mr. Jenson gave me a quizzical look. “If you are worried about my conversion, rest assured that I have no problem assisting you against the Angels. But what you are asking is rather bizarre. Surely there are phantoms among the Guardians that could help you. It seems to me that if the Guardians approved of whatever it is you are planning to do with your invisibility, you wouldn’t have had to come to me.”

“This isn’t for the Guardians,” I said uneasily.

Mr. Jenson shook his head. “Listen, I am grateful to you for saving me, Adrian, but please... I can’t do anything to risk my position with the Guardian Council. I nearly died to come back here.”

I glanced at Terry, who shrugged as if to say, Don’t look at me for help.

I faced the phantom again and turned my tone to ice. “You may die yet, Mr. Jenson. You’ll either do this for me or I’ll kill you myself right here.”

Mr. Jenson remained composed. “I’m no use to you dead, young man.”

“You’re no use to me alive unless you help me,” I said evenly.

“You’re serious?” he asked, taken aback.

I pointed my right index finger at his face. “Does this answer your question?”

I hadn’t prepared a focused blast, and I doubt I could have carried out my threat, but I must have looked serious enough. Mr. Jenson nodded solemnly. Good thing I hadn’t brought Alia along to witness this. I looked at Terry again. My combat instructor was all smiles.

“Don’t worry, Mr. Jenson,” said Terry. “They won’t hold it against you if you had no choice. And believe me, you don’t.”

Mr. Jenson stared at Terry and me for a few seconds and then nodded. “Now?”

I asked, “It’ll last seven hours?”

“At least,” confirmed Mr. Jenson.

“Then now is as good a time as any.”

I wasn’t planning on crossing into the Angel camp until Terry’s match started at 4pm, but Terry and I couldn’t stay here until the last minute.

“Wait, Adrian,” said Terry. “We can’t call the sentries back for at least an hour. We’re here to pump Mr. Jenson for information, remember?”

I shook my head. “Mr. Baker knows I’m not here for that.”

“Yes, but the sentries and other Knights don’t. Neither does Laila.”

“Oh, right,” I said. “Fine. We’ll wait here for a while.”

Then I turned to Mr. Jenson again and said, “And as long as we’re waiting, you wouldn’t happen to know an Angel by the name of Catherine Howell, would you?”

“I’m sorry,” said Mr. Jenson, “but the name doesn’t ring a bell. I am merely a witness to the gathering.”

“She’s here with your Angels. She’s only thirteen years old. You must have seen her.”

“Here? At the gathering?” said Mr. Jenson. “Yes, I believe I have seen her, actually. She is the only child among our witnesses. I didn’t know her name, though.”

Terry asked, “Who are her parents?”

“I don’t rightly know,” said Mr. Jenson. “I was too concerned about my own escape to pay much attention to the other witnesses.”

“Please, Mr. Jenson,” I said. “Anything you know about her...”

“She is someone important to you?”

“Family.”

“I see,” said Mr. Jenson. “Then am I correct in assuming that you plan to use your invisibility to cross into the Angel camp, and that for whatever reason, the Guardians are unwilling to assist you?”

I nodded. “That just about sums it up.”

“The Seraphim will be on the lookout for phantoms, Adrian,” warned Mr. Jenson. “They will find you, just like the Guardians found me.”

“Nevertheless,” I replied, “if you are here for the reason you claim, you will understand.”

Mr. Jenson nodded solemnly. “This girl... I saw her once speaking with a member of the Divine family.”

“You mean your master controller?” I asked.

“No, I did not see her with Queen Divine, but with Mr. Randal Divine, one of the queen’s nephews. He is a high-ranking member of the Seraphim, though I am not quite sure of his specific position.”

“I’ve heard of Randal Divine,” said Terry, who showed no surprise at this news. “He’s one of their unit leaders. It’s possible that he may be Catherine’s keeper. Him or some other Angel VIP.”

“I must agree,” said Mr. Jenson. “The regular witnesses were strictly forbidden from bringing minors to this event. Making contact with this child will be next to impossible.”

“You let me worry about that,” I said firmly, unwilling to get into another discussion about how reckless this was. “Where in your camp is this Randal Divine staying?”

“He came in one of the large motorhomes that were used to make the outer barrier. It’s parked on the far side of the camp.”

That sounded like the one that Cat had stepped out of when I saw her yesterday. It would be the first place to check.

“Where else have you seen her in the camp?” I asked.

“I’m sorry, Adrian. I kept mostly to myself until I made my getaway. I wasn’t paying much attention to anything else.”

That was understandable, if not very helpful. “Alright. Thank you, Mr. Jenson. Now, perhaps you could tell me what you meant earlier by ‘shaking off’ invisibility.”

“Easy enough,” said Mr. Jenson.

The phantom gently touched my left hand with his right, and suddenly my entire left arm disappeared right up to the shoulder. I could still feel my arm there. I tried moving my fingers and then touched my stomach. My hand and arm felt quite normal. Just completely transparent.

“Give it a good shake,” said Mr. Jenson.

I did, and suddenly my arm was visible again.

“That’s all there is to it,” said Mr. Jenson. “You’ll have move carefully or you’ll lose your invisibility. Even a violent sneeze can cause you to turn visible again.”

And since I wasn’t a phantom myself, if I accidentally lost my invisibility, I wouldn’t be able to restore it.

“I’ll need to practice a little,” I said. “Make me completely invisible, please.”

“Alright,” said Mr. Jenson, touching my hand again.

I looked down at myself and saw that I was entirely transparent this time. Well, not entirely. “You missed my eyes,” I said.

“You will need them visible to see,” Mr. Jenson patiently explained to the clueless wild-born.

“I know that, Mr. Jenson. Now please make my eyes invisible.”

Mr. Jenson looked surprised, but he didn’t comment as he reached forward again.

And the world disappeared.

Having been blind for nearly nine months, I thought I knew what to expect, but I didn’t. True blindness wasn’t a world of darkness, but the utter absence of light and dark. I didn’t see darkness any more than I saw anything else. I saw nothing at all.

“This is really weird,” I breathed.

I took a short walk around the room, feeling my way along the walls and trying not to trip.

“Ow!” I shouted as I bashed my left knee into something hard.

“Not good, Adrian,” said Terry.

My vision had returned. I was visible again.

“I’m going to need a cane,” I said as I massaged my throbbing knee.

“You can use my jo stick again,” offered Terry. “I won’t be needing it for today’s fight. I’ll go get it now. You want my gun too?”

“No,” I replied. “It’ll slow me down if I have to fly suddenly.”

“Alright.”

Locking us in the room, Terry made a quick run upstairs to fetch her jo stick from our room. What excuse she made about it to Laila I do not know.

Once I had Terry’s jo stick in my hands, I asked Mr. Jenson to turn me invisible again, stick and all. I had to be especially careful with the stick, though. Tapping it on the floor not only made me noisy but constantly ran the risk of knocking off its invisibility. Mr. Jenson warned me that if the stick turned visible while I was touching it, my whole body would turn visible as well.

It took a while, but my skills as a blind person returned, and I somehow made it three times around the room without crashing. That was no guarantee of how I might perform outside, but it made me a bit more confident.

I shook my body like a wet dog, and soon I was visible again.

Glancing down at my Braille watch, I realized that we had been with Mr. Jenson now for a little over an hour, leaving less than ninety minutes till Terry’s match. I didn’t want to spend it down here.

“We better get going,” agreed Terry. “It’s been long enough.”

Then Terry turned to Mr. Jenson and said in a calm but chilling tone, “I’m going to call your regular sentries back now, Mr. Jenson. Adrian might die today, but I guarantee that I won’t. If you tell the Guardians anything about what went on in here, I promise you that you won’t return to New Haven alive. Do I make myself clear?”

“Quite clear, Ms. Henderson,” said Mr. Jenson, visibly unsettled by the look in Terry’s eyes.

Terry smiled. “Call me Terry.”

“Thank you again for your help, Mr. Jenson,” I said, shaking his hand.

Mr. Jenson said uncomfortably, “I wish circumstances were such that I could help you without the death threat, but know that I wouldn’t do this if I had the choice. The Guardians no doubt have their reasons for not helping you. I hope that what I’m doing will not hurt them.”

“It won’t,” I promised.

“Good luck, Adrian,” said Mr. Jenson, touching me again.

After checking that every inch of me, my clothes and my stick were properly transparent, Terry took my hand and led me out of the boiler room, back up the stairs and to our room door. We didn’t enter, though.

“Stay here,” whispered Terry in the hallway. “Keep your back against the wall so no one trips over you. I’m going to go back downstairs and call the sentries back to their posts. I’ll tell them that you already left. Then we’ll go in the room together.”

Terry was gone longer than I expected, and twice I heard footsteps pass by me. One of them belonged to someone with destroyer powers. At this distance, he would be able to sense me despite the personal hiding bubble that Cindy had given me. I feared the worst, but his footsteps passed without stopping. Perhaps he was in a hurry and not paying much attention. There were so many destroyer psionics gathered in the factory compound that it was hard to tell the individual powers apart, anyway.

My heart nearly stopped when I felt someone tap my shoulder, but I somehow managed not to jump.

“You got some dust on your back,” said Terry. “I can see it.”

She gently brushed off whatever was visible on my shirt and then escorted me back into our room. I kept my stick off the floor and my footsteps and breathing as silent as possible.

I heard Laila’s voice say, “Where’s Adrian?”

Terry replied, “He’s still talking with Mr. Jenson. I’m not sure why, but he wanted it one-on-one.”

“Oh,” Laila said in a disappointed tone. “How long do you think he’ll be?”

“I’m not sure, Laila.”

I heard my sister’s voice in my head ask, “Addy, are you in the room?”

Now how was I supposed to reply to that?!

“Addy, if you’re here, I’m sitting with Laila in the middle of the room. Be careful.”

Silently thanking Alia, I carefully made my way along the wall and stood in a corner.

Laila said, “My mother just stopped by. She said I have to be back at our camper by three o’clock. She wants me to stay right by her side during your fight today, Terry.”

“That makes sense,” said Terry.

“I wanted Adrian and Alia to come with me too, so we could all be together.”

“Well, if Adrian doesn’t get back up here by three, I’ll go get him myself and have him take Alia to your camper before the match.”

“Okay.”

I heard Terry sit down with Laila and Alia. They chatted for a while, and Laila wondered aloud what I was asking Mr. Jenson. She was restless for my return, and asked Terry if she could go downstairs and find me, but of course Terry refused.

How I wished I could at least speak with Laila. It was quite possible that I would be killed today. To be in the same room with her, but invisible and silent, unrecognized, was unbearable. I wanted to hold her. To kiss her one last time.

But no, I would just have to make it back alive. Then we could be together again, and put all these lies and this terrible gathering of lesser gods behind us. I remained motionless and safely out of the way until Laila decided that she could wait no longer.

“I’ll make sure Adrian and Alia find you before my match,” promised Terry as Laila left the room.

“I’m right here, Alia,” I said once the door closed. “Don’t jump on me, though. I’ll lose my invisibility.”

I let Alia touch me to prove that I was real. It felt strange to think that she couldn’t see me any more than I could see her. Alia took my hand and led me back to our bedrolls, which was the only comfortable place to sit. I kept my movements slow and deliberate. I probably didn’t have to be quite this careful, but there was no sense in taking chances. Sitting cross-legged on the mats, I gently lay the jo stick in front of me where I could easily find it again. I felt my sister lean against my side and carefully put an arm around her.

None of us spoke. Terry and Alia were no doubt as lost in their own thoughts as I was in mine. What would happen to me today? What would happen to Terry? And Alia too, if and when the Guardians successfully terminated Number Two in the Angel camp. Would this turn into an all-out bloodbath? What of Laila, and all the other innocents who had unknowingly gathered for Mr. Baker’s calculated risk? I remembered how Terry had called this event “bigger than any of us.” We were all just tiny cogs in a giant, unstoppable gear.

I heard Terry whisper, “It’s time.”

I felt the hands on my Braille watch. There were only ten minutes left till 4pm.

“Yeah,” I said. “Time to go.”

I groped around until I found the jo stick again, and then stood up.

“Alia,” I said quietly, “go to the camper and tell Laila that I’m not coming to the match. Tell her that I’m still busy with Mr. Jenson.”

Alia asked, “What if she doesn’t believe me?”

“It doesn’t matter,” I said. “There’s no time for her to come looking for me now. Stick close to Laila and her mother. Take care of Terry for me.”

“I will,” said Alia, touching my arm. “Please be careful, Addy.”

“Always.”

“I mean it!”

“I know, Alia,” I said, holding her. “I’m sorry. I will come back alive. I promise you that.”

That was an easy promise to make, since if I broke it, it would be my last broken promise.

“You’re a Guardian Knight, Alia,” I said, releasing her. “You’re one of the bravest people I know. I’m counting on you. Do your part. I’ll do mine, and Terry will do hers. Then we’ll all go home to Cindy, okay?”

“Okay.”

“Go on, then.”

Alia gave me one last quick hug, and then I heard her rush out of the room.

I asked into the void, “Are you there, Terry?”

“I’m right here, Adrian,” said Terry. “But I’ve got a battle to meet. Can you make it on your own from here?”

I almost shook my head before I remembered that Terry couldn’t see me. I said, “Blind is no problem, but invisible, someone is bound to bump into me. Would you take me to the side of the factory building? I’ll find my way from there once the crowd is inside.”

“Alright,” said Terry. “Hold my left arm. Careful, I’m wearing my hook.”

If Terry was planning on winning, she probably would have chosen her blade attachment, but the hook was sharp too. I carefully found her left arm and gripped it at the elbow.

I felt Terry touch my shoulder. “Last chance to call it off, Adrian.”

“I’m going,” I said, my resolve as solid as it was going to get.

“No regrets?”

“None at the moment,” I replied, “but I’m sure they’ll come to me before the sun sets.”

Terry started to lead me out of our room, but my feet refused to follow. “Terry, if I don’t come back, please tell Cindy...”

Tell her what? What could I possibly say?

“Adrian?”

“Never mind,” I mumbled. “She already knows.”

“Don’t worry about tomorrow,” said Terry. “You just focus on keeping yourself alive for the next hour.”

“Yeah,” I breathed.

“And no talking once we’re outside. They’re already gathering.”

Terry led me out of the office building. We were met by lots of cheering and applause for Terry. I was holding her left arm in a way that hopefully wasn’t noticeable.

Suddenly Terry jerked to a stop and barked, “Stand back! I’m in a very violent mood today!”

There was some laughter and more clapping. I guessed that someone had tried to rush up to her, and Terry just barely kept me from being run into.

I could hear the chattering, clapping and footsteps of many Guardians around us, but Terry kept the crowd at bay as we made our way through a gap in the motorhome barrier and walked toward the main factory building.

I heard Terry whisper into my ear, “Straight twenty paces to the south wall. The path is clear. Good luck.”

“Thanks,” I whispered back, but I couldn’t be sure she heard me. I let go of her elbow and kept walking, putting my right hand out in front of me so that I wouldn’t have to tap with my stick.

I touched the rough concrete wall sooner than I expected, and stood beside it for several minutes until I was sure that most of the crowd was in the building. I was careful not to lean on the wall for fear of getting visible dust on my transparent clothes.

Once it was quiet, I put my left hand on the wall and held the stick in my right, and began gently tapping my way forward along the front of the factory. Getting my left hand fingertips dirty was unavoidable, but aside from that, it was fortunately a windless day, so I just had to be careful not to kick up any dust from the ground.

Since I was still moving east along the front wall of the building, I knew that I should soon come to a corner and turn left, which would point me northward toward the Angel camp.

Once I reached that corner, I steadied my breath as I turned left ninety degrees, my left hand still on the side wall. Now I was standing on the left side of the north-south service road that ran between the factory and the row of warehouses to my right. With any luck, there would be nothing to trip over between here and the circular outer barrier of the Angel camp. How far was it, exactly? I had a general idea of the size of the factory building, but I hadn’t considered it in terms of paces.

Tap. Step. Tap. Step. Pause. Tap. Step. Pause.

My desire to move forward and get through this was waging war with my fear of discovery. I had to get into the Angel camp before Terry’s battle ended, but one false move and I was likely to be engulfed in a pyroid’s flames or shot by a high-powered sniper rifle.

Tap. Step. Step. Tap. Several steps. No pause. More steps. More taps. No more pauses.

Suddenly my stick made contact with something that made it bounce back a bit. I reached forward and touched smooth metal. My stick had hit a tire. I was standing in front of a motorhome.

Still alive.

I groped my way along the side of the vehicle, looking for a gap. I found one a mere four paces away. Another few very cautious steps and I realized with a mix of thrill and terror that I was now actually standing inside the Angels’ barrier.

Suddenly I heard Cindy’s enigmatic words in my mind again: Once more unto the breach... What the heck did that mean, anyway?

And then Terry’s voice: You’re walking a razor’s edge here, Adrian. I never knew you to be such an optimist.

So far, Terry’s warning notwithstanding, everything had gone just as I had planned and hoped. My insane idea to use Mr. Baker to get me access to a phantom had actually worked, and the months I spent in darkness had given me the skills to find my way into the Angel camp without the use of my eyes. Now, all I had to do was find Cat, and chances were, I already knew which motorhome she was in.

But I also knew from bitter experience that even the best-laid plans could turn fatal in seconds. And this was hardly a good plan.

I was invisible and blind, which was a precarious combination since neither I nor anyone else could take measures to avoid a collision. I sensed a number of destroyers in the camp, most probably Seraph guards. I could hear a few of the Angels talking too, though they were too far away for me to make out what they were saying. I silently thanked Cindy again for my hiding protection, but I couldn’t guarantee that I wouldn’t accidentally get too close to an Angel and be discovered. I desperately wished I at least had my proximity sensors. Coming here with just a stick to guide me was even worse than stepping in front of a loaded shotgun.

Terry would probably do everything she could to draw out the fight, but even so, the Angel witnesses could return at any time. I had to hurry.

I took two steps, and suddenly my stick caught something on the ground. Whatever it was, I panicked, and the stick slid out of my sweaty right hand, falling to the ground with a loud clatter.

I froze.

The Angels must have heard the sound. It was simply too loud to have been missed. Over my own rapid breathing, I strained to hear the sound of footsteps rushing toward me, but instead, all I heard were a few casual voices in the distance. Perhaps the Seraphim weren’t as alert as I feared, or maybe the sound of my stick falling to the ground had seemed louder to me simply because I was more aware of it.

I crouched down, groping around for the stick, but before I found it, I realized it was meaningless. Even if I found the stick, chances were it would have lost its invisibility, so picking it up would be like waving a red flag. Still, I had been lucky not to have been touching it when it lost its cloak, as otherwise I too would be visible now.

Standing up, I groped around until I found the side of the motorhome again. Without my stick, I’d have to use the vehicle barrier as a guide to take me around in a half-circle to the far end of the camp. And yet the rooftops of these motorhomes was exactly the kind of place the Seraph guards would be standing as they watched for intruders.

There was nothing for it. I couldn’t stay here waiting to be found. With my right hand to guide me, I started walking counterclockwise along the inside of the barrier. I kept my footsteps and breathing as inaudible as possible as I passed one long motorhome after another. Once, to the best of my hearing, I passed almost right next to a pair of Angels talking about the match going on inside the factory. Neither were destroyers, though, and they didn’t sense my presence.

And, finally, somewhere near the northern side of the Angel camp, I realized the first major flaw in my plan. I knew which motorhome I was looking for, and I was certain that I was close to it, but I didn’t have the ability to see its color, nor did I have the time to measure the size of each motorhome in paces to find the largest one.

I had already pushed my luck far beyond rational limits so I decided that a little more couldn’t hurt. I shook myself visible.

Squinting in the sudden light, I looked around the camp. There were, as I expected, several Angels standing on the rooftops of the motorhomes, but they were looking outside, to the south. I also saw a few witnesses walking about between the regular cars and tents, but no one was close by or looking in my direction. I turned my head, and saw that the motorhome I had been searching for was a mere five yards away. Lucky again.

Please let Cat be inside.

Crouching as low as possible, I made my way up to the side door.

Second flaw in my plan: how was I going to get in?

The answer presented itself a moment later as I quietly tried the handle and found the door, surprisingly, unlocked.

Pulling the door open as silently as I could, I stepped inside.

Chapter 17: My Sister’s Keeper

In the narrow corridor of the motorhome’s midsection, I stood for a few seconds, listening for any sounds that might tell me if anyone was home. I heard nothing. Turning right, I tiptoed my way toward the back of the motorhome. Instead of a door, there was only a thin curtain, which I gently slid open to reveal the main bedroom. There was nobody here, but I stepped into the bedroom anyway, hoping to find a picture or some other evidence of who was living in this vehicle.

That was when I heard the unmistakable sound of a gun being cocked behind me.

A small, quivering voice said, “Turn around slowly.”

I did.

There was Cat, standing in the corridor. In three years, she had certainly grown up. She was as tall as me now, and her hair was longer than I remembered. But what I noticed most about her was the semi-automatic pistol she was holding in both hands, pointed at me.

Cat was looking at me in astonishment. “Adrian?”

“Hi, Cat,” I said quietly.

I tried to take a step forward, but Cat didn’t lower her pistol.

“Don’t!” she said, her eyes full of fear. “Don’t come any closer! I’ll scream!”

“Cat, look at me,” I said as soothingly as I could. “I’m not a shape-shifter. You know it’s me.” Carefully reaching down into the front my shirt, I pulled out her violet amethyst pendant.

Cat slowly lowered her pistol. Then she reached into her shirt and pulled out a delicate silver chain. We smiled.

“You really changed,” she said, stepping into the bedroom and looking me over. “You’re hair’s all different, and what happened to your eyes? The color...”

“My eyes are a long story, Cat,” I said. “As for my new hairstyle, it’s useful for hiding this.” I telekinetically lifted the right side of my semi-long hair to reveal my jagged ear.

Cat looked quite shocked. “What happened to you, Adrian?!”

“I’ve been in a few scrapes over the years,” I said mildly. “I’ll tell you about it when we have more time. Thanks for not shooting me, by the way.”

“I’m so glad you survived.”

Cat looked like she was about to hug me, but then she hesitated. I felt a bit awkward too, and didn’t move. Cat was no longer a little girl.

“It’s been so long,” I breathed.

“Yeah. Ever since that night...” Cat placed the pistol on the bed. “I’m really happy you came, Adrian. We can be a family again.”

“Yeah, well, it wasn’t easy getting in here,” I said. “And we’d better go soon if we’re going to escape before the Angels get back.”

“Escape?” asked Cat, looking bewildered. “What do you mean? You just did escape.”

I stared at her until I figured out what she meant. “I’m not here to join the Angels, Cat. I’m here to get you out.”

“Get out?” repeated Cat. “And go where?”

“Back to the Guardians, of course!”

Suddenly Cat grabbed her pistol and leveled it on me again.

I jumped back a step, shouting in surprise, “Cat! What the hell are you doing?!”

But Cat was dead serious. “Don’t move, Adrian! I swear I’ll kill you if you move!”

I slowly shook my head and sighed. “So they have converted you after all.”

After everything I had learned about psionic conversion, I should have been psychologically prepared for this, but I wasn’t. Terry had warned me, but I didn’t listen. While I had always known that Cat had been converted by the Angels, it’s one thing to know something and another to actually believe it.

“Converted me?!” asked Cat, her voice rising in fury. “What about you, Adrian?! I thought you had escaped them. But Father was right! You joined them!”

“I had to, Cat! How else could I rescue you from the Angels?”

“I don’t need rescuing!” said Cat, her voice shaking. “The Guardians killed our parents, Adrian! And you – you joined them!”

“Guardians... killed our...” I sputtered, trying to make sense of it. “No, Cat. You’ve got it backwards. It was an Angel berserker that killed Mom and Dad. The Angels lied to you. You have to believe me!”

“No! The Guardians lied to you, Adrian. They changed your memory so that you’d think the Angels were responsible.”

I shook my head, but Cat continued rapidly, “They made you fight for them, didn’t they? That’s how you lost your ear! I’ve heard stories about how the Guardians force people to fight for them. Even children. When Father told me that you were taken by the Guardians, I was afraid for you every day. You’re a destroyer, so of course they’d use you.”

“It wasn’t like that, Cat!”

“You’re lying!”

“Cat, please listen to me,” I begged.

“No, you listen to me!” Cat said furiously. “If you want to join us here, then I’m sure Father will let you stay, but you’re not going to take me away, Adrian. This is my family!”

Family?!

A crack appeared in the wall as I roared, “We had a family, Cat! It was destroyed by the people you call your family now! Don’t you even care?! Don’t you remember who you are?!”

Cat took a step back and shook her head, tears welling in her eyes. “I’m sorry you’re so confused, Adrian. But I do know who I am. I’m Catherine Divine.”

I looked long and hard at her, and then nodded slowly. “Well, if you’re Catherine Divine, I guess that makes me Adrian Gifford. I have a family too, and I have to get back to them.”

Cat kept the pistol pointed at my heart. “You shouldn’t have come here, Adrian. And now I can’t let you go back.”

“I won’t force you to come with me, Cat,” I said evenly, “but you’re not going to stop me from leaving.”

“You’re a Guardian, Adrian. I can’t just let you go.”

“You’re not going to shoot me,” I said, wondering if I was right. I could finally appreciate the true power of psionic conversion. By the look in Cat’s eyes, I wasn’t about to put it past her to shoot me dead right here.

“You’re not going to kill me, Cat,” I repeated as calmly as I could. “You don’t have it in you.”

“Don’t count on it,” Cat said hoarsely, pulling her pistol’s hammer back. “Times have changed.”

Cat was shaking from head to toe.

“Then let me make it easier for you,” I said quietly, stepping forward and pressing my chest against the barrel of her pistol. “This way you won’t miss.”

I no longer cared if Cat killed me or not. I had imagined many possible reunions with my lost sister, but converted Angel or not, this just wasn’t among them.

Cat shook her head and begged, “Please don’t make me do this.”

“You’ve never killed anyone before, have you, Cat?”

“No,” breathed Cat, “and I don’t want to. I wish Father was here.”

I was about to reach out and take the gun from Cat’s hands, but suddenly I had no control over my body. My legs, my arms, even my ability to blink had been taken over by what I instantly recognized as the psionic control of a puppeteer.

My legs took two steps back, and my mouth opened, saying soothingly, “It’s alright, Cathy, you can put the gun down now. I have control. Put the pistol on safety. We’re coming in.”

The last time an Angel puppeteer had taken over my body, it had been to use me as a weapon. This time, it was merely to prevent my escape. I desperately willed my body to obey my commands, but it was utterly useless.

Cat lowered her pistol and called out, “The door’s unlocked!”

I heard the side door open, and in stepped two men. The first was a rather tall, lanky man with short, gray hair. He looked about fifty or so, and reminded me a little of Riles. The other was younger, shorter, and appeared to be his bodyguard. I couldn’t sense their psionic powers, so whatever they were, they weren’t destroyers.

“Father!” cried Cat.

The older man smiled at her, asking, “Are you alright, Cathy?”

Cat nodded, and then the man she had just called Father turned to his partner and said politely, “Kindly release the visitor’s head and lungs so that we may speak with him.”

The younger man nodded, and I found I could move everything but my arms and legs.

Ignoring the puppeteer, I shouted at the gray-haired man, “Who the hell are you?!”

“My name is Randal Divine,” he replied calmly. “I would welcome you to my temporary home, but it seems you are threatening my daughter.”

“Maybe you haven’t noticed who’s holding the gun!” I shot back savagely.

“Which in turn begs the question as to why you are still alive,” said Randal Divine as he carefully took the pistol out of Cat’s hands.

Cat looked up at him, saying, “Father, this is my brother.”

“Adrian?” said Randal, looking at me in surprise. “My God, it really is Adrian Howell, isn’t it? I’m sorry I didn’t recognize you. You look very different from our somewhat dated records.”

“Let me go!” I shouted, struggling futilely to regain control of my limbs.

Randal turned to his puppeteer and said, “Do as he asks, please.”

The puppeteer raised an eyebrow. “Sir?”

“Adrian will not harm us,” replied Randal, putting the pistol on safety and slipping it under his belt. “He didn’t come here to fight.”

As the puppeteer released my arms and legs, my first thought was to blast a hole through Randal Divine’s head. This was the man who had lied to Cat about how our parents died. I kept my anger in check, though. Randal Divine was also the man that Cat now called Father.

Randal said to me, “In case you are wondering, Adrian, the second battle has just ended. Your champion, Ms. Henderson, has lost the match, putting us at one to one.”

I didn’t reply. I fleetingly wondered if Terry was okay, but I was more concerned for myself at the moment.

Randal continued, “I also hope that by now my daughter has convinced you of the futility of trying to take her back to the Guardians with you.”

I shouted furiously, “She’s not your daughter, Angel!”

“I love Cathy as my daughter, and she loves me as her father.”

It was all I could do to keep myself from attacking him. “She’d love you if you were a pile of dead snakes! Your queen converted her!”

Randal chuckled, saying, “We never converted Cathy, Adrian. We convinced her to stay with us.”

“You lie!”

He merely smiled. “Why would I lie?”

I turned to Cat, who nodded and said, “I was never converted, Adrian. I’ve talked with Queen Divine many times, but she never converted me.”

That wasn’t possible. “They wiped your memory, Cat,” I told her. “You don’t remember that you were converted.”

Cat shook her head. “The Angels would never do that to someone my age, Adrian.”

“I love Cathy very much,” Randal said to me. “If we were to put her through conversion, what reason would we have to erase her memory of it?”

I felt sick to my stomach as I realized that they spoke the truth. Memory alteration could cause permanent brain damage for anyone younger than eighteen years old, and even the Angels wouldn’t risk that without very good reason.

Randal smiled at me and said, “I honor your courage, young Knight. Not many people could have gotten past our Seraphim so easily. Won’t you consider joining us here? Cathy would be delighted, I’m sure, and I would be quite happy to welcome you into our family. Considering your history with the Guardians, I believe that conversion is unavoidable at this point, but I would rather that you underwent it willingly. I’m sure Cathy feels the same way.”

I stared down at the floor.

Stay here with the Angels? Willingly be converted by Larissa Divine? After the Angels killed my parents and took my sister? After they kidnapped Cindy and tortured Terry’s brother to death?

I looked up at Randal and said slowly, “I want to speak with Cat alone.”

“Very well, Adrian,” said Randal. “If it is okay with Cathy, that is.”

Cat nodded, and Randal took his puppeteer and stepped out of the motorhome.

After a short but very awkward silence, I asked Cat, “So he calls you Cathy, huh?”

Cat smiled embarrassedly. “Yeah. No one has called me Cat in a long time.”

“This guy that you call Father... does he treat you well?”

“Yes, Adrian, he does. He’s not like our dad, but he’s a good father. I love him.”

I sighed. “Cat, when you were taken by the Angels, I feared for you every day too. I thought they had converted you and forced you to become one of their servants. That’s why I came here today.”

“I am not a servant,” said Cat, looking me in the eyes. “I have a good life here.”

“I can see that,” I said quietly.

“I had to beg Father to let me come with him to this gathering. He didn’t want to risk me getting hurt.” Cat gently fingered my hair. “Look at you, Adrian. It’s amazing you’re even alive. You can’t go back.”

I gave her a wry smile and said, “Whatever you may think of them, Cat, my family is with the Guardians, and I have to return to them.”

Cat slowly shook her head. “No, Adrian. Father is right. You will have to be converted. There’s no way around that. But I don’t want you to have to go through it feeling angry. Conversion can be very painful that way, and it can damage your mind. It’s better if you’re already willing to join us. That way, conversion is more like a reassurance of trust than brainwashing.”

“I can’t believe I’m hearing this from you, Cat,” I said sadly. “But I promise you one thing: No matter how painful it is, I won’t stop fighting it. I’d rather have my mind completely destroyed than be converted by your queen.”

Cat looked horrified. “I can’t let you do that, Adrian! You’re my brother. Even if you’re a Guardian, you’re still my family.”

With any luck, Mr. Baker would send his team in to come get me and kill Number Two well before I was converted. Terry’s battle was already over. Had Alia read my fake Braille message to the Knights? Where was the Guardian attack team?

Cat gazed at me for a moment longer, and suddenly said determinedly, “You’re not going to be converted, Adrian. I’ll find a way to help you escape before you’re taken to the queen.”

I shook my head. “I don’t want to get you into trouble, Cat.”

“Father will understand.”

The door opened and Randal Divine stepped back inside, faithfully followed by his puppeteer sidekick.

“Indeed I will,” said Randal.

Cat and I said in unison, “You were listening to us?”

“I’m sorry,” said Randal. “I overheard. But I believe that it will be for the best. Did you mean what you just said, Cathy?”

Cat faced Randal and said resolutely, “He is my brother. I don’t agree with him, but if I can’t convince him to stay, I don’t want him converted. Please, Father.”

Randal smiled. “If you feel that strongly, Cathy, I will allow Adrian to return to the Guardians, as my gift to you.”

“Thank you, Father.”

“I’m not leaving without her,” I said, suddenly having an idea.

If I stalled here with Cat until the Guardians attacked the camp, I could get her out with me whether she liked it or not. Since Cat hadn’t been converted, I wouldn’t be risking her mind by forcing her to come with me. Cat might resist, but I would blast her unconscious if that’s what it took. Once she learned the truth behind the Angels’ lies about our parents, she would thank me for saving her.

Randal said to me, “I believe Cathy has already made it perfectly clear that she will not return to the Guardians with you, Adrian.”

I glared at him, but he remained relaxed as he continued, “While I was waiting outside, one of our runners told me that the Guardians have demanded your swift and safe return. I will personally escort you back to the Guardian side of the arena now.”

Mr. Baker had demanded my return. That meant things were moving along on the Guardian side, but not quickly enough as far as I was concerned. How much longer would it take before they raided the camp?

Randal said to Cat, “You may walk with us, Cathy, but only to the edge of our camp. It’s dangerous outside, you know.” He gave Cat a wink and added, “But if your brother can convince you to join him, you are, of course, welcome to leave us and go live with the Guardians.”

The puppeteer looked aghast. “You can’t be serious, Mr. Divine!”

Randal turned to him and said lightly, “Don’t I sound serious?”

“But the queen’s orders, sir!”

“I will take full responsibility if Cathy chooses to leave us,” said Randal. “She is, after all, my child.”

Cat said firmly, “I’m not leaving.”

“There, you see?” Randal smiled at the puppeteer. “Nothing to worry about. Cathy is an Angel through and through.”

I could think of no excuse to delay, so I meekly followed Randal Divine out of his motorhome. Randal led us through the center of the Angel camp, with Cat and me behind him and the puppeteer bringing up the rear. The camp was bustling with activity now that the witnesses were all back from the battle. Dinner was probably going to be some kind of celebration for today’s victory. Some of the Angels pointed and stared at us, but Randal Divine led us safely toward the south side of the motorhome barrier.

Cat walked beside me, but neither of us spoke. There seemed to be nothing further to discuss. I was running out of time. Where were the Guardians?!

When the four of us reached the south end of the camp, there was nothing left to do but say goodbye.

“Come on, Cat,” I pleaded. “This is your last chance. We don’t even have to go back to the Guardians if you don’t want to. Just come with me, and we can leave this awful war behind.”

“And where would we go, Adrian?” asked Cat. “We can’t leave the war if you take me back to live with the Guardians. So where would we go?”

Where indeed? If it didn’t mean saying goodbye to a few very close people, I would have happily left the Guardians. But perhaps that was how it was for Cat as well.

Cat touched my arm. “Would you really leave the Guardians, Adrian?”

I remained silent, and Cat said, “You see? We can never leave this war.”

“But we don’t have to become enemies, Cat.”

“Then join us.”

I shook my head.

Cat smiled sadly. “We already are enemies, aren’t we?”

I took a deep breath, and nodded slowly. Perhaps it was better this way. Whatever lies had been told to my sister to convince her to call the Angels her home, nevertheless it was clear to me that she had made a life for herself among them. And I couldn’t honestly claim that the Guardians were all that better a faction anyway.

I pulled the amethyst pendant off over my head and held it out to her. “I’m sorry I kept this so long.”

Cat took the pendant in her hand and looked at the stone. “My lucky pendant...”

“It brought me luck too, Cat,” I said with as much smile as I could manage. “I told you that I’d return it when things got back to normal, but I guess things will never go back.”

Cat sighed quietly once, and then placed the pendant back around my neck. “Keep it, Adrian. You’re staying with the Guardians. You’ll need luck more than me.”

“I hope that’s true,” I said. “Have a good life, Catherine Divine.”

“You too, Adrian Gifford.”

Slowly, we shook hands. I don’t know how or when that handshake turned into an embrace, or how long Cat and I stood holding each other, but when we finally broke apart, I saw in my sister’s eyes the same resolve that I felt in my heart.

Taking a step back, I said, “If we ever meet again, I hope it won’t be at gunpoint.”

“Me too,” said Cat. “Good luck, Adrian.”

“Goodbye, Cat.”

I looked up at Randal, who said, “Let us be going now, Adrian. While I am well aware of your age and the risks associated with mind control for minors, for your own safety and ours, I must nevertheless ask my partner here to restrain your limbs until we reach the arena. I beg your understanding in this matter. It will be much safer on your mind if you do not attempt to resist.”

“Fine,” I said, and I felt my arms and legs once again under the puppeteer’s control.

Randal led us through the gap between the motorhomes. I could have turned my head to get one last look at Cat, but I didn’t.

The puppeteer walked me next to Randal as we silently made our way toward the cargo loading area on the north end of the factory building.

Randal had said he was going to lead me through the arena to the Guardian side. Why didn’t he simply let me walk straight back along the outside of the factory building? Was he afraid that the Guardians might attack him if he got too close to our barrier? But then he could have let me walk alone.

I turned my head and glanced at the pistol tucked under his belt.

“She can still see us, can’t she, Mr. Divine?” I said quietly. “That’s why you haven’t killed me yet.”

Randal Divine didn’t break pace. He kept looking straight forward as he replied, “We are both soldiers, Adrian. I respect your loyalty, but damn you for putting me in this position. You should have chosen to stay. Cathy is very dear to me, and I cannot allow the Guardians to use you against her someday.”

“Use me?” I scoffed. “Like you did with Terry’s brother last year?”

“I had nothing to do with that, Adrian. We are a much larger organization than you imagine. Besides, that was a very special case. Personally, I think Riley O’Neal got exactly what he deserved.”

“He deserved much worse than he got,” I said. “But I’ll have you know that Terry didn’t kill him. I did.”

“Then I am in your debt,” said Randal.

“But not enough to spare my life, I take it?”

Randal Divine finally looked at me. “No, Adrian. I was sincere in my wish to have you stay with us, but Cathy would not see you converted against your will.”

Randal nodded toward his puppeteer, and I could no longer speak. The puppeteer had complete control of my body now. We were nearly at the loading area, and I saw a doorway next to it that led into the factory building.

Randal said to me, “I promise it will be painless. It is the least I can do for you. Your body will be returned to the Guardians for burial, and we will tell them that you died fighting. As for your sister, I will tell her that you returned to the Guardians safely for now. When she is older, I will tell her that you were killed while fighting another faction. She will probably shed many tears, but rest assured that she will have me to help her through her grief.”

It would be meaningless to try to explain what was going through my head as Randal Divine told me this. I wasn’t thinking so much as screaming inside.

We entered the factory, and the puppeteer made me walk behind Randal as we made our way down a wide, dimly lit corridor. There were a few Angels here, but they took little notice of us as Randal led me to a descending staircase.

One flight down and we were in a narrow, dusty passage. There were many pipes and wires running along the ceiling and walls, and I guessed that this was one of the service tunnels that ran under the factory compound.

Strangely enough, I was just a little calmer now, and even in my hopeless predicament, I couldn’t help noticing that the Angels had taken the time to run electric lights through this tunnel. Where did it lead?

We walked slowly, through turns and junctions, arriving at a metal door set into the side of the passage. Randal Divine opened it, and the puppeteer walked me in first. There was no light on inside, but the light shining in through the doorframe was enough to show me that it was a square concrete room not much bigger than a walk-in closet. There was nothing inside, and for what purpose it had originally been created was a mystery. But I knew why I was here.

“Turn him around,” said Randal.

My body turned on the spot, facing Randal Divine and the puppeteer, who had both followed me in. It was too dark for me to see their faces clearly. My legs took five steps back, and my back was touching the cold concrete wall behind me.

“I’m sorry it has to be this way, Adrian,” said Randal as he slowly drew his pistol. “I wish–”

But I didn’t hear what he wished. Instead, I heard a low, muffled boom from above, followed quickly by two more. The curious sounds distracted Randal, who glanced up at the ceiling.

And that was when I realized that the puppeteer had been similarly distracted. My time with Terry in the dojo was about to pay off.

Screaming at the top of my lungs, I thrust my right arm forward and blasted the puppeteer in the chest, knocking him back. Before Randal could even begin to react, I had wrestled his pistol from his hand, shot the puppeteer between the eyes, and pushed the still-smoking barrel up against Randal’s neck. I heard a dull thud as the puppeteer finally collapsed onto the floor, a crumpled heap of dead flesh.

Suddenly Randal Divine was no longer a calm and collected man. His eyes widened in fear as he looked down at me, perhaps wondering why I hadn’t killed him yet.

The metal pistol was draining my strength, but I refused to let it show as I pushed Randal back out into the passage. Then I jumped back, putting some space between us but keeping the pistol leveled on his chest.

“I should kill you,” I said through clenched teeth. “You’d deserve it.”

“I’m all she has, you know,” said Randal, his eyes darting between my face and the pistol in my hands.

“I know that,” I replied, breathing heavily. “Something’s happening upstairs that you don’t want to be a part of. Get my sister to safety.”

Randal Divine didn’t move.

I shouted, “Go now! Before I change my mind! Pray you don’t see me again.”

The Angel who had become Cat’s father took one deep breath, nodded curtly to me, and then turned around and ran back down the passage. Throwing down the pistol, I ran in the other direction. I heard more explosions from above, and the faint sounds of gunfire too.

I didn’t have a clue as to the layout of these underground tunnels, but I still knew which direction I wanted to go. The Guardian side of the factory was ahead of me. I’d just keep going until I found some stairs to get me out.

I soon came to a place where the tunnel continued but the lights did not. There was a staircase set into the side of the passage here, leading up. I guessed that I was still on the Angel side, but pretty near the arena. I could either keep going down the pitch-black passage, feeling my way along in the dark, or I could go up the stairs and possibly walk into a firefight.

I decided to try the stairs. Even though I could have felt my way along the dark tunnel to a safer place to surface, I feared it would take too long. I wanted to rejoin the Guardians as quickly as possible. If the Guardians retreated, I didn’t want to be left behind.

As I climbed the stairs, I could hear the gunshots more clearly. I could also smell smoke mixed with a powerful odor of something rotten. There was a heavy steel door at the top of the stairs. I turned the knob and pulled hard. The door creaked open, and suddenly I was engulfed in thick smoke that stung my eyes, forcing me to shut them tightly. My throat burned, and I began to cough uncontrollably.

Mr. Watson had warned me about CS gas, but I never imagined that it would be this horrible. Tears streaming from my eyes, I slammed the door shut and stumbled back down the steps. I collapsed at the bottom of the stairs, my heart racing as I tried to expel the poison from my lungs.

Once I could breathe again, I stood and, wiping my damp eyes and running nose, I stepped into the dark path that would hopefully lead me back to the Guardian side of the factory. Once more into the darkness.

There was no time to do this carefully. With my right hand on the wall, I jogged down the passage, expecting at any moment to trip over something or crash into a wall. And I did several times: There were sudden turns in the tunnel and several large obstacles on the ground. But each time I fell, I picked myself up quickly and kept going. And miraculously, none of my falls had caused me to bleed yet.

Another turn, and suddenly I could see a light ahead of me. I was pretty sure that I was under the Guardian side of the building by now. Was there an exit? A window? Stairs?

It was a flashlight. I reached down to pick it up, and then jumped in surprise as I saw the hand holding it. Prying the light out of the dead man’s fingers, I shined it on the corpse, which was lying face up and staring back at me with wide, unseeing eyes.

It was Jack Forsyth, one of Mr. Simms’s bodyguards with whom I had traveled on our way to the Holy Land. There were burns all over his clothes and body, and there was a small hole in his neck that might have been caused by a bullet or a focused telekinetic blast.

I saw another dead body next to him, and then another. I didn’t recognize them, but I wondered if some of my previous stumbles and falls had been over other corpses. The battle wasn’t just upstairs. It was down here too.

The sound of another explosion from above snapped me back into focus. I had to keep going. Fortunately, the flashlight handle was made of plastic, so it didn’t drain me. Shining the light ahead of me, I stepped over the bodies and kept going.

Turning a corner, my light found yet another corpse on the ground, but I paid little attention to it until, when I tried to step over it, a hand grabbed my left ankle.

Yelping in surprise, I dropped the flashlight and fell to my knees. Kicking my leg free of the hand, I scrambled forward and snatched up the flashlight again. Still shaking from the shock, I shined the light onto the face of the man who had grabbed me.

“Mr. Simms?!” I exclaimed, almost dropping my flashlight again.

“Adrian!” Mr. Simms exclaimed hoarsely. “Goddamn it, you’re alive!”

“What’s going on?” I asked him dazedly.

“Damned if I know,” said Mr. Simms, breathing heavily. “My whole unit’s just a diversion. We were supposed to keep the Seraphim busy on the ground floor. The Lancers are going for Divine. We had to fall back. They had controllers.”

I noticed that Mr. Simms’s right leg was bent in a way that was anatomically impossible.

Mr. Simms grinned, saying, “The bastards followed us down, but we got them! They’re dead.”

“Where’s the rest of your team?” I asked.

“Most are probably still fighting upstairs. Jack P took half of the unit to the west side. See if you can find Jack F, Adrian. He should be close. Decker was with us too, but I think she was killed farther back down the tunnel. Find Jack F! My radio’s busted.”

“Jack F is dead, Mr. Simms,” I told him. “How do we get out of here?”

“Another eighty yards or so, I think. This tunnel runs to the end of the building. I wasn’t sure I could crawl it by myself, though. Got my leg blasted out from under me, see?” Mr. Simms grimaced. “A damn telekinetic. My knee’s broken. Help me up. You can levitate me.”

Yes, I could levitate him.

But I didn’t.

I killed my own son. Do you have any idea what that feels like?

Mr. Simms looked up at me. “Hurry, Adrian! We can get out of here together.”

I stared silently down at his face.

When I was little, every day was pain. They did things to me. They hurt me.

Mr. Simms shouted, “Adrian! We don’t have time! We’re all pulling out as soon as the Lancers make their kill.”

You see? Cathy is an Angel through and through.

Something snapped inside. Call it anger, frustration, grief, hatred... If I hadn’t just lost my chance to bring Cat back from the Angels, I might have been in a more forgiving mood. I might have taken pity on Mr. Simms, wounded and alone in this dark tunnel. I might have helped him, as undeserving as he was. But after all that I had just witnessed today, and all that had happened during and after the time I spent in the basement of Father Lestor’s house...

Some wounds run too deep to heal, and I can no more help being what I am than you can help being what you are.

“Come on, Adrian!” said Mr. Simms. “Lift me up! Save me and you can still be a hero.”

“I’m sorry, Mr. Simms,” I said quietly, taking a step back, “but I am no hero, and I think you’re beyond saving.”

“What the hell are you talking about? It’s just a broken leg, damn it!”

“I’m talking about how you once led the Sky Guardians to rape and burn a six-year-old girl.”

“What? Sky Guardians?” sputtered Mr. Simms. “You’re talking about Slayers at a time like this?! You know what the Slayers are like! We saved you from them!”

“And I’m grateful for that, Mr. Simms,” I said evenly. “But it’s true, isn’t it? You killed Grace.”

“This is a war, Adrian!” Mr. Simms shouted furiously. “A goddamn war! When I led the Sky Guardians against the Slayers, we always killed the children! If we didn’t, they’d grow up and we’d have to kill them anyway! Better to put them out of their misery while they’re young.”

“I’m sorry you feel that way, Mr. Simms,” I said, pointing my right index finger at him.

His eyes fixed on the tip of my finger, Mr. Simms asked in shock, “You’re serious?!”

I didn’t reply, my concentration focused on the telekinetic blast I was readying.

Mr. Simms said quietly, “I told you once before, Adrian, that pity is a poor excuse to go to war.”

“Nevertheless,” I replied, looking down into his bloodshot eyes, “war is where I am, and it is not you that I pity.”

I released my blast, putting a hole through Mr. Simms’s right elbow. The Sky Guardian howled in pain.

“You’re not coming back with us, Mr. Simms,” I said over his curses. “You’re not going to crawl your way out of this one. You’re drained and underground. Not even the Angels will find you here. I hope you die slowly. Very slowly.”

I turned and ran. Mr. Simms roared out my name once, and then was silent.

Flashlight in hand, I reached the end of the tunnel easily enough. But when I tried the steel door at the top of the stairs, I found it locked.

I could still hear gunfire and an occasional explosion, but that didn’t stop me from pounding my fists on the door and calling for help at the top of my lungs. “Open the door! Someone open this door!”

Suddenly a female voice shouted from the other side, “Identify yourself!”

“Adrian!” I shouted. “I mean Hansel! It’s me! Let me out!”

I heard a click. The door opened, and I found myself looking into the face of Ms. Jodie Decker.

“I thought you were dead!” we exclaimed at the same time.

Stepping through the doorway, I said, “I thought you were with Mr. Simms.”

“We got separated, Hansel,” said Ms. Decker. “Did you see him? Did you see Swoop in the tunnel?”

I hesitated for but a microsecond before I answered, “Yes. There’s a bunch of Ravens down in the tunnel. But they’re all dead. Mr. Simms too. And Jack F.”

“Cookie ordered a general retreat,” said Ms. Decker. “I don’t know if we have time to collect the bodies. How far down are they?”

“Far,” I said, “and I think there’re some Angels coming through this way.”

“Alright, forget it, Hansel,” said Ms. Decker, locking the door.

And that was it for the last Sky Guardian, or so I thought at the time.

“Where’s Alia and Laila?” I asked. “Where’s Terry?”

Ms. Decker shook her head. “I’m not sure. I saw Rabbit a moment ago, but most of the witnesses and VIPs are already gone. I’ll get you out myself.”

“I’ve got to go check our room!”

“No!” said Ms. Decker. “You’ve got to get going right now! We’re pulling out!”

Ms. Decker tried to grab my hand, but I sidestepped her and sprinted down the corridor. There were other Knights running in both directions, but no one stopped me. In less than five seconds, I was through the main factory entrance and running toward the Guardians’ motorhome barrier.

The air reeked of CS gas, but it wasn’t concentrated enough here to slow me down. As I levitated myself over the barrier, I saw what Ms. Decker had been talking about. Most of the cars behind the motorhomes were gone. Cindy’s sedan was gone too, but Laila’s small camper was still parked. I sprinted up to it and banged on the door, but there was no answer.

“Adrian!”

Turning toward the voice, I saw Terry rushing up to me. Her clothes were covered in what appeared to be dried blood, and she had several long scars on her right arm, but otherwise she looked okay. Alia had done her job well.

Steadying her breath, Terry asked hesitantly, “Did you find your sister?”

“Yes, but she’s not coming,” I said quickly.

Terry nodded. “At least you made it back alive.”

“Just barely,” I replied. “Where is everyone?”

“Retreating, of course!” said Terry. “The Lancers said they couldn’t find you on the far side of the factory. I’m not sure, but I think they killed the queen!”

“I mean where are Alia and Laila?!”

“Alia’s already gone. I got one of the Lancers to drive her out in Cindy’s car. I had to hit her pretty hard, though. She refused to leave without you.”

“And Laila?” I asked anxiously.

“I’m not sure,” said Terry, shaking her head. “I didn’t see her after my fight. I think she already left too.”

“Her camper’s still here!”

“Her camper’s too slow, Adrian! We’re ditching all the motorhomes. Come on, we’re running out of cars.”

“I’m not leaving till I’m sure, Terry!”

“I thought you’d say that,” said Terry, and then pointed her hook toward the factory building. “Look over there.”

I turned my head. The next instant, there was a blinding flash of light behind my eyes, and then everything went dark.

Chapter 18: The Dawn of a New Age

Cat’s eighth birthday party ended without any major injuries, and we sent the last of the kids home by 6pm. I helped Dad clean up the living room while Mom tackled the kitchen, conscripting Cat to assist her with the dishes.

“Tired, Adrian?” asked Dad as I listlessly picked up scraps of wrapping paper from the floor.

I smiled weakly. “Let’s stop having birthdays at home.”

Dad nodded. “Agreed. Next time we’ll rent a tar pit or something.”

We laughed, and then Dad said, “Thanks for being such a good sport today, Adrian. I never thought a group of second-grade girls could be so rowdy.”

“They’re Cat’s friends, Dad. What did you expect? As long as Cat had fun, it’s fine. It was her party, after all.”

Dad smiled. “It’s amazing how you two get along, Adrian. When I was your age, your uncle and I used to fight all the time. Even at parties.”

I shrugged. “Cat and I fight sometimes.”

“Yeah, but there’s never any blood on the carpet.”

I heard Mom call from the kitchen, “Addy!”

“I really wish she’d stop calling me that,” I grumbled. “I’m not a little kid anymore.”

Dad chuckled, saying, “As far as mothers are concerned, we’re always their little kids.”

“Addy!”

“Coming!” I called back. “Just a minute!”

Then I looked at Dad in dismay. “Always?”

“Always,” confirmed Dad. “Your grandmother still treats me like I’m four years old.”

I made a face, and Dad laughed. “Hey, what’s in a name, anyway? Your mother knows you’re grown up. You help around the house. You watch over your sister. You’re a better kid than I ever was.”

I could never quite picture my father as a child. What was it like to have a brother instead of a sister? It was probably more fun, even with the fights. Oh well, no one chooses how they’re born.

I asked hesitantly, “Dad, do you think I’ll be like you when I grow up?”

“Not if your mother has a say in it,” said Dad, grinning widely. “Why? Did you want to?”

“I wouldn’t mind,” I mumbled.

Dad laughed, and I looked away, embarrassed. Mom was straight as a ruler, but Dad usually made being an adult seem like fun.

“Addy!” Mom called again.

“I’m coming!”

“Addy, wake up. Cindy’s home.”

I opened my eyes halfway and looked up at Alia, who was standing beside my bed and peering down at me. Then I looked over at my bedside clock: 6pm. I had been alone, lying on my bed since noon, and I must have fallen asleep. I groggily sat up and, my head still spinning, stared blankly at Alia.

It was the day after Laila’s funeral. We had been back in New Haven for just under a week. Mark Parnell had conducted the funeral service himself, but there was no body to bury.

When the Lancer Knights reported that they couldn’t locate me and were pulling out, Laila had run into the factory to beg help from the Ravens. Mrs. Brown chased Laila into the building, and just after they met up with Jack Pearson, there was an explosion. Jack P, who was also injured in the blast, reported that both Laila and her mother died instantly.

When Terry first told me, for a while, it was all I could do to just keep breathing. Laila had been Terry’s best friend, and one of Alia’s only friends. Terry didn’t often cry, but that day she did. That day, we all did.

And yesterday, I sat with Terry, Alia and Cindy in Mark’s church for the joint mother-daughter funeral. Guardian dignitaries were invited to talk about how special Mrs. Brown had been. A third generation non-psionic Guardian. A distinguished, honorable member of the Council. Someone who would be missed by all who knew her. Mr. Baker himself talked at length about dedication and self-sacrifice, and how Mrs. Brown and her daughter had not died in vain. But I knew better. They died because of me.

Mark had offered to let me say some words for Laila, but I declined. I couldn’t bring myself to stand there and talk about her. Terry shook her head too.

But Alia stood.

“Laila was a great friend to all of us,” she said aloud. “She was someone I could talk to.”

Throughout the entire service, I didn’t cry even once. I felt too hollow to cry.

“Addy?” said Alia, peering hesitantly into my face. “I said Cindy’s home.”

“I heard you, Alia,” I whispered back, but I didn’t stand up.

I knew Cindy had been friends with Mrs. Brown, and I knew that I wasn’t the only one in this house that was mourning. I felt guilty about not making a greater effort to remain composed when everyone felt the same loss. After all, Terry had known Laila since long before I met either of them, and Alia had been very close to Laila too. But Laila and I had been more than friends. Much more.

Alia sat down beside me on my bed. “Addy, what happens when we die?”

“I don’t know, Alia,” I said quietly. “Laila believed that we go somewhere nice.”

“I hope she’s right.”

“Go tell Cindy I’ll be out in a minute.”

Alia silently stood and left the room. I remained on my bed, staring down at my empty hands. I wished a minute could last a year.

Cindy had been at another long meeting since early this morning. The Council was welcoming a new member to replace Mrs. Brown. They were also busy preparing for a major shift in the balance of power with the Angels.

Larissa Divine was dead. As was Number Two. The Angels no longer had a single master controller. In the long term, this would probably break them apart. But in the meantime, tensions were at an all-time high, and extra precautions were necessary for New Haven’s defense.

With everything else that had happened, I didn’t particularly care, but I nevertheless learned from Mr. Baker, who had dinner with us after the service yesterday, how the Guardians had pulled off their impossible hit on the Angel queen.

Terry had often told me how I was on need-to-know, but regarding this operation, it turned out that Terry herself had been as clueless as I. The Guardians’ target during the gathering of lesser gods had been, from the very start, Larissa Divine herself. Mr. Baker knew that a failed attempt would mean total war, but success would cripple the Angels permanently. Because Number Two was already dead.

The information that the Raven Knights had taken from Father Lestor’s house had not only identified Number Two as a woman named Angelina Harrow, but had led the Guardians to her. Soon after my rescue from the Slayers, an elite team of Lancer Knights had destroyed the Angel settlement where the master controller lived. But that wasn’t all. The Knights had made it look like a random attack by another, lesser faction. The Angels suspected Guardian involvement, of course, but couldn’t prove it.

Without a successor, Larissa Divine was pressured to call a blood trial to heat things up and end the war. Riley O’Neal was, as Terry had said, merely an excuse.

In accepting the blood trial, the Guardians deliberately let slip that instead of falling for the Angels’ trap around Larissa Divine, they would set their sights on Number Two. It was the same story Terry had been told. When an Angel spy was fed this lie, the Angels incorrectly concluded that their second master controller really had been killed by another faction and that the Guardians didn’t even know she was dead.

So the Angels set up another trap, having one of their shape-shifters take the form of the late Angelina Harrow in the hope that the Guardians would try to kill her during the trial. They set up an elaborate ambush around their decoy. The idea was to capture several members of the Guardian assault team and force them to publicly admit that they were after an Angel master, thus giving Queen Divine the leverage she needed to escalate her war with the Guardians. Meanwhile, though the Angels were still serious about Larissa Divine’s protection, they no longer expected an attempt on the queen’s life.

Just like the Angels, Terry and I had fallen right into this. Mr. Baker probably suspected that Terry would talk to me, but it didn’t matter since Terry herself had been given false information. Mr. Baker could send me into the Angel camp without fear of me being delved. If the Angels had read my mind, it merely would have confirmed the Guardians’ fake plot to assassinate Number Two.

And that was where my plan had utterly failed. The shape-shifter posing as Angelina Harrow was staying in the Angel camp, but Larissa Divine herself had been kept hidden in the Angel side of the factory building. After all, any decent sharp-shooter, such as Jack F for example, could have put a bullet through the queen’s head had she been wandering about in broad daylight.

Laila’s mother, in agreeing to be bait, had been given the same false story as Terry. Mr. Baker had been counting on Mrs. Brown being caught in the Angel camp and then taken to Larissa Divine for conversion. Once Mrs. Brown was inside the Angel side of the factory, the Guardians would cross the divide.

That was why the Knights didn’t come for me while I was with Cat in the Angel camp. Only after our spotters on the roof of the office building saw Randal Divine lead me into the north side of the factory could Mr. Baker give the order to attack. There had never been any chance of forcing Cat to come with me.

The Lancers had expected to find me near Larissa Divine, but of course they didn’t. Still, the hit was a success, and once the Angel queen was no more, with careful planning, the Guardians managed to pull off the greatest escape in psionic history.

Of the two hundred and fifty witnesses on both sides, the Angels had brought nearly two hundred Seraphim, compared to a mere one hundred Knights on the Guardian side. But the Seraphim were mostly destroyers and controllers. They had been brought to fight, and most of them were assigned to the ambush around their shape-shifter.

After the kill, as the Guardian witnesses began their retreat, the Knights unleashed a barrage of CS gas to cover our escape. Naturally, the Angels tried to counter this by using their windmasters to blow the smoke away. But the Guardians had complete control of the air. Mr. Baker’s decision to bring more ordinary witnesses than Knights had been to ensure that our side had twice as many windmasters. These civilian volunteers had been handpicked for their skills at psionic blocking. They weren’t in on the full plan, of course, but they knew what to do when Mr. Baker ordered the retreat.

Having involved innocent civilians, children, and even a few non-Guardians in an event that he knew would end in bloodshed, Mr. Baker had gone all-out to guarantee the safe escape of the witnesses. After being laid out cold by Terry, I had regained consciousness aboard an in-flight commercial helicopter, one of many that had been waiting for us just a few miles from the factory. Vehicles and material possessions were lost, but lives were saved.

Of course, that didn’t mean there were no casualties. Laila and her mother were among seven non-combatants that had been killed during the aftermath of the queen’s assassination. Another thirty-seven Knights died, many of them Ravens who didn’t have the blocking skills to prevent Angel controllers from entering their minds.

Ralph Henderson was among the few Lancer Knights who were killed during the lightening raid on the queen’s chamber. Ralph had led the attack. According to the accounts of his team, he was shot more than ten times before he detonated a grenade that killed Larissa Divine, and himself. If not for his sacrifice, many more Lancer Knights might have been lost, and the attack itself might have failed.

When Mr. Baker told me about Ralph, all I could manage was a simple, “Oh.” I felt nothing. I didn’t have the emotional capacity left to care one way or the other about Ralph’s passing. Terry remained expressionless too. Only Cindy had frowned.

“Adrian?” said Cindy, and I looked up from my empty hands. Cindy was standing at the door with Alia. “I’m home.”

“Hi, Cindy,” I said in a monotone.

“Dinner?” she asked quietly.

I shrugged. I had hardly moved since morning. I wasn’t hungry.

“I’ll make something anyway,” said Cindy. “Were you here all day?”

I nodded dully.

“It’s okay, Adrian,” Cindy said gently. “Take your time.”

I did.

In the days that followed Laila’s funeral, I found that I could no longer concentrate on any one task for very long. Whether it be cooking, cleaning, studying or even playing, everything I did seemed to be, at the same time, entirely trivial and yet a painful burden. When I was alone, I felt a desperate need for companionship, but as soon as someone spoke to me, I wished I was alone.

I was so completely torn up inside that I couldn’t even be sure what I was really feeling anymore.

First there was Cat, who had chosen to stay with the Angels. When asked about what happened over there, I had first told Cindy, Terry and even Alia that Cat refused to come back with me because she had been psionically converted. Unable to right the wrong that I had helped to create, I simply couldn’t bear to admit to what I had seen and heard. But then Cindy and Terry tried to cheer me up by reminding me that since Larissa Divine was dead, it would only be a matter of months before Cat’s conversion wore off and then, with luck, we could still get her back. So I told them the truth.

“It happens sometimes, Adrian,” Cindy had said consolingly. “Catherine was just as scared as you were. She needed a home.”

I could understand how alone and frightened Cat must have been, kidnapped on the night our parents were murdered. And I knew that the Angels had lied to her. But to call those people her family, and to call that man “Father”? Randal Divine who, minutes later, had tried to execute me. Cat was gone now, probably forever. My first sister was Catherine Divine, adopted daughter of the Angel queen’s nephew. If Cat had been converted, then I could still have forgiven her. And I could have forgiven myself for having failed her so completely. I wasn’t sure which hurt me more: her betrayal or my own.

Then there was Mr. Simms. Every time I thought of what I had done to him, I asked myself if it had been right. And every time I asked, I came to the opposite conclusion.

Jason Simms had not only killed Grace and who-knew-how-many other children, but he had enjoyed it. Not even Ralph killed people for sport. The Sky Guardians under Mr. Simms had acted just as vilely as the Slayers. Perhaps even worse. At a moral level, the last Sky Guardian was no different from the pair of psychos who had sliced up Alia’s back. Mr. Simms got what he deserved.

But what I did to him wasn’t to defend myself or anyone else. What I did, I did out of hatred and vengeance. I had wanted to hurt Mr. Simms. I could have just killed him, but instead I had deliberately prolonged his life so that he would suffer more before his end. I felt that I had crossed a line I should never have approached, and in leaving him to die in slow agony, I was perhaps not so different from Mr. Simms himself. Every time I remembered how I had lied to Ms. Decker and got her to lock that door, I wandered between grim satisfaction and utter self-disgust.

And finally there was Laila, who would probably be alive today had I only been honest with her. She and her mother died because I had crossed into the Angel camp. I had tried to justify my actions to myself by thinking that, in taking Mrs. Brown’s place, I was preventing Laila from losing her mother. But I knew inside that that was an empty excuse from the start.

As much as I hated to admit it, Terry was probably right in knocking me out cold. My refusal to leave without Laila could have cost Terry and me our lives. But I still wished Terry had left me there. When I was told that Laila and her mother had both died in the factory, I wished I had died with them.

Emptiness. Despair. These are just words that describe feelings. They’re not the same as real feelings. Real feelings are beyond words. Day after day, I roamed from room to room, and often through the park and elsewhere, looking for someplace that I could find peace. Anywhere but wherever I currently was.

In the end, I discovered that I was most comfortable when people were nearby, but minding their own business. I finally fully appreciated my sister’s strange need for silent company. Alia had been there and back. She knew my pain because she felt it too. And she understood the importance of time. For many days, she just stayed with me, silent, steady, accepting.

Taking her cue from Alia, Cindy also stopped trying to cheer me up with words, for which I was grateful. Instead, when Cindy was home, we often sat quietly in the greenhouse tending the plants. I enjoyed the work. The peaceful simplicity of it helped clear my mind. The sunlight felt good, and the many scents calmed me. Alia usually joined us.

Terry, on the other hand, took the complete opposite approach to dealing with the loss of the one friend who stood stoutly by her when no one else would. Outwardly, my combat instructor remained her usual blunt self. At home, she continued to help with all the chores except the cooking. But with each passing day, Terry spent increasingly long hours in the dojo, training and sparring with other Knights. She no longer invited me to join her, and often came back with bloody knuckles, scars and burns. As often as not, she refused Alia’s healing.

“You’ve got to ease down, Terry,” Cindy said to her worriedly.

“I’m not Adrian,” Terry replied icily. “And you know perfectly well that the Council still has all the Knights on high alert.”

It had been over three weeks now since the death of Larissa Divine. The Council believed that the Angels, many of whom were still under the influence of Larissa’s conversion, were gearing up for a major attack on New Haven to avenge their fallen queen. Terry insisted that she was just being extra prepared for the inevitable counterstrike.

But we all knew Terry better than that.

“I’ll take care of her,” I promised Cindy when Terry missed dinner for the fifth night in a row.

Cindy probably knew what I meant by that, but kindly didn’t comment. The next day, with Cindy off at yet another Council meeting, I grabbed Alia away from her home studies.

“Come with me,” I said to her grimly. “I’m going to get hurt today.”

I was still struggling with my own grief and I didn’t feel at all up to this, but I wasn’t going to lose Terry again.

When we entered the subbasement dojo, I found Terry grappling with a Knight twice her weight. The fight ended quickly.

As Terry helped the Knight to his feet, I called out to her, “My turn.”

Terry turned to Alia and me and scowled, saying nastily, “Aren’t you girls supposed to be tending the flowers?”

“I never got the chance to repay you properly,” I said, leaving Alia by the door and stepping up onto the gym mats. “You know, for knocking me out when we could have gone searching for Laila? But I guess betrayal is just like killing. It’s easier the second time, isn’t it?”

“Come on, then,” Terry said quietly. “Let’s see what you got.”

Terry’s hook attachment was lying on the mat where she had left it before sparring with the Knight. I telekinetically picked it up and tossed it to her. “You’ll be wanting that, Teresa.”

Terry stared at me for a few seconds before silently strapping the hook onto her left stump.

Then Terry said to the Knight, “Leave us, please. Apparently I have a lesson to teach.”

The Knight obeyed, leaving Terry and me alone in the giant room. My sister stayed by the exit, watching us anxiously.

Tightening the strap on her hook attachment, Terry asked, “So, Adrian, do you want to do this with or without psionics?”

“With,” I replied. “But up close.”

We squared off on the mat, two yards apart. I didn’t have a distance advantage on her so she’d be on me before I could levitate her. Good. I didn’t want this to be easy.

“What are you waiting for, Half-head?” Terry said tauntingly. “Shall we bow first?”

I thrust my right arm forward as if to release a telekinetic blast, but, knowing Terry would automatically sidestep it, I didn’t actually fire. Terry hopped lightly to her left and then stepped forward, closing the gap between us in a move that I knew would instantly end the fight.

But I had already prepared a psionic blast, not aimed through my arm, but in the space between us. Terry stepped right into it. My non-focused blast was hardly stronger than a light slap, but it caught her off guard.

I lashed out with my left fist, aiming a punch at her face, but she easily ducked it and, a moment later, I felt her metal hook slash through my sweatpants, slicing open my right thigh.

I was drained, but not yet enough to completely lose my psionic power. I rammed my right hand into Terry’s stomach and blasted her again, knocking her back. I staggered backwards too, limping as the pain in my right thigh caught up with me. Terry was clutching her stomach and staring at me as if she had never seen me before.

As more blood poured down my leg, my power faded away. Breathing heavily, I said, “Is that the best you can do? No wonder you’re down here training all day.”

Terry’s eyes burned with rage. “I’ll give you my best, Adrian,” she shouted furiously, “when you’ve goddamn well earned it!”

In all my time with Terry in the dojo, I had never once seen her so completely lose her calm during a fight.

Terry threw herself forward, her hook coming dangerously close to my neck as I tried to step clear of her. Even with two good legs, I probably wouldn’t have been fast enough. We grappled for a second, and then Terry had me on my back. Sitting on my chest, she slammed her right fist into my face. Again. And again. I felt my nose break.

“Terry! Stop!” screamed Alia. “Please stop! Please!”

Terry’s fingers found my neck. I choked. I knew I couldn’t break free, but I struggled anyway. I wasn’t going to let Terry show me any mercy. Not while I had a single breath of life left in me.

On the very edge of darkness, I heard a snapping sound, and Terry’s grip on my neck loosened. I felt Terry’s weight lift off of my chest.

As my eyes came back into focus, I saw Alia standing over me, wide-eyed, gripping a jo stick in both hands. Terry was kneeling beside me and clutching the back of her head with her right hand as blood oozed from between her fingers.

“Thanks,” I croaked, looking up at Alia. “I’m okay. Heal Terry first.”

Dropping the jo stick, Alia knelt beside Terry. Terry’s shoulders were quivering, and I saw thick tears streaming down her cheeks.

“I’m sorry, Adrian,” sobbed Terry. “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s alright,” I breathed, still unable to sit up. Unable to wipe my own tears. “It’s over, Terry. It’s over.”

Terry’s head injury was superficial, as was the cut on my leg. But Terry had to realign my broken nose before Alia could heal it, and that was very painful.

Once we were no longer bleeding, we sat down together on the mats.

“Quite a punch you have there, Adrian,” said Terry, massaging her stomach. “Is that how you killed the Slayer?”

I nodded.

“Looks like you managed to learn a few tricks after all,” Terry said with a smile.

I smiled too. “I had a good teacher. The very best.”

Terry said quietly, “I never blamed you for Laila, you know.”

I raised my eyebrows, and Terry looked away, saying, “Alright, maybe I did.”

“It’s okay, Terry,” I said. “It was my plan that got her killed.”

Terry shook her head. “No, it wasn’t just your plan, Adrian. It was mine too. I agreed to it. Between you and Mrs. Brown, I figured that you had the better chance of survival. I couldn’t let Laila lose her mother.” Terry wiped her eyes. “When Laila died, it was just easier blaming you for it. I miss her too, you know. I miss her fire.”

I touched Terry’s shoulder. “Good guys don’t hide.”

Terry nodded. “Yeah, good guys don’t hide.”

The Guardians, like all psionic factions, made sure their members were well hidden from the outside world, even in death. If you were to search through piles of birth and death certificates, school transcripts, receipts, tax files, and all the other junk that traces our progress through our lives, all you would find of Laila is her name and a bunch of numbers. There might be a memo or two somewhere, but you would learn next to nothing about who Laila was, what she stood for, and how much she meant to us. In fact, there is very little evidence anywhere that a kind and brave girl named Laila Brown ever even existed. Except here.

The next day, Terry joined us in the greenhouse, and the day after, Alia and I joined her in the dojo for a more normal training session. We were slowly becoming a family again.

Meanwhile, the Guardians were cautiously celebrating their great victory. On the first Saturday of June, a grand party was held to honor the heroes who had taken part in the gathering of lesser gods. I didn’t want to go, but Terry forced me, saying that the air would do me good. I didn’t argue with her. It had only been three days since Terry broke my nose.

The party was held in the same location that we had celebrated the founding of New Haven, and the turnout was quite something. New Haven had really grown in the last two years. Our psionic population alone was now greater than five thousand, to say nothing of non-psionic family and friends. The main party hall was too small to accommodate all the attendees, so the majority of the general population couldn’t enter. Lucky them.

Inside the lavishly decorated hall, Mr. Baker and members of the Council made painfully long-winded speeches, promises and predictions, most of which I had no interest in, but as it was a yawn-at-your-own-peril event, I kept my impatience to myself.

Mr. Baker took me on stage again like he did when I first arrived in New Haven. He publicly reprimanded my reckless crossing into the Angel camp, and then commended me on creating the diversion that helped the Knights accomplish their mission. I could tell that Mr. Baker was just making sure he wouldn’t be held accountable for helping me. I wasn’t about to spill the secret. After all, it was my secret too.

Terry and Ms. Lillian Dallas were also called on stage, and both were given medals to honor their victories in the blood trial. Mr. Baker cleared Terry’s record, informing the crowd that Terry’s defeat had been a deliberate part of the Knights’ plans. I knew that Terry didn’t care for medals or honor, but she smiled and pretended to be happy.

Then we all drank a toast to the ones who didn’t return.

After the speeches, Mr. Baker sat with Cindy, Terry, Alia and me at our table. We ate, we talked, and we all drank another toast to what Mr. Baker called “the dawn of a new age.”

“It will truly be a brave new world for us,” said Mr. Baker. “A world without psionic masters.”

“Was Larissa Divine really the last one?” I asked.

“Thanks largely to you, Adrian, we are now rid of every known master-controller bloodline,” Mr. Baker said happily. “There is always the remote possibility of a wild-born master from an undiscovered bloodline, but most likely, the age of masters is finally over. The Angels will soon fall apart and the balance of power will be restored.”

“You mean that chaos will be the new world order,” I said, shaking my head.

“True,” admitted Mr. Baker. “But you must agree that even chaos is better than allowing a single master to rule the entire planet.”

I did agree. If there was one good thing that came out of all of this, it was that the world, at least for other people, would be a better place. A safer place, and hopefully a happier one.

Cindy took Alia home at around eight o’clock, leaving Terry and me with Mr. Baker, who I was hoping would leave us too so that I could go home.

That was when Mr. Baker said something that threw me. “Adrian, Jodie Decker told me that you saw the bodies of Mr. Simms and Jack F in the underground tunnel that you used to escape. Is that correct?”

“Yes,” I replied stiffly. “Why do you ask?”

“I’m just curious,” Mr. Baker said lightly. “Were there any others down there?”

“Several. I didn’t recognize the others, though. It was really dark, and I think some of them were Angels.”

“I see,” said Mr. Baker, carefully studying my face. “And you are absolutely certain that they were all dead?”

“I didn’t check their pulses, if that’s what you mean. I was scared and running.”

Terry said to Mr. Baker in an annoyed tone, “Adrian has already stated all of this on record during the debriefing, Mr. Baker.”

“I understand,” said Mr. Baker, and then turned to me again. “I spoke with Jack Pearson today. He was hoping that you might know a little more.”

Jack P, who now had only eight fingers and wore a patch over his left eye, was the new leader of the Raven Knights. He had called Terry and me in for an official debriefing within a week of our return, and I had given him an abridged version of my escape. In addition to skipping the part about blasting Mr. Simms, I had also claimed that Randal Divine had scampered when I pulled the gun from his hands. I wasn’t about to admit that I had deliberately let the Angel go. And fortunately, I was still too young to delve.

“But it’s okay, Adrian,” said Mr. Baker, his lips bent almost imperceptibly downward. “I’m sure it’s nothing important. Have a good evening.”

Mr. Baker left us, and as soon as he was out of earshot, Terry huffed loudly. “If it’s nothing important, don’t ask! What was all that about anyway?”

I shrugged. My memory of Mr. Simms’s end was eating at me again, but I forced myself to smile as if nothing was amiss.

Suddenly Terry said sharply, “Adrian?!”

I looked her in the eye. “He was dead, Terry.”

Terry stared back at me for a moment, and then shrugged. “I’m sorry. It’s none of my business.”

“He was dead!” I repeated forcefully. “I’m not sorry he died, but he was dead when I found him.”

“Okay,” Terry said in a subdued tone. “It’s alright, Adrian. I’m not particularly sorry he died either. I always liked Jack P better.”

I breathed easier. Whether Terry believed my story or not, she seemed determined to put it behind us. Terry reached across the table for the wine bottle. “Let’s have another drink, Adrian.”

“I’m not so sure I want another, Terry.”

“Oh, come on,” Terry said playfully. “Remember the last time we were here?”

I nodded. “That’s why I’m not so sure.”

Terry laughed as she poured herself another glass, and then refilled mine too. We stayed out until past midnight, and we were both quite hung over the next morning.

Another week passed.

Terry asked me over breakfast, “You know what day it is?”

“Of course,” I replied.

Laila was just ten days older than Terry, and today was her seventeenth birthday. I had missed Laila’s sixteenth last year, having met her for the first time on Terry’s. I wasn’t going to miss today.

Terry said, “I thought we might have a drink in her honor after dinner.”

I shook my head. “I have a better idea.”

Alia had been running a moderate fever since the night before, so I left her with Cindy and took Terry out of the penthouse in the early afternoon.

“Do you mind telling me where we’re going, Half-head?” Terry asked in an annoyed tone as we rode the elevator down to the lobby.

“You’ll see,” I replied lightly. “You dragged me to that party last week and let Mr. Baker make a fool of me on stage. Today you’re going to do what I want.”

Terry figured out our destination well before we arrived.

“Adrian, you know I don’t believe in this stuff,” she said as we approached the open doors of Mark’s church.

“Well, neither do I, Terry,” I replied. “But she did.”

Terry looked at me for a few seconds, then smiled and nodded, and we entered the church together.

Mark wasn’t in that day, but another priest who I knew fairly well walked with us to the prayer candles. I gazed down at the small white candles set in the box. I watched the flames flickering beneath the statue of Jesus, each candle a prayer. I glanced up at the statue of the man who always looked so peaceful even as he was nailed to a cross.

And suddenly I felt ridiculous.

Maybe Terry was right. I didn’t really believe in any of this church stuff either, and to pray for Laila as if I did was a lie.

The priest handed us our candles, and it was Terry who lit hers first. She carefully placed her candle in the box. Then, putting her right hand up to her prosthetic, she slowly closed her eyes.

I looked down at the candle in my hands. Coming here had seemed like a good idea this morning, but now I felt very uncomfortable.

Good guys don’t hide.

But I wasn’t a good guy. Not anymore. Not since Mr. Simms.

Maybe not ever.

I wished Mark was here. Mark had always been accepting of my lack of faith, and he had guided me through some difficult times. He might be able to tell me if what I had done was right... or at lease forgivable.

But Mark wasn’t here today. And, more importantly, he had never killed someone in anger. No, Mark wasn’t my best choice anyway. Not this time. I needed to talk to someone who had taken life. Someone who understood revenge.

I glanced over at Terry, who still had her eyes closed in silent prayer. I could talk to Terry. Terry was someone who understood revenge. And she already knew most of the story anyway. If I told her that I had blasted Mr. Simms and left him to die in that tunnel, what would she say?

You always were an idiot, Adrian.

I shook my head. I could trust Terry with just about anything, but she wasn’t the person to go to for moral guidance.

Terry opened her eyes and looked at me. “What’s the matter, Adrian?”

“Nothing,” I replied, hastily lighting my prayer candle and placing it next to Terry’s. “Just give me a moment.”

I closed my eyes and put my palms together. But I didn’t pray. I couldn’t.

I realized now that what bothered me most about what I had done to Mr. Simms was that I really wasn’t sorry about it anymore. Over the weeks, I had slowly come to the conclusion that while what I did might not have been ethical, if I could go back and change things, I wouldn’t. I just wondered what Laila would say if she knew.

And what of Alia and Cindy?

My sister didn’t need to hear this yet. Cindy hadn’t told her how the people who hurt her had died, and I wasn’t about to let her know what I did to the man who hurt Charles’s little sister.

But I lived in Cindy’s house. Cindy deeply regretted killing Alia’s keepers. I didn’t regret Mr. Simms. If I had become the monster that I had wanted to kill, then at least Cindy had a right to know.

Terry and I returned to the penthouse in time for dinner.

Alia’s fever had gone down, but not enough for Cindy to let her out of bed, and Terry disappeared into her room as soon as she finished eating. It was my turn to help with the washing up, which gave me the time alone that I needed with Cindy.

Helping me load the dishwasher, Cindy said to me, “You seemed a little lost over dinner, Adrian. How was your visit to the church?”

“I didn’t see Laila, if that’s what you mean,” I said, shrugging.

Then I took a deep breath, faced her and tried my best to keep from fidgeting as I said slowly, “Cindy, I need to tell you something. Something that happened back at the blood trial. Something that I did.”

“You sound serious.”

My voice faltered a bit as I added, “Something terrible.”

Cindy looked at me carefully. “Am I about to hear what really happened to Jason Simms?”

I stared, astonished, and Cindy explained, “Mr. Pearson’s Ravens apparently heard a call for help on their frequency soon after the last transports pulled out of the factory grounds. The signal was pretty faint, but they think it was Mr. Simms’s voice.”

I shuddered. In the darkness, with a broken leg and a hole through his elbow, Mr. Simms had managed to crawl his way to Jack F’s radio.

Cindy asked in a concerned voice, “So what happened down there, Adrian?”

“I left him there,” I replied in a monotone. “He was already injured, but I made sure he’d die.”

Cindy put a comforting hand on my shoulder. “It’s okay. You were scared, Adrian. You can’t blame yourself for not helping him. You might not have made it out in time yourself if–”

“No!” I shouted, pulling away from her. “You don’t understand, Cindy! I blasted him! I broke his arm so he couldn’t escape. I made sure he’d die!”

Cindy stared.

“I killed him, Cindy,” I said hoarsely, relieved that I could finally tell someone. “I killed Mr. Simms.”

“But... I don’t understand,” said Cindy, looking at me in disbelief. “Why?”

I told her. I explained about how the Slayer Charles had taken care of me, and how he had removed the bullet from my leg and cleaned the wound. I retold Charles’s story about his little sister, and what the Sky Guardians had done to her. And how I learned from Ralph who Mr. Simms really was. And what Mr. Simms had said to me in the tunnel.

“After Alia, I just couldn’t let it go, Cindy,” I said miserably, shaking my head. “Mr. Simms was a monster. I guess I am one too now.”

“Why, Adrian?” asked Cindy. “Because you killed a man?”

“Because I enjoyed it,” I told her. “I don’t expect you to understand that.”

Cindy said gently, “I think you give me much more credit than I deserve, Adrian. Just because I’m not a Knight doesn’t mean I haven’t seen war. I have killed people too. Do you honestly think I don’t know what it feels like to hate? When I killed Alia’s keepers, it wasn’t in self-defense. I didn’t kill them for Alia. I killed them because I hated them.”

“But you regretted it afterwards.”

“You don’t?”

I looked away. “No, Cindy, I don’t. I once thought I did, but I know better now. I’m not sorry for what I did to him. I don’t think I’ll ever be.”

Cindy remained silent, and I decided that as long as I was showing her the darkest part of my heart, she might as well know it all.

“It’s not just Mr. Simms,” I blurted out, my voice beginning to tremble. “I hate them, Cindy. The Angels, the Slayers, the Wolves... I hate them all. I wish I could strangle them to death one at a time with my bare hands. Sometimes, when I’m alone, all I can feel is my hate. I used to believe that even enemies deserved some mercy, but... I’m sorry, Cindy. I just don’t believe it anymore.”

Cindy looked at me for several slow heartbeats, and then whispered sadly, “I see.”

“I honestly wish I didn’t feel this way, but I do.”

“Then I’m truly sorry for you, Adrian, because I love you so much.”

I stared down at my feet. “I can’t help being what I am, Cindy. I would understand if you didn’t want me here anymore.”

I felt Cindy’s arms around me as she whispered into my ear, “Between your sister and Laila, I thought you already had much too much to deal with. I didn’t know about this. I wish there was something I could say to make you feel better. Maybe there’s nothing. One thing’s for sure though: You are not leaving this house, Adrian. I love you.”

I hugged her back. I tried to say that I loved her too, but I was too choked up to speak.

When we broke apart, I looked up at Cindy’s face. She gazed quietly back. Having learned what I had done, what I had become, Cindy still wanted me in her family. I couldn’t say I understood her, but it was the first true release I had felt in longer than I could remember.

Cindy said in a hopeful tone, “You never know. You may yet come to regret what you did... someday.”

I stared down at the floor again and slowly shook my head.

I felt Cindy touch my arm, and she said, “You’re not the first soldier to let a war become personal, you know. I’ve watched many people destroy their lives over feelings they couldn’t control. I hope you don’t end up the same way. But in the meantime, I think you should know that the general consensus among the Council is that if it really was Mr. Simms on that radio, then most likely he got out alive.”

Startled, I looked up at Cindy. “You mean he was taken by the Angels?”

Cindy nodded. “We all agree that’s one possibility, and a dangerous one at that. A few weeks ago, Mr. Baker asked me if he could talk to you directly about your escape. He was worried because Mr. Simms knew many of the Guardians’ secrets regarding New Haven’s security. But I told Mr. Baker no, not wanting you to have to relive that day again.”

That was why Mr. Baker had ambushed me at the party.

“Jack P knew I was lying, didn’t he?” I said. “Why didn’t he say something during my debriefing?”

“He didn’t know you were lying, Adrian. For all Mr. Pearson knew, Mr. Simms might have been unconscious when you passed him in the tunnel. Don’t worry. Nobody knows what really happened down there.”

That didn’t change the fact that Mr. Simms could be in the Angels’ hands. They could be interrogating him right now. Mr. Simms was an excellent blocker, so chances were he would be put through a great deal of pain before he died. That didn’t bother me in the least. But if and when the Angels did get into his mind, there was no telling what advantages they would gain over the Guardians.

I let out a frustrated sigh. “So what I did might have put us all in danger?”

“It’s hard to say, Adrian,” replied Cindy. “We’re not completely sure one way or the other. It’s quite possible that Mr. Simms died in the tunnel.”

I already regretted what I had done to Mr. Simms. I should have put my blast through his skull.

I shook my head in resignation, saying, “I don’t even know how many times I’ve said this anymore, Cindy, but this time I’m really done fighting. I’m resigning my position as Honorary Guardian Knight. I’m done with them.”

“I don’t understand,” said Cindy. “I thought you just said you wanted to fight. To kill the people who–”

“No, Cindy!” I cut across her. “I said I hated them. And I do. If I ever faced them again, I wouldn’t hesitate to kill them. I might even enjoy it. But that doesn’t mean I want to go looking for them. And even if I did, I certainly wouldn’t do it as a Guardian Knight.”

My honorary status made my involvement in Guardian missions entirely voluntary, so technically there were no drawbacks to remaining a Knight, and the pay was good too. But I no longer wanted that title on my name.

I continued, “It might be different if only I could believe that the Guardians were good. But as far as I’m concerned, we’re no different from the Angels. It’s not just about Mr. Simms, Cindy. What I’ve seen of the Guardians these last two years, and what I’ve seen of this conflict in general... I just can’t be a part of it anymore. This isn’t my war. It never was. I may have become a monster, but if I can live in peace, then that’s all I want.”

Cindy smiled. “I’m glad to hear this, Adrian. I hope you find peace. I have a morning meeting with Mr. Baker tomorrow. I’ll tell him if you like.”

“That’ll be fine,” I said.

“You’re sure you want to do this?”

I nodded. I’d have to apologize to Terry about breaking my promise to someday hunt Angels with her, but keeping promises was never one of my strong points anyway.

I forced a smile and said, “Besides, between the Slayers and Mr. Simms, I think I’ve caused enough trouble for the Knights already, don’t you?”

Cindy laughed.

I asked uneasily, “Are you going to tell Mr. Baker what I did?”

Cindy shook her head. “Not unless you want me to.”

I looked at her for a moment. Then I wondered if I really had lost my mind as I replied, “Yes. He should know.”

Cindy looked surprised, but then smiled warmly. “Don’t worry, Adrian. You’re not a monster yet.”

I smiled back at her.

The next day, Cindy had her meeting with Mr. Baker right after breakfast. Before going, she asked me again if it really was okay to let Mr. Baker know what I had done in the tunnel. It was, but I couldn’t help feeling apprehensive about it.

I repeatedly told myself that Mr. Baker had a secret too, and that I shouldn’t be afraid of him. What was the worst he could do to me, anyway? The truth was I didn’t quite know.

I passed the time playing board games with my sister, who had recovered from her cold. Terry was taking the morning off too so she joined us. I wasn’t going to discuss Mr. Simms in front of Alia, but I did tell Terry my decision to permanently leave the Knights. Terry was vocally disappointed, but she seemed to understand.

Cindy returned to the penthouse for lunch and told me that Mr. Baker wanted to see me in person.

“I set up a 2pm appointment for you at his home,” said Cindy. “He’ll probably be rushing between meetings, so please don’t be late.”

“What does he want to see me for, Cindy?” I asked nervously. Was I going to be banished? Jailed?

“He just wants to talk, Adrian,” Cindy replied reassuringly.

Cindy refused to give me details, and I left the penthouse alone to meet my doom.

Ringing Mr. Baker’s doorbell at precisely 2pm, I remembered how Terry had once escorted me here to receive a reprimand from Mr. Baker over my botched handling of a pesky reporter. I had a feeling that this was going to be much worse.

Opening the door, Mr. Baker smiled down at me and said, “Terry has obviously taught you the importance of punctuality. I could set my watch to your arrival.”

Ushering me into his home, he asked me to sit at his coffee table.

“I prefer to stand,” I said.

“Very well,” Mr. Baker said crisply, remaining standing himself. “I called you here to discuss two things today. The first, of course, is what happened between you and Mr. Simms.”

Mr. Baker paused as if to give me a chance to speak first, but I remained silent. I wasn’t here to apologize or make excuses.

Mr. Baker assumed a grandfatherly tone as he said, “Adrian, I knew what kind of man Jason Simms was when I placed him in charge of the Ravens. It might not have been right, but it was necessary for our security to have competent, if even ruthless, warriors on our side.”

I still kept my mouth shut.

Mr. Baker gave me a wry smile and continued, “Mr. Simms perhaps did enjoy his job a little too much. The truth is that I never liked him very much either, and to a point, I understand what you did. You owed the Slayer who helped you. Nevertheless, under normal circumstances, I would not only have to strip you of your honorary title, but possibly even banish you from the Guardians.”

“Will you?” I asked. I didn’t care about the title, which Mr. Baker should know I was giving up anyway, but if I was banished...

“No,” said Mr. Baker. “Just as I need men like Mr. Simms, I also need you.”

I bristled at the comparison, probably because it rang true. But then I realized what he meant. “Because of Cindy.”

Mr. Baker nodded. “I need Cindy, and therefore I need you as well. Cindy wants you in her home, and I believe that you are happy there, yes?”

“As happy as I could hope for.”

“I want you to think about that, Adrian,” Mr. Baker said warningly. “I want you to think about that very carefully, because if word ever gets out about what you did, I may have no choice but to remove you from New Haven permanently.”

“I understand,” I replied. “And I’m sorry for putting our security in danger again.”

Mr. Baker stroked his chin. “Ah, well, we still don’t know if Mr. Simms was taken alive. For now, we’ll just keep this our little secret.”

I nodded, and Mr. Baker said, “On to the second point, then. You have asked to have your name stricken from the Honorary Guardian Knight list.”

“That’s right,” I said matter-of-factly.

“Why, might I ask?”

I hesitated. I wasn’t confident I could explain my rationale to Mr. Baker without insulting him.

Mr. Baker said, “I’m sorry if I embarrassed you the other day at the party. Your recklessness had once again paid off, but I couldn’t be seen as approving of it.”

“It’s not about that,” I said.

“Then what is it?”

I said slowly, “I’m sorry, Mr. Baker, but I just don’t believe in your cause anymore. I don’t believe in the Guardians’ cause. I had hoped that being a Knight would lead me to my sister. But I’m done chasing her. I just want a normal life back.”

Mr. Baker frowned. “I suppose you’ve always had your own agenda, Adrian. But you know that your title doesn’t require your participation in Knight operations. It would be helpful for me if you were to keep it, at least for the time being.”

I looked curiously at him, and Mr. Baker said, “You don’t have a lot of contact with the other residents of New Haven, so you may not know it, but you’re a bit of a celebrity these days.”

“A celebrity?!” I repeated incredulously. I remembered how Mr. Simms had once called me the “famous Adrian Howell.” Or was it “infamous”?

“Think about it, Adrian,” said Mr. Baker. “You’re a wild-born child psionic, and already a very powerful one at that. You’re the reason Cindy returned to the Guardians. You and Terry saved her from abduction last year. You survived a ruthless band of Slayers against all odds, and just recently, you played an important role in our slaying of the Angel queen.”

When he put it that way, I had to admit that it did sound pretty cool.

Mr. Baker gave me a concerned look and continued, “If you discard your honorary title now, people will wonder why. They will ask why the boy who did so much for us would suddenly refuse to hold a title that symbolizes everything the Guardians strive for. They will ask what manner of dissent is occurring in the residence of the Heart of New Haven, and they will fear for the future of our settlement.”

It was political.

I said uneasily, “I’m just not comfortable with the title, Mr. Baker.”

Mr. Baker dropped the cordial tone. “Then let me be perfectly frank with you, Adrian Howell,” he said severely. “These are volatile times. The Angels are in a frenzy. Their leaders are already beginning to argue, and they know that their time as a unified faction is limited. At any moment, they might attack us in full force. I cannot allow doubt to enter my people. You will play your part if you want to remain in New Haven.”

I stared defiantly back at him. “Let me be equally frank, Mr. Baker,” I hissed. “You knowingly helped me cross into the Angel camp. Cindy doesn’t know it yet, but if she learns that you deliberately risked my life again, a couple of people wondering why I gave up a title would be the least of your troubles. You will let me leave the Knights.”

Cindy knew, of course, that Terry and Alia had helped me make the crossing into the Angel camp, but she still didn’t know of Mr. Baker’s deliberate involvement in my plan.

Mr. Baker shook his head. “You can’t prove that I had any knowledge about what you were up to with Mr. Jenson.”

“I don’t need proof,” I replied evenly. “Cindy would believe me if I told her.”

We glared at each other in furious silence. I wondered why I was so hell-bent on losing my title.

Was it pride? Or hate? Fear of rubbing shoulders with the likes of Mr. Simms? Was it perhaps to keep myself from being tempted to join another Guardian mission? But then again, if I was serious about living in peace, what difference did it make whether or not I was an Honorary Guardian Knight?

I shrugged and gave Mr. Baker a half-smile. “Alright, Mr. Baker,” I said calmly. “We’ll do this your way. I’ll play my part. But know this: I’m through with your damn war. You’re right in that I have my own agenda. If it weren’t for Cindy and Alia, I’d leave New Haven today.”

“Don’t worry, Adrian,” said Mr. Baker, his frown slowly fading. “You’re Cindy’s boy. Nobody is going to risk your life again.”

“Will that be all, Mr. Baker?” I asked.

“Yes. Have a good day.”

“Thank you,” I said curtly, and strode out the door.

Returning home, I joined Cindy in the greenhouse. Alia was there too, and she told me that Terry had gone down to the subbasement to practice her shooting.

“So how’d it go with Mr. Baker?” asked Cindy.

I chuckled. “Apparently being an Honorary Guardian Knight isn’t quite as voluntary as I had hoped. But it’s okay. What’s in a name, anyway?”

“I’m glad you agreed to his request,” said Cindy, and then added in a worried tone, “That is, if you really are planning not to take on any more dangerous missions.”

“I’m not,” I confirmed. “Except for one.”

“Adrian?!”

I grinned. “I’m still your live-in bodyguard, right?”

“Oh!” Cindy laughed. “Right. Between you and Terry, I’m sure this house is the safest place in New Haven.”

“Hey, what about me?” Alia cried indignantly.

“I’m sorry, sweetie,” said Cindy, giving her a hug. “I almost forgot that you’re a Knight too.”

“And a tough one at that,” I agreed. “You should see her with a jo stick.”

“Addy!” Alia hissed angrily into my head. What she had done to Terry was supposed to be a secret.

In the evening, I went back to Mark’s church, taking Alia with me. We each lit a candle. I still didn’t believe in all this church stuff, but I felt that Laila’s faith was enough for the both of us. As I watched the candles burn, I didn’t pray, but I hoped. I hoped that Laila was in a better place. And I hoped that my memories of her would give me the strength to let my anger go. I hoped that someday I really would find peace.

Terry’s seventeenth birthday arrived sooner than I expected. Once again, I couldn’t think of a gift, so I settled for a card and baking the double-layered chocolate cake with Alia. There were no decorations or fancy planning this time, but we had a quiet, enjoyable dinner.

The doorbell rang just as we had finished dividing up the cake.

“Uncle Charles!” said Terry, opening the door.

Terry’s Uncle Charles wasn’t really her blood relation, but the last living member of Ralph’s former Wolf unit that had defected to the Guardians so many years ago.

“Hello, Terry,” the old man said gruffly, stepping into the living room without waiting for an invitation. He was carrying a small shoulder bag, which he tossed onto the low table.

Cindy seemed entirely unperturbed by the man’s manner. “Good evening, Mr. Holloway,” she said pleasantly. “It’s nice to see you’re still alive.”

Closing the door, Terry said, “I didn’t know you were in town.”

“I just got back from a scouting mission,” replied Charles. “I’ve been in debrief all day.”

“So what brings you up here now?”

Charles shrugged, saying, “I came here to wish you a happy birthday.”

Terry narrowed her eyes. “You haven’t wished me a happy birthday since I was ten. You probably don’t even know how old I am.”

Charles laughed. “Alright, you got me. I’m actually here on semi-official business. It’s about your grandfather’s will.”

Terry looked surprised. “My grandfather didn’t have a will. He never cared what happened after he died.”

“Well, the building maintenance crew was finally cleaning out his home the other day and they found one. It seems he wrote it just before leaving for the blood trial. It’s hardly a will, being scribbled on a scrap of paper, but we’ve decided to honor it nevertheless.”

Ralph was famous for surviving one suicide mission after another, but perhaps he knew that he would die this time. I remembered Terry telling me how Ralph had been forced to kill his own son and daughter-in-law when they were taken control of by an Angel puppeteer. That had been during a previous, failed attempt on Larissa Divine’s life, back when Terry was still a baby. It had taken nearly two decades, but Ralph had finally completed his mission.

“So, what of it?” Terry asked in an annoyed tone. “I don’t care for anything that man has touched.”

“He probably figured you’d say that, Terry,” said Charles. “So he left you all that he didn’t actually touch. His money, that is. It’s no great amount, but it’ll be transferred to your bank account.”

“Fine,” said Terry. “Is that all?”

“For you, yes,” said Charles. “But I have something for the others here, too.”

Cindy, Alia and I looked at each other. Ralph had left us something?

“For Ms. Gifford, I have a sealed message,” said Charles, reaching into his bag and pulling out a white paper envelope.

“Thank you, Mr. Holloway,” said Cindy, taking the envelope. “I’ll read it later.”

“And for Adrian,” continued Terry’s uncle, putting his hand into his bag again and pulling out a short steel crossbow bolt with a razor-sharp tip. “I presume you recognize it?”

I did.

“The very one you deflected at Ms. Gifford’s old residence,” said Charles, handing it to me. “Or so I’m told.”

I quietly held the crossbow bolt in my hands, turning it around and looking at the little scratches in the metal, hardly noticing the draining effect it was giving me. What was Ralph thinking?

“For Alia, I have only a short message,” said Charles, looking down at my sister. “It was written into his will, which I don’t have with me at the moment.”

Alia seemed to tremble a little, but she stood her ground, and Charles smiled, saying, “Ralph Henderson is sorry if he scared you.”

Alia gazed back at Charles for a few seconds, her face expressionless. Then she nodded solemnly.

That message was already a shock, coming from Ralph of all people. But I still couldn’t figure out what the deal was with the crossbow bolt. After Ralph escaped from the chair we had tied him to, had he actually kept this thing as a souvenir?

“I don’t understand,” I said.

Charles nodded. “Ralph was a difficult man to understand, especially after what happened to his son. But I knew him well, and I can guarantee that he thought very highly of you.” Charles glanced down at the bolt in my hands. “He told me how you had managed to deflect that with just a single telekinetic blast. He suspected that it had been somewhat accidental on your part, but he was nevertheless quite impressed with your reflexes.”

It had been an accident. I had been aiming my blast at Ralph’s crossbow, and technically, I hadn’t even deflected the bolt. My blast hit it in midair so that it slowed down just enough to prevent injury. I hadn’t thought much of what I did back then, but now that I knew more about my telekinetic power, I doubted I could ever repeat that impossible shot.

Charles continued smilingly, “Ralph believed that you were something special, Adrian. He showed no surprise when you were made an Honorary Knight last year. He even once told me that you were destined for greatness, which is more praise than I’ve ever heard him give anyone else.”

“Me?!” I asked incredulously. “Destined for greatness?”

“I swear those are the words he used,” said Charles. “I was a bit surprised myself when I heard it. Ralph didn’t usually talk like that. But there’s something else I can’t quite get over, and that’s just how much you resemble Ralph’s son. Back when your hair was shorter and your eyes were a bit more human, you looked just like him in his youth.” Charles turned to Terry, who was scowling. “Wouldn’t you agree?”

“No,” Terry said brusquely. “Adrian looks nothing like my father.”

Charles shrugged. “Well, you didn’t know your father when he was your age. And besides, you got your looks from your mother.”

To break an uncomfortable silence, Cindy invited Charles to stay for some coffee and birthday cake. Charles refused, claiming that he had had a long day and wanted to get some rest. Cindy didn’t ask twice.

As Charles headed for the door, he said, “Oh, and Terry, Mr. Baker wants a quick word with you. In person. He’s at home now, and he wants you to come over.”

“Now?” asked Terry.

“Mr. Baker is off for the rest of the evening, so you can go anytime. He said he just wants a few minutes.”

“I’ll go get it over with.”

Terry left with Charles. Cindy, Alia and I went back to the dining table to finish our dessert.

Terry was only gone for ten minutes or so.

“What did he want?” I asked when she returned.

“Tell you later, Half-head,” replied Terry.

Terry gobbled her slice of chocolate cake and quickly excused herself to take a bath. That left Alia and me to help Cindy with the cleanup, which was fine. It was Terry’s birthday, after all.

Once the dishes were out of the way, I trotted back to my bedroom with Alia on my heels. My sister wanted to play a game of checkers with me before bed, but I wasn’t in the mood. As Alia disappointedly flipped through one of her unicorn books at her desk, I rested on my bed with my back against the headboard, twirling the crossbow bolt in my fingers.

Wondering.

Cindy hadn’t opened Ralph’s letter at the dinner table, and I wasn’t about to ask her to share it. After hearing Ralph’s unlikely apology to my sister and learning what he had said to Charles about me, I suspected that Ralph’s letter might contain something about his killing of Cindy’s husband. If not a straight-out apology, perhaps at least a few words of remorse. Suddenly that didn’t seem as unlikely as I had previously thought. During our various encounters, my relationship with Ralph had gone from mortal enemy to something beyond a truce, if not quite friendship. I understood now how Ralph had lived his life in pain, and how his choices had reflected that pain. I had skipped his funeral, but perhaps someday I would visit his grave.

I tried levitating the bolt over my open hand, and was surprised at how easily I could keep it in the air. The bolt was made of steel, and as such it should have felt much heavier in my mind.

“Alia, come here,” I said, getting up from my bed and leaving the bolt on my pillow. “I want to try something.”

Alia put down her book and jumped out of her chair. “What is it, Addy?”

I focused my telekinesis around her body and gently lifted her up. Once she was hovering about a foot over the floor, I tried to levitate myself while keeping Alia in the air.

Alia let out a little gasp of surprise as she fell back down onto the floor.

“Sorry,” I said. “But I think I almost had it for a second there.”

I tried again, this time standing much closer to her. It took an extraordinary amount of concentration, but I could do it. If only for a few seconds, I was levitating both Alia and myself at the same time. There was no question about it: my power had grown again.

The door suddenly burst open, and in my surprise, I dropped Alia again. Fortunately, we were both only a few inches from the floor anyway.

Terry stuck her head through the doorframe and said to Alia, “Bath’s open, kid.”

“It only takes one hand to knock, Terry,” I said as Alia grabbed her nightclothes and left the room.

Terry ignored my complaint. “Nine-ball?”

“Sure,” I said, telekinetically picking up the crossbow bolt from my pillow and moving it to my desk.

Terry gave me a disbelieving look. “You’re not actually going to keep that thing, are you?”

“I don’t see why not,” I replied. “It was a parting gift, after all.”

Terry snorted loudly.

Entering the room, Terry walked over to my desk to examine the crossbow bolt. She gingerly picked it up and peered at it closely as if to check how straight it was. “I never knew my grandfather collected trophies.”

I smiled and said, “You know, I think Ralph really wanted to love you, Terry. He was probably just afraid to get close to anyone.”

“Stow it, Adrian!” Terry said sharply, dropping the bolt back onto my desk. “I really don’t care. He’s dead. That’s the only good thing about him.”

I didn’t reply, and just gazed silently in her direction. She stared back defiantly, but I could see the discomfort in her eyes.

Suddenly Terry said, “You know, you do look a bit like my father. I saw a picture of him once.”

I said hesitantly, “Ralph wasn’t such a terrible man, Terry. We’ve both met worse.”

“I suppose,” Terry grudgingly agreed.

Then she eyed the crossbow bolt again and said in an innocent tone, “You keeping this thing... Could it possibly mean that you’re considering taking on missions again?”

“No,” I replied flatly.

Terry laughed. “Hey, you know I had to try.”

I laughed too.

“You’ll come around someday,” said Terry. “Besides, war can come to us right here. You don’t have to go looking for it.”

“I know that,” I said.

I was still training regularly with Terry. And it wasn’t just to “play my part” for Mr. Baker. While I was certain that I wouldn’t be fighting for the Guardians anymore, I still lived with Cindy and Alia. I had to be ready.

Terry got regular updates through the Raven Knights, so I knew that our situation was more dangerous than it had ever been during Larissa Divine’s time. The Angels had no master controller now, so they weren’t out to absorb us. They had no reason to try to take us alive.

Still, it wasn’t exactly a shooting war. Not yet, anyway, because the Angels were in a state of chaos following the loss of their queen. They still hadn’t decided on a successor to the throne. There were several contenders. While it could be several more months before enough Angels lost their psionic conversion for the faction to completely fall apart, it was already beginning to splinter at the edges. Within days of Larissa Divine’s death, two of the Angels’ weakest links had broken away, declaring themselves independent factions. More would surely follow.

I asked, “What did Baker want?”

“A couple of quick things,” replied Terry. “One was to confirm my request to rejoin the Ravens under Jack P.”

“You’re going on missions again?”

“Sure,” Terry said lightly. “You’re guarding the house. Cindy knows of my request, of course, but I didn’t want to bring it up at the table. I originally wanted to take Alia too, but...”

I glared at her.

“I’m kidding!” laughed Terry. “Cindy couldn’t take a joke either. But I’m going back, anyway, alone if I must. Soon I’ll be old enough to begin blocking training, and once I’m good at that, I’ll transfer to the Lancers.”

“I’m sorry about breaking my promise.”

“Like I said, I’m sure you’ll come around,” Terry said with a shrug. Then she gave me a wicked grin and added, “After all, you’re destined for greatness, right?”

I didn’t smile. “You know I don’t believe in destiny, Terry. Especially the kind that leads to greatness.”

“That’s good,” said Terry, still grinning, “because it won’t happen.”

Fine by me. “What else did Baker want?”

Terry rolled her eyes. “He wanted my assurance that I would keep our little secret. Again! It’s the third time now. And of course he wanted to make sure that you and Alia wouldn’t squeal.”

“I’m not surprised,” I said mildly. “Mr. Baker’s credibility with Cindy is on the line.”

If Mr. Baker had used me as a diversion to send in his assassination team, so had I used him to make contact with Cat. I wasn’t going to hurt Mr. Baker without good reason. Alia was the weakest link, but even my blabbermouth sister was old enough now to keep a small political secret from Cindy.

Terry walked over to the window and gazed down at the city lights as she said, “He also gave me one juicy detail about my uncle’s scouting mission. It’s supposed to be a secret until the Council’s official announcement tomorrow, though.”

“Tell me,” I said.

Terry’s reflection in the window smiled playfully. “So you are interested in this war.”

“No, I’m not,” I said stubbornly. “Tell me.”

Terry shrugged. “Alright. Apparently your buddy Randal is now the de facto leader of the Angels.”

It took a few seconds for that to sink in.

“It’s strange, I know,” said Terry, turning to me. “The queen had other relatives, some of them even higher ranking Seraphim. We don’t yet know, or maybe Mr. Baker just didn’t tell me, what strings Randal Divine pulled to put himself at the helm. At least your sister is well protected now.”

I quietly touched the amethyst on my chest. I still wore Cat’s pendant, but not in the hope that I would ever see her again. I wore it to remember her. I wore it in the hope that she would be well. After all, she was still my sister. Nothing could ever change that.

And maybe, just maybe, being Randal’s daughter was a good thing for her. When the Angels eventually fell apart, their main force would probably remain in Randal Divine’s control, which meant that Catherine Divine would continue to be well taken care of. It wasn’t the happily-ever-after ending that I would have chosen. Not by a hundred miles. But it would do.

I smiled at Terry and nodded. Yes, it would do.

“So, Adrian,” said Terry, “nine-ball.”

“Oh, right. Yeah, let’s go.”

This pentalogy will continue right where it left off in

Adrian Howell’s PSIONIC

Book Four

The Quest

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About the Author

Born of a Japanese mother and American father, Adrian Howell (pen name) was raised for a time in California and currently lives a quiet life in Japan where he teaches English to small groups of children and adults. Aside from reading and writing fiction, his hobbies include recumbent cycling, skiing, medium-distance trekking, sketching and oversleeping.

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Adrian Howell’s PSIONIC

Book Three: Lesser Gods

First Edition

All characters, places and events in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual events, locations, organizations, real persons, living, dead or yet to be born, is purely coincidental.

Copyright © 2011 by Adrian Howell

All Rights Reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical or psionic, including photocopying, recording, telepathy, dreamweaving, and information storage and retrieval systems without the permission of the author, except in the case of a reviewer, who may quote brief passages embodied in critical articles and reviews.

Table of Contents

Introduction

Chapter 1: Security Breach

Chapter 2: A Birthday Request

Chapter 3: Double-Wild-born

Chapter 4: The Big One

Chapter 5: In Harm’s Way

Chapter 6: Voices in the Dark

Chapter 7: Lives So Changed

Chapter 8: Hope and Fear

Chapter 9: The Last Resort

Chapter 10: Terry and Laila

Chapter 11: The Last Sky Guardian

Chapter 12: A Finding-Day Surprise

Chapter 13: The Gathering of Lesser Gods

Chapter 14: The Arena and the Phantom

Chapter 15: Discovery and Decision

Chapter 16: The Crossing

Chapter 17: My Sister’s Keeper

Chapter 18: The Dawn of a New Age

End Materials