Author: Adrian Howell
Date: 2012-12-20 05:00:00+00:00
Keywords: Fantasy; Paranormal; Young Adult; Fiction
Description: After a very shaky beginning as a wild-born telekinetic, Adrian is elated to discover that his new home is at the center of the world's largest psionic city. It should have been a dream come true, but something here is just not right. It's not just that his sister is still missing, or that he is being forced into a rigorous combat training program that is slowly turning him into a killer. Something rotten is hiding... inside him. Adrian must discover the truth behind his recurring, shadowy nightmares, and face the possibility that the greatest evil threatening everything he holds dear might, i
Publisher: Amazon Digital Services, Inc.

Adrian Howell’s PSIONIC

Book Two

The Tower

Table of Contents

Introduction

Chapter 1: The Terms of Service

Chapter 2: Problems with P-46

Chapter 3: A Question of Identity

Chapter 4: Combat Training

Chapter 5: The Greatest Gathering

Chapter 6: Opening Doors

Chapter 7: The Secret War

Chapter 8: Past, Present and Personal

Chapter 9: The Closet Monster

Chapter 10: A Fairytale Mission

Chapter 11: The Puppeteer

Chapter 12: Ups and Downs

Chapter 13: The Closet Monster Revealed

Chapter 14: The Shattered Room

Chapter 15: A Guardian’s Choice

Chapter 16: Fire and Water

Chapter 17: A Force to be Reckoned With

End Materials

Introduction

“A lot of things are going to change in your life.”

That’s what my father told me just hours before he and my mother were killed.

And everything changed.

My name is Adrian Howell, and before we go any further, I should warn you that the book you have in your hands is not the first I have written, but continues from where I left off in the last one. Telling that story once was enough for me, so I will not offer a detailed summary. I will include some remedial explanation here and there, but even so, if you have not read the first book, you may be somewhat lost in this one.

However, I am not going to suggest that you go back and read the first book. In fact, I’m not even going to suggest you continue reading this book. While I stand by my belief that knowing something, even something horrible, is always better than not knowing, I would never suggest that knowledge is bliss.

Mine is not a story of heroism or noble sacrifice. It is not a fantasy story or a fairytale. It is about what really happened to real people. It is about how they were hurt and how they died. It is about the things I wish had never happened, and about things that, every time I wake up in the dead of night, trying not to scream, I desperately wish I could forget.

So unless you can stomach the harsher realities of life, you may want to go find a different book. Something about pretty magical unicorns, perhaps.

No? Then take a deep breath, and keep reading...

Chapter 1: The Terms of Service

The white concrete high-rise faced west, so June’s early morning sunlight didn’t shine down into the entrance ramp of the building’s basement parking lot. The inside of the basement was illuminated by neat rows of florescent tubes hanging from the ceiling. Through the windows of the psychedelically patterned bright yellow minibus I had arrived on, I could see that most of the parking spaces were empty.

Getting out of my seat and stretching my legs in the aisle, I looked down at the pale-skinned girl curled up on one of the cushioned seats. She was fast asleep with her long walnut-brown hair hiding most of her face, her arms wrapped firmly around a giant fluffy white unicorn doll. I didn’t know the unicorn’s name, but the girl was Alia Gifford. She was supposedly eight years old, could speak telepathically into my mind, and was one of the few reasons, aside from sheer dumb luck, that I was still alive.

“Ali, wake up,” I said, shaking her shoulders. “We’re here.”

Alia opened her eyes just a little and said groggily into my head, “Addy? Where’s Cindy?”

“She’s helping unload the bus. Come on, get up.”

We had been on the road for a day and a night. Alia and I had slept through much of the previous morning, but in the afternoon I had managed to fill Cindy in on how we had spent the last four months trapped underground at the Psionic Research Center.

Our minibus had made a brief stop at a mall to buy food and clothes that day, but Alia and I had to stay in the bus along with the other two escapees as the Guardians did our shopping. Our research-center-issue white shirts and pants were just a little too conspicuous to be seen outside in. Alia’s shirt had bloodstains down the front, and Cindy hadn’t brought anything for us to change into. I learned that she and Mark had lost everything the night Alia and I were captured by the Wolves.

Everything.

By the time I had told the Wolf interrogator Mark’s home address, Cindy and Mark were long gone, headed for the Guardians to beg for their help in rescuing us.

Although the agreement Cynthia Gifford had made with the Guardian leader, Mr. Travis Baker, was that she would rejoin the Guardians only if both Alia and I could be successfully rescued from the Psionic Research Center, Cindy had been living with the Guardians as a de facto member for nearly four months now.

“The Guardians are very different from how I remember them,” Cindy told me yesterday while we were waiting in the mall’s parking lot for Mr. Baker and his team to do our shopping.

Many years ago, when Cindy had been a Guardian herself, they were apparently much more militaristic in nature. Back then, the Guardians had a queen. She was a master controller named Diana Granados, and she could turn even her worst enemies into utterly faithful followers. Mind-slaves. Master controllers, being the only psionics who had long-term influence over their subjects’ loyalties, were always the center of large psionic factions like the Guardians.

This all happened before I was born, but Queen Diana Granados had become increasingly aggressive in her tactics, driving the Guardians into an escalating conflict with their biggest rival faction, the Angels. To stave off a full blown war, Cindy’s husband, Eric, had taken matters into his own hands and assassinated the queen. (Both Cindy and Eric had, at one time, been converted by Diana, but conversion can wear off over the years, and both had been trusted enough by the queen not to receive another dose of her psionic control.) Eric was hunted down and killed for his treachery. Cindy fled the Guardians and went into hiding.

With Diana Granados’s death, the effects of her psionic conversions soon wore away. The Guardians became disorganized, breaking up into many smaller (and consequently weaker) factions, each with their own leaders. The Angels, remaining far more unified under their own master controller, Queen Larissa Divine, were pressing their advantage.

“Nevertheless, we are better off now,” Mr. Baker had told me over dinner in the minibus last night. “Admittedly, it’s not easy leading without psionic control, but it is fairer. We may be losing ground to the Angels, but the Guardians who fight for us today do so by choice. And now that Cindy is with us, we may yet have a chance to even the balance some.”

The Guardians under Mr. Baker had risked a lot to rescue Alia and me. If the prize had not been so great, they may never have attempted it. But earning the loyalty of Cynthia Gifford, according to Mr. Baker, was a huge step forward in the rebuilding of the Guardian faction. Cindy was a psionic hider, which meant she could create a “hiding bubble” that concealed signs of power from other psionics. Hiding was not a particularly rare psionic ability, but Cindy was unique in that, while most hiders could only hide their own power or, at best, cover a single house, Cindy could hide several city blocks. Once inside her hiding bubble, psionics could not be located by potential aggressors.

“Now that you and Alia are safe and sound,” Mr. Baker had said to me, “Cindy will help us have such a gathering as never before seen in psionic history.”

Even in large psionic factions like the Angels and the Guardians, the members typically lived in small groups scattered across the country. Rarely did very many psionics live in a single location. This was mainly to better conceal the existence of psionics in an increasingly technologically complex world. But it was also to keep a net cast across the country that could quickly respond to a variety of threats, including emerging “wild-borns.”

A wild-born is a psionic who has no psionic relatives. Though only about as common as being hit by lightening, any normal person could gain psionic powers at any time. This was because while psionic powers did run in families, there were many unknown dormant psionic bloodlines that might suddenly become active through the right combination of parents. And whenever a wild-born was discovered, there was a mad rush between competing psionic factions to capture him and force him to join their ranks.

I had been a wild-born psionic, gaining my telekinetic power over the summer of last year. When I did, the Angels sent a mind controller who could cause uncontrollable rage, called a berserker, to capture and deliver me to their queen. The berserker died at the hands of a Guardian soldier named Ralph P. Henderson, but Ralph had also come to kidnap me. I fled, and for a time found sanctuary in Cindy’s home, hoping to stay clear of psionic factions and their conflict. As it turned out, it made little difference: my parents were still killed by the berserker while my sister, Cat, was enslaved by the Angels, and, upon my rescue from the Psionic Research Center just twenty-four hours ago, I ended up agreeing to join the Guardians.

Back when Queen Granados was still in charge, the Guardians had matched the Angels in strength. But now the various Guardian breakaway factions were being destroyed hamlet by hamlet. Mr. Baker’s plan was to create a Guardian city entirely covered by Cindy’s hiding bubble.

“Gathering our forces in one location would weaken us in the outer territories, but overall we would be better protected and, with any luck, we may yet find a way to carry on,” explained Mr. Baker.

I liked Mr. Baker. Up until then, my only direct experience with the Guardians was with Ralph. (I never really saw Cindy as a Guardian.) I liked Ralph as much as a good kick in the head. True enough, Ralph had saved me from the berserker, and later led the attack that rescued Alia and me from the Psionic Research Center. But he had also tried to kill me twice. He knowingly let my sister be taken by the Angels. He was a ruthless killer who had (for reasons I didn’t understand) once tried to goad me into murdering him. When he saved my life, he certainly didn’t do it out of the goodness of his pathetic excuse for a heart. I had assumed that all of the Guardians were like Ralph, and when, back in January, Cindy told me of her own experiences as a Guardian under Diana Granados’s rule, her story had solidified my image of the faction as a power-hungry gang of slave drivers.

But meeting Mr. Baker and others who risked their lives to rescue us, as well as hearing from Cindy how the Guardians had changed, softened my image of them enough that I found myself willing to join them. Ralph ignored Alia and me throughout the entire bus ride, which suited me just fine.

“This,” announced Mr. Baker as the minibus finally came to a full stop in the basement parking lot of the large concrete condominium, “is New Haven, the psionic stronghold we are about to create.”

The building was forty stories high, relatively new, and situated near the edge of a medium-size city from where we could see a distant mountain range in the eastern horizon.

“This is where we’re going to live?” I asked, looking around at the parking lot and wondering if there was some secret entrance to a hidden underground residential area. I knew that psionic gatherings were usually held underground, and when Mr. Baker used the word “stronghold,” I assumed that I was about to spend a lot more time out of the sun. For someone who had spent the entire spring locked up in an underground research facility, it wasn’t at all an encouraging thought.

“Well, not in the parking lot,” said Mr. Baker as I pulled Alia, still half-asleep, to her feet. “You two will live with Cindy in the penthouse.”

I nearly dropped Alia in surprise. “The penthouse?!”

“Of course,” said Mr. Baker. “Cindy is our beacon of hope. And it should be easier for her to cast her hiding bubble from the top of the building.”

A few seconds passed before I realized that my mouth was hanging open.

Mr. Baker laughed and said, “My place is one floor below. And while you were sleeping, I had a chat with Malcolm and Janice, who have both agreed to join us, so they will live here too. And within a few days, we will be joined by a large number of breakaway Guardian groups. We are about to reform our alliance under one flag.”

“How many are coming?” I asked.

“More than this building can house, I assure you,” replied Mr. Baker. “But not to worry, we own the ones around us too.”

“You own this whole building?”

“We own several whole buildings,” said Mr. Baker, grinning. “Welcome to Psionic Land.”

I smiled too. For the first time in months, life was looking up.

I helped Alia carry her big unicorn to the elevator. Alia didn’t know it, but this unicorn wasn’t the same one she had back at Cindy’s old house. Knowing Alia’s love for the horned beasts, Cindy had bought an identical one for her just before our rescue. I didn’t have any baggage of my own – just the clothes on my back and Cat’s amethyst on a leather cord around my neck.

As the elevator came to a stop on the fortieth floor and the doors opened, we found Cindy waiting right outside.

“Finally awake, huh, sleepyhead?” Cindy said to Alia as we stepped out of the elevator car.

Looking around, I found myself in a small rectangular space with two other exits. One led to a stairway opposite the elevator, and the other was the front door to the penthouse.

Cindy unlocked the penthouse door for us and said, “You two go on inside. I want to have a quick chat with Mr. Baker.”

Cindy got into the elevator, but as the elevator doors began to slide shut, Alia jumped back in with her. Alone, I opened the door to our new home and stepped inside.

“Wow,” I whispered softly to myself as I looked around the spacious and lavishly furnished living room. There were three couches around a low oval coffee table, a few potted plants and a monstrous wall-mounted TV. After dropping Alia’s unicorn off on the living-room floor, I walked through the penthouse, opening doors and closets, exploring every nook and cranny.

The couch-infested living room was just the tip of the iceberg. There were three large bedrooms, and one of them appeared to have been furnished with Alia in mind. There was a child-size bed, lacy pink curtains, and an assortment of girls’ toys and stuffed animal dolls. Nearly a third of the dolls were unicorns (though none as big or fluffy as Alia’s main one) and there was even a giant unicorn poster on the wall above the bed. I smiled to myself. This was unquestionably Alia’s room. I wondered who had taken the time to prepare all of this before we had even been rescued.

The kitchen was ultra-modern, complete with a high-tech electric stove and fully automated dishwasher. The dining room was similar to the one at Cindy’s old house, with a heavy oak table and somewhat antiquated chairs.

And then I stepped into a room that made me blink twice before I believed my eyes. There was a pool table in the middle, and a row of cue sticks rested on a rack against one wall. I didn’t touch them, knowing nothing about playing pool, but there was also a dartboard hanging on another wall. Picking up the darts, I telekinetically threw a few bull’s-eyes. The darts were a bit hard to levitate since they had metal tips, but still well within my power.

Further exploration brought me to a mini-library, which was a room nearly as large as the living room, but lined with tall shelves containing everything from mystery novels to reference books on mechanical engineering.

There was another door at the far end of the library, and stepping through it, I found myself standing in a terrace greenhouse. Protected from the windy outdoors by giant glass panels, most of the flowers here were in full bloom. There was a white marble table set in the center of the garden, and though I wasn’t one to really appreciate the beauty of flowers, I decided that this wouldn’t be a bad place to sit and relax from time to time.

I stepped closer to the glass. The morning light shone brightly through the large windowpanes, and through them I could see much of the city below. A wide, slow-moving river flowed through the edge of the city and curved around the area Mr. Baker had dubbed New Haven, and I could see boats and barges of all sizes chugging along it. Looking toward the horizon, I gazed at the long and jagged mountain range, the peaks of which would probably be snowcapped during the winter.

Going back through the library, I took a peek in the bathroom and found something that Alia, who couldn’t swim but nevertheless loved water, would go nuts over. It was a humongous Jacuzzi bathtub, almost large enough for Alia to practice dog paddling in.

Returning to the living room, I plopped myself down onto one of the couches and looked up at the fancy wooden ceiling fan.

Yes, I thought to myself contentedly, things are definitely looking up.

The front door opened, and Cindy and Alia stepped into the living room. I stood up from the couch.

Cindy was holding a brown paper bag, but before I could even wonder what was in it, Alia jumped into my arms as Cindy asked me, “Finished exploring your new home?”

“This place is amazing!” I said, giving Alia a quick hug before setting her back down onto the floor. “I didn’t know you played pool, Cindy.”

“I don’t,” Cindy replied with a smile. “That room and the library were left that way by the previous owner. Maybe someday we can learn together.”

“That’d be great,” I said. Then I pointed to the wall-mounted television, asking, “What’s with the TV? You didn’t have one at your old house. You said things like that interfered with your hiding bubble.”

Cindy laughed. “That was left there too. You know I don’t watch television. But it’s built into the wall, and to be honest, one TV hardly makes a difference in a concrete building surrounded by other concrete buildings.”

I laughed with her, and then asked, “What’s in the bag?”

“Breakfast stuff,” replied Cindy. “I emptied the refrigerator before we set out to rescue you, so I had to borrow some groceries from Mr. Baker’s place. Now I can cook us a proper breakfast.”

My stomach growled in reply. The last I had eaten was some takeout on the bus last night.

Cindy said seriously, “Adrian, Mr. Baker wants to talk to you now, before things get too busy for him.”

“What does he want to talk about?” I asked.

“About you joining the Guardians, of course. I told him I could explain the terms of your service to you, but he insisted on doing it himself.”

I raised my eyebrows. “Terms of my service?”

“You agreed to join, Adrian. There are certain rules and expectations that come with membership. But don’t worry. It’s not like they’re going to convert you. These days, you’re only with the Guardians if you choose to be.”

“Right...” I said slowly.

Cindy looked at me carefully. “Adrian, are you sure about this? You don’t have to officially join the Guardians to stay here, you know.”

“What about Alia?” I asked.

“Alia’s not joining the Guardians either,” answered Cindy. “Not until she’s ready to make the decision herself. If you join, it has to be your choice. It’s not too late to refuse.”

“I owe them, Cindy. I wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for them.”

Cindy countered a bit sharply, “You don’t owe them anything, Adrian! You’re thirteen years old. You may think you’re an adult, but you’re not.”

I frowned at her, and she said in a gentler tone, “I know you don’t like to hear that, Adrian, but you really don’t owe them anything.”

“But you do,” I mumbled. “You had to join because of me.”

“I chose to join,” said Cindy. “And I’m not against you joining either. I just want you to be sure that this is what you really want.”

“The Guardians may lead me to Cat, Cindy,” I said quietly. “Yes, this is what I want.”

“Okay.” Cindy smiled peacefully. “Down one floor, door number 3901.”

Exiting the penthouse, I discovered that the elevator cars were nowhere near the upper floors, so I took the stairs down one floor and knocked on 3901. Mr. Baker soon answered it and invited me in. Compared to the penthouse, his was a pretty regular condo, but still quite roomy and generously furnished.

Mr. Baker said, “My wife is out at the moment, so I can’t offer you any real cooking, but I’ve made some tea.”

“That’ll be great. Thanks,” I replied.

Mr. Baker handed me a steaming cup as we sat facing each other over a low table in his living room.

“Sugar?” asked Mr. Baker, offering me the jar.

“No thanks,” I replied.

Actually, I did want a cube, but the stirring spoon was silver, and I was afraid to touch it.

Metal weakened all psionic powers. Being near a little metal was not that bad, but direct contact with something metallic could drain a psionic’s power completely. That in itself wasn’t a major problem. It’s not like I’d need to levitate something while stirring my tea. But in my case, touching metal not only drained my telekinetic power, but nearly all of my physical strength as well. Cindy had told me last year that this was because my power was taking over my physical body. She had warned that if I didn’t learn to “balance” my power, I might someday be consumed by it. Until my capture four months ago, I had been regularly meditating with Cindy in an attempt to attain this balance, but with little to no result.

“You look a little nervous, Adrian,” said Mr. Baker.

“I’m fine,” I lied. “It’s just that Cindy said you were going to explain to me the terms of my service as a Guardian.”

“Terms of your service?” repeated Mr. Baker, raising his eyebrows. “Is that what she said?”

“Yes,” I replied carefully, not sure what Mr. Baker was surprised about.

“She actually used those words?” Mr. Baker asked incredulously. “Terms of service?”

“Yes.”

Suddenly Mr. Baker threw his head back and laughed aloud. I relaxed a bit and smiled too.

Still chuckling, Mr. Baker said, “Cindy is old school, Adrian. She remembers how things used to be. But she has been with us for months now, and I would have thought she knew the Guardians had changed.”

“I think she does,” I said, remembering our conversation from the day before.

“Well, then perhaps she is just a bit overprotective when it comes to her son.”

“I’m not really her son,” I said quickly.

“I know you’re not,” said Mr. Baker, smiling. “But she treats you like it.”

I looked away, embarrassed, and Mr. Baker laughed again, saying, “Well, okay, then. Let me explain to you the, um... terms of your service.”

I looked back at him. “I’m all ears.”

Mr. Baker began, “Here’s how it is, Adrian. If you were an adult, you would either be expected to contribute a small percentage of your working salary to our cause, much like paying taxes, or to join the faction as a full-time agent, in which case you would, in turn, be paid a salary. In your case, since you are a destroyer, you would be expected to join the Knights.”

I hated it when people called me a “destroyer.” In psionic terms, a destroyer was simply someone who had combat-oriented powers. These included pyroids, who could create fire, sparks, who could control electricity, and telekinetics like me who could use their power to blast things from a distance. As a telekinetic, I was much happier with my ability to levitate objects, including myself, than I was with being able to shoot destructive energy from my fingertips. And I really didn’t care for the label “destroyer.”

“What are Knights?” I asked.

“That is what we call our soldier class, such as the brave fellows that broke you out of that dungeon early yesterday morning,” explained Mr. Baker. “They are mostly destroyers and controllers, though some are even non-psionic.”

I remembered the Knights on the bus. With the exception of Ralph, who was a windmaster and peacemaker, they were all psionic destroyers with formidable powers.

Mr. Baker continued, “If you were to join the Knights, you would be assigned a psionic mentor to help train your powers, and start at the bottom of a mildly militaristic chain of command. Once you were deemed ready, you, along with your team, would be given assignments appropriate to your talents, which could include bringing in wild-born psionics, gathering information about the Angels and other lesser factions, or heading off attempts to attack our community.”

“That sounds exciting,” I said, trying to show more enthusiasm than I felt.

“However,” said Mr. Baker, “you are not an adult, and while it is true that you are one of the more powerful telekinetics to join our ranks, and certainly the most powerful for someone your age, nevertheless I do not intend to risk your life unless it is unavoidable.”

I frowned slightly. “You mean you don’t want Cindy to worry about me.”

“Cindy was quite adamant on the matter of keeping you out of harm’s way,” admitted Mr. Baker. “Besides, regardless of what Cindy still believes, we really are not savages, Adrian. We do not like to drag children into our conflict. Of course, I can’t promise you that we will not call upon you to do some service for the Guardians. You never know, after all. For the time being, however, I am placing you in charge of Cindy’s security. We have cameras set up on the outer walls, and we’ll soon have a dedicated security system in place to guard your penthouse in case an attack is attempted from the air. But even so, you are closest to her.”

“You’re just giving me something to do,” I said, frowning for real now. I wasn’t disappointed about not being asked to fight, but I could tell when someone was patronizing me.

Mr. Baker chuckled. “Oh, I haven’t begun giving you things to do yet, Adrian.”

“Meaning?”

“Stand up for a minute,” he said, getting up himself.

I stood, and without warning Mr. Baker grabbed my right wrist with his left hand. Taking a silver stirring spoon in his right, he touched it to the back of my hand. I instantly felt dizzy as my strength drained away. I struggled against Mr. Baker’s grasp, but it was futile, and I quickly dropped to my knees.

“What are you doing?!” I gasped, trying to keep myself from fainting.

“Oh my,” said Mr. Baker, hastily pulling the spoon away. “You really are horrible at it.”

Regaining my strength, I stood and glared at him.

Mr. Baker calmly put the spoon back on the table as he said, “Cindy told me that you had severe power balance issues, but rarely do I see a case this bad.”

“You could’ve just asked,” I said crossly.

“I thought Cindy was exaggerating,” said Mr. Baker. “I wanted to see it. Are you angry?”

“A little,” I said, steadying my breathing.

“Good,” said Mr. Baker. “I mean, I am sorry. But this was a test of character as well. I needed to see how you would react.”

“How did I do?” I couldn’t help asking.

“Well enough,” said Mr. Baker. “At least you didn’t attack me. Please sit down.”

We sat again, and Mr. Baker said seriously, “Cindy is right. You really do need to work on your power balance. The truth is that many psionics can’t balance their power as well as Cindy can. In fact, I’m not all that great at it either, and it’s not a very healthy way to live, I know. But you’re the worst I’ve seen in years.”

I looked down at the floor. I knew perfectly well that I was horrible at power balance and didn’t need yet another reminder of it.

Mr. Baker chuckled again and continued, “So, you wanted to know what I’m going to keep you busy with? Well, in addition to being Cindy’s bodyguard, you will continue to learn power balance from her. Meanwhile, you will be given a private tutor to continue your academic studies until your power balance is good enough for you to safely return to a normal school. Furthermore, you will be assigned a combat instructor to teach you how to fight and defend yourself.”

“A combat instructor?” I asked. “You mean for my psionics?”

“No,” said Mr. Baker. “There’s no need to train your psionic power any further at this point. I was referring to physical combat and weapons training.”

Physical combat? Weapons training? I looked at Mr. Baker uneasily.

Mr. Baker continued, “Cindy has mixed feelings about my putting you through combat training, Adrian, but she also absolutely refused to let me place a bodyguard in her home. Aside from Alia, you are the only one living with her. We are not officially making you a Knight, of course, but nevertheless I must insist upon you learning how to fight.”

“Do all Guardian Knights take combat training?” I asked.

“Actually, no,” said Mr. Baker. “Many of our Knights simply rely on their psionic powers. However, as powerful a telekinetic as you are, Adrian, it wouldn’t hurt to be extra ready. Why do you ask?”

I said slowly, “Well, I’m not really much of a fighter.”

“Not from what I’ve heard,” said Mr. Baker, grinning. “Besides, it’s not like we’re shipping you off to boot camp. You’ll be given private lessons, and I’m sure I know just the person for the job.”

“As long as it’s not Ralph.”

“It’s not,” Mr. Baker said with a curious smile. “I was thinking of someone closer to your age. You probably won’t see much of Ralph anyway. But in case you do run into him, I should warn you that we have a law amongst Guardians, which is that you must never use your powers against another member. Not without consent. This is especially true for destroyers and controllers.”

“Ralph used his peacemaking on me when he tried to recruit me last year,” I said, remembering also that he had later tried to kill me by using his power as a windmaster to remove the air from my lungs.

“You weren’t a Guardian then,” Mr. Baker said simply, and then added, “I know Ralph is a bit on the extreme. I don’t expect you to get along with him, or anybody for that matter. But even Ralph won’t use his power on you once you have officially joined.”

“Ralph doesn’t seem the type to follow rules,” I said stiffly.

Mr. Baker shrugged. “From what I’ve heard from Cindy, neither do you.”

Ouch. I gave Mr. Baker a sheepish look. He laughed, saying, “Ralph may be a crazy old man, but he does know right from wrong, Adrian.”

“That’s comforting.”

“Good,” said Mr. Baker, ignoring my sarcasm. “So, that’s about it from me. Do you have any questions?”

I paused, thinking about that for a moment before saying, “Just one. Am I a Guardian now?”

“You are indeed,” confirmed Mr. Baker. “I plan to introduce you at the welcoming party next month.”

“Party?”

“The ‘Welcome to New Haven’ party. You will be introduced along with Cindy to the rest of the Guardians.”

My stomach growled loudly, and Mr. Baker chuckled, saying, “You haven’t had any breakfast yet, I suppose. Cindy will no doubt have cooked something up by now. If you really have no other questions, why don’t you go on back?”

“Okay,” I said, getting to my feet.

Mr. Baker stood up too. “And if you have any other questions or problems, Adrian, don’t hesitate to find me, okay?”

I did have one other important question, but I decided against asking it, and simply said, “Thank you, Mr. Baker.”

“I’m a bit hungry myself,” said Mr. Baker.

“Why don’t you join us?” I suggested. “It’s your food, after all, and Cindy usually cooks too much anyway.”

“I’d love to, but I have some business to take care of. Things are going to be very busy for a while.”

Mr. Baker showed me out, and I went back up the stairs to the penthouse. Sure enough, I was met with the smell of ham and eggs the moment I opened the door. Alia had already finished eating and was busy exploring the other rooms.

“You know, Cindy, this is the first home-cooked meal I’ve had since February,” I said as I sat down at the dining table with a plate load of breakfast and a tall glass of orange juice.

“Sorry it’s not full-course,” said Cindy, who prided herself as a semi-professional cook. “How was the food at the research center?”

“Not bad, I suppose,” I mumbled through a mouthful of scrambled eggs. Cindy’s was better.

“Alia’s grown some,” said Cindy.

“I didn’t notice.”

Cindy smiled. “You have, too.”

Maybe. Honestly, I didn’t feel any different. At least, not in that way. One of the things Alia and I shared was the unfortunate fact that we were both small for our ages, but Alia especially so. When I had first met her, I was shocked to learn that she was two years older than I had thought.

Cindy, who had already eaten with Alia, sat quietly at the table watching me chew. I found that a bit annoying, to tell the truth, but I wasn’t going to say it to Cindy. Besides, I was happy for her company, even if she was treating me like a child.

“So how’d it go with Mr. Baker?” asked Cindy as she refilled my glass of orange juice for me.

“Oh, like you don’t know!” I laughed. “You set it up with him so that I wouldn’t be assigned to anything dangerous.”

“You’re not upset about that, are you?” Cindy asked in a concerned tone.

“No, of course not,” I replied, which was true. “I’ve had enough fighting to last a lifetime.”

If I was disappointed by Mr. Baker’s decision to keep me out of the Knights, it was only because I felt that I wasn’t repaying my debt to the Guardians as much as I should. In all honesty, I was very relieved that I wouldn’t be thrown into their war. After all, I had only barely escaped Ralph when he first kidnapped me, and I couldn’t have beaten him later without Cindy’s help. I had been no match for the graviton woman in Mark’s town. Ralph had to save me from the insane pyroid at the research center, and Dr. Denman would have killed me had Alia not intervened. Upon reflection, I realized that I had yet to win a single fight by myself. Nor did I particularly want to. Fighting just wasn’t my thing. It was scary. It was painful. I’d fight in self-defense, but only if escape was not possible. I certainly had no desire to go looking for trouble.

“Good,” said Cindy. “I was afraid you might be upset. You know... for treating you like a kid.”

I sighed and said, “I acted like a kid, Cindy. It’s no more than I deserve.”

Cindy shook her head. “No, Adrian. What you did was very grown-up. You kept Alia safe, and you saved her.”

“She saved me,” I said quietly, and then looked into Cindy’s eyes. “I never really thanked you... you know, for everything...”

“And I already told you that you don’t have to,” said Cindy.

“I – I know,” I said, trying to keep myself from mumbling. “But I want to. Thank you, Cindy. Thanks for coming after me.”

Cindy smiled warmly. “That’s what family does, Adrian, but you’re welcome all the same. And thank you, too.”

“For what?” I asked, laughing. “Turning your life upside down?”

“For Alia,” replied Cindy. “Didn’t you notice how she was on the bus?”

I gaped. I hadn’t even thought about it until now, but Alia hadn’t made the least fuss about being around strangers.

“Glad I could help,” I said, grinning.

“Good, because there’s something else you can help with,” said Cindy.

“What?”

“Promise me you won’t get angry.”

I gave Cindy a cautious look. “I’ve learned to be a bit more careful about making promises, Cindy.”

Cindy cocked an eyebrow. “Adrian?”

“Okay! I promise. What is it?”

Cindy smiled as she said, “Alia wants to share a room with you.”

“What?!” I sputtered.

“Adrian!”

“I’m not angry, Cindy! I’m – I’m shocked.”

“Oh, come on, Adrian.”

“No way, Cindy,” I said, shaking my head. “There are three bedrooms in this house.”

“True,” admitted Cindy, “but if you two bunk together, we could save one of them as a guestroom or an extra play room or something.”

That was a very weak argument. “Cindy, I spent four months sharing a room with her.”

“And your bed!” laughed Cindy.

I scowled at her. “It’s not funny! I’m thirteen years old. I’d like to have some privacy in my life.”

“It would really mean a lot to Alia.”

“Is it such a big deal?” I asked exasperatedly.

“Well, apparently it is for her,” said Cindy. “Why is it for you?”

“I just want my own space, Cindy.”

“The bedroom is large enough for the both of you,” Cindy pointed out. “It’s not like you’re going to have to share your mattress with her again.”

By now I was pretty sure that I was going to lose this battle, but I had to give it one last push. “Didn’t Alia used to have her own room at your house?”

“You know she did, Adrian. But now I think it might be better for her if she had a roommate, just for a while.”

I groaned.

Cindy gave me her most pleading look, saying, “Listen, eventually Alia will want her own space too. Until then, do this for me, if not for her.”

I narrowed my eyes. “Oh, that is really unfair, Cindy.”

Cindy laughed and said, “Okay. If you’re that sure you don’t want to, I’ll just call Alia in and you can tell her yourself.”

“Okay, okay!” I shook my head in resignation. “I’ll share my room with her. Just lay off the guilt already.”

“Alia, come here!” called Cindy. “He agreed!”

Alia came running out of nowhere and pounced on me, wrapping her arms around my neck. I heard her telepathic voice in my head saying, “Oh, thank you, Addy!”

Pulling her off of me, I gave her the sternest look I could muster as I asked, “You really want to share a room with me?”

“Yes,” said Alia.

“Really?”

“Yes!”

I grabbed her shoulders and shook her a little, saying, “You’re weird, Alia! You know that? You’re a weird kid.”

Alia just grinned. “I know.”

“Okay,” I sighed, “you win.”

Alia hugged me again.

“You’re smiling, Adrian,” said Cindy.

“I am not,” I replied stubbornly.

Alia laughed. “Yes, you are.”

“No, I’m not.”

I might have been.

It took the three of us to move Alia’s bed into my room. The mattress had springs in it, which made it impossible for me to levitate. Once Alia’s bed was in place, Cindy and I moved her dresser and desk while Alia pranced back and forth between the rooms, relocating toys and unicorns. Cindy pinned the unicorn poster up over Alia’s desk while the biggest unicorn doll found a place at the end of her bed. Even with double the furniture, our bedroom was still quite spacious. Just like back at the research center, Alia took the farther side of the room.

Once the move was completed, Cindy asked Alia, “All better now?”

Alia gave Cindy a toothy smile.

Looking around the bedroom, I decided that it wasn’t so bad. At least Cindy didn’t replace my curtains with Alia’s pink ones. Besides, we weren’t trapped in this room, and the penthouse was quite spacious.

“I’m really glad you agreed to this, Adrian,” said Cindy. “I still can’t get over how Alia has taken to you.”

I shrugged. “It’s just how we survived.”

Cindy said brightly to Alia and me, “So, do you two want to go shopping with me? I need to stock the fridge or it’ll be stone soup for dinner.”

Alia immediately nodded, but I looked at Cindy in surprise, asking, “You mean I can actually go outside?”

Ever since turning psionic and leaving home, I was a “missing juvenile,” which meant that the police were looking for me. When I had been living at Cindy’s old house, the only way I could go outside was in disguise. Cindy had me wearing a long wig and a blue dress whenever we left the house.

“Sure you can go outside,” said Cindy, nodding.

“Just like that?” I asked.

“Just like that!”

“No embarrassing costumes?”

Cindy grinned. “Well, if you insist, Addy, I’m sure I could find you another cute dress.”

“Cindy!”

“I’m kidding, Adrian!” laughed Cindy, and then asked seriously, “What’s the matter?”

“It just feels a bit funny,” I said slowly, “being free to go out.”

“Get used to it,” suggested Cindy.

I smiled widely. “Oh, I will!”

We took the elevator down to the basement parking lot, where I discovered that the Guardians had provided Cindy with a brand-new silver sports sedan.

But as Cindy unlocked the door, I said to her in alarm, “Someone’s coming, Cindy!”

Most psionics could feel the presence of other psionics nearby as long as their powers were similar, and right now I sensed multiple destroyer powers fast approaching. But I couldn’t actually sense which direction they were coming from, so I looked nervously around the parking lot. As a telepathic and healer, Alia couldn’t sense destroyers, but she instantly sensed my fear and grabbed my arm.

“Relax, Adrian,” said Cindy, putting a reassuring hand on Alia’s shoulder.

“Where are they?!” I asked in mounting panic as I felt the destroyers drawing ever nearer. “Who are they?!”

“They’re my outdoor security,” Cindy calmly explained as she got into the sedan. “Just ignore them.”

“You’re sure?”

“Trust me,” said Cindy.

Breathing a sigh of relief, I sat in the front of the car next to Cindy while Alia took the back seat. In addition to being a one-of-a-kind hider, Cindy was also a powerful psionic finder, which meant that she could accurately sense the distance and direction of all types of psionic powers. She had identified her security team just by the combination and varying strengths of their approaching powers. And yes, I trusted her completely.

The real mystery was how Cindy’s outdoor security knew that we were trying to leave the building. Before Cindy could even start the engine, four dark-suited men came jogging down the exit ramp. They strode up to our car and asked Cindy where we were headed. Cindy told them that we were just going to the local grocery, but they insisted on accompanying us. If anyone was more annoyed with this than me, it was, to my surprise, Cindy. Most of the time, Cindy was the most calm, even-tempered person I knew, but she could be severe when the need arose.

“Tell Travis that I will not be hounded. I already have a bodyguard, thank you,” she said icily to them before pulling out of the parking lot, tires screeching.

Buckling my seatbelt, I asked anxiously, “Cindy, is this really okay?”

“Don’t worry, Adrian,” said Cindy. “We live in New Haven now. We’ll be safe in this neighborhood.”

“But Mr. Baker said that most of the Guardians have yet to gather.”

“I know, but look in the mirror.”

I didn’t have to. I could easily sense the destroyer quartet following us in their car. Cindy hadn’t set her hiding bubble over the city yet.

“Besides,” said Cindy, “the grocery store is just down this street.”

“You know this area already?” I asked.

“Sure. I lived here with Mr. Baker’s Guardians until Ralph could locate the research center.”

“Oh...”

Cindy looked at me curiously and asked, “Didn’t you look in your dresser?”

“No,” I said. “Why?”

“Well, why do you think we only bought one set of clothes for you on our way over here?”

I gave her a surprised look. “You mean my clothes are already in my room? But you told me you left everything behind when you ran from the Wolves.”

“I did,” said Cindy. “But then I went out and bought some more.”

We had managed to move Alia’s dresser without taking out the drawers, but I remembered now how the dresser was strangely heavy. “You went clothing shopping for us when you didn’t even know where we were, or if you’d ever find us?”

“That’s right, Adrian. Clothes, toys, you name it.”

“That’s crazy!”

“Maybe,” Cindy said slowly. “But I had to believe. That’s how I kept myself sane. Isn’t that why you keep that pendant around your neck?”

“Ah,” I said, looking away.

Cindy laughed. I laughed too, though considering Cindy’s taste in fashion, I had a feeling I was in for an unpleasant surprise when we got home.

Cindy parked in front of the large grocery store, and we ignored the psionic escort as they followed us in. I grabbed a shopping cart and pushed it along as Cindy tossed boxes of everything from breakfast cereal to baking powder into it. Alia happily ran circles around us.

I watched Alia closely as we walked through the store. She really had no trouble being out in the open, taking little notice of the other customers. I knew she had been slowly overcoming her fear of strangers over the past months, but still it was wonderful to see her like this. Well, if Alia had the courage to attack Dr. Denman with her bare, bloody hands, perhaps a walk through a store was no big deal for her anymore.

“Adrian!” Cindy said warningly.

I looked up at her. “What?”

“Put your hands on the cart handle.”

“Oh,” I said, grasping the plastic-covered handlebar. Busy watching Alia, I hadn’t even noticed that I was letting my telekinetic power push the cart for me.

“It’s one thing to walk without a disguise, Adrian, but you have to keep your psionics inconspicuous in public.”

“Sorry. I wasn’t paying attention.”

“You’re power has grown, hasn’t it?”

“Why do you say that?”

“That cart is solid steel, and yet you were pushing it without even focusing.”

It wasn’t like I had been levitating the shopping cart. It had wheels and I was just telekinetically pushing it along the aisle. But I noticed now that the cart was mostly thick steel wire, and lots of it.

“Maybe I have gotten a bit stronger,” I replied. “The doctors kept us pretty busy down there.”

Returning to our penthouse, my fears about my new wardrobe were confirmed. My dresser was filled with every hideously over-cute thing imaginable. Some of them could not possibly have been designed for boys. Back when I first started living with Cindy and Alia last year, I thought perhaps Cindy bought cutesy clothes like this for me just to make me look cuddlier for Alia, but now I wasn’t so sure.

Oh well, I thought to myself, gingerly fingering a red and white polka-dotted shirt that looked suspiciously like a blouse, I guess I can’t have everything in life.

I wandered over to the game room alone and tried knocking some of the pool balls around with the cue stick, but the only way I ever pocketed one was if I used my telekinesis to curve their paths on the pool table. I quickly gave up.

Cindy, Alia and I spent the rest of the day relaxing and playing together in the penthouse. I even tried watching some TV – something I hadn’t done for nearly a year. I had gotten so used to life without television that I ended up flipping through every channel before giving up and switching it off, never to bother with it again. I know that’s weird, but when you’re psionic, weird is just par for the course.

It was the first real day in freedom for Alia and me, and as I sat in the greenhouse watching the boats glide along the sparkling blue-green river off in the distance, I decided that I really didn’t care much about my clothes. Or the fact that I was sharing my room with an eight-year-old again. Or that we were going to be trailed by bodyguards wherever we went. Not even the fact that I would soon have to begin home tutoring and combat training, neither of which I was looking forward to. These were all just details. Details didn’t matter. We were free.

“What is this?!” I heard Cindy shriek from the bathroom later that evening.

Alia was bathing with her so I easily guessed what Cindy was freaking out about. I called to her from behind the door, “I think it’s called a tattoo, Cindy.”

“P-46?!” Cindy shouted again. “What is this?”

“I didn’t have the heart to tell you on the bus,” I said. “We were marked when we arrived at the research center.”

“You have one too?!”

“Yes.”

“You didn’t have the heart to tell me on the bus, but you could let me find out like this? Oh, I could kill you, Adrian! I almost had a heart attack.”

“Sorry, Cindy,” I laughed. “I just forgot about it. Honestly!”

Through the bathroom door, I could hear Alia laughing like crazy too.

“Alia, it’s not funny!” cried Cindy. “As soon as we can, we’re going to get this removed.”

Just another detail.

There was, however, one thing that was more than a detail to me. It was the one question I hadn’t asked Mr. Baker in the morning, and as I took my bath after Cindy and Alia got out, I realized that the question was already beginning to gnaw on my mind.

Chapter 2: Problems with P-46

“Morning, Cindy,” I said, yawning loudly as I walked into the dining room the next morning. I had overslept, and Alia had dragged me out of bed just as Cindy was finishing setting the table for breakfast.

“Good morning,” Cindy said pleasantly. “Did you have a good night’s sleep?”

“Sort of,” I muttered.

Actually, it had been a horrible night. First off, the pajamas Cindy had bought for me turned out to be, of all colors, bright pink. Pink! I couldn’t believe it. Alia couldn’t stop laughing for nearly ten minutes. Then it took an hour or so just to reacquaint my body with the idea of lying in bed alone. I remembered how awkward it had felt when I first shared a bed with Alia back at the research center, and was surprised at how much I had become used to sleeping with her arms wrapped around me. Alia looked like she was having some trouble sleeping alone too, tossing and turning as she tried to get comfortable in her new bed, but I wasn’t about to invite her over. She eventually settled for her big unicorn, pulling it up into her bed and going to sleep hugging it tightly. I felt sorry for her, but Alia wasn’t the only one feeling insecure in the dark. When I finally managed to fall asleep, I entered a long and painful nightmare about a certain Nightmare, which woke me twice during the night. Alia had a habit of murmuring incoherently into my mind while she slept, but that was the only good thing. I had gotten so accustomed to it that it actually soothed me and helped me get back to sleep.

“Alia said she had a bad dream,” said Cindy, pouring me a glass of apple juice.

“She often has bad dreams,” I replied. “Ask Mr. Koontz to help.”

Mr. Malcolm Koontz, the dreamweaver we met in captivity, not only helped significantly in our escape, but was also the one who cured Alia of her bedwetting by pacifying her recurring nightmares about Ralph.

“What about you?” asked Cindy, peering into my eyes.

“What about me?!” I said, annoyed.

“You didn’t have any nightmares or anything?”

“No.”

“Liar.” Cindy smiled. “I heard you cry out last night. Once on the bus, too.”

“Okay, fine!” I snapped. “I had a nightmare. So what?”

“It’s called PTSD, Adrian. Post-traumatic stress disorder.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” I demanded.

Cindy said gently, “It means you had a rough time, and you need to work through your feelings. We could have Mr. Koontz–”

“No!” I cut across her. “I don’t want anyone messing with my head just for nightmares.”

I wasn’t sure why I felt so strongly about that. After all, I had willingly let Derrick control my dreams for weeks back when we were planning our escape, and I also knew how much Mr. Koontz had helped Alia. But somehow this was different. I wasn’t sure exactly why, but I just didn’t like the idea of getting help for a few bad dreams. It made me feel weak.

“Okay,” said Cindy. “Well, there are certain medicines you could take to help you sleep better.”

“Oh yeah, I forgot you’re a nurse,” I said. “Sorry, Cindy, but no controllers and no drugs. Frankly, I don’t see the difference.”

“The difference, Adrian,” Cindy said with infinite patience, “is that you wouldn’t be so cranky in the morning if you slept better.”

“I’m okay, Cindy,” I insisted. “Really!”

“Alright, if you say so. Here, let me see that tattoo again,” said Cindy, trying to pull up my left pajama shirtsleeve.

I jerked my shoulder away. “Could I please eat first?!”

Cindy laughed. “Cranky!”

“I am not! Here,” I said roughly, telekinetically lifting the sleeve so she could see the P-47 stenciled into my skin in black ink.

“Same size as Alia’s,” remarked Cindy, frowning at the number. “I called up a tattoo removal shop last night. It turns out that black is actually the easiest color to laser away, but it still takes a long time. The man said it could take ten sessions, with six weeks or more of healing time between each, which means more than a year total. But I think with Alia’s healing power, we could manage it in a shorter time. I’ll make an appointment today for the both of you, okay?”

“I don’t want this removed, Cindy,” I said, lowering my sleeve and bracing myself for the argument I knew we were about to have.

“Why not?!” demanded Cindy, her tone sharpening considerably.

“I don’t know, exactly. I just don’t want it removed.”

“It looks ridiculous, Adrian.”

“I know,” I said. “But still, it’s a part of what happened.”

Cindy stared at me. “Are you collecting battle scars, Adrian?”

“Of course not, Cindy! But this is different.”

Back at the research center, I had hated this tattoo. Much like the control bands I had to wear on my wrists, the P-47 tattoo was the mark of my imprisonment at the facility. It was proof that we were, as Dr. Denman had said, not human, but merely lab rats. I wasn’t sure why I wanted to keep the tattoo now, but somehow it made sense. It was a reminder of Dr. Kellogg, who I now believed to have known of our escape. Dr. Kellogg may even have deliberately given me information about the facility, and when Dr. Denman took Alia from her room, Dr. Kellogg gave his life trying to stop him. The tattoo was also a reminder of my own stupidity for letting Alia and me be captured in the first place. Perhaps it was, as Cindy said, a battle scar, like the bullet entrance and exit scars on my back and stomach, and the thin line along my left forearm where the researchers had experimented with Alia’s healing in Lab A. I wasn’t proud of these things. But they were a part of me.

“I still think it looks ridiculous,” said Cindy. “And you know it’s going to be a hot summer.”

I shrugged. “Yeah, so what?”

“Planning on going swimming at all?”

“I’ll put a Band-Aid over it.”

Cindy sighed. “Okay. I won’t force you to remove it, Adrian. But if you change your mind, just say so.”

“Sure,” I said, relieved that I had gotten through that so easily.

“But you,” said Cindy, turning to Alia, “are going to get yours removed as soon as we can.”

Alia shook her head, saying something to Cindy.

Cindy shook her head back at Alia. “Yes, you are, sweetie.”

Alia kept shaking her head, but so long as she was speaking telepathically, there was no way for me to tell exactly what she was saying. I could guess, of course, that she wanted to keep her tattoo as well. I couldn’t figure out why though. Cindy had to tell me.

Cindy fixed me with an accusing stare as she said, “Adrian, Alia doesn’t want her tattoo removed unless you get yours removed.”

“That makes no sense, Cindy,” I said.

Cindy held up her hands and said, “Hey, don’t tell me. Tell her.”

Turning to Alia, I said firmly, “Listen to Cindy, Ali. You have to get your tattoo removed.”

Alia frowned at me, saying equally firmly, “No, Addy, I want to keep mine too.”

“Well, that’s not for me to decide,” I said.

“Please, Addy. I like it. Tell Cindy to let me keep it.”

“But why?” I asked. “It looks ridiculous, Alia!”

“My sentiments exactly,” Cindy whispered into my ear. I scowled at her.

“You’re keeping yours,” argued Alia.

“I have my reasons.”

“Well, I have my reasons too,” Alia said angrily.

“Hey, don’t tell me. Tell her,” I said, mimicking Cindy.

Talking with her mouth full was one trick only Alia could manage, and all through breakfast she continued pestering me to help her change Cindy’s mind, but I was on Cindy’s side for this one. Later that morning, Cindy called up the tattoo removal shop again and set up an appointment for Monday of the following week. It was still Friday, so Alia would have a few more days to protest this hypocrisy. She started by marching into our room to sulk. I left her to it and helped Cindy load the dishwasher.

“I’m guessing Alia just wants to be like you, Adrian,” said Cindy as she turned on the machine. “She really loves being your little sister.”

I had been pondering going back to Mr. Baker with my unasked question when Cindy said that, and I snapped at her, saying harshly, “Alia isn’t my sister, Cindy!”

“You know what I mean, Adrian.”

“Whatever,” I said, returning to my thoughts.

Once the dishes were underway, Cindy sat down on the living-room floor to begin placing her hiding bubble over New Haven. She sat working her power in quiet concentration all the way to lunchtime.

Alia didn’t come out of our room for the rest of the morning, and when I visited once, she ignored me and continued playing with her toys.

“Come on, Ali, don’t be angry,” I said, giving her a gentle hug from behind.

She didn’t even acknowledge my presence, so I whispered, “Fine. Be angry. See how long you can keep it up.”

During lunch, Alia resumed her argument with Cindy, but no longer tried to enlist my help, for which I felt both grateful and a little betrayed. Alia didn’t help in the cleaning up after lunch either, quickly disappearing back into our room, but Cindy didn’t complain.

“It’s not easy making a large hiding bubble here,” Cindy said to me after lunch. “There’re too many high-rises. Too much metal. I’ll need more time.”

While Cindy continued working her power in the afternoon, I sat beside her and meditated, remembering Mr. Baker’s demand that I continue working on my power balance. I had no reason to believe that, after nearly a year of failure, I was about to get any better, but what else could I do?

The rest of the day passed uneventfully. Alia continued to ignore me during and after dinner, which I couldn’t understand because as far as I could tell, her primary upset was with Cindy. Of course Alia felt betrayed because I had sided with Cindy in the morning, but I wasn’t the one demanding that she give up her stupid tattoo in the first place. What was Alia so upset with me for?

Though Alia and I shared a room, we fortunately no longer shared bedtimes. Cindy tucked Alia into bed at around nine. Then Cindy and I meditated in the living room again.

But for once, it was Cindy who was having trouble concentrating. Sitting next to her, I could tell that her focus wasn’t nearly as deep as usual, but still I jumped a bit when she suddenly said, “You know, Adrian, Alia wouldn’t care about her tattoo at all if you were getting yours removed as well.”

Not again, I thought. “Cindy...”

“I know I’m not your mother, Adrian, and I can’t force you to get rid of that horrible mark on your arm...”

“Cindy,” I said as patiently as I could, “you’re as close to a mother as I have now, but I’d really appreciate it if you could just lay off the tattoo thing. I just don’t think you understand it.”

“Well, that may be,” said Cindy, opening her eyes and looking at me, “but I understand one thing that you don’t.”

“What’s that?” I asked.

“This morning, Alia heard you saying how she isn’t your sister, and it really hurt her.”

“Well, she’s not my sister, Cindy,” I said matter-of-factly.

Cindy shook her head. “That’s not the point, Adrian.”

“Well, let’s make it the point then!” I shot back. “Because maybe it has slipped your mind, Cindy, but I already have a sister, and she could be dead for all we know.”

“I’m sorry about what happened to Catherine.”

“Well, I’m sorry too,” I said crossly, “but sorry isn’t going anywhere, is it?”

“You have to be patient.”

“You think I don’t know that?!” I said, painfully aware that my voice was quivering. “I was shot for my impatience, Cindy! I lost four months for it. I know that’s my own damn fault, but I’ve learned patience!”

“I see,” Cindy said quietly.

I looked away, calming myself a little before saying, “I’m sorry Alia is hurt, Cindy. But she’s not my sister, and I can’t be her brother.” Hearing Cindy sigh, I turned toward her again and said, “Listen, I’ll do a lot of things for Alia. I’ll play with her. I’ll read to her. I’ll share my room with her. I’ll be her bodyguard if she ever needs one again. But that’s the best I can give right now. I’m sorry.”

“Okay,” Cindy said heavily. “I understand.”

Alia was still awake when I got back to our room, lying silently in her bed with the lights off. The nightlight was just bright enough for me to make out her eyes peering over the edge of her blanket. She had pulled her unicorn up into her bed again, but her eyes were on me, gazing up at my face in a wounded way.

“I’m sorry, Alia,” I said quietly.

Alia just shook her head. I wished I could say something more, but I didn’t know what. “I’m sorry,” I whispered again, but a moment later Alia quietly turned her back to me. I stood there, feeling more confused than ever. Who, exactly, was Alia?

During the night, I woke up three times with a series of nightmares. Alia didn’t murmur in her sleep as much as she usually did.

The first Guardian arrivals started moving in the very next day. They came in groups of five to fifteen vehicles. Looking down from the living-room window, I watched their motorcades pulling into the entrance to the underground parking lot. From up here, I couldn’t see much else, but Cindy told me that the families were greeting Mr. Baker, finalizing their re-initiation to the “true Guardian faction,” and then being sorted into their new homes, which were in this building or in similar ones around us.

“We’re pretty sure there are spies among them, so it takes time to get them settled,” explained Cindy.

“You mean the Angels already know where we are?” I asked in surprise. “What’s the point of you hiding this place, then?”

“Oh, well, putting a hiding bubble over New Haven was never about keeping its location a secret,” said Cindy. “You can’t gather this many psionics in one place without giving yourself away. My hiding bubble simply makes it impossible for anyone to sense where everyone else is. You haven’t been able to sense any psionics since yesterday, have you?”

“No,” I answered. I hadn’t been able to sense a single destroyer anywhere since Cindy had set her hiding bubble over the city. Cindy had once told me that even a proper psionic finder like herself couldn’t sense powers inside a hiding bubble unless they were only several yards away.

“Well, the destroyers are still around,” said Cindy, “just like every other psionic in New Haven. And we know where they are, but the Angels won’t. The idea is to make sure our enemies can’t find out how many and what kind of psionics are living here. Not without spies.”

I asked, “But if the Angels outnumber us, why don’t they just gather all their forces and destroy us?”

“Two reasons,” replied Cindy. “First off, an all-out war would make our existence known to everyone on the planet. Nobody wants that. And second, the Angels don’t want to kill us. They want to convert us. As long as the Guardians continue living in small groups, the Angels could gather a slightly larger force and defeat them without attracting too much attention and without too many casualties, which means they could take more prisoners for conversion. Back when the Guardians had a master controller, we did the same to the Angels. Did you know that Mr. Baker was originally an Angel?”

“No,” I said, surprised.

“Some of us have been swapped back and forth many times. The problem is, if you’re reconverted too soon after one conversion, it could severely damage your mind. Even drive you insane.”

“But the Guardians don’t convert people anymore,” I said.

“Because we can’t,” Cindy said simply. “I know Mr. Baker said that the Guardians are better off without a master, and I believe we are too, but not everyone agrees. If the Guardians were to acquire a master controller again, she could easily become the rallying point for a new Guardian order.”

“She?” I asked.

“For some reason, master controllers are always female.”

“Oh,” I said, feeling stupid. There were still so many things about psionics that I didn’t know.

“So how do the Guardians catch spies?” I asked.

“With a delver,” answered Cindy, and I remembered that a delver was someone who could read your thoughts.

“You mean Mr. Baker is using a delver to look inside everyone’s brains?”

“That’s right.”

“But he didn’t bother doing it to me,” I said, wondering why Mr. Baker had drained me as a “test of character” when he could have simply used a delver to read my mind.

“Because he couldn’t, Adrian,” said Cindy.

“You mean because I can block it?”

“I doubt you could, but if you did, they would know that you had something to hide.”

“Then why?”

“You’re too young,” explained Cindy. “Delving always runs a very slight risk of damaging your mind, but it’s much more dangerous for someone younger than twenty or older than sixty.”

I asked, “What about other mind powers, like berserking and peacemaking, or masters, and...”

“Many forms of mind control come with certain risks, Adrian. Dreamweaving and peacemaking are pretty much harmless, no matter how old you are. But the berserker who attacked you last year...” Cindy looked anxiously at me for a moment before continuing, “Well, he might not have known that you weren’t an adult. But even against adults, berserking is dangerous. He could have seriously harmed you.”

“And that’s how they tried to recruit me into the Angels?” I asked incredulously.

Cindy nodded.

I shook my head in disbelief. I didn’t need any more reasons to hate the Angels. The list was long enough already.

I eventually got tired of gazing down at the motorcades disappearing into the basement, so I went exploring the building with Alia, whose mood, at least outwardly, had recovered during the previous night. As we walked through the condominium, Alia didn’t mention her tattoo or anything else about the day before. Thanks to her constant, cheerful chattering in my head, I even managed, for brief periods of time, to forget my question for Mr. Baker.

The so-called Guardian city of New Haven was actually just a loose cluster of condominium towers, each designated with a number. Our building was New Haven One, or NH-1 for short. This was the first building that the Guardians had purchased for the New Haven Project, and it housed most of the breakaway faction leaders, including Mr. Baker, as well as various other VIPs.

As we walked through NH-1, I discovered that pretty much every floor was identical, with neat rows of doors along the halls. It was utterly boring, but I sometimes caught glimpses of Guardian families moving boxes and furniture into their new homes. Some of the families had children close to my age, but they were busy helping their parents so I didn’t approach them. I knew from Cindy that most psionics didn’t gain their powers until after they were adults, and I wondered if perhaps Alia and I were the only psionic children here.

Even inside the completely Guardian-owned building, no one was using their powers openly. I occasionally sensed a destroyer power or two as I passed people in the halls, but for the most part, everyone seemed perfectly normal.

And, in fact, there probably were a lot of non-psionic adults here too, since only the thickest of psionic bloodlines had all-psionic families. I suspected there were many families in New Haven where only one or two members were psionic. Thinking of that made me wonder how it might have felt being a normal person in a family where others could fly and read minds and do all sorts of things. It was probably pretty crummy.

The motorcades kept coming. Mr. Baker hadn’t been exaggerating when he said that this was to be the greatest gathering of psionics ever. By the next day, New Haven One was fully occupied, as were two other towers next to us. And more kept coming.

It was a sunny Sunday, and I wanted to take a stroll around the neighborhood and see the rest of the Guardian city. However, even though no one had told me that I couldn’t leave NH-1, I still felt a little apprehensive about going outside without Cindy. Cindy was kept busy powering her hiding bubble and attending meetings with Mr. Baker and others, so I stayed quietly in the penthouse with Alia. Still used to my shut-in lifestyle at the PRC, I honestly didn’t mind it all that much. We played board games and hide-and-seek, and generally just lounged about.

Mr. Baker joined us for dinner that evening. Alia and I had helped Cindy prepare the roast chicken. As we sat eating, our conversation drifted from the current population explosion in New Haven to how the other psionic factions were going to react to this unprecedented tactical move by the Guardians. Mr. Baker believed that the Angels would, for the time being, settle for sending spies. Most of the other factions were too small to worry about, none of them having master controllers in charge.

“Of the lesser factions, the Meridian and the AU are probably the only ones strong enough to hassle us here, but they have their own troubles with the Angels at the moment,” Mr. Baker said with a chuckle.

I didn’t bother asking about these lesser factions since they seemed irrelevant. I wanted to know more about the Guardians. As I spoke with Mr. Baker, I learned that the New Haven Project had been in the works long before Cindy and Mark had shown up on Mr. Baker’s doorstep begging for help.

I listened intently as Mr. Baker explained, “We had been planning this defensive stronghold for over three years now, slowly buying up the neighborhood so that when we were ready, we could all gather in a few short days. Without Cindy, however, New Haven would have been much more vulnerable to sneak attacks by the Angels. They would be able to sense where our defenses are weak and exploit it, kidnapping our members for conversion into the Angels. Cindy alone can double the security of New Haven by making it much harder for the Angels to gather intelligence on us. We were extremely lucky that she came to us when she did.”

Cindy laughed. “Well, I don’t know about doubling the security, but I’m glad I could help.”

I said to Mr. Baker, “But you said on the bus that gathering everyone in New Haven would weaken the Guardians in the outer territories.”

“And it will,” said Mr. Baker. “But as long as we’re on the defensive, there’s little point in stretching our forces too thinly. We won’t be able to bring in wild-borns as effectively, so we’ll probably lose many of them to the Angels. But, at the same time, we’ll be saving more of our current members from harm, so hopefully it’ll even out.”

“What about the Wolves and Slayers?” I asked, “They’re not going to just sit around and watch this, are they?”

Slayers, short for “God-slayers,” were a loose association of religious fanatics who were committed to the total eradication of psionics worldwide. I had learned this firsthand last January when a group of them attacked us with hunting rifles. But at least we got away from them. Not long thereafter, owing greatly to my own impatience and stupidity, Alia and I were caught by the Wolves, a paramilitary unit that hunted down psionics for medical research. I wasn’t sure which group I hated more.

“The Slayers might try something reckless, but we’ll be ready,” Mr. Baker answered confidently. “As for the Wolves, I doubt they will attack us here. We control this part of the city now. We have ties with the local government, media and police. The Wolves are a top-secret branch of the military, which means they are a relatively small force. They might try to pick off anyone who strays too far from New Haven, but even if they had the firepower, they wouldn’t risk exposing us with a full-scale assault. You see, the government doesn’t want the public to know about us any more than we do. If psionics were forced into the open, there could be a contest over species superiority.”

“Do you think there will be?” I asked.

“Well, the Angels want one, that’s for sure,” Mr. Baker said grimly.

“What do you mean?”

Mr. Baker looked at me in a surprised way, asking, “Hasn’t Cindy ever told you the history of the Guardian Angels?”

“No,” I answered, looking over at Cindy, who was too busy chewing to respond.

“We were once a united people, Adrian,” explained Mr. Baker. “Thousands of years ago, we were the Guardian Angels, numerous and powerful. We lived away from normal humans, except in times when we felt that they truly needed our help. Our greatest purpose was to guide and protect humanity from its own follies. In times of peace, however, we kept our paths from crossing.”

Guardians and Angels... Guardian Angels. I felt exceptionally stupid for not having realized the connection before, but I didn’t let it show.

Mr. Baker continued, his tone becoming grave, “But then, about seven hundred years ago, there was a schism – a divide in the ideals of our people. Some believed in keeping the old peace and keeping our worlds separate, while others increasingly looked upon humans as inferior, as a species to be dominated and ruled by psionics.”

“And they became the Angels?” I asked.

Mr. Baker laughed and said, “No, Adrian, they became the Guardians. The Angels tried to stop us from taking over the world.”

“Did I miss something?” I asked.

“No, but the story doesn’t end there, see?” said Mr. Baker. “The Guardians alone were not powerful enough to openly declare themselves the rulers of humanity, and so a secret war was waged as the Angels did all they could to keep our numbers down. But during the centuries that followed, the Angels started to agree with us. They started to believe, as the Guardians did, that humanity would be better off being ruled by psionics.”

“Then all you had to do was recombine your forces,” I pointed out.

“And that was exactly what we couldn’t do,” said Mr. Baker. “Too many years of hatred had passed. The only way we were going to see our forces combined was if one took control of the other. Neither side could reveal themselves to the world until the other side was defeated, and so things continued in a deadlock until Cindy’s husband killed our last master controller.”

Mr. Baker paused. I realized that my plate was starting to get cold.

Mr. Baker took a sip of wine before continuing, “When our minds finally became free of Diana Granados’s control, many of us decided that we no longer wished to subject humanity to the same control that we had forced upon ourselves for so many centuries. I guess we had finally learned something from ordinary humans, watching their societies slowly shifting from dictatorships to democracies in recent history.”

Mr. Baker paused again, frowning. He had stressed that “many” Guardians had changed their views. I wondered how many.

Correctly reading my expression, Mr. Baker said, “Not everyone wanted peace, Adrian, even among the Guardians. Even so, several of the larger breakaway Guardian factions, including my own, approached the Angels with a call for a truce. We told them that we had been wrong to think humanity would be better served with psionics in charge. We tried to convince them to give up their plans. We even offered to surrender and join them if they were willing to follow the old code of the original Guardian Angels.”

“But they didn’t listen?” I asked.

Mr. Baker nodded. “The Angels saw our call for peace as a sign of weakness. They said that the only reason we were asking for a truce now was because we could no longer hope to take over the human race ourselves.”

“But that’s not true!” I said, and then asked hesitantly, “Is it?”

Mr. Baker sighed. “As I said, not every Guardian believes that we are really better off the way we are now. Some would still prefer to have a master. Others believe that, even master-less, the Guardians should not only defeat the Angels but, in due course, dominate all of humanity.”

“But you don’t think that,” I said, hoping it was true.

“No, I don’t,” said Mr. Baker. “But that doesn’t necessarily make me right. I believe that freedom is a step in the right direction for us, but there’s no denying that the Angels, thanks to having a master controller, are far better organized and dedicated to their goals. Ultimately, the Angels may win, and ideology isn’t worth a whole lot when you are on the losing side.”

The phone rang. Cindy got up and disappeared into the living room to answer it. A moment later, I heard her call to Mr. Baker, “Travis, they got one.”

“In the block?” asked Mr. Baker.

“Yes,” replied Cindy.

“I’ll be right there,” said Mr. Baker, standing up. “Excuse my early departure, but duty calls.”

After Mr. Baker left, I asked Cindy, “What was that all about?”

“Ice cream,” announced Cindy as she passed out our vanilla ice-cream desserts.

“Cindy!” I said exasperatedly, and asked again, “What was that about?”

“An Angel spy, Adrian,” she told me quietly.

“What will they do with him?” I asked as I took my bowl and plastic spoon.

“They will extract as much information as they can.”

“With a delver?” I asked.

“That’s right.”

“So, how does that work?” I asked.

Cindy looked at me sharply, and I put my hands up, saying, “I’m just curious.”

“Well,” Cindy said slowly as if carefully choosing her words, “the interrogator asks questions, and the delver reads the subject’s thoughts.”

“If the delver can read thoughts, why ask questions?”

“To entice thoughts, of course,” said Cindy. “I think you’re confusing thoughts with memories, Adrian. Thoughts are what you are thinking right this instant, and that’s what the delver can read. People always think the truth before they tell a lie.”

“Didn’t you once say there were psionics who could alter and implant memories?” I asked.

“Mind-writers,” said Cindy, nodding.

“Right,” I said. “Well, if mind-writers can alter memories, doesn’t that mean they can also read them?”

Cindy explained, “A mind-writer can only work with recent memories, Adrian. Even the best mind-writers can’t probe deeper than a few weeks into the past, and the older the memory, the longer it takes to locate. Mind-writers are sometimes used to get information out of people’s heads, but delvers are preferred because it’s easier to read current thoughts than to sift through memories.”

“But is it really that easy for a delver to read someone’s thoughts?” I asked.

Cindy chuckled. “It’s not easy to move something without touching it, Adrian. Every psionic can do things that are impossible. For a delver, it’s easy.”

I frowned. “I always thought that the brain was something a bit more special.”

“The human brain isn’t nearly as special as scientists and romantics would have you think,” replied Cindy. “In fact, the brain is no more complex than any other organ. It’s just complex in a different way. Believe me, Adrian, any delver worth his salt could hear your thoughts as plainly as you can hear Alia’s voice in your head.”

“But wouldn’t a good spy know how to block that?”

“Yes,” said Cindy. Only when I gave her a questioning look did she add reluctantly, “But there are ways to weaken people’s blocking ability, Adrian.”

I stared. “You mean they’ll torture him.”

Cindy gazed back at me for a few heartbeats before closing her eyes and nodding silently.

I shuddered, remembering my own brief time at the hands of the Wolf interrogator, as well as what they had done to Alia. I looked over at Alia, who was just finishing her ice cream, and was relieved that she hadn’t been listening to our conversation. I hadn’t even touched my ice cream yet, so I telekinetically slid my bowl over to her. Then I asked Cindy, “Why can’t a peacemaker like Ralph simply make the spy trusting enough to spill his guts voluntarily?”

“Because, Adrian, peacemaking can be blocked without the peacemaker knowing that he is being blocked, just like you did to Ralph back at my old house. A delver, on the other hand, knows when he is being blocked.”

“So they torture the spy until he stops blocking the delver?”

“That’s right,” said Cindy, her voice nearly emotionless.

“And then?” I asked stiffly. “What happens once we get our information?”

“The spy will be kept in confinement.”

“Confinement... You mean like prison?”

“We have a holding block in the gathering place below this building,” explained Cindy. “He will stay there until his conversion wears off. Once it does, we will try to persuade him to join us. If we can’t, we’ll let him go.”

“You once said that conversion could take years to wear off.”

“It can, Adrian.”

“So he could be locked up for years?”

“That’s right,” Cindy said in a near monotone.

I gave Cindy a disbelieving stare, and she said a little harshly, “This is what we do, Adrian. This is what the Guardians do. I hope you’re not having too many second thoughts about joining.”

“I’m not,” I said, though I didn’t know who I was trying to reassure.

“You know,” said Cindy, “this spy might even know something about your sister.”

I looked away, sighing heavily. “Please don’t play with me, Cindy.”

“You could at least ask Mr. Baker.”

“Mr. Baker has got more important things on his mind,” I said dryly, and Cindy didn’t reply.

Feeling confused and irritable, I went to bed a bit earlier than usual that night.

By Monday afternoon, Alia had pretty much abandoned any hope of keeping her P-46 tattoo, but she still gave Cindy and me resentful looks as Cindy got ready to take her to the removal shop.

“Are you sure you won’t change your mind, Adrian?” asked Cindy.

“I’m fine,” I answered, avoiding Alia’s eyes. I had decided that it would be safer if I didn’t go with them.

“We may be out for a while,” said Cindy. “They say one session only takes a minute or two, but we’re going to try using Alia’s healing to have all of her sessions today. I’ll have to take a peacemaker with me so the shop person doesn’t freak out when he sees Alia healing herself. And a mind-writer to adjust his memory after we finish. I really don’t want this thing taking a whole year.”

Alia said something to Cindy, who replied sternly, “For the last time, yes you are, Alia. Listen, on the way home, I’ll get you something much nicer than an ugly old tattoo, okay?”

It clearly wasn’t okay, but Cindy dragged Alia out of the penthouse anyway.

I spent the afternoon reading, meditating and looking down at the new arrivals still streaming into New Haven. Cindy and Alia were gone much longer than I expected, returning very close to dinnertime.

“How’d it go?” I asked when they got back.

“Well, we couldn’t use any anesthetics on her because it would interfere with her healing,” said Cindy, looking pityingly at Alia. “To be honest, it looked very painful. But Alia took it well.”

Alia looked unhappily up at Cindy once and then said into my head, “It really hurt, Addy.”

“Did it come off?” I asked. “Here, let me see.”

I lifted her left sleeve and looked for the mark. It was completely gone.

“Wow,” I said, “you really did a year’s worth in a day.”

“It hurt a year’s worth too.”

Alia was no stranger to pain so I knew it must have been pretty bad. I gave her a quick pat on the back, saying, “Well, at least you won’t have to do it again.”

Alia spoke telepathically to Cindy, who replied, “Sure, you can show him now.”

“Show me what?” I asked.

Cindy looked at me apprehensively. “Promise you won’t get upset, Adrian?”

I narrowed my eyes at her and muttered, “I hate conversations that include that line.”

“Cindy bought this for me,” said Alia, all smiles as she reached down the front of her shirt and pulled out a leather cord sporting a polished, dark green stone speckled with bits of red.

“For giving up the tattoo,” explained Cindy. “At first, she wanted an amethyst like yours, but then we decided on a bloodstone. It’s her birthstone.”

“Isn’t it pretty?” Alia said happily, holding her pendant up to my eyes.

“It’s very pretty,” I said, trying my utmost best to keep a straight face.

The damn thing was even cut in the exact same size and shape as Cat’s amethyst. The moment Alia wasn’t looking, I shot Cindy the meanest glare I could manage, but I didn’t say anything until after Cindy had tucked Alia into bed that night. I confronted Cindy in the living room as she sat down to re-power her hiding bubble over New Haven.

“Do you enjoy torturing me?” I asked in a low voice.

“I’m sorry about the stone, Adrian,” said Cindy. “I had a feeling you’d be upset.”

“Upset?” I repeated disgustedly, feeling my temper rising uncontrollably. “How could you, Cindy?!”

A magazine that had been resting on the low table suddenly flew into the air and shredded itself. I realized I had once again lost control of my telekinetic power.

Cindy ignored the raining confetti. “Alia just wants to be like you, Adrian. She wanted a pretty stone too.”

“I don’t wear this because it’s pretty!” I shouted, and was a bit surprised that nothing else broke.

“I know!” Cindy said with a pained expression. “But Alia doesn’t understand that. She just looks up to you.”

I closed my eyes and steadied my breathing. I had almost gotten Alia killed, and in return she had saved my life twice. If anything, it should have been the other way around. I looked up to her, in-so-much as you can look up to an eight-year-old.

“A bloodstone?” I asked, my fury slowly ebbing away. I had heard the name before somewhere, but I didn’t know what it was until I saw Alia’s pendant.

Cindy smiled and said, “Kind of fitting for a healer, don’t you think?”

“I’m sorry I shouted,” I said as I crouched down to help Cindy pick up the scraps of magazine pages from the floor. I could have done it faster with my telekinesis, but right now I wanted to use my real hands if only to feel a little more normal. “I’m really sorry, Cindy.”

“I know you are, Adrian.”

“I’m sorry every time.”

“I know,” she said again, smiling serenely. Then she asked seriously, “Adrian, what’s really bothering you?”

“Nothing,” I muttered.

“I’m not entirely blind, you know. Something has been eating at you ever since you arrived here. I first thought it was just PTSD, but it’s not, is it? What’s going on with you?”

I stared down at the floor and said quietly, “Mr. Baker didn’t say anything about finding Cat when I had that meeting with him.”

“He was waiting for you to ask,” Cindy said gently.

“I didn’t,” I said, looking up at her.

“I know, Adrian. He told me. But why didn’t you?”

“During the meeting, he drained me once, and then said he was testing my character. I thought maybe he was testing me again when he asked if I had any questions.”

Cindy nodded. “He was. So why didn’t you ask him about finding your sister?”

“He didn’t even mention Cat over dinner yesterday, Cindy!”

“Well, technically, Adrian, neither did you,” Cindy said in an exasperated tone. “For the last time, why didn’t you ask him?!”

“Well...” I began, no longer at all sure, “Mr. Baker is the leader of the Guardians. I mean, Cat is just one person.”

“One person who means a lot to you, right?”

“Well, yeah.”

“And you’re one person who means a lot to me,” continued Cindy. “And I’m one person who means a lot to the future of the Guardians here.”

“I don’t want to abuse that,” I said quietly.

“And Mr. Baker was impressed with your decision not to. But one person is no small issue, Adrian. Mr. Baker is the leader of the Guardians today because he knows and respects that.” Cindy smiled. “I have a message from him, unless you’d like to hear it in person, in which case you can go knock on his door.”

“It’s a little late, don’t you think?” I said.

“You could wait till tomorrow,” suggested Cindy.

“You know I’m not a patient person,” I said, grinning. “What’s his message?”

“Once New Haven is truly up and running, we will be sending our own spies deep into Angel territory. If we find your sister, we will do everything we can to help you rescue her.”

“That’s good news, Cindy, though I’m sure you disagree with our sending spies.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Because you don’t like it when anybody fights. They’re spies, which means they could be caught and killed, or at least converted.”

“They could be,” Cindy replied gravely.

I sighed and looked at her, saying, “I know I lose my temper from time to time, but I don’t like fighting either, Cindy. I just want my sister back.”

“I know, Adrian.”

I bid Cindy goodnight, and as I turned to leave the room, Cindy said, “Mr. Koontz has been helping Alia with her dreams for the last few nights. Are you absolutely sure you don’t want him to take care of yours? I could make a quick call.”

“I’m alright, Cindy,” I said, smiling. “You may have dressed me in pink pajamas, but that doesn’t mean I don’t have any dignity left.”

I retreated to my bedroom, closing the door on Cindy’s laughter.

Alia looked like she was already asleep, though I couldn’t be sure because she wasn’t murmuring in my head yet. I noticed that she had left her giant unicorn doll at the side of her bed. Alia had been unicorn-free for two nights now, and I wondered what kind of dreams Mr. Koontz was feeding her on. I wished my own psionic power could be used for more peaceful purposes.

As I quietly slipped under my blanket, I suddenly heard Alia’s telepathic voice say, “Did you have a nice fight with Cindy?”

I looked over at her bed, saying, “Alia, you’re becoming as sarcastic as I am.”

“I wish you wouldn’t shout at her, Addy.”

“I said sorry later. She was laughing just now, didn’t you hear?”

Alia sat up in her bed and looked at me. “You’re mad at me too, aren’t you?”

“I am not.”

“You are.”

“Go to sleep, Alia.”

Alia looked down at her bloodstone. “I won’t wear it if you don’t want me to.”

“It’s not about your pendant. And I’m not mad at you.”

Alia gave me a hesitant smile and asked, “Are you sure, Dr. Howell?”

I turned away from her, saying, “Just go to sleep, P-46.”

The last sound I heard before I drifted off was Alia giggling into her pillow.

Chapter 3: A Question of Identity

Just minutes before we were caught by the Wolves, I had promised Alia that I would stop fighting with Cindy, and less than a week after our escape, I had already broken that promise. Waking up with a guilty conscience, I promised myself that I would be extra nice to Alia from now on. As we changed into our day clothes, I reassured her that I really did think the bloodstone looked good on her, which it did.

“When did you learn how to braid hair, Adrian?” Cindy asked after breakfast when she caught me setting Alia’s long hair into a pair of pigtails. I had already finished the left side and was quickly working through the right.

I grinned up at Cindy. “You’ve never been trapped underground for four months, have you?”

“That’s really good,” said Cindy, examining my work. “Who taught you?”

“No one,” I said. “Just trial and error.”

I tied the end off with a ribbon, patted Alia’s shoulders once, and stood up.

“It didn’t take that much time to learn how,” I said as Alia got up and skipped out of the room, probably to go check herself in a mirror.

“Speaking of learning things...” Cindy began slowly, and I braced myself. “We really need to get you set up with your tutor, Adrian. I hope you’re not too far behind in your academics.”

There was no telling on that account. Cindy had started me on a seventh-grade home-study curriculum last year, but I had all but given up on it by the end of December. If I remembered correctly, I was nearly halfway through most of my books, but in all honesty, I couldn’t recall a single thing I had read.

“Just out of curiosity, why can’t a mind-writer simply implant knowledge in my head?” I asked semi-seriously. “Then I wouldn’t have to study at all.”

“Because mind-writers deal with memories, Adrian, not knowledge,” replied Cindy. “There’s a difference. You’ll remember studying, but not what you studied.”

“Well, I remember studying last year, but not what I studied.”

Cindy laughed and said, “There you go! You don’t need a mind-writer. Besides, mind-writing is even more dangerous than delving for someone your age. What you need is a tutor so that you can get all your schooling properly.”

I frowned. “School is more tolerable when you have friends.”

“As soon as you learn to balance your power, you can go back to a real school.”

“Fat chance of that!”

“Don’t give up, Adrian. You’ll get there someday,” Cindy said encouragingly.

“What makes you so sure?”

“I’m an optimist, remember?”

I laughed. “Yeah, I remember.”

Then Cindy said, “Oh, and Adrian, I know you let Alia’s mouth-speaking slide while you two were trapped in that place, but I really want you to start working on that again too, okay?”

I asked, “Well, now that Alia is living among other psionics, does she really need to learn how to mouth-speak?”

Cindy looked appalled. “Adrian! How can you say that?!”

Teaching Alia to mouth-speak was high on the list of impossible things to do. Though Alia could laugh and cry as loudly as anyone, her mouth just didn’t move in a way that produced coherent speech. Aloud, Alia spoke only in vowels.

“Listen,” said Cindy, “I don’t care if she has an accent, but she has to be able to talk to more than one person at a time and actually be understood.”

“Alright,” I said resignedly, “I’ll work with her.”

“So,” said Cindy, mercifully changing the topic, “Alia was telling me yesterday that she really wanted to learn how to swim this year. Unless you have other plans, I thought today might be a good day to start.”

“You mean we can go swimming?” I asked happily.

“Sure. It’s warm enough. Just barely, but warm enough. There’s an outdoor pool just four blocks down the street.”

“Sounds great!”

“There’s one catch, though,” said Cindy.

“What’s that?”

“Don’t let Alia out of your sight.”

I raised my eyebrows. “Alia?”

Cindy laughed. “Yeah, you know, the dark-haired giggly girl who sleeps in your room?”

“I know who she is!”

“Good!” Cindy said crisply. “Then don’t forget that she’s one of only eight healers in New Haven at the moment, and a powerful one at that.”

I had learned from Cindy last year that Alia’s power as a healer, despite her age, was already that of an experienced psionic. No doubt Alia’s time at the Psionic Research Center had further refined her talents.

Cindy continued warningly, “Alia is also the only psionic here, aside from yourself, under the age of eighteen. New Haven’s littlest healer would make a prime target for anyone wanting to hurt the Guardians.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” I said. “But aren’t you coming too, Cindy?”

Cindy shook her head. “I have a meeting to go to.”

“Then who’s going to teach Alia how to swim?”

“You are, of course!”

In the spirit of being extra nice to Alia, I managed to keep myself from frowning.

“Are we going to be hounded to the pool by those destroyers?” I asked.

“No. They’re only for me. But you should be careful of anyone who approaches you. Don’t talk to strangers. There are Guardian Knights patrolling the streets night and day. If you get into any kind of trouble, just shout for help and they’ll come.”

I looked at her uncomfortably. “Is it really that dangerous outside?”

“No, and yes,” said Cindy. “It’s no secret that you’re living with me, so you will be a more likely target than other people. Stay in populated areas. No shortcuts through back alleys. Oh, and just remember that there are non-Guardians living in this neighborhood too, so don’t do anything impossible in public.”

“I’ll be careful. Do we already have swimsuits as well?” I asked, dreading the answer. There was no telling what Cindy might have picked out for me.

“No, you’ll have to buy your suits on your way over. There’s a shop diagonally across the street from the pool,” she answered, and I hid my sigh of relief.

Handing me some cash, Cindy smiled and said, “Here’s your first salary, bodyguard. Try not to spend it all on junk food.”

I grinned. “Does this mean I’m getting a regular allowance now?”

“Not a lot, since you live here, but enough to have some fun, I hope. Make sure you share it with Alia when she needs it.”

“Of course,” I promised.

“Oh, and be sure to choose something dark for her, okay?” said Cindy.

I gave her a disbelieving stare. Considering Cindy’s taste in clothing for Alia and me, “dark” was the one adjective I never expected to hear.

“You know,” added Cindy, “to hide the scars on her back.”

“Oh, right,” I laughed, finally understanding.

Alia’s back was covered with scars upon scars crisscrossing every which way, some made by knives, others most likely from a leather whip. She was probably the child of a psionic family, but we may never know because when she was an infant, she had been abducted by a pair of religious fanatics who tortured her for years to “cure” her of her telepathic abnormality. Alia never spoke of that part of her life, and I was afraid to ask.

“And don’t forget your Band-Aid,” said Cindy.

“I won’t,” I said. “Who are you meeting with?”

“Mr. Baker.”

I narrowed my eyes. “Is it about me again?”

“Not entirely,” said Cindy, laughing. “Don’t be so paranoid.”

After lunch, I took Alia down the elevator and through the entrance lobby of New Haven One. As we exited the building and stepped onto the sidewalk for the very first time without adult supervision, I looked around cautiously, still feeling a little uneasy about being outside.

But as I took Alia’s hand and started walking down the sidewalk, I quickly got over my nervousness. I knew that there was nothing to be afraid of as long as we stayed out in the open.

Arriving at the clothing store, I helped Alia pick out a deep red one-piece swimsuit that covered enough of her back to hide her scarred skin. I also bought a pair of dark blue swimming trunks for myself. Then we headed across the street to the pool.

The large recreational pool was complete with a hotdog stand and tables along the side. Changing into my swimming trunks in the locker room, I slapped an extra-large waterproof Band-Aid over my P-47 tattoo, and met Alia at the poolside.

“You made sure nobody saw your back when you were changing?” I asked.

“Of course,” answered Alia, frowning. “I’m not dumb, you know.”

The summer holidays had just started, and there were a few families and quite a few children here, some of them about my age. I watched them both longingly and apprehensively. On the one hand, I would have been delighted to make a few friends, but I was afraid that Alia, with her newfound bravery around strangers, might accidentally speak telepathically to someone. There was no way to know which of these children were residents of New Haven.

Alia tugged on my arm. “Come on, Addy. Teach me how to swim already!”

There was a round kiddie pool next to the main one, but we weren’t going to use that. We had borrowed a pair of arm floats for Alia, and once she had them on properly, I took her into the shallow end of the main pool. I could tell that the lifeguard was watching us closely as I taught Alia to paddle, but fortunately, he didn’t try to help. I didn’t want anyone approaching us and discovering that Alia could do anything “impossible.”

Alia loved the water. She quickly learned how to stay afloat on her back as well as dog paddle, albeit very clumsily. Before we went home that day, I forced her to go to the kiddie pool by herself so I could swim a few laps around the big pool alone.

Cindy asked over dinner, “So how was your day?”

“Great!” I said. “I feel like I’m living a normal life again. You know, before any of this happened... before I turned psionic.”

“That’s wonderful, Adrian,” said Cindy, and it took a moment before I realized what I had implied.

“Cindy, I didn’t mean...”

“I know.” Cindy smiled. “I’m happy for you.”

Leaving our PRC-acquired habits behind us, Alia and I went out to the pool almost every day that week. Alia soon discarded the floats, and though I frequently had to telekinetically keep her from sinking, she was improving day by day. Before and after our swims, we also explored the neighborhood of New Haven on foot, discovering a large park only minutes from NH-1. We never got as far as the river, though. It turned out to be much farther than it looked from our window.

July had only just begun, but the summer was well underway. The weather remained sunny all that week, and Alia and I continued to enjoy our newfound freedoms. Even with Cindy’s warning, I was happy that we didn’t merit a destroyer escort like she had. The days were much too bright and warm to be worrying about Angel spies anyway. My “salary” was mostly spent on pool admittance fees and lunches out. There wasn’t nearly enough money left to buy the kind of clothes I would have preferred over Cindy’s choices, so I settled for a pair of sunglasses instead.

My first heavy sunburn really hurt, and Alia, who had spent the greater part of her life indoors, had it even worse than me. Alia could heal sunburn just like she could regular burns, but we were blackened from head to toe. New Haven’s littlest psionic was completely worn out by the time she finished running her healing hands over every scorched inch of our bodies. From then on, we practically bathed in sun-block lotion before going out.

Pretty much incapable of holding a grudge, Alia had long since put her upsets with Cindy and me behind her. Nevertheless I made sure to continue giving her lots of attention, and Cindy was considerate enough not to harass me about restarting Alia’s mouth-speaking lessons.

All in all, it was wonderful to be living a normal life again. As always, thoughts of Cat and how she might be suffering in the hands of the Angels gnawed on my conscience from time to time, but at least I felt some comfort in the belief that the Guardians would eventually lead me to her.

And yet, despite the sharp upturn that my daily life had taken, I still had nightmares every single night: the berserker, Ralph, Dr. Denman, Nightmare, you name it. In fact, my nightmares since leaving the Psionic Research Center were even worse than when I had been living there. In a strange way, that made some sense. My life underground had been a continuous waking nightmare, so sleeping didn’t make things all that much worse. But now that I was safe and sound, dreams were the one place I was still vulnerable. Cindy often pestered me about getting Mr. Koontz’s help, but I stubbornly refused. I decided that, at least for myself, freedom had to include freedom from psionic and drug-induced control.

Whenever I woke in a cold sweat (which happened at least once a night), I sat by the window in the bedroom, looking up at the stars until I was calm enough to lie down again. If I woke screaming and consequently woke Alia, she would always sit silently by my side. Alia was strange that way: When I was her age, I couldn’t sit silently if my life depended on it, but Alia could be silent for hours when she wanted to be. We would sit together quietly looking out the window until one of us yawned. Usually it was Alia, but by the time I tucked her back into her bed, I too was sleepy enough to brave another bad dream.

And not even the worst of my nightmares could keep me in a foul mood once the sun rose. Despite my shaky nights, I was having the time of my life. Freedom was truly divine.

The week passed quickly. Too quickly, in fact, as is often the case when you’re having fun. The following Monday and Tuesday were rainy, but by then I didn’t mind being stuck indoors for a little while. Cindy was out of the penthouse for most of both days. Alia and I spent our time chasing each other around the house, throwing darts in the game room, exploring the home library, and tending the plants in the greenhouse while listening to the soft pattering of raindrops against the wide windowpanes.

“If it’s sunny tomorrow, I want to take Alia to the pool again,” I told Cindy over dinner Tuesday night.

“Well, yes...” Cindy said slowly, “I suppose you could go tomorrow.”

“What’s the matter?”

Cindy gave me an apologetic look. “I know you’re enjoying a well-deserved vacation, Adrian, but Mr. Baker has already picked your combat instructor, and he insists that you start your training as soon as possible.”

“Oh, right,” I said with a sigh. “Combat training.”

“And, of course, I’ve already found you and Alia your tutors for your academics as well.”

I groaned. “Oh, this gets better and better.”

Cindy smiled. “Well, here’s some good news, Adrian. Your assigned combat instructor is only a year older than you. Well, a year and a bit.”

“You’re kidding?!” I said, wide-eyed. “What’s his name?”

“Terry Henderson.”

“Terry, huh? And he’s fourteen years old?”

“Fifteen, but just turned. You’ll catch up quickly.”

“Is he any good?” I asked, remembering how Mr. Baker had said that my combat instructor would be about my age. I couldn’t believe anyone that young could make a passable instructor.

“Pretty good, I think,” said Cindy. “It’s Terry’s first time as a combat instructor, but Mr. Baker says he has every confidence.”

“Well, it’ll be my first time learning from a combat instructor.”

Cindy grinned. “Maybe you’ll be good friends.”

“Maybe,” I said brightly. Alia was as good a sidekick as they came, but it would be wonderful to have a friend closer to my own age for a change.

I asked, “Have you met him already?”

“Sure I have, months ago,” said Cindy. “Terry is a member of Mr. Baker’s Guardian group.”

“I don’t remember anyone fifteen years old on the bus,” I said.

“Well, Terry wasn’t part of the actual rescue mission.”

“What’s he like?”

“Why spoil the surprise?” said Cindy. “The two of you will meet tomorrow over dinner.”

“You invited him over?”

Cindy nodded. “Best way to get you two acquainted.”

“Fair enough,” I agreed. “And what about my, uh... other tutor?”

“That starts from next Monday.”

I frowned, and Cindy said, “It’s just a couple of hours in the mornings. Think of it as summer school. We’ll ask Terry to start your training from next week too, in the afternoons.”

School stuff in the mornings, combat training in the afternoons, and somewhere in between, I had to learn power balance and teach Alia how to mouth-speak. Mr. Baker was right: I was going to be kept busy.

The next day was still a bit cloudy, but the rain had stopped so I took Alia out to the pool right after breakfast. I wanted as much out-time as I could get before my vacation was terminated by combat and academics. Alia could already manage a pretty decent breaststroke. She would still kick up a storm and thrash about whenever she started to lose control, but at least she wasn’t getting too much water up her nose anymore.

For lunch, we had hotdogs and snow cones from the poolside stand. Alia, who knew perfectly well how to read time, nevertheless counted the seconds during our one-hour wait by repeatedly asking me, “Is it time yet?” and I decided that I would have to redouble my efforts in learning to block her telepathy from my head.

As I led Alia back into the pool, I noticed that the lifeguard was still watching over us. I wondered if perhaps he was one of the Guardian Knights patrolling our neighborhood.

But there was someone else too.

Treading water near the deep end of the pool, there was a teenage girl with unnaturally bright red hair that almost came down to her shoulders. If it weren’t for her near-florescent hair, I might not have noticed her at all, but this girl seemed to be eyeing Alia and me ever since we finished our lunch break. I could almost feel her eyes on my back, but every time I glanced in her direction, it looked as if she had just turned her head away from me. I remembered how Cindy had once accused me of being paranoid.

I had just about concluded that Cindy was right when I heard a voice behind me say, “Hey there.”

Turning around, I found myself looking into the face of the red-haired girl. She was wearing a black bikini and she had deep hazel eyes and a few light freckles on her cheeks and nose. She wasn’t exactly muscular, but certainly athletic, and tall enough to comfortably stand in the water. In fact, she was nearly a head taller than me, but very pretty nevertheless. Fortunately, I was standing two yards closer to the shallow end of the pool, which made the height difference a bit less obvious. Alia was still practicing her breaststroke a few yards away.

“Hi,” I said nervously. I had next to no experience talking to girls, and I hoped I didn’t sound too awkward.

“Are you really him?” the red-haired girl asked, eyeing me suspiciously.

“Am I really who?” I asked back, feeling that the conversation had already jumped well off the edge of reasonable bounds.

“Adrian Howell, of course,” said the girl. “Who else?”

My eyes nearly popped. “Yes.”

“Oh...” she said, looking me over as if examining road kill. “Well, you’ll have to prove it.”

“Who are you?” I asked, instantly suspicious of her. She wasn’t exactly my image of an Angel spy, but then again, I hadn’t met any yet.

She ignored my question and asked, “What’s under the Band-Aid?”

“A number. Who are you?”

“I’m Terry, your combat instructor.”

I gaped at her. “You’re my instructor?”

“That’s right,” the girl answered brightly. “I was going to come by for dinner tonight, but something came up so I went to your house early. Ms. Gifford told me you were here.”

“You’re my instructor?” I asked again.

She laughed. “I think I just answered that.”

“But – but, you’re a... you’re a...”

“A what?” she asked, grinning wickedly. “A girl? Don’t make me beat you up in public, Adrian.”

I finally pushed through my sputtering. “You’re Terry?!”

“Yes, I am Terry,” she said exasperatedly. “You know, Adrian, you’re not exactly how I pictured you, either.”

“What do you mean?” I asked.

Terry shrugged. “I was expecting someone older.”

“Older than you?”

“No, older than ten. Mr. Baker told me you were thirteen.”

“I am,” I replied through clenched teeth.

“Oh, well, then I guess he was right,” Terry said lightly.

“Addy, who is she?” asked Alia, dog paddling up to us.

“It’s okay, Alia,” I said, turning to her. “You can talk to her. This is Terry. She’s my... uh... combat instructor.”

Alia wasn’t tall enough to put her feet down here so she grabbed my arm for support. I introduced her to Terry, saying, “Terry, this is Alia, my...”

My what? I glanced at Alia, remembering how Cindy had asked me what had really been bothering me over my first week in New Haven. Alia looked up at me, and as our eyes met, I suddenly found myself back in Level 11 with her, in the final seconds of the countdown.

“Your what?” asked Terry, and I snapped back into the present.

I gave Alia a smile and said, “My sister.”

Terry looked curiously at Alia, who was grinning from ear to ear, and I added a bit uneasily, “Sort of.”

“Well, hello, Alia,” said Terry, reaching out to shake her hand. I couldn’t be sure, but I guessed Alia was saying hello too. And to her credit, Alia didn’t even flinch once before shaking Terry’s hand.

Then Terry turned to me again and said, “Well, I’m glad I got you right on the first try, anyway. I couldn’t see your bullet scars from the far side of the pool, but you’re wearing the pendant Ms. Gifford described. The Band-Aid was a real giveaway, too. Ms. Gifford said you’re hiding a barcode under there.”

Alia started giggling as I said, “It’s not a barcode! It’s an ID number.”

“She says it makes you look like a cyborg.”

“Well, that’s Cindy for you,” I said, laughing lightly.

“Can I see?” asked Terry.

“Not here. If you’re really my combat instructor, I guess I’ll be seeing you pretty often, right?”

“More often than you’d probably like,” Terry said with a mischievous smile.

“You didn’t come out here just to look at my tattoo, did you?”

“Of course not. When I heard you were here, I thought it would be the perfect opportunity for a quick fitness test. Would you do a few laps around the pool with me, Adrian?”

“Okay, sure,” I said, and turned to Alia. “Ali, go over to the kiddie pool.”

That wiped the ridiculous smile off her face. “Addy!”

“Now, Alia! This won’t take too long.”

As Alia huffed and pulled herself out of the pool, I turned to Terry and asked, “Is this a race?”

“No,” she replied. “Swim at your own pace. I’ll follow. Stop when you get tired.”

“Easy enough,” I said.

Something told me that I had no chance at all of swimming for longer than Terry could, but I wasn’t about to make it easy for her to keep up with me. I wasn’t a bad swimmer, but nor was I exactly in top physical condition, having had little real exercise in months. This last week had painfully shown me how out of shape I was.

I tried to swim at my own pace, but it wasn’t easy knowing Terry was right behind me. The occasional glimpses I caught of her told me that she was keeping up with much too little effort. The way my heart was pounding when I finally decided I couldn’t swim anymore, it was a wonder that I didn’t need rescuing.

“Well, that was enlightening,” said Terry as I desperately clutched the side of the pool for support.

“Meaning?” I asked, breathing heavily.

“We have work to do,” said Terry, clearly no more impressed than she was worn out. “We’ll start tomorrow, if that’s okay with you.”

“I thought we were going to start next week.”

“What are you doing tomorrow, then?” she asked.

I thought for a moment. “Nothing...”

“Then I’ll see you at 10am in the dojo,” said Terry as she pulled herself out of the pool.

“Where’s the dojo?” I asked, looking up at her.

Terry looked surprised. “Haven’t you ever been down to the gathering place?”

“No.”

“Oh. Then how about I come get you at your penthouse?”

“Is it okay?”

“Sure,” said Terry. “I’ll be there at ten o’clock. Don’t forget to cut your nails short, or you might lose them, okay?”

Terry turned and walked briskly toward the exit. Still not entirely over my surprise, I watched her dazedly as she disappeared into the changing rooms. Then I heaved myself out of the water.

Alia came running up to me.

“Did you really mean it?” she asked.

I gave her a confused look. “Mean what?”

“That I’m your sister, of course!”

“Oh, well, yeah,” I said awkwardly. “I guess you are.”

Alia jumped on me, pushing us both into the pool. As I watched her splash merrily around me, tugging at me and calling my name over and over in my head, I finally realized how much my admission of family had meant to her. Embarrassed by her antics, I did my best not to show it, but it meant a good deal to me too.

We stayed at the pool for the rest of the day, and barely got home in time for dinner.

When she saw us return, Cindy asked me in an overly casual tone, “So, what did you think of your new instructor?”

“You set me up!” I laughed. “You told me Terry was a boy!”

“No I didn’t. You just assumed,” said Cindy, laughing also. “So, what’d you think of her?”

“She’s a bit blunt,” I said. I told Cindy what Terry’s first question to me was.

Cindy chuckled, saying, “Terry isn’t the most polite person I’ve ever met, and she is a bit on the wild side too, but she’s a good kid at heart.”

“Yeah, but how am I going to learn how to fight from her? I mean, she’s a... a...”

“A girl?” Cindy asked sweetly.

I threw my hands into the air. “Well, yeah!”

Cindy laughed. “I guess you’ll just have to let her hit you first.”

That night, Cindy took much longer than usual tucking Alia into bed.

Once Cindy came back to the living room, we meditated together for nearly an hour, but my concentration was completely shot. I eventually gave up and opened my eyes. I was sitting facing the largest window, and much of our living room was reflected in the glass. But through that reflection, I could also make out the lights from the buildings around us, and I saw the half moon slowly inching its way up into a calm, cloudless night sky. It was a beautiful night, but I knew that somewhere out there were people who wanted to kill or conquer us.

“Do you think I’ll need it?” I whispered, gazing out the window.

“Combat training?” Cindy asked without opening her eyes.

“Yeah.”

“Well, you know me, Adrian. I hate all forms of violence. But that doesn’t mean you shouldn’t know how to defend yourself. I’d hate for you to ever need it, but I’d hate it more if you needed it and didn’t have it.”

“Did you ever learn?” I asked.

“I’m not a Guardian Knight.”

“Right.”

“Oh, and Adrian,” said Cindy, finally opening her eyes and looking at me, “I was really happy about what you did for Alia today.”

When I didn’t reply, Cindy added, “She told me that you called her your sister.”

I cringed. Considering how long Cindy had taken tucking Alia in today, I knew that they had been talking about something, but I had been hoping Alia wouldn’t make such a big deal of it.

“It must have been difficult for you,” Cindy said quietly.

“It wasn’t,” I said, looking down at my hands. “I thought it would be harder, but I guess I was just upset with Mr. Baker. I mean, I really do feel bad about Cat. But you were right, what you said to me back when we were on our way to Mark’s. There’s no point in pretending we’re not family.”

Cindy stood up and gave my shoulders a quick squeeze. “I hope you won’t be mad, Adrian, but Alia asked me about your sister, and I told her a little.”

“I probably should have told her myself, a long time ago.”

I yawned, and Cindy said, “Bedtime.”

“Can I ask you a really strange question, Cindy?”

“Sure.”

“Does Alia ever call you Mom?”

“Sometimes, she does,” answered Cindy, smiling serenely. “I introduced myself as Cindy when we met, so that’s what she usually calls me. But when she’s sleepy, or she has a really bad nightmare, sometimes she calls me Mommy. Why?”

“I was just curious.”

Yawning again, I quickly said goodnight to Cindy. Entering my bedroom, I wasn’t too surprised to see that Alia was still awake, lying quietly in the darkened room with her eyes wide open.

“What is the point,” I asked, half-amused, “of having a bedtime for you if you don’t actually go to sleep?”

Alia looked over at me. “Addy, Cindy told me about your sister. Your real sister. She told me why you never let me be your sister until today.”

I sat down on the edge of her bed and stroked her long walnut-brown hair. “You were always my sister, Alia,” I said quietly. “I’m sorry I ever said you weren’t.”

Alia smiled up at me. “You were always my brother too.”

Patting her shoulder once, I got up from her bed.

As I started walking over to my own bed, I heard Alia ask, “Is her name really Cat?”

“Catherine,” I replied, “but we used to call her Cat.”

“Did she call you Addy too?”

I looked back at her and smiled. “Sometimes.”

“Is she the reason you were fighting with Cindy at Mark’s house?”

“Yes.”

“Cindy said you’re trying to find her because she’s lost. She told me that the pendant you always have is hers, and that’s why you were so mad when I got mine.”

“Your mother has a big mouth.”

Alia sat up on her bed and looked at me crossly. “That’s because my brother’s mouth is too small! You could’ve told me.”

“I’m sorry, Alia,” I said. “I didn’t think you’d understand.”

The only time I had spoken about Cat in front of Alia was in Cindy’s car just after our fight with Ralph, but I guessed Alia was too shaken that night to have been paying much attention. Alia’s early childhood experiences had stunted her physical and emotional growth, and as such I had always assumed that she was too immature to understand how I felt. I realized again how much I had underestimated her.

Alia touched her bloodstone pendant, asking timidly, “Is it really okay if I keep this?”

“I was never angry about your pendant, Alia,” I said. “I was just angry.”

Alia whispered into my head, “I really hope you find her, Addy.”

I nodded. “Then I’ll have two sisters.”

I gave her a quick hug and tucked her back into her bed.

My sister followed me with her eyes as I lay down on my bed and telekinetically pulled my blanket up over my chest. It still felt a little strange to actually call Alia my sister, but I knew it was true and I was glad that I said it. I could see in her eyes the same peace I finally felt.

While my sleep that night wasn’t entirely nightmare-free, for the first time since leaving the Psionic Research Center, I actually got through the night without waking up in a cold sweat. Considering what was in store for me the following day, it was an enormously welcome break.

Chapter 4: Combat Training

“Sure you won’t have thirds?” asked Cindy, offering me more sausages.

I patted my bulging stomach. “Cindy, I’m really full. I’ve had enough breakfast to power me for the rest of the week.”

Cindy smiled. “You’re going to need it.”

Today, I would start combat training. Fighting wasn’t my thing. Learning how from a girl would be even more awkward still. But I suspected that getting Cat back from the Angels would involve some fighting whether I liked it or not, so I was determined to learn. I couldn’t just leave everything to the Guardians.

Remembering how Terry had told me to cut my nails short, I reluctantly called to Alia after breakfast. This was one of the most humiliating parts of being unable to balance my power: I couldn’t even cut my own nails because whenever the nail cutter touched my fingers or toes, the steel would drain me, making me too weak and dizzy to complete the job. It made me feel like a big baby, but I had little choice but to ask Cindy to help me last year, and Alia took over ever since we were trapped at the research center. My sister always found it hilarious that she could treat me like one of her baby dolls, but I was in no position to complain.

Once I was dressed and as ready as I could hope to be, I sat in the living room wondering what my combat training with Terry was going to be like. Terry certainly wasn’t the most girly girl I had ever met, but still...

The doorbell rang at precisely ten o’clock.

“She’s punctual,” remarked Cindy, walking to the door. “See? She can’t be all bad.”

Terry was dressed in a black short-sleeve shirt and matching loose jeans, and was carrying a dark green shoulder bag. I had expected her to laugh at my flower-patterned shirt and pastel blue sweatpants, but she merely looked at me with an air of being too polite to comment. It would have been nicer to laugh. Then at least I could have laughed with her.

Cindy tried to invite Terry in for tea, but Terry declined, saying she had a busy day planned for me. Alia asked to tag along with us, but I refused. The last thing I needed today was an audience.

Leaving the penthouse, Terry and I stepped into the elevator, and Terry pushed the button for the basement parking lot.

As the doors closed, Terry suddenly reached over and lifted up my left shirtsleeve.

“Ms. Gifford was right,” she said happily, examining my P-47 tattoo. “You do look like a cyborg.”

I grinned at her.

Suddenly Terry grabbed my left wrist and yanked my arm toward her, asking, “How did you get this?”

“I was born with it!” I answered through clenched teeth, futilely trying to pull my arm back.

“Don’t be an idiot, Adrian. I’m talking about this line. It’s a knife wound, isn’t it?” Terry was looking at the long scar along my left forearm. “How did you get it?”

I didn’t want to discuss the Psionic Research Center with Terry at the moment, but I thought it impolite to lie. “Medical experiment,” I answered uneasily.

“Oh,” said Terry, looking disappointed.

Terry finally let go of my arm, and I asked, “So I’m not as tall as you expected?”

“You’re not a total midget, Adrian,” said Terry. “I was just getting back at you for the ‘I can’t believe my combat instructor is a girl’ bit.”

“I never said I was surprised that you were a girl.”

Terry snorted loudly. “But you thought it loud and clear.”

“What are you, a delver or something?” I asked.

“Actually, I’m not psionic at all.”

“Are your parents psionic?”

“They were,” Terry said stiffly.

“What do you mean?” I asked, wondering if people could lose their psionic powers as they got older.

Terry gave me a withering look. “They’re dead, Adrian.”

“I’m sorry,” I said hastily.

The elevator reached the basement and the doors opened, but when I tried to get off, Terry grabbed me by the back of my shirt and pulled me back into the elevator car.

“Hey, what are you doing?” I asked, but Terry didn’t bother answering as she took a small silver key from her pocket and inserted it into a keyhole under the button panel. Turning the key, she pressed the basement button again. The elevator doors closed and the car started descending even farther.

A few seconds later, the doors opened to reveal a wide concrete hallway extending about thirty yards down. The hallway was lit by bright florescent tubes like in the basement parking lot above, and there were several heavy iron doors set along the walls.

“Wow,” I said, following Terry into the hall.

Terry explained, “Years ago, during the beginning of the New Haven Project, we were still buying up the condos above, and we often had our gatherings down here.”

“How long have you been a Guardian?” I asked.

“All my life.”

Terry led me down the hall, pointing to the doors as we passed them. “This door leads to the meeting rooms. This one to the holding block. That one goes to the shooting range. This here is storage, I think. That door over there leads to the living area.”

“Big place,” I commented, though since Terry didn’t open any of the doors, I couldn’t be sure how large it actually was.

“This is nothing,” said Terry. “It’s just a big concrete tomb. Try being stuck down here for a few days. It’s really horrible.”

“I could think of worse places to be stuck,” I muttered as Terry opened an iron door at the end of the hall, revealing concrete stairs leading even farther down.

“And down here is the dojo,” she said.

“So, who do you live with?” I asked, trying to keep up a friendly conversation as we descended the steps.

Terry looked down at me, clearly annoyed. “I was raised in the forest by a family of wolves. I live with them,” she said dryly. “Look, Adrian, let’s just focus on you today, okay?”

I put up my hands in surrender, saying quietly, “Okay.”

The bottom of the stairs opened into a wide rectangular room almost as large as a gymnasium. It had a high ceiling and concrete walls, and I was instantly reminded of the Lab-C Testing Room back at the Psionic Research Center. The only major difference was that the floor wasn’t cluttered with junk, but instead covered with thick blue gym mats. Along the walls were a few battered punching bags, a row of exercise machines and dumbbells of various sizes. A large rusty air fan built into a vent rattled noisily above our heads. Terry had a point: this wasn’t somewhere I wanted to be shut up in for any length of time.

Dumping her shoulder bag onto the floor, Terry said brusquely, “Take your shoes off and get on the mat.”

Removing my shoes, I hesitantly followed Terry onto the gym mats. Terry did some quick stretching exercises, and I mimicked her. Then we walked to the center of the room and faced off.

“Okay, let’s go,” said Terry.

“Excuse me?” I asked.

Terry took one step forward and grabbed my right forearm. Suddenly the world turned upside down. I found my nose pressed painfully onto the mat, and it took several seconds before I even realized what had happened.

“You’ve got to be ready, Adrian,” said Terry, stepping back and letting me stand up.

I stared at her, shaken by how quickly it had all happened.

“Don’t we, like, bow or something before a match?” I asked.

Terry narrowed her eyes. “Have you ever been in a fight, Adrian?”

“Well, sure.”

“When’s the last time someone bowed to you?”

An instant later, I was kissing the mat again as Terry held my arms behind my back.

“Ow!” I cried out loudly. “Hey, that hurts!”

“You haven’t begun to hurt yet, Adrian,” said Terry, getting up.

I got back onto my feet, asking, “Aren’t you supposed to be teaching me how to do this?”

“You’ll learn by doing,” snapped Terry. “Come on. Again.”

This time I knew she was coming, but that didn’t make the third match last any longer than the first two. Terry flipped me as deftly as she might have tossed a coin. Pinning me facedown against the mat, she twisted my right arm behind my back in a direction I was sure it wasn’t meant to bend. I howled in pain.

“Another inch,” hissed Terry, “and it will break.”

“Please, Terry, stop it!”

“So, are you ready to learn from a girl now?” Terry asked in a diabolically sweet voice, twisting my arm a bit more.

“Ow! Okay! Okay!” I shouted, and Terry released me.

Massaging my arm and steadying my breathing, I looked at Terry, who was clearly enjoying this far too much.

Terry said, “I’m not a delver, but I do know what you’re thinking, Adrian.”

“Yeah? What?” I demanded crossly.

“That you wouldn’t have lost if you could use your power on me.”

That was exactly what I had been thinking, but I wasn’t about to admit it. I frowned at her.

“It’s okay,” said Terry. “You can use your power.”

“But you’re a Guardian, right?” I said. “I’m not supposed to.”

“Not without consent,” said Terry, smiling. “You have my permission.”

“But I can’t just blast you, Terry,” I said, horrified at the thought. “I mean, you could really get hurt.”

“If you can hit me even once, I promise I’ll be the kindest, sweetest, most patient instructor in the world,” said Terry, backing away from me until there were about ten yards between us. “Now, take your best shot.”

I stared at her disbelievingly, thinking that for someone who had spent her whole life with psionics, Terry obviously didn’t know how dangerous this was. Terry was wearing only a thin cloth shirt. At this distance, my telekinetic blasts could easily crack her ribs or worse.

“Come on, Adrian!” she taunted. “Hit me!”

“Okay, Terry,” I said hesitantly, “you asked for it.”

But even as I stretched my right arm out toward her, she had closed half the distance between us, sidestepping my blast with over a yard of clearance before knocking me down and pinning me to the mat.

“The problem with new psionics,” she said, adding further pain to an already throbbing arm, “is that they think their powers make them superhuman. Do you want to try again from a greater distance?”

I did. Though I knew my blast energy would taper out the farther she was from me, at least I’d have more time to aim. But it made no difference. Terry was simply too fast. I began to wonder if she might even be able to dodge bullets. Three failed attempts later, I had little choice but to concede defeat.

“You win, Terry,” I sighed as she pulled me to my feet.

Terry smiled. “Don’t feel too bad, Adrian. I’ve been doing this all my life.”

“Just one more try,” I said, suddenly having an idea.

“You don’t give up easily, do you?” said Terry, shaking her head but obviously pleased. “I like that.”

Terry and I faced off about fifteen yards apart, and as soon as I stretched my arm toward her, she sprinted forward. This time, however, I didn’t try to blast her.

“Whoa, Adrian!” cried Terry as I levitated her off the mat.

Terry was heavier than me and was hard to lift, but all I had to do was keep her feet from touching the floor.

“How do you like that?” I grinned up at her as she finally gave up trying to run in midair and glared at me. I couldn’t keep her afloat forever, but in theory, I could quite easily blast her unconscious before returning her to the mat. I didn’t have to. Terry knew perfectly well that I had scored one on her.

“Okay, superhuman,” said Terry, “put me down.”

“Promise you won’t knock me over the second I do?” I asked.

“I promise. Put me down!”

I gently lowered her back onto the mat, and she walked briskly up to me.

I smiled, and a heartbeat later, I was pinned on the mat again. “Terry!”

“That’s two seconds,” she said as I struggled under her grasp. “Always be ready, Adrian.”

Terry pulled me to my feet again, saying, “Mr. Baker wasn’t joking about you. You really are a powerful telekinetic. I didn’t think you could levitate people that easily. But you’re not always going to have a distance advantage on your opponent, you know.”

“Yeah,” I sighed, “I know.”

“So this is what I’m going to be teaching you, Adrian,” said Terry. “Basically, it’s CQC. Close quarters combat. Military-style hand-to-hand. It’s a combination of various martial arts, but it’s not a sport. You don’t bow. There are no judges, no points, no colorful belts, and very few rules. Eventually, we’ll be working with weapons, including jo sticks, knives and guns.”

I didn’t like the sound of any of that, but especially the last bit.

“Guns are made of metal, Terry,” I said.

“You can wear gloves,” Terry said simply.

“Okay, let me just be straight about this,” I said, looking her in the eye. “I don’t like guns. Or knives outside of the kitchen. I don’t know what a jo stick is, but if it’s a weapon that can kill, I really don’t want to know.”

“Bare hands can kill,” Terry pointed out. “We don’t always try to kill our opponents, but that’s also something you have to be ready for.”

There was a time, last year, that I had almost killed someone. I had tried to stab Ralph in the neck with a steel-tipped arrow. It was something I did through a combination of rage and fear, and something that I was sure I wouldn’t have done, even to Ralph, had I the time to think about it. And that was what I really hated about fighting: It wasn’t just the danger of getting killed, but the danger of killing someone else. I honestly wasn’t sure which was worse, and I never wanted to be in that kind of situation again.

“Have you ever killed anyone?” I asked.

“No,” said Terry. “But I’m ready. And when I’m through with you, Adrian, you’ll be ready too.”

Inwardly, I doubted both claims very much, but I didn’t comment. I asked instead, “Where did you learn all this?”

“I already told you,” said Terry. “I was raised by wolves. Come on, enough talk. Let’s go again.”

We faced off, and I counted the minutes remaining to lunchtime while being repeatedly flipped and pinned by Terry. I didn’t try to levitate her again, but in the heat of the moment, I did release a few blasts without thinking. Terry had no trouble avoiding them.

At precisely noon, Terry opened her shoulder bag to reveal the store-bought lunches she had packed for the both of us. Breakfast felt like ancient history, and I ate ravenously, forgetting to thank her until after the meal. When I did, Terry just shrugged.

After a very short break, Terry finally started teaching me some elementary combat moves. How to punch and kick. After spending some time practicing on the punching bags, we moved to the exercise machines and sand-filled plastic weights.

“You’ll have to build some muscle, Adrian,” said Terry as I strained to lift the weights. “Technique is only as good as the muscle behind it.”

“Can’t we call it a day?” I begged, not sure how much more of this I could take before passing out.

“Don’t be such a baby. You’ll get used to it.”

Terry gave me less than a minute to catch my breath before we squared off again on the mat for another hour of non-stop CQC. Terry showed me the various moves by demonstrating them on me, which meant that if I was going to learn anything, it would have to be in mid-flip. It was nearly 5pm before she finally relented and let me out of the dojo. I could barely climb the stairs back to the subbasement entrance hall. Terry didn’t comment as I stumbled into the elevator with her, leaning heavily against the wall for support.

Once the elevator started to rise, she said, “I have plans for the afternoon tomorrow, so we’ll just make it a half-day. Meet me in the lobby tomorrow at 8am. We’re going jogging.”

Terry stepped out of the elevator on the fourth floor, where she apparently lived. I continued leaning against the wall as I rode the elevator back up to the penthouse.

Staggering into the living room, I heard Cindy call out from the kitchen, “So, how did it go? Did you have a good time?”

“Oh, wonderful, Cindy!” I called back sarcastically. “I haven’t had so much fun since my chat with the Wolf.”

Alia and Cindy came into the living room as I slumped down onto a couch.

Handing me a glass of orange juice, Cindy said, “The first day is always the hardest.”

Alia wrinkled her nose at me. “Oh, Addy, you really smell bad.”

I ignored her and said grumpily to Cindy, “I can’t learn from Terry! She doesn’t teach me anything. She just throws me around!”

“Oh my goodness, Adrian!” Cindy cried in mock-alarm. “Are you whining about being beaten up by a girl?”

I scowled at Cindy, and Alia started giggling. “Addy has a girlfriend!”

I was in no mood for that. “Oh, shut up, Alia!”

My sister only laughed harder, and Cindy smiled, saying, “What did you expect from someone who was raised by wolves?”

I choked on the orange juice and spat most of it back out. Alia just barely jumped clear of me. “Ew, gross!”

“Wolves?” I asked, coughing up a storm. “You mean, like, the Wolves?”

“Sure,” said Cindy. “Haven’t you discovered who her grandfather is yet?”

I blinked at Cindy for a second. What was Terry’s last name again?

“Ralph?!” I cried.

Cindy laughed. “Terry Henderson. I thought you’d figure it out when I told you yesterday.”

“And Terry is Ralph’s...”

Cindy nodded. “Small world, isn’t it?”

Far too small.

“Ralph taught her how to fight?” I asked weakly.

“I don’t think so,” said Cindy. “You see, when Ralph deserted the Wolves, a few members of his team came with him. They all joined the Guardians together. Terry was raised by them. I don’t think Ralph ever took care of her after her parents were killed.”

“Tell me more about her.”

“No, Adrian,” said Cindy. “Ask her yourself when you get to know her better.”

I shook my head furiously. “I don’t want to get to know her better! I just want to know if she’s a threat to my life!”

Cindy laughed, saying, “Trust me, Adrian. Terry is nothing like Ralph. Just be friends with her. And, oh, dinner is almost ready, but for the love of our noses, take a bath first, okay?”

I did, and as I lay comfortably in the Jacuzzi, ignoring Cindy’s demands for me to hurry up so we could eat together, I felt the pain in my muscles gradually receding. I knew I was still sore, but total lack of power balance had its perks. My psionic power was supplementing my body, and by the time I toweled myself dry, I felt almost as good as new.

“Mr. Baker asked me to give this to you,” said Cindy over dinner, handing me a silver elevator key like the one Terry had. Cindy had wrapped some tape around the handle so I wouldn’t get drained.

For the rest of the evening, my sister simply wouldn’t stop begging, so I eventually agreed to let her come with me to the dojo during my future training sessions. Considering the way Terry taught combat, I figured it would be safer to have a healer on hand anyway.

The next morning, I dutifully met Terry in the NH-1 lobby for my morning jog.

“You’re late,” Terry said by way of greeting.

“Only one minute,” I said, glancing at a wall clock.

“One minute, one hour, one year. It doesn’t make any difference, Adrian!” snapped Terry. “Not if you’re on a mission. You’re either on time, or you’re not.”

“I’m sorry, okay?”

“If it was okay, I wouldn’t be telling you,” Terry said icily. “Come on, let’s go.”

“Since when was this a mission?” I muttered to myself as I followed Terry out the door.

Apparently having heard me, Terry turned her head and said nastily, “The way you’re built, Adrian, five miles will be a mission.”

“Five miles?!”

Terry quickened her pace, and I couldn’t believe how much her jog was like my run. We probably hadn’t gone a mile before I was feeling knives in my chest, and I had to use my telekinesis to push me from behind in order to keep up. But even psionic powers are physically taxing after a while. Terry only stopped when I had fallen so far behind that she could no longer hear me panting.

“You’re unbelievable, Adrian,” she called to me as I fell into a walk. “We’re not even halfway yet.”

“Just let me catch my breath,” I said. I knew that my psionics would recover in a moment and I’d be ready to go again.

“Forget it,” said Terry, giving me a disgusted look. “Go on back and wait for me in the dojo. Mr. Baker told me about your power balance problems. My job is to train you, Adrian, not to train your powers.”

With that, Terry turned and started running again. Still breathing heavily, I stood watching her until she disappeared around a street corner. I shook my head in disbelief. How could Terry expect me to run five miles on our first jog?!

I walked back to New Haven One and fetched Alia from the penthouse. Using my new elevator key, I took her down into the subbasement. There was a man I didn’t recognize, probably a Guardian Knight, lifting weights in the dojo, but he ignored us as we entered.

“Wow, this looks familiar,” remarked Alia as she looked around at the large, concrete room.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought too,” I replied quietly. “But at least we can leave when we want.”

“You mean when your girlfriend says you can leave.”

I said in an irritated tone, “Alia, Terry isn’t my girlfriend. And you’ll know why as soon as she gets here.”

“Hey, Adrian!” called Terry from behind me. “Had a nice walk?”

I jumped in surprise, wondering if she had heard me, but Terry took no notice and turned to my sister. “What are you doing here, Alia?” she asked pleasantly.

Alia looked up at her, and a moment later Terry laughed, answering, “Oh, so you came down to watch your brother get beaten up, huh?”

Alia laughed too and probably said something back to her.

Terry asked, “Don’t you ever say anything for real, kid?”

Alia shook her head.

“We’re working on it,” I said, though that wasn’t exactly true. I still hadn’t restarted Alia’s mouth-speaking lessons.

“Hmm. Well, okay,” said Terry. “But right now, we’re working on you, Adrian.”

“You could’ve told me you were related to Ralph,” I said, doing my best to keep any hint of accusation out of my voice.

“I don’t know him any better than you do,” said Terry. “In fact, you probably know him better.”

“But he’s your grandfather, right?”

“He’s not my anything!” snapped Terry. “Would you want someone like that as family?”

I laughed a little, and Terry said, “Enough talk. Let’s start.”

“Stay out of the way, Ali,” I said, and Alia sat down on the edge of the gym mats.

Terry and I faced off, and soon I was becoming very friendly with the floor again. My sister watched us silently, half-amused, half-shocked as Terry knocked me down in straight, two-second matches.

Once Terry was through humiliating me in front of Alia, she started showing me what she was doing more carefully. “Like this, but not like this,” she would say, without bothering to name any of the moves as she molded my stance into what she insisted was the correct fighting form. When I tried to do anything, however, I would quickly lose my balance and we would have to start over.

I was right to let my sister tag along, though. It was so quick that I can’t even be sure what happened, but I ended up with a very bloody nose.

The iron in a psionic’s blood, once it’s outside the body and touching the skin, can drain powers just like any other metal. While having a nosebleed isn’t as bad as being touched by a large piece of metal, it still made my legs a bit wobbly until Alia healed me and I wiped my face. But seeing how weak I became without my psionics didn’t stop Terry from continuing to train me at her impossible pace.

My combat instructor seemed to keep forgetting that she was dealing with a complete novice, so she would get totally frustrated when I couldn’t do what was clearly second nature to her. Once her frustration peaked, she would give up and teach me really basic stuff for a while, or get me to work out on the weights and exercise machines while she practiced solo. All too soon, however, she would go back to trying to teach me battle moves I clearly wasn’t ready for.

“Okay, I guess that’s about all we have time for,” said Terry, pulling me to my feet for the hundredth time. “You can take the weekend off, but I would recommend getting out and doing some sports. We’ll have regular lessons from Monday, okay?”

“Yeah, sure, great,” I said, failing miserably to sound enthusiastic.

“So,” said Terry, turning to my sister, “what did you think?”

Alia looked at her, and Terry laughed, saying, “I agree.”

“What did she say?” I asked Terry.

“She said you need practice.”

“Yeah?” I said, turning grumpily to Alia. “Well, so do you! Cindy’s right. You need to learn to speak.”

As we climbed the stairs out of the dojo, I realized that I hadn’t been able to ask Terry anything about her. How was I going to get to know her better if all we ever did was train? I got my answer a moment later.

Stepping into the elevator, Terry asked, “Are you coming to the party?”

“Party?” I asked.

“Sunday night,” said Terry. “The big welcoming party?”

“Oh, yeah,” I said, remembering. “Mr. Baker said he was going to introduce me.”

“Well, maybe I’ll see you there,” said Terry, smiling.

Terry got off the elevator at the fourth floor, and I had to listen to my sister singing “Addy has a girlfriend” until we got back to the penthouse.

“Oh, good, you’re back,” said Cindy as we opened the front door. “I have to go to another meeting now, but I’m expecting a delivery here, so please stay in the house today, at least until it arrives. Just drag everything into the spare room, okay? Lunch is on the table. Don’t forget to wash up.”

Cindy left hurriedly and, far too tired to play with Alia, I took a short nap on the sofa and spent the rest of the afternoon meditating. The delivery came three hours after Cindy left. It turned out to be a series of large cardboard boxes, too numerous for the deliverymen to bring up at once in the elevator. Many of the boxes were unmarked. Some were long and thin, others wide and tall. One of the boxes was as big as a mattress and, by its weight, I suspected that a mattress was exactly what it contained. Aside from the mattress-size box, there were two other boxes that I couldn’t levitate at all. Both were long and tall, but rather thin, and I suspected they contained a lot of metal. Alia helped me move everything into the spare room.

Cindy returned in the evening with a guest.

“Mark!” I exclaimed, and I’m sure Alia telepathically said the same as she jumped into his arms. I hadn’t seen Mark Parnell since we had arrived in New Haven.

“I brought him along to help with the assembly,” said Cindy. “Did the boxes arrive?”

“Everything’s in the spare room,” I answered, wondering what we were going to assemble.

“Well, dinner first.”

Over dinner, Mark told me how he had been busy helping the new arrivals settle into New Haven, and that he had found a church a few blocks from NH-1 where he could continue his work as a priest.

“Isn’t it dangerous for you to be out?” I asked, painfully aware that I was the one who gave away his identity to the Wolves. Mark wasn’t a psionic, but the Wolves could still target him to get at others.

“Well, the church is still safely inside Guardian control,” said Mark. “Quite a few Guardians have already visited, actually. Stop by sometime if you like.”

“I will,” I said.

I wasn’t a regular church-goer, having been raised in a family of agnostics. But I liked Mark Parnell a lot, and I thought it might be fun to visit him from time to time, even if it was at his church. He was very different from my image of a preacher. He didn’t try to force his beliefs on anyone. He was quiet and subtle, and he hadn’t given even the hint of a frown when I first told him that I wasn’t a believer. Mark actually reminded me a lot of my own father, and Alia seemed to regard him as a father figure as well.

Once we finished our dinner, Cindy said, “Well, I guess we should get started.”

We gathered in the spare room and started opening the boxes, starting with the biggest. It turned out to be, as I had suspected, a mattress. The other boxes contained the headboard and other bed parts, and I helped Mark put everything together. The instructions were pretty straightforward, and I probably could have built the bed myself, but with Mark there, it took much less time. When we finished, I saw that the two boxes I couldn’t levitate were still leaning against the wall.

“What are those?” I asked, pointing to them.

“They’re your birthday presents,” said Cindy. “A late birthday present for Alia, and a really early one for you.”

They were bicycles. We opened Alia’s first, which was, not surprisingly, a violently pink single-speed with bright yellow handle grips that had frilly red and white tassels coming out of them.

As grateful as I was for a bike, I couldn’t help feeling a bit apprehensive as I bent down to open my box. Knowing Cindy, my bike would probably have tassels too.

“I picked yours out,” Mark said with a wink, and I whispered back through the corner of my mouth, “Thanks, Mark.”

It turned out to be a military-green mountain bike.

“Oh, thank you so much, Cindy!” I said as we adjusted the handlebar and tightened the nuts.

Cindy smiled, saying, “You’re welcome, but your early birthday present comes with a price.”

“Mouth-speaking for Alia?” I asked apprehensively.

“That’s a given, Adrian,” said Cindy. “You also have to teach her how to ride.”

“Sure.”

“And both of you promise me you won’t break your necks.”

“No promises,” I said, and shrugged as I added, “but I think we’ve survived greater dangers than possible death-by-bicycle.”

“That’s why it would be so tragic if your life ended on a two-wheeler. Please just be careful, okay?”

“Oh, come on, Cindy,” I said playfully. “You know me. I'm always careful.”

Cindy rolled her eyes. “Don’t I wish!”

The next day, Cindy had another meeting to go to right after breakfast. Packing lunches, Alia and I spent Saturday morning in the nearby park, which had several jogging and cycling paths snaking through it. After trying out my new bike on and off the asphalt paths, I began teaching Alia to ride hers. Considering my sister’s age, I was determined not to let her even start with training wheels.

For Alia, learning to ride a bike turned out to be a far greater challenge than learning to swim. I held onto the back of her bike while she pedaled, steadying her balance in the same way I remembered my father had done for Cat and me when we learned to ride. When my legs got too tired to keep pace with her, I stopped running and tried using my telekinesis to keep her steady. It worked, but it wasn’t helping her learn to ride. As soon as I stopped assisting her, she toppled over sideways. My sister made little progress, but she was clearly enjoying the attention I was giving her.

Alia was tired out by noon, so after we ate our lunches, I took her back to our building. Locking our bikes in the basement parking lot, I walked Alia to the elevator, but made her go back up by herself.

Turning away from the elevator door, I looked toward the car ramp that led up to the street. If I was going to survive Terry’s combat training from next week, I would just have to get used to her pace. Even though I knew that Terry wasn’t entirely malicious, some of the things she had said during the last two sessions had really stung me – probably because she was right.

“Can’t even run five miles. You’re unbelievable, Adrian,” I muttered savagely to myself as I jogged up the car ramp and out of NH-1.

I started doing laps around the block, deciding that, this time, I wouldn’t cheat by using my telekinesis to push me. I managed about one mile before having to rest and catch my breath. As I continued jogging, I did my best not to rely on my power, but I often caught myself using it unconsciously. Furthermore, being unable to separate my power from my body meant that, to some extent, I was always being helped by my psionics. Unfortunately, there was nothing I could do about that until I learned to balance my power.

Though I had to take increasingly frequent breaks, I made sure I did just over five miles before heading back into the NH-1 lobby. I hadn’t timed myself, but I knew I was slow. I didn’t care, though. I had completed my mission. I even stopped my finger a second before pressing the button to call the elevator down to the lobby, choosing instead to take the stairs back up. This time I walked, but I did manage to climb the entire forty floors without stopping.

As I approached the front door to the penthouse, I heard Alia laughing and shrieking like crazy from inside the living room. Opening the door and stepping inside, I immediately saw the cause of her hysterics.

Alia was lying face up on the living-room floor, and straddling her as if riding a pony was none other than Terry, who was mercilessly tickling her in the armpits. Violently shaking her head from side to side and beating her heels on the floor, Alia started to shout into my head, “Help me, Addy! Help! Help!”

“It’s a long story,” said Cindy, seeing me enter. “But you might want to go rescue your sister first.”

“Oh, I want to hear the story first,” I said to Cindy, chuckling. “Besides, what makes you think I can rescue Alia from Terry?”

“Addy!” Alia squealed into my head while her mouth was busy laughing up a storm.

“Hi, Adrian,” Terry said calmly as she started drumming her fingers on Alia’s tummy. “You see, I ran into Ms. Gifford just after her meeting with Mr. Baker, and she invited me over for tea. We had a very enlightening conversation. Then Alia came home, and we got better acquainted. But I just couldn’t believe this kid actually had a voice. She’s always so quiet! I had to hear it for myself.”

It was almost impossible to hear Terry with Alia laughing aloud and telepathically screaming into my head at the same time. I decided that now was as good a time as any to restart Alia’s mouth-speaking lessons, so I said, “You know, Alia, Terry might stop if you ask her nicely with your mouth.”

“Addy, please!”

“Just say ‘stop’, Ali,” I told her. “Say, ‘Stop, please, Terry.’”

“Sop!” Alia shrieked between giggles. “Sop! Pea! Airy!”

“Sop?” asked Terry, still tickling her.

“Sop! Pea! Sop! Airy!”

“That’s close enough, Terry,” I said.

It was a pretty good “Stop, please, Terry” for Alia, and besides, by now it looked like my sister was in some danger of passing out. Terry finally stopped and got off of her, and Alia lay limp on the floor, panting heavily with her eyes closed.

“Well, Ms. Gifford, it was nice seeing you again,” said Terry, shaking Cindy’s hand.

“Are you sure you don’t want to come over for dinner later?” asked Cindy.

“I’m sorry, but maybe another night,” replied Terry. “I don’t know when Uncle Charles will get the green light, but I’m sure it’ll be soon, and I promised I’d help him fix up the truck. It’ll probably take a long time, and I couldn’t come here all greasy.”

“Well, think about my other offer too, okay?” said Cindy.

“I will,” said Terry. “Thank you, Ms. Gifford. I’ll see you all at the party tomorrow.”

“We’ll see you there,” said Cindy.

At the door, Terry nodded curtly to me, and then called back to my sister, “Ali? You still alive?”

Alia didn’t get up, but lifted her head a bit, smiled weakly at Terry and put her right thumb up.

Terry chuckled, shaking her head as she said to me, “She’s way too cute to be your sister, Adrian.”

Giving Alia a little wave, Terry left the penthouse.

As I rounded on Cindy, she quickly put her hands up in defense and said, “Hey, it was a chance meeting, Adrian. It’s not like I went looking for her.”

“So what were you talking about all day?” I asked, already knowing the answer.

“You, of course. Terry wanted to know everything about you.”

“You hypocrite!” I said exasperatedly to Cindy as I helped Alia to her feet. “Whatever happened to, ‘Ask her yourself when you get to know her better’?”

“Well, Terry is your combat instructor,” Cindy said with a shrug. “She wanted to know what kind of person she was training. I think she just wanted to find out how to motivate you.”

“And you told her what?” I asked, narrowing my eyes.

“You name it, she told it,” said Alia, grinning widely.

“Everything?” I asked weakly.

“Well, almost,” said Cindy. “I didn’t tell her that you used to wear a dress. Wait a minute... maybe I did.”

I gaped at her, horrified. “Cindy!”

“Terry was mostly interested in your personality, Adrian. Who you are. And she wanted to know how you fought her grandfather at my house. I also told her pretty much everything that you told me about your time at the research center, and we talked about the rescue mission too. She knew about your rescue, of course, but wasn’t allowed to join the team because of her age. I think she just wanted to know what she had missed.”

“And what’s this offer you made her?” I asked.

“Oh, well, that’s our little secret for the moment,” said Cindy. “If she takes me up on it, you’ll find out.”

I tried for several more minutes to pry Cindy’s little secret from her, but was unsuccessful, so I turned to my sister instead. But whatever Cindy’s offer was, Alia hadn’t heard it either, having arrived home after it was made. I’d just have to ask Terry at the party tomorrow.

As for Terry’s unexpected visit today, I decided that I wasn’t too upset with Cindy for talking behind my back. After all, it did make some sense for a teacher to know about the student. Of course, I would have preferred it if I could have chosen which parts of my past were made known to her, but if Terry had decided to spend half a day talking to Cindy about me, then she was serious about giving me combat training, and wasn’t just using me as a training dummy.

After dinner, I went down to the dojo by myself and lifted some weights, but I still couldn’t be entirely sure if I was training my muscles or my psionics.

Chapter 5: The Greatest Gathering

More than three hundred families. Nearly seven hundred psionics. Over one thousand Guardians. Such was the turnout at the Welcome to New Haven party that began at about 7pm Sunday night. It was, as Mr. Baker had said, the greatest gathering in psionic history, but all I could think of was how I was going to talk to Terry. She already knew every embarrassing detail of my life, which made planning out a friendly conversation next to impossible.

Earlier that day, Cindy took us to a formalwear shop, picking out a frilly white party dress for Alia and a dark suit and dress shoes for me.

“Why do we need to be all fancy tonight?” I asked, irritated at how difficult it was to move about in the two-button jacket and matching dress slacks. Fashion-wise, it beat the girly clothes I usually wore, but the suit was both tedious and too hot to wear on a summer evening.

“Because, Adrian,” said Cindy, looking me over and smiling, “you and Alia are coming with me on stage.”

“Stage?” I asked in surprise.

Cindy nodded. “We’re being introduced. Or rather, I am, and you with me.”

I said, “I’ve noticed you’ve been going to a lot of meetings these last two weeks.”

“There’s a question in there, right?” said Cindy. “We talk about a lot of things.”

“For example?”

“Today’s security, for one.”

I raised my eyebrows questioningly.

Cindy looked worriedly into my eyes, saying, “Adrian, listen close, okay? When we get up on stage, I want you to take your sister and stand away from me.”

“Why?”

“Because if anyone is going to get shot at tonight, it’ll be me or Mr. Baker, but that doesn’t mean the bullets won’t miss.”

I stared at her, wondering for a moment if she was serious, and then asked quietly, “Do you really think there’s going to be an attack?”

“We’re not sure,” said Cindy. “We only got one Angel spy so far, and that’s not enough. There should have been more.”

Cindy would say no more about it, but it was already enough to make me look around apprehensively as we left the sanctuary of New Haven One.

It was just over a mile walk to the party. The gathering was simply too large to be held in NH-1’s subbasement. The Guardians had instead reserved a magnificent party and banquet hall for the occasion. As we approached the three-story L-shaped building, I saw that a large grassy field adjacent to the hall had been lined with marquee tents and lawn tables, and several catering squads were setting up a giant outdoor buffet. Cindy told me that in order for everyone to hear Mr. Baker’s speech, inside the hall would be standing room only.

The Guardians didn’t seem to be making much effort to keep their presence a secret tonight. An event this big was sure to draw attention from the surrounding public. Even if the Slayers, Wolves, Angels and other psionic factions stayed clear of New Haven, the normal people living in the neighborhood were sure to think something was up. Whatever ties Mr. Baker’s Guardians had with the local government and media were about to be put to the test.

Though using psionics in public was strictly forbidden even within New Haven, I wasn’t too surprised to see a pair of fire-breathing street performers who weren’t bothering to put anything in their mouths before blowing flames into the night sky. As I watched the pyroids, another Guardian joined in, creating gusts of wind that made the pyroids’ flames flicker and dance around overhead. He was a windmaster, though probably not even close to Ralph’s level.

“Show-offs,” Cindy said darkly. “We really don’t need their kind here.”

Mr. Baker came striding up to us. “Cindy! I’m glad you’re here. Where is your escort?”

“I asked them to stay clear of us, Travis,” snapped Cindy, gesturing toward the security detail of dark-suited Guardian Knights standing about thirty yards away.

For a moment, the Guardian leader looked flustered by Cindy’s unusually harsh tone, but he quickly recovered and shook his head, saying, “Not on a night like this, Cindy. They’re here to protect you and your family. Please don’t forget that.”

Then he noticed the fire show and said exasperatedly to Cindy, “Oh my! This won’t do! Creating New Haven sounded like our best option until a month ago, but now that it’s becoming a reality, I’m beginning to wonder. So many of us living in close proximity, and now everyone gathered together for this party. It’s insane. I just hope there aren’t any serious injuries tonight.”

“You’d better go stop them,” said Cindy.

“Oh, I will,” said Mr. Baker. “And you will please go inside.”

“I’ll see you backstage, Travis.”

“We’re never doing this again,” said Mr. Baker, grinning weakly before trotting off to reprimand the pyroids and windmaster.

I found it a little funny that the great leader of New Haven was running his own errands. Perhaps the Guardian presence here wasn’t all that strong after all.

Cindy led Alia and me into the building through a back door flanked by two sentries. The banquet hall, though a mile from NH-1, was still inside Cindy’s hiding bubble, so I couldn’t tell if the sentries were destroyers or even psionic at all until I passed right between them. They were both powerful telekinetics, and I wondered if they might even be able to fly like me. Even so, both were armed with pistols holstered at their sides.

A few minutes later, Mr. Baker met us in a dressing room accompanied by his wife, who he introduced to Alia and me. Though we shook hands, in all honesty, I don’t even remember her name, to say nothing of what she looked like. I was too nervous about what was about to take place.

Mr. Baker led us to the left wing of the stage. Peeking around the curtain, I caught a glimpse of the enormous crowd standing in the party hall, restlessly waiting for us. Even with standing room only, the hall was completely packed. I swallowed hard.

A stage bell buzzed loudly. As the crowd became hushed, Mr. Baker walked out onto the stage alone. I couldn’t see him from where I was standing, but a moment later I heard his voice amplified by the giant speakers set throughout the room.

“Ladies and gentlemen, welcome! I am Travis Baker. Many of you I have already met in person, but many more I have yet to shake hands with. You have gathered here from across this country and far beyond, and it is my privilege tonight to welcome you to our new life together.”

I instantly tuned out his voice, looking at Cindy and wondering how she was feeling. What was it like to be seconds away from stepping in front of a potential firing squad? How dangerous was this, really? I couldn’t imagine Cindy allowing Alia to be here tonight if the danger was all that great. But at the same time, I couldn’t help but remember her words to me earlier today: “Stand away from me.” And where was Mr. Baker’s wife? We had left her in the dressing room. Why wasn’t she on stage with the Guardian leader? As Mr. Baker continued to speak to the crowd, I was feeling increasingly uneasy about all of this.

I heard some clapping in between the pauses in Mr. Baker’s speech, and I heard him say, “In these difficult times, we are unified not by control but by freedom, and in freedom we stand stronger than ever before.”

There was only scattered applause. I thought back to how Cindy and Mr. Baker had told me that not everyone believed the Guardians were better off without a master controller. Did these people really prefer being told who to be loyal to?

Mr. Baker was saying something else now, which drew loud laughter from the crowd. I wondered what I had missed, but then he said, “And now, I would like to introduce to you a woman of extraordinary powers. A long-lost Guardian who has returned to us at our greatest need. She is my good friend, and the reason you can’t sense yours. May I introduce the Heart of New Haven, Cynthia Gifford!”

“That’s us,” Cindy whispered tersely. “Remember what I told you. And don’t forget to smile.”

Cindy stepped out onto the stage. I followed, grabbing Alia’s reluctant hand and pulling her along. My sister may have overcome her fear of strangers, but being on stage in front of a thousand people was a knee-wobbling experience for me too.

Cindy walked to the center of the stage and shook Mr. Baker’s hand as the crowd continued to clap. I stopped walking well before catching up with Cindy, firmly holding Alia’s hand and keeping us several yards away from the “Heart of New Haven.” I tried to look around the hall but, half-blinded by the brilliant stage lights, I could barely see anything in detail.

Having finished introducing Cindy, Mr. Baker came over to us, gesturing toward Alia and me as he said, “And this is Cynthia’s beautiful family, Alia and Adrian Gifford!”

No arguments here. I just concentrated on keeping my smile as even more lights were cast upon us. I felt Alia’s grip tighten on mine. I hoped Alia was smiling too, but there was no way to be sure.

Mr. Baker continued, “Alia is one of our precious healers, but she is not a Guardian, and should be treated with the respect we are honor-bound to show our charges.”

“Addy,” I heard Alia say in my head, “you’re crushing my hand.”

I let go of my sister’s hand as Mr. Baker introduced me next, saying, “And Adrian here is our newest Guardian, young but already a very powerful telekinetic. He is too modest to show us his powers on stage, but if I were to kick him off it, I can almost guarantee that he wouldn’t hit the floor.”

I heard more laughter and clapping as I gave a little wave and grinned stupidly into the lights.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” said Mr. Baker, returning to the center of the stage, “fellow Guardians, family and friends, let us make a pledge tonight. Let us pledge to work together to make New Haven worthy of its name. Let us pledge to bring about...”

As Mr. Baker continued to speak, someone tapped me on the shoulder. Turning my head, I saw a catering staff member holding a tray with four wineglasses on it, each containing a reddish-purple liquid.

He handed me two of the glasses and whispered, “It’s just grape juice. For the toast.”

The caterer then swiftly moved over to Cindy and Mr. Baker to hand them the remaining two wineglasses before disappearing off stage. Finally a little used to the stage lights, I could see that the rest of the caterers had almost finished weaving their way through the audience too, and nearly everyone was holding a glass.

So far, no gunshots had been fired. I relaxed a little and passed one of the grape-juice-filled wineglasses to Alia.

I couldn’t see Mr. Baker’s face well from the side, but I could tell from his voice that he was smiling widely as he said, “...because we are now the single greatest collection of lesser gods, freaks, demons and monsters in the entire world!”

The audience cheered and laughed loudly.

“And this gathering is here to stay!”

I felt the air vibrate with cheering voices. Mr. Baker certainly knew how to play his audience. He waited until the crowd had settled down again before holding his wineglass high. “So raise your glasses, brothers and sisters!” he cried. “To New Haven!”

“To New Haven!” the crowd cheered.

But even as it did, I heard Alia say loudly into my head, “Yuck!”

Alia had spat out her grape juice, and I jerked my head toward Mr. Baker and Cindy, who also were looking at their half-drunk glasses in a strange way. I hadn’t drunk mine yet, and my heart skipped a beat as I wondered if our drinks had been poisoned.

“This is disgusting, Addy!” said Alia.

I looked at Alia again, and cautiously touched the tip of my tongue to my drink. As far as I could tell, never having tasted any before, it was red wine. I nearly laughed out loud. Mr. Baker and Cindy had been handed our grape juice!

As we left the stage, Cindy grinned at me, saying, “So, did you enjoy your wine, Adrian?”

“More than Alia did,” I answered, laughing. I actually drained my glass before we left the stage. It burned my throat a bit, but I figured if ever I was going to get a glass of wine at thirteen years old, it was now.

“Aside from the slight mix-up,” said Mr. Baker, chuckling, “I think that went rather well.”

“Mix-ups,” corrected Cindy. “Adrian’s last name is Howell, Travis.”

“It’s okay,” I said, still laughing. “I’ll go by either.”

Mr. Baker said, “They’re going to set up the band here now, so we might as well go join the party. You three will stay together please, and let your bodyguards do their job?”

Leaving Mr. Baker to take care of the band arrangements, we exited from the back door again and made our way toward the outdoor buffet. By now, nearly half of the crowd had already exited the party hall and were lining up at the buffet tables.

We didn’t have to line up, Cindy being tonight’s guest of honor. The catering staff delivered plate loads to our table, and Alia, who and been spitting and complaining about the awful taste left in her mouth, finally got to drink some real grape juice.

Soon, loud music was pouring out from the open doors of the party hall, but it seemed that most of the crowd was still eating outside.

Dinner turned out to be a busy ordeal for us. Various Guardians, most of whom I had never met, came up to our table to introduce themselves to Cindy, and then to Alia and me. We spent more time shaking hands than chewing. But I got to meet Mr. Koontz as well, who I had only passed in the lobby once since arriving in New Haven. He was still a night owl, and we thanked him for his continued assistance in keeping Alia nightmare-free.

We were eventually left to eat in peace, but then Alia asked to go to the bathroom. Cindy took her into the party hall, followed closely by Cindy’s guards. I wasn’t about to tag along to a girls’ room no matter what Mr. Baker said about our security, so I sat guarding the table.

That was when I heard a familiar voice from behind me say, “Hey, aren’t you the kid I saw on stage? Adrian Gifford?”

“Terry!” I exclaimed, standing up from my table.

Terry was wearing a light green party dress that clashed so horribly with her bright red hair that the end effect was, surprisingly, not at all unappealing. In fact, I thought she actually looked quite stunning.

“Wow,” said Terry, looking me over. “You’re actually wearing something normal for a change.”

I gave her an annoyed look, and Terry smiled, saying, “I mean, you look great.”

“You look... uh... pretty good yourself,” I said lamely.

Terry laughed. “You’re horrible, Adrian.”

Terry was holding two glasses of red wine, and she passed one to me as she said, “I was watching from pretty close to the stage. That was wine in your glass, wasn’t it?”

“Yeah,” I said, relieved that we were having a halfway-normal conversation for once.

“Poor Alia!” laughed Terry. “Where is she?”

“She’s with Cindy,” I said. “She’ll be back in a moment.”

Terry touched her wineglass to mine. “To New Haven.”

“New Haven,” I said quietly, and slowly brought the red wine to my lips. I wasn’t entirely sure I wanted another glass of this stuff. One glass, just for the experience of having had it, was plenty, but I decided it would be impolite to refuse. I sipped slowly.

Terry drained half of her glass in one gulp, and then said, “You know, Ms. Gifford told me all about you yesterday.”

“Yes, I heard,” I replied stiffly.

“Does Alia really call you Addy?”

I put my hand to my face as Terry giggled and said, “That is truly adorable, Addy.”

I decided that my safest bet was to change the topic. I asked, “What was the offer Cindy made you yesterday, Terry?”

Terry looked surprised. “You mean Ms. Gifford didn’t tell you?”

“Cindy likes surprises.”

“And you don’t?”

“Not really,” I said.

“Well, tough,” said Terry. “If Ms. Gifford didn’t tell you, I don’t think I will either.”

“Thanks a lot,” I said sarcastically.

“You’re quite welcome,” Terry replied with a smile.

I took another sip of wine as Terry said, “Ms. Gifford told me about your rescue too. About how you refused to leave without Alia...”

I shrugged. “So?”

Terry looked me in the eye, saying evenly, “You’re dangerous, Adrian.”

“Could that possibly be a compliment?” I asked hopefully.

“Not really, no,” said Terry.

“You think I should have left her there to die?”

“Actually,” Terry said carefully, “yes, I do. Don’t get me wrong, Adrian. I thought it was really brave of you. But in the end, you were just lucky.”

I wasn’t about to contest that, so I shrugged again, and Terry said, “Luck will only get you so far before it gets you killed.”

Suddenly I heard Cindy’s voice behind us say, “Terry! Hi!”

Cindy and Alia came up to us, and Cindy looked down at our glasses. “What’s in those?”

Grinning, Terry answered, “Grape juice.”

“Ha!” said Cindy. “Very old grape juice, I suspect. Knowing you, Terry, I should probably be thankful that it isn’t something stronger.”

“Um...” I said, my eyes darting between Cindy and the wineglass in my hand.

Cindy merely shrugged and said, “When have I ever told you that you can’t do something, Adrian? It’s a party. Just pace yourself, okay?”

Oh well, I thought, one more glass won’t kill me.

Even while talking and laughing with Alia, Terry finished the rest of her wine before I was halfway through mine. Suddenly she grabbed my left hand, saying, “Come on, Adrian, dance with me.”

I dropped my glass in surprise. As Terry dragged me toward the party hall, despite the chattering of the crowd and the loud music issuing from the entrance, I could clearly make out the sound of Cindy’s and Alia’s laughter.

“But I don’t know how to dance!” I protested as Terry pulled me through a pair of large double doors and into the party hall.

“Neither do I,” laughed Terry. “Come on, it’ll be fun!”

Perhaps it was because of how much I felt like a fish out of water, but the party hall looked even bigger from this side of the stage. Three massive crystal chandeliers lined the high ceiling, bathing the spacious marble dance floor in a soft, glimmering light. The hall was gradually beginning to refill, but still fairly easy to navigate through. Terry quickly guided me to the center of the floor, right under the largest chandelier.

Fortunately for me, the music coming from the live band on the stage was fast enough that it didn’t make much difference how we moved. Even so, I felt horribly self-conscious every time some Guardian I didn’t know looked at me. Some of them even gave me waves and smiles, making me wish my psionic power could turn me invisible.

I also couldn’t get over how different Terry was outside of the dojo. For starters, she was treating me like a friend as opposed to prey. But I had little time to wonder what Cindy might have told her about me yesterday: I was too busy trying to keep up with Terry’s dancing. For a girl who claimed she didn’t know how to dance, Terry certainly knew how to dance, her every motion in perfect harmony with the pulsing rhythm. I moved as clumsily as I did in the dojo, but for once, Terry didn’t throw one snide remark at me. She seemed to be enjoying herself too much to care.

We gradually danced our way closer to the stage, and I noticed that the band was partly psionic. The lead guitarist, no doubt a telekinetic, was levitating his guitar over his head and playing it without touching the chords. The drummer was a pyroid who sometimes shot off little bursts of fire from his drumsticks. Two of the singers were light-foots, frequently jumping high into the air and all around the stage like an acrobatic circus act. Some of the Guardian dancers around me were showing off their powers too, but I kept my own feet firmly on the floor.

Then something happened that nearly made me swallow my tongue. The band decided to give us a break from all the exercise we were getting, so I found myself facing off with Terry for a slow dance. If I never once landed on her toes, it was because Terry instinctively knew how to avoid my awkward steps.

“Am I making you nervous?” asked Terry, smiling as she pulled me a little closer to her.

“It’s just that I don’t know how to dance,” I told her, though the real reason for my uneasiness was that I had never really danced with a girl before.

“You learn by doing, Adrian. Just like everything else,” said Terry, and then asked, “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Sorry, Terry, it’s just that you’re so different today.”

Terry laughed. “How can you say I’m different? You’ve known me for less than a week. If you like, I’ll knock you down right here.”

“No thanks,” I said, laughing with her. Then I told her, “While you were getting acquainted with Alia yesterday, I actually ran five miles. Without using my power.”

“You did?”

“Yeah... in bits.”

Terry smiled. “Well, that’s a start. I’ll go a little slower on our next jog, okay?”

I said as carefully as I could, “I know you’re supposed to teach me to fight and everything, Terry, and I honestly don’t mind learning from a girl, but I’d really appreciate it if you could go just a little slower in the dojo too.”

Terry smiled again as she said, “I’m sorry I was so rough on you, Adrian. I just expected a little more from someone who beat my grandfather twice. I was kind of hoping you were a natural athlete and that you’d catch on quicker if I pushed you to the limit. But you’re obviously not a natural, so I’ll slow down a bit, okay?”

“Thanks,” I muttered, feeling both grateful and insulted at the same time.

We continued to circle around each other, ever-so-slightly more in step with the music.

“The thing is,” said Terry, “this is my first real job for the Guardians, and I promised Mr. Baker that I’d get you into shape quickly. But I only have a month and a half left to teach you daily, and then I’m going back to school. After that, I might only be able to teach you on weekends.”

“You’re a student?” I asked, surprised.

Terry replied sarcastically, “As unbelievable as it may seem for someone my age, Adrian, yes, I’m actually a student.”

“I thought you were a Guardian Knight.”

Terry shook her head. “I’m still too young to officially join the Knights. You have to be of age for that.”

“What grade are you in?”

“Well, I’ll start tenth grade from this September. Mine’s a combined middle and high school, and Mrs. Gifford told me that if you can learn to balance your power, you might be joining me there.”

“I’ll never learn,” I said heavily.

“Maybe you’re just learning it wrong,” suggested Terry.

“I’m meditating with Cindy almost every day.”

“Well, maybe meditation isn’t your thing. There are other ways to balance psionic powers.”

“How would you know?” I asked. “You’re not even psionic.”

“Trust me, Adrian. I’ve lived with psionics all my life. I do know some things about it.”

The song ended. We made our way to the side of the hall as the band announced that it was going to take a short break.

“I was wondering,” I said as casually as I could, “if you might tell me a bit about your life.”

Terry sighed softly. “I don’t like talking about myself very much, Adrian. I’m not my favorite subject.”

“But I don’t know anything about you, Terry.”

“So?”

“So Cindy told you everything about me,” I said, trying not to make it sound like a whine.

“So what?” Terry asked again, grinning mischievously.

“So you kind of have me at a disadvantage here,” I pointed out.

Terry shrugged. “I’ve always had you at a disadvantage, Adrian.”

I narrowed my eyes. “Would you like to fly again?”

“I’m kidding!” laughed Terry. “And you’re right, it is a bit unfair. But do you really want to know more about me?”

“Yes,” I said, failing miserably to keep my tone laid back.

Terry sighed again and said, “Alright, Adrian, I’ll tell you the sad story of my life. But don’t expect me to get all misty-eyed like Ms. Gifford does when she’s talking about you and Alia. And I’m no good at telling stories, so you’ll have to ask me questions.”

“I have lots of questions,” I informed her.

“Tell you what, I promise to answer all of your questions as fully and as truthfully as I want, just as soon as we get another drink.”

“Okay,” I said slowly, unsure if I had heard her right.

“But in return,” said Terry, poking me in the chest, “I want the truth about you too.”

“What truth?” I asked. “Cindy told you everything there is to know, and she rarely lies.”

Terry shook her head. “There’s just one thing I’m dying to know which I didn’t ask Ms. Gifford because I figured she probably didn’t know either. But I’m not going to ask you until you promise.”

“Okay,” I said lightly, thinking that if Terry already knew that I once wore a dress to a shopping mall, there was little more she could possibly ask that I’d desperately want to hide.

“Promise?”

“I promise,” I said. “So what do you want to know?”

“No, you go first, Adrian. And we’ll also need a drink.”

We exited the hall. The air outside felt almost cool and quite refreshing. The catering staff was still passing around wine glasses, but we decided to fetch our own from the buffet table. In addition to filling our glasses, Terry swiped a bottle so that we wouldn’t have to come back for more. As we were looking for a table, Cindy found us and, politely ignoring the bottle in Terry’s hand, told me that she was taking Alia and returning to our penthouse.

“Please don’t stay out too late, Adrian,” said Cindy. “Remember, you have school tomorrow.” Giving me a wink, she led Alia away. My sister was singing “Addy has a girlfriend” into my head, and I was pleased to see them go.

After a few more minutes of searching for an open table, we gave up and sat on the damp grass. So much for the expensive clothes.

“Okay, Adrian,” said Terry, sipping her wine, “question number one, please.”

Wanting to start with something harmless, I asked, “Is Terry your real name?”

Terry laughed. “Actually, it’s Teresa. But if you call me that,” she said, pointing her right index finger menacingly at my nose, “I will make your life very painful.”

“Teresa?” I mouthed.

“I’m warning you, Adrian!”

“Okay, okay. Question number two,” I said hastily. “Who’s Uncle Charles?”

“I live with him,” said Terry. “He’s not my real uncle. I had three not-real-uncles that I called uncles when I was growing up. They’re from my grandfather’s old Wolf pack. I lived with each in turn. But Uncle Charles is the only one still alive.”

“And they taught you how to fight?”

“Mainly. They taught me most of the CQC stuff anyway. I also attended more dojos than I can count. I did karate, kung fu, judo, kendo, kenpo, aikido, jujutsu, bojutsu, jojutsu, and even some ninjutsu, which was kind of stupid.”

“Everything but sumo, huh?” I grinned.

“Very funny, Adrian,” Terry said dryly. “But I never really mastered any of the dojo stuff. We kept moving around, so I went from master to master, sometimes three dojos a year.”

“Well, you certainly mastered something.”

“What I do is a combination of various fighting styles. That’s what military CQC is, after all. Mine comes with a bit of a twist here and there.”

“Those twists are very painful, by the way,” I said unhappily.

“Pain is a part of training,” replied Terry. “You’ll get used to it, I promise.”

According to Mr. Baker, not even all Guardian Knights learned combat. Yet here was Terry, not a Knight, not even psionic, who had spent her whole life learning to fight. Aside from simply being raised by ex-Wolves, I couldn’t help but wonder what had led her onto this dangerous path of life.

I asked her, “What was it like growing up with the Guardians?”

“It wasn’t all terrible, Adrian,” said Terry, correctly reading the tone of my voice. “We had some good times. I learned to drive when I was nine, and fly airplanes too. But moving around means saying goodbye to a lot of friends in school, and that was never fun. I was really happy when the New Haven Project came up because I could settle down here and have a real life for a change.”

“How long have you lived here?”

“Since last summer,” said Terry. Then she laughed as she added, “For staying in one place, that’s a new record for me.”

I laughed with her. I had lived all my life in one little town until last summer. These days, I knew a bit more about what it was like to move around on short notice, but still I found it hard to imagine what Terry’s life must have been like before she came to New Haven.

“Did you ever fight the Angels?” I asked.

“Not personally. Not yet, anyway,” Terry replied with a hint of bitterness in her tone. “Still, living in a Guardian community means there’s always the danger of an attack, or of someone you know going off on a mission and not coming back. I was born after Granados was killed. I don’t really know how the Guardians were during her rule, but the Angels have been pounding us harder and harder these last ten years. Next question.”

I couldn’t think of a good next question quickly, so I settled for, “Do you have any brothers or sisters?”

Terry paused for a moment, sipping her wine before answering slowly, “I had an older brother. Had, Adrian. Just like my parents.”

“I’m sorry,” I said quietly.

“It’s okay.”

“I don’t mean to pry, Terry, but what happened to your parents?”

“That’s called prying, Adrian, but okay. A month after I was born, they were killed during a mission against an Angel stronghold. It was led by my grandfather, and he got them killed.”

“Is that why you stay clear of Ralph?”

“He stays clear of me, Adrian.”

“Tell me about him, Terry.”

“What’s to tell?” Terry said in an annoyed tone. “You’ve met him. You’ve fought him. He’s just a crazy old man.”

I looked evenly at Terry for a moment, and she sighed loudly, saying, “My grandfather was captain of Diana Granados’s personal guard. When she was killed, he avenged her and became the new leader of the Guardians.”

Ralph had avenged Queen Diana Granados? That would mean Ralph was the one who caught and killed Cindy’s husband, Eric. Back in January, Cindy obviously hadn’t told me the whole story of her time with the Guardians.

Terry continued, “My grandfather was no master controller though. He couldn’t keep everyone together. Soon enough, the Guardians were all breaking into smaller and smaller groups.”

“Cindy told me about that,” I said. “But she also said that Ralph stepped down after a mission he was leading failed. Was that the same one where–”

“Yes,” Terry cut across me sharply.

We finished our glasses. Refilling them, Terry said in a subdued tone, “It was a big and important battle. The Angels’ queen was there, and the Guardians were trying to kill her.”

“You mean Larissa Divine?” I asked. Cindy had once told me the Angel queen’s name. Knowing that my first sister, Cat, had been converted by this master controller, I had burned her name into my memory.

Terry nodded. “It was our one chance to end Queen Divine’s rule. But everything went wrong, and my grandfather was one of only two survivors. The other was Mr. Baker, who took command of the faction soon afterwards.”

“And Ralph dumped you and your brother with his Wolf pack, huh?”

“Mr. Baker used to tell me what a wonderful man my grandfather had once been, but I never saw it. Several years after my parents were killed, Mr. Baker, along with the leaders of other large Guardian groups, tried to negotiate a truce with the Angels. The Angels refused, of course, but my grandfather never forgave Mr. Baker for trying. He agreed with the Angels. Peace, he said, was for the weak.”

That certainly sounded like the Ralph Henderson I knew. Terry refilled my glass again as she said, “It was actually really strange seeing him join and lead your rescue team, Adrian. I have no idea how Mr. Baker managed to convince him to do that, because my grandfather is no team player. He always works alone, and he keeps taking really dangerous missions. Sometimes I think he’s trying to get himself killed.”

“I don’t doubt it,” I said, feeling the wine kicking in. “But tell me about your brother.”

Terry gave me a wry smile. “More prying.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. I promised to answer your questions.”

Terry sipped her wine for a moment before saying, “My brother was the only real family I had, Adrian. He was seven years older than me, so he’d be twenty-two if he was alive today.”

“What was he like?”

“Well, he knew more patience than I’ll ever have,” said Terry. “It wasn’t always easy growing up between three uncles who weren’t really uncles, moving from city to city, and knowing that someday we’d be fighting in this war. My brother didn’t exactly help me in many ways, but he was always there. You’d think siblings would fight more, but maybe because our ages were so far apart...” Terry’s voice trailed off.

I looked at her uncomfortably. Terry had promised no misty eyes, but I did catch a hint of a quiver in her voice as she continued, “My brother died two years ago, Adrian. The Angels attacked our town, and he was kidnapped by them along with two others. He wasn’t psionic yet, but he was really good at blocking control. Do you know what happens to people who are taken by the Angels?”

“They’re converted, right?”

“Not if they are as good as my brother at blocking,” Terry answered grimly. “It would have taken forever to convert him, and the Angels weren’t going to bother too much with someone who wasn’t even psionic. They probably didn’t even know whether or not he was from a psionic family. He wouldn’t have told them.”

“So they killed him?”

Terry nodded. “They sent us a picture of his execution along with his right arm in a box.”

I stared at Terry, horrified.

Terry said in a quiet voice, “All we could bury was his arm.”

“What was his name?”

“Gabriel.”

“I’ll remember that,” I said, finishing my glass.

“Thanks,” said Terry.

I realized we had nearly finished the bottle. We were still sitting on the ground, but the whole world seemed to be swaying a little as Terry asked, “So, Adrian, are we even now?”

“I don’t know,” I answered. “I mean, Cindy told you things about me that I would never have told anyone in a million years.”

Terry shrugged. “And I just told you a bunch of things that I would have kept secret too. So are we even?”

“Okay, Terry,” I said, nodding, “we’re even.”

“Good. Now I can ask you my question.”

“Go ahead.”

“Who is Alia?”

“What?” I asked, wondering if I had misheard her. “You met her, Terry. If you want to know more, you’d better ask Cindy.”

Terry shook her head. “I want to ask you. And you promised to answer.”

“Well... Alia is a healer and a telepathic,” I said, uncertain what Terry wanted. “She hates speaking with her mouth because she’s so horrible at it.”

“No, Adrian,” Terry said emphatically, “that’s not what I’m asking. Who is she?”

“I don’t understand, Terry. What’s your interest in Alia anyway?”

“I’m not interested in Alia,” replied Terry. “I just want to know what kind of person you’re willing to die for.”

Chuckling, I said, “It wasn’t like that at all, Terry. Whatever Cindy told you, she wasn’t there. She doesn’t really understand.”

“But it’s true that you refused to leave that kid to die.”

“Well, yeah, that part’s true,” I said somewhat uncomfortably.

“And you knew that you were going to die with her. You knew you couldn’t save her, but you stayed behind anyway.”

I scratched the back of my head. “You make it sound like there was a choice involved.”

Terry raised her eyebrows. “There wasn’t?”

“No, there wasn’t, Terry. I didn’t choose to do what I did.”

Terry shook her head. “There’s always a choice, Adrian.”

“I’m not sure I really believe in choices anymore, Terry.”

Terry gave me an incredulous look. “You don’t believe in choices? That doesn’t even make sense.”

I stared down at the ground. “Well, I didn’t choose to become psionic. I didn’t choose to have my parents murdered. And I certainly didn’t choose to die with Alia in that cave. Maybe we can choose what we eat for lunch, but we can’t choose anything really important. You should know that at least as well as I do.”

Terry replied patiently, “I know there are plenty of things that happen no matter what we choose, Adrian, but I believe in choices. Even if they’re not the ones we want, there’s always a choice. I believe we are what we choose, and I think you chose to stay behind.”

I remained silent, unsure how to respond. I watched Terry pour the bottle’s last drops into her own glass.

Terry smiled at me and said, “But you still haven’t answered my question, Adrian. Who is Alia to you?”

I pondered that for a moment before answering carefully, “Alia is my sister. My other sister, maybe, but still my sister. She’s just like your brother, Terry. Like Gabriel. She’s someone who is always there. She taught me how to block your grandfather’s peacemaking. She saved my life more times than I saved hers. I don’t know if I would make the same, um... ‘choice,’ if I had to go through it again, but if you’re asking who I’m willing to die for, then the answer is simple. I’d die for family.”

“Fair enough,” said Terry, standing up. “Here, let’s get another bottle.”

“I think I’m pretty drunk already, Terry,” I said, struggling to my unsteady feet.

“Oh, come on. Just one more.”

As we zigzagged our way back toward the buffet table, Terry said, “Can I ask you one more question?”

“Sure,” I said. The world was beginning to spin a bit too fast for comfort now.

“Did you really wear a dress to disguise yourself last year?”

“A blue frilly one,” I laughed, almost falling over. Terry caught me by the arm and set me back onto the ground.

“You stay here,” she said. “I’ll be right back.”

Terry returned with another bottle of wine. We sat together for a while longer, but I have very little memory of what we talked about, and no idea how I ever managed to return to the penthouse later that night.

Chapter 6: Opening Doors

“Quit shouting, Alia, or I might have to kill you.”

“I’m not shouting,” said Alia, tugging on my arm. “Cindy says wake up already.”

I slowly got up off our bedroom floor, stumbled into the living room, and promptly fell facedown on the longest couch. As I rolled over onto my back, the early morning sunlight streaming in through the windows burned into my retinas right through my closed eyelids. Every time I heard Alia’s voice in my head calling me into the dining room for breakfast, it felt like my head would explode.

I heard Cindy’s footsteps and turned my head toward her.

“I’m really sick, Cindy,” I moaned.

“It’s called a hangover, Adrian,” said Cindy. “I told you to pace yourself.”

“Will I die?”

“Unfortunately, no,” said Cindy, laughing.

“That’s too bad,” I mumbled. “Where’s Alia?”

“She can’t help you, Adrian. Not for this,” said Cindy as she handed me a glass of milk. “Come on, get up. Your tutor will arrive in an hour.”

“Oh... yeah...” I said, forcing myself to sit up on the couch and sip the milk.

Cindy smiled. “So, how was your date?”

I nearly choked. “Date?”

“Well, you danced. You drank, obviously way too much. You talked too, I hope. Isn’t that a date?” asked Cindy.

Shock was no cure for a hangover. It just made things worse. Yes, we danced. And drank. And we talked. And... kissed?! No, I was pretty sure we hadn’t. Not certain, though. Nothing was certain about last night.

“What happened to your arm?” asked Cindy.

Looking down, I saw a dark purple bruise on my right forearm. Alia had healed all of my dojo-acquired injuries before going to bed last Friday, so I didn’t know how I had gotten this bruise.

“I must have fallen down last night,” I said. “I don’t really remember.”

Nor did I care. My head was throbbing far worse than my arm. Leaving the milk half-finished, I lay sideways on the sofa, pressing my palms onto my forehead and trying unsuccessfully to stop my brain from beating like a drum.

The phone rang, jarring my senses, but Cindy picked it up quickly. I didn’t pay much attention to her, or anything for that matter, but then Cindy said to me, “Adrian? You’re tutor is... um, not coming today. He’s sick.”

“There is a God,” I decided, and stumbled back to my room, collapsing onto my bed.

I woke a little after 1pm, hovering near the ceiling.

Child psionics were known to accidentally use their powers in their sleep. My sleep-hovering was essentially no different from how Alia telepathically mumbled in her sleep, but in my case, being a flight-capable telekinetic meant I risked bumps and bruises whenever I drifted out of my bed. I knew I would grow out of it someday, but meanwhile I could never figure out how to keep from falling out of the air the moment I opened my eyes. Fortunately, this time I landed on some of Alia’s stuffed animals strewn across the floor, so I wasn’t badly hurt.

Standing up, I realized that, while my world was still a bit hazy, I could at least walk straight. I found my sister flipping through a picture book by herself in the living room.

“Where’s Cindy?” I asked.

Alia looked up from her book. “At a meeting, like always. Are you okay?”

“I’m better. Did you heal my arm?” I asked, wondering if perhaps I had merely imagined the bruise on my right forearm.

“I took care of it while you were sleeping,” said Alia.

“Thanks. Could you take a look at my head too?” I asked, feeling a mean little bump on the back of my head, just above my neck. I hadn’t noticed it until my hangover receded, but now it was the only part of my body that was still throbbing in pain.

I knelt down so Alia could take a look, and she exclaimed, “Oh, that looks nasty! Where’d you get it?”

“I don’t remember. Just take care of it, would you?”

“Okay, okay,” she said, and I breathed a sigh of content as I felt the bump slowly shrink back into my head.

“How was your tutor?” I asked.

“She didn’t come. I don’t know why. Oh, and Terry called. She said your combat training is canceled too.”

“You talked to Terry on the phone?” I asked.

Alia laughed. “Of course not! You think I’d answer a phone? Cindy told me before she left.”

“You have got to learn to speak, Alia,” I told her, but she just shrugged.

Cindy returned to the penthouse as I was finishing my late lunch.

“Oh, good, you’re up,” she said briskly. “We need to talk.”

I looked up at her meekly. “If it’s about last night, Cindy, I swear I’ll never drink again.”

“Well, I seriously doubt that,” Cindy said with a wry smile. Then she asked, “Did you hear that your combat training is canceled today?”

“Alia told me,” I said. “What’s going on?”

“The subbasement is currently off-limits,” Cindy informed me.

“Why?”

“Do you remember the Angel spy we caught two weeks ago? Well, he escaped.”

I looked at her sharply. “Last night?”

Cindy nodded. “Somehow, the spy got out of his cell, and perhaps used the escape tunnel.”

“What escape tunnel?” I asked.

“There’s an emergency escape tunnel that leads out of the subbasement, but it can only be opened from the inside. Of course, it’s equally probable that the Angel used the elevator, but the real question is how he got out of his cell in the first place. He was constantly drained and couldn’t have opened his cell door without outside help. The only way into the gathering place is down the elevator.”

I asked, “Then one of the Angel spies we haven’t caught yet has an elevator key?”

“It’s very possible,” said Cindy. “There’s a whole team of Knights down there right now searching for clues, but so far they haven’t found anything.”

“Are we still going to be able to use the dojo?” I asked.

“They’ll probably put a permanent guard down there from now on, but yes.”

Cindy paused, and I could tell from her expression that she hadn’t finished with the bad news.

“What is it?” I asked.

She explained, “Your tutor wasn’t sick today, Adrian. Neither was Alia’s. It turns out that yours was approached by some Angels a few days ago. They tried to get him to spy on us, probably to help the Angels get to me. He got away unharmed, but he’s really scared, and when Alia’s tutor heard his story, she decided she didn’t want to risk associating with us either.”

“So you have to find us more tutors?”

“You’re not going to get another tutor, Adrian,” said Cindy. “Under the circumstances, Mr. Baker thinks, and I agree, that for our own safety as much as for everyone else’s, we should limit our contact with the outside world as much as possible.”

I didn’t like the sound of that at all.

“Are we going to be shut up in here?” I asked, remembering my frustration at not being able to leave Cindy’s house last year. The penthouse was a considerable improvement, but I had been looking forward to at least going swimming and cycling on the weekends.

“You’re not trapped here, Adrian,” said Cindy. “We’re all still free to go out. You have to promise me that you’ll be extra careful about talking to strangers, but aside from that, life will go on as usual. But we’re not going to invite people into our home, and I’m not sending you or Alia to a tutor outside until we can be sure that they won’t be in any danger working with you.”

Breathing a sigh of relief, I asked, “So who’s going to teach us?”

“I am, as best I can,” answered Cindy. “I’m not working fulltime anymore, and the Guardians are paying our expenses, so I’ll be able to pay a bit more attention to your schooling than I did last year.”

That wasn’t so bad.

“So saddle up,” said Cindy. “We’re going shopping for textbooks.”

Cindy started tutoring Alia and me the very next morning. Alia was getting a mix of first and second grade, and I still had the rest of my seventh-grade stuff to complete. Cindy was obviously aiming high. By age, Alia would be a third grader from September, and I would be in the eighth grade. But as long as Alia couldn’t speak and I couldn’t balance my power, there was little chance of either of us going to a normal school in less than two months.

Cindy said, “We’ll do what we can and see where we get. Who knows, right?”

“Always the optimist,” I said, laughing.

After giving me reading, writing and math assignments according to the seventh-grade home-study curriculum guide we got with my textbooks, Cindy sat with Alia overseeing her school stuff and mouth-speaking. Alia dutifully worked on her reading and writing, but stubbornly refused to even mumble out loud. Cindy was as bad as I was at getting Alia to open her mouth. Alia simply hated it no matter how much Cindy pleaded.

An hour before noon, Cindy gave Alia a break and checked over my work. I had forgotten quite a lot, and my math was particularly abysmal, but Cindy patiently helped me through it.

The phone rang during lunch and I picked it up. It was Terry, telling me that the dojo was open again and that I should meet her at 3pm in the lobby for our warm-up jog. Fortunately, that was still hours away.

After lunch, Cindy suggested that I meditate for an hour before my combat training. “You still need to learn the difference between your psionic power and your body,” she told me.

“I know that!” I said, not quite as irritated by the reminder as I was at the fact that I had made absolutely no progress ever since I started meditating with Cindy last year.

“Calm yourself, Adrian,” said Cindy as we sat down on the living-room floor together. “It’ll come to you.”

We sat silently as Alia napped on the couch. Breathing slowly with my eyes closed, I tried my best to concentrate on discovering this elusive balance between my power and my body. But in the silence, my mind kept wandering back to Mr. Baker’s speech from the night before last. I still couldn’t get over how so few of his followers seemed enthusiastic about not having a master controller at the head of their faction.

“Can’t concentrate?” I heard Cindy ask. She must have sensed my lack of focus.

Keeping my eyes closed, I said quietly, “Cindy, there’s something I would have asked you, a long time ago, back when you first told me about master controllers...”

“You mean when we were on our way out to Mark’s place?”

“Yeah,” I said. “I would have asked you, but I guess I was a little afraid to know.”

“To know what, Adrian?”

I opened my eyes and found that Cindy was looking at me curiously. “About being converted,” I said uneasily. “What does it really feel like?”

“Oh,” said Cindy, “well, it’s not a feeling so much as an impulse.”

“What’s the difference?”

“You can learn to control your feelings, Adrian. Impulse is like breathing. You can’t simply choose not to.”

“Still, it’s got to feel like something,” I insisted.

“It’s like... Well, I don’t want you to get the wrong idea...” Cindy paused for a moment as if groping around for the right words. Then she said slowly, “It’s kind of like being in love, Adrian. It’s euphoric. It makes you want to do anything for your master. Betrayal is pure agony, especially if your conversion is still fresh. You just can’t do it. Betraying your master can break your heart and destroy your mind. But as long as you put your master first, all your other worries become trivial in comparison.”

“That sounds more like a drug than love,” I decided.

“Why?” Cindy asked innocently. “Have you ever taken drugs?”

“Of course not!” I replied, appalled. “You know how I feel about drugs!”

“Even legal ones,” laughed Cindy. Then she patted my head lightly, saying, “You’re a very good boy, Addy.”

I gave her an exasperated look.

“I suppose conversion is a little like a drug,” admitted Cindy. “But there’s no denying that serving a psionic master gives true meaning to a convert’s life.”

So that was why the Guardians were divided on the issue, and why so many still wanted to serve a queen. I pitied them. I couldn’t honestly say that I knew what it felt like to be addicted to drugs or conversion, but I was absolutely certain that even if our lives were a little less meaningful, it was still much better to be free.

“Do you miss it, Cindy?” I asked hesitantly. “Do you miss being a convert?”

“No,” she said flatly.

I breathed a silent sigh of relief. “Why not?”

Cindy smiled. “Because my life already has meaning.”

I closed my eyes and focused again on my meditation. It was a little easier this time, but I still hadn’t a clue how to balance my power.

At precisely 3pm, I met Terry in the lobby. I wasn’t going to give her any excuse to scold my punctuality. I still couldn’t keep up with her jogging, but she shortened the distance considerably for me.

“We’ll work our way up, Adrian,” said Terry, smiling as I collapsed onto the sidewalk after “only” two whole miles.

Terry hadn’t mentioned anything from Sunday night, and I certainly wasn’t going to say anything. I wasn’t exactly sure what had happened between us anyway. Had we really kissed?!

After fetching my sister from upstairs, the three of us made our way down to the subbasement together.

Stepping out of the elevator, I noticed that the entrance hall now contained a desk at which sat an armed security guard. He just glanced at us as we passed him. He had no destroyer powers I could sense, but he might have been a controller.

As we descended the steps to the dojo, Terry muttered irritably, “Guarding an empty barn.” Then she turned to me and asked, “Did you hear about the escape?”

“Yeah,” I said. “Did they find any clues?”

“Nothing,” said Terry. “They’re pretty sure someone let him out of his cell and then they got out through the secret escape tunnel. Stupidly enough, the entrance to the escape tunnel is actually inside one of the holding cells.”

Out of sheer curiosity, I asked, “Can I see the jail cell later?”

Terry shook her head. “We’re not here to solve a mystery, Adrian. Leave that to the Knights. Come on, let’s begin.”

We squared off on the mat, and Terry did keep her promise to slow down, but only a little. Still disappointed that I wasn’t a “natural athlete,” Terry continued to push my limits, but at least she was treating me like the novice that I was. There was a lot more repetition of basic moves. Punches, jabs and kicks. And more weight training. Terry knew that I couldn’t help telekinetically cheating from time to time when things got tough, but she didn’t comment.

Getting bored sitting by herself, Alia occasionally joined us on the mat. Terry even humored her by showing her a few simple moves. Ever since being tickled half to death by Terry, Alia had taken a cautious liking to her. While my sister didn’t crawl all over Terry like she did with Cindy and me, she accepted Terry as a good friend and someone who was at least as trustworthy as Mark Parnell. Alia’s presence in the dojo made the atmosphere a little easier for me, too.

By the end of the session, I decided that Terry wasn’t a half-bad instructor.

The rest of the week passed much like that Tuesday, with Cindy’s summer school in the mornings and Terry’s CQC in the afternoons. (I secretly hoped that Terry would be late for one of our sessions so I could make her eat her words about punctuality, but no such luck.) Depending on the day, a few Guardian Knights could be seen in the dojo working out on the machines or practicing combat moves. They usually ignored us, which was fine by me. Once, I even saw a member of the team that rescued me from the research center. Terry knew him as well, so we talked for a while and Terry agreed to show me how “real CQC” was done, squaring off with the burly man. Terry beat the seasoned Knight in straight matches, and I no longer felt any embarrassment losing to her. When the weekend came, Cindy made good on her promise that we weren’t restricted to the penthouse.

Alia and I took our bikes to the park Saturday morning, where Alia finally managed to pedal a few yards at a time without falling over. Now that she was good enough to practice without me hanging onto the back of her bicycle, I left her to it and cycled through the park at my own pace, occasionally using my telekinesis to push me along the asphalt cycling path. Technically, I wasn’t supposed to let Alia out of my sight, but in an open space like this park, she could telepathically call to me anytime. Besides, the park was well inside Guardian protection so I wasn’t too worried.

Zipping around a tight curve, I saw a stray Frisbee drift by. Without thinking, I used my telekinesis on it to guide it toward me, catching it in my right hand as I brought my bicycle to a stop. Four boys about my age came running up from beyond some bushes. I recognized two of them as kids of psionic families living in the same building as me, and assumed that the other two were from Guardian families as well.

“Great catch!” said one of the boys as I handed the Frisbee back to him. He didn’t seem to know that I was psionic, which wasn’t too surprising since few people gained their powers before they were adults.

“Hey, you want to play with us?” asked another boy.

“Sure!” I said, getting off my bicycle.

“Great, because James here really can’t catch,” laughed the boy.

The one called James scowled at him and then asked me, “So what’s your name?”

“I’m Adrian,” I answered, extending my right arm out, but he didn’t shake it.

“Adrian? You mean...” James looked at the other boys, and one of them nodded, muttering something that I couldn’t quite catch.

“Mean what?” I asked, puzzled by the sudden change in their attitudes.

“Adrian Gifford, right? You live at the top of New Haven One. I saw you on stage with that Mr. Baker guy.”

“Yeah...” I said. “So?”

“Sorry, man,” said James. “I’m not allowed to talk to you.”

“Me neither,” said another, taking a step back.

“Why not?” I demanded, trying not to be angry.

James looked at me uncomfortably. “Well, my parents told me not to. They said it’s dangerous to be around you.”

“Oh, right,” I said, remembering what had happened to our tutors.

“We’re sorry. Really,” said another boy, and he sounded like he meant it, but I didn’t care. These boys had nothing to be sorry for.

“It’s okay,” I said, shrugging as I got back on my bicycle. “I have to be getting back anyway.”

I found my sister still riding around in circles on the grass and, ignoring her protests, I took her home early.

Over lunch, I told Cindy what happened.

“I’m sorry, Adrian,” said Cindy, gently squeezing my shoulders from behind.

“Yeah,” I said quietly, staring down at my plate. “Everyone’s always sorry.”

“This is my fault.”

“It’s not your fault, Cindy!” I said angrily. “You’re the one protecting this city. How could they treat us like some kind of disease!?”

Cindy replied in her all-too-familiar calm, “You can’t blame parents for wanting their children to be safe.”

After we ate, I took Alia to the pool, where, now that I was tuned into it, I noticed that there was almost always at least one person in the crowd looking at us, pointing or whispering. Some of the swimmers even left the pool soon after they saw us.

I ignored them all, concentrating on improving Alia’s swimming. I had no desire to beg for anyone’s friendship, but there was no way I was going to stay clear of public places just so that gutless, ungrateful Guardians could feel nice and safe. I knew there were non-Guardians mixed into the crowd too, which meant that the pool wouldn’t become totally empty just because Alia and I arrived, but I had a feeling the pool management would see some loss of profit this summer.

When I returned with Alia to the penthouse that evening, the first thing I noticed was that our living room had been invaded by a squadron of spare furniture. A desk, a low table, chairs, a dresser and a cabinet were blocking most of the walking space between the entrance and the rooms beyond.

“Oh, thank goodness you’re home, Adrian,” said Cindy. “Those deliverymen are so unhelpful. They just left all this right here. Help me move this stuff to the guestroom.”

“Why,” I asked, carefully levitating the wooden desk through the door to the guestroom, “are we even bothering to complete this room if we’re supposed to limit our contact with the outside world?”

“Well, you never know,” Cindy said with a little shrug.

I was pretty sure Cindy was hiding something, but by the time we finished setting up the guestroom and sat down for dinner, I was too exhausted to care.

I must have cared about something though, because I had a half-dream, half-nightmare that night. I could barely recall it in the morning, but I felt sure it was about those boys I met in the park. One of them had said, “He’s the Gifford boy.” I did my best not to act too grumpy about it during Sunday’s breakfast, but I’m sure Cindy noticed anyway.

Monday came all too soon, and we were back to home summer school. But when I made my way down to the dojo with Terry and Alia that afternoon, I was in for yet another unpleasant surprise.

“What is this?” I asked as I looked down at the gym mats. Terry had apparently come down here before our jog to make a big circle on the mat using white tape. It looked like...

“A sumo ring?” I asked in amusement, wondering for a split second if it really was one.

Terry laughed. “I don’t do sumo. This is for your power balance training. I can’t train you to fight well if you can’t help relying on your psionics. So, from today, we’re going to train your balance too.”

I fixed her with a dubious stare. “And this circle is going to help me learn to balance my power?”

“It might,” said Terry. “Meditation isn’t getting you anywhere, is it?”

“Cindy keeps telling me to have faith.”

“Well, Ms. Gifford may know more than me about psionics, but she doesn’t really understand you, Adrian.”

“And you think you do?” I asked, my skepticism rising a notch higher.

Terry nodded. “I understand you well enough to know that you’ll never learn balance through meditation.”

“How’s that?”

“You’re not like Ms. Gifford, Adrian,” said Terry. “You’re a fighter.”

I shook my head. “I thought we already agreed that I’m no fighter.”

“No, I just said you’re not a natural athlete.”

“But I don’t even like fighting, Terry,” I said firmly. “In fact, I hate it. You’ve been training me for more than a week so you should already know that by now.”

“I never accused you of liking to fight, Adrian,” said Terry. “But that doesn’t change what you are.”

I thought about that for a moment, but it made no sense.

Terry continued, “Meditation might be the closest road to power balance for someone like Ms. Gifford, or even Alia. But with you, we’re going to need a different approach.”

“Okay... so what’s this different approach?” I asked.

In reply, Terry reached into her shoulder bag, pulled out something small and white, and tossed it to me. Catching the plastic object in my right hand, I instantly recognized it as a military-issue psionic control band.

Control bands were thick, plastic bracelets that snapped onto your wrists and could be used to drain your psionic power by pressing metal rods up against your skin. They doubled as torture devices, capable of sending jarring jolts of electricity through your body. I knew this from firsthand experience, and, never having expected to see one of these horrible bracelets again, I nearly dropped it in surprise. I guessed Terry must have gotten it from her Uncle Charles.

“What, exactly, am I supposed to do with this?” I asked, gingerly holding the control band at arm’s length.

“Put it on, of course,” said Terry, suppressing a smile. “Considering your abysmal power balance, I figured it was high time to try a little shock treatment.”

I shot her an angry look. “That is not funny, Terry!”

“Not literally, of course,” laughed Terry. “Go ahead and put it on and I’ll show you.”

“No way!” I shouted, shaking my head.

“Oh, come on,” Terry said in an overly sweet and innocent tone, “don’t you trust me?”

“No,” I said dryly.

Terry dropped the sweet tone in favor of her usual blunt manner. “Don’t make me force you, Adrian. And don’t worry. Not only do you need bands on both wrists for the incapacitate feature, but that band isn’t charged enough to do more than extend its rods. Hurry up and put it on so I can explain what we’re going to do.”

“Oh, I’m going to regret this,” I muttered, but I obediently snapped the bracelet onto my left wrist. Having been designed for adults, the control band was a little loose on me, but still tight enough not to slip off.

“I’ve fixed that band so only one of the rods comes out,” said Terry as she pulled the control band’s little white remote control out of her pocket and pressed a few buttons. An instant later, I felt dizzy as the metal rod extended, draining both my psionic power as well as much of my physical strength.

“By shock treatment,” explained Terry, “I mean that we are going to force you to stop relying on your power. One rod shouldn’t drain you so much that you can’t walk, right?”

“Yeah,” I said, though I was already swaying a bit.

“Good. Because if you want to take that bracelet off, you’ll have to get this remote.”

I gaped at her, finally realizing the setup.

“Terry, I can’t keep up with you even when I’m not drained,” I said exasperatedly. “How am I supposed to catch you like this?”

“Not me, Adrian. That would be much too unfair for you,” said Terry, tossing the remote control to Alia. “Catch her.”

Terry then said to my sister, “Alia, you have to stay inside the circle. If Adrian can catch you, the circle gets bigger. Ready?”

Alia nodded and stood in the center of the taped circle.

As soon as I stepped into the circle, I lunged forward to grab the remote. But my hands grasped air as Alia took a quick step back, and I fell flat on my face. I stood and tried again, knowing that the longer this took, the weaker I would get. Being squared off with my eight-year-old sister wasn’t nearly as embarrassing as the fact that I couldn’t even touch her. Alia kept well ahead of me.

“Come on, Adrian! You can do better than that,” taunted Terry, watching from the side.

“Yeah, Addy, you can do better!” Alia laughed, deliberately coming closer.

I gave her a furious look and tried to grab her long hair, but soon found myself facedown on the mat again. I managed to stand up for only a second before I dropped back onto my knees. Breathing heavily from overexertion, I said, “Alia, just come here. Please.”

I heard Terry sigh and say, “Okay, I guess your sister wins round one. Push the R button, Alia.”

The metal rod retracted back into the bracelet.

Painfully getting to my feet, I said, “Terry, this isn’t working.”

Terry raised her eyebrows. “Isn’t working? Why not?”

“I can’t catch her.”

“Not yet, you can’t. But you will. Take a break, and we’ll go again in a minute.”

We went another five rounds, and Alia won them all. When my sister finally pushed the button that snapped the control band off of my wrist, I could barely move. I felt as if I had run ten miles without stopping.

“I can teach you the combat moves, Adrian,” said Terry, pulling me to my feet, “but your bodybuilding isn’t going anywhere fast until you can keep your psionics from butting in. I’m still going to teach you CQC, but tag with Alia is going to be a regular part of the program from now on.”

“That was fun!” said Alia, all smiles as she handed the remote control back to Terry.

“Fun for you, maybe,” I muttered crossly, realizing that I still had Terry’s CQC lesson before me.

Later that evening, as I was taking my bath and wondering if I would survive another of Terry and Alia’s training sessions, I couldn’t help noticing how much longer it was taking for the pain in my muscles to recede. I wondered if this was what it meant to separate my psionic power from my body, or if I was just more worn out than usual from Terry’s CQC training.

Terry was nonnegotiable, so for the rest of the week and onwards, my CQC sessions started with drained bouts against Alia.

“But this is going nowhere, Terry,” I said on the last day of July. The circle hadn’t grown, and never leaving it, Alia easily avoided my clumsy hands as I tottered around after her. Having learned a few tricks from Terry, my sister had even managed to knock me off my feet once.

Giving up the chase, I sat down on the mat and said heavily to Terry, “The only difference between this method and meditation is that I don’t end up black and blue after sitting for two hours with Cindy.”

“Have faith, Adrian,” replied Terry. “Sometimes you can’t see how close you are to achieving something simply because you’re too close to it.”

I let out a loud huff. “Please stop talking like a fortune cookie, Terry.”

“Stay with me on this,” said Terry, taking the remote control back from Alia. “Think about it. The pain you experience here is real. Alia tells me you sometimes still feel stiff in the mornings. There’s a reason for that. Your body is starting to relearn how to take care of itself. It’s not relying on your powers as much as it used to.”

Terry pushed the button to retract the control rod. As my strength returned, I carefully stood up, and Terry continued, “It’s not like you don’t have muscles, Adrian. If you didn’t, you wouldn’t be able to stand even with your psionic power. Well, actually, since you’re telekinetic, maybe you could, but that’s not the point. The first stage of lacking power balance is like lacking willpower. You need to learn how to will your muscles to move without having your psionic power help you motivate them. If you don’t learn this, eventually your muscles will deteriorate, as will your organs. And if that happens, you will eventually die.”

“I know,” I said irritably. “Cindy told me last year.”

Terry pressed the button to extend the control rod again. “This is where your power ends, Adrian,” – I nearly fell down, but she quickly retracted the rod – “and this is where it begins.”

Cindy had said those same words to me back when she first started teaching me power balance: “You need to learn where your power starts, and where it ends.” Aside from the normal dizziness and nausea that came from being drained, for a brief moment, I did feel something different. I wasn’t sure exactly what that was yet, but it was enough to make me ask Terry and Alia for one more try that day. One try became three, but I still couldn’t take the remote control away from Alia.

But it was true that I was getting slightly closer with each try. And near the end of the next week...

“Gotcha!” I shouted triumphantly as my right hand caught Alia’s left pigtail from behind.

“Ow! Stop it!” Alia yelled into my head as she cried out in pain. I refused to let go, pulling her pigtail up and forcing her to drop the remote control. (And no, I had not planned it this way when I braided my sister’s hair that morning.)

“Bravo!” cried Terry, clapping. “You did it!”

“Maybe I was just lucky,” I said lightly as I picked up the remote control and used it to snap the control band off of my wrist.

“Maybe,” agreed Terry, “but it’s time to make the circle bigger anyway.”

The very next day, the circle got even larger – twice. And at last, I understood why.

The following day was a Saturday, a week into August, and as luck would have it, it was drizzling from early morning. In the afternoon, I sat with Cindy and Alia in our greenhouse for an indoor picnic. Cindy didn’t notice what I was doing until dessert, when she suddenly cried out in surprise, “What are you holding, Adrian?!”

“A spoon,” I answered calmly, smiling at her.

“But that’s not plastic!”

“I know,” I said, scooping up more chocolate ice cream. The truth was that I was quite dizzy, and I wasn’t sure I could even stand up, but I had managed to use real silverware for the entire meal without dropping any of the food.

“You learned it!” said Cindy, beaming at me.

I accidentally plopped my spoonful of ice cream onto my lap.

“I’m still learning,” I laughed embarrassedly.

And I was, but after the initial breakthrough, it was amazing how much easier it was to make progress.

When, long ago, I had asked Cindy exactly what it was about power balance that I was supposed to be looking for, she had answered enigmatically, “It’ll find you.” Now I understood why she couldn’t explain it to me. Learning power balance is like learning to ride a bicycle or learning how to whistle – you can’t properly describe how it works in words. You have to experience it, and once you do, you wonder how it could ever have been so difficult.

For me, it was like learning how to open a door. When you move from one room to another, you open a door and close it behind you without thinking about how you’re doing it. In fact, if you really start to think of each and every hand and finger movement involved in operating a door, you probably wouldn’t be able to open it. It has to be done without conscious thought.

But when you open a door, you often do it in a certain way. Depending on the door, you might open it with your left or right hand, or you might even kick it open. But you probably wouldn’t try to open it by biting the doorknob and pulling it with your teeth. You may never consider pushing it open using just your nose.

Without ever realizing it, I had let my psionic power dictate to me how I opened the door to my own body, and without any thought, I had accepted that this was the one and only correct way to use my muscles. In fact, there had always been many other ways, but they simply didn’t occur to me. And if relearning to use my body without my psionic power was as difficult and awkward as opening a door with my teeth, at least I knew that the door was opening, and I could get through it with practice.

Another week passed, and it was nearly mid-August. Terry had removed the circle from the gym mats entirely and added an extra rod to my control band, but I still managed to catch Alia by the fourth try.

“I’ve got to hand it to you, Terry,” I said as I pushed the button on the remote control to unlock my bracelet, “you do know your psionics stuff.”

Terry smiled. “How does it feel to be free of your power reliance?”

“Honestly,” I said laughingly, “quite horrible.”

As I had suspected, power balance came with the serious drawback of being far less than superhuman. The pain never left my muscles these days as Terry’s CQC training got harder and harder. I was having trouble keeping up with Cindy’s morning tutoring because sometimes my body ached so much that I could barely hold a pencil.

“You’re still better off this way, Adrian,” said Terry.

“I know,” I replied. “But I’m not entirely free of it yet.”

“And you may never be. Very few psionics ever learn to separate their powers completely. In fact, Ms. Gifford is the only one I know who claims she can do it.”

“Still,” I said, “I’m getting there.”

“Definitely getting there,” agreed Terry. “Soon you’ll be doing your CQC training with that control band on.”

“You’re kidding, right?”

Terry laughed. “Anything can happen.”

Later that evening, I showed off my power balance to Cindy again, helping her load the silverware into the dishwasher. I probably should have stuck to loading glass plates. I got too dizzy and dropped one of the knives, nearly stabbing Cindy in the foot with it.

“But if I get better,” I said as I pulled the tip of the knife out of the wooden floor, “do you think I might be able to go back to school from September?”

“You don’t like my tutoring much, do you?” teased Cindy.

“You know it’s not that! And I don’t really miss school itself, either. I just wish I had some friends.”

“I know. And it’s possible,” Cindy said carefully. “But if you really want to start school at the same time as everyone else, you only have half a month left to be ready. You’re still behind on your schooling, but if you work a bit harder, we might get your seventh grade finished in time. Perhaps you could put in a little more time each day, and on the weekends?”

“I’ll do that.”

It was something to look forward to, and Cindy started weekend lessons for me the very next morning, which was a Saturday. But weekends were usually reserved for cycling and swimming, and my sister was as obnoxious as ever about it all morning, so as painful as my muscles had become in recent days, I still took her to the pool after lunch.

Alia had become a regular ocean going vessel. She swam circles around me as I floated on my back, feeling the sun on my face and relaxing my aching limbs in the pool water. Terry, who had joined us at the pool the last two weekends, hadn’t shown up that day, and I wondered where she was.

“Come on, Ali,” I said after a while. “Let’s go home.”

Alia made a face. “Already?”

I had promised Cindy I’d put in a few more hours for my academics in the afternoon, so just before 3pm, I dragged Alia out of the pool.

It was only a four-block walk back to New Haven One, with no turns or anything. It was a trip that we had made so many times that it was as second-nature to us as opening a door, and yet that day...

“Adrian and Alia Gifford?”

Alia and I had been waiting for an intersection light to change when I heard the quiet male voice from behind me. Turning around, I saw a dark-suited man looking at us. He had short, dark gray hair that matched his suit well, and I had the strangest feeling I had seen him before. Was he a member of Cindy’s guard? There was a black sedan stopped on the curb next to him, and in the driver’s seat was another dark suit peering at Alia and me, so I knew instantly that they were partners. I quickly glanced around the street. There were a few people walking along the sidewalks, and cars passing, but this wasn’t a serious commercial area so it was never all too crowded.

“Adrian Gifford?” the man asked again.

“Yes,” I answered carefully as Alia drew herself closer to me.

“We’re under orders from Guardian Command to take you into protective custody,” the man said in a tight, businesslike tone. “There has been an incident at your residence.”

“What’s going on?” I demanded.

“Please just get in the car. We’ll explain everything on the way.”

I heard Alia in my head saying, “Addy, no.”

“I know, Ali,” I whispered. Something didn’t feel right. This man might be a Guardian Knight, but he definitely wasn’t a member of Cindy’s personal guard. I knew their faces. This man was different. Where had I seen him before?

“Please,” the man said again in an ever-so-calm tone, “we don’t have much time.”

“I’m only two blocks from home,” I replied tersely. “Thanks, but I’ll walk.”

“Please,” the man said again. “Get in the car.”

I nodded slowly and started walking toward the sedan as the man opened the rear door for me.

“Addy, no!”

“It’s okay,”
I said quietly to Alia, pulling her along. “These are our friends.”

Alia started crying. “No! No! No!”

I looked up at the man again. His mouth was smiling, but his eyes weren’t. I took a quick step back.

“Peacemaker!” I spat, focusing my anger to block him. “Angel!”

“I insist you both come with us immediately,” the man said in a cold voice. He was no longer smiling, and he opened his jacket a little, revealing a glint of silver: a pistol in a shoulder holster.

I glanced at the driver of the sedan. I couldn’t see his face well because the sunlight was reflecting off the windshield, but I could see that he already had his gun drawn and was pointing it at me. He could shoot me right through the glass.

“Nice try, but no,” I said fiercely to the gray-haired peacemaker, trying hard not to show how scared I was. “You guys are in the wrong neighborhood. There are Guardian Knights patrolling this place all the time. One shout for help and they’ll be all over you.”

In truth, I had no idea how many Knights were within earshot, or even if there were any at all. I couldn’t believe this was happening to us a mere two blocks from home in broad daylight.

“Just one shout,” I repeated warningly.

The gray-haired man said calmly, “One shout, Adrian Gifford, and you’ll be dead before they arrive.”

“If that’s the way you want it,” I replied evenly. My adrenaline had finally kicked in, and I was no longer afraid.

“What now, then, Gifford?” asked the man, looking amused.

“Get in your car and drive away,” I commanded in such a severe tone that I even surprised myself. “Don’t talk. Just go. Go, and I promise to give you a head start.”

I continued staring him in the eyes, and slowly the man nodded with a slight smirk.

“We’ll be seeing you again, Adrian Gifford,” said the man as he got into his car.

As the black sedan sped away, I looked down at my sister. She was no longer crying, but still holding onto me so tightly that she was starting to change color.

“It’s okay,” I said, putting my arms around her. “It’s okay, Ali. It’s over.”

My adrenaline faded, and my knees became so wobbly that I collapsed onto the curb.

“Adrian Howell? Alia?” I heard a man say from behind me.

Turning my head, I instantly recognized the man as one of the Knights that was sometimes down in the dojo with me.

“Is everything okay?” asked the Knight.

All I could get out of my mouth was, “Angels...”

The Knight accompanied Alia and me back to our building. I thanked him and we parted in the lobby. Taking Alia back up to the penthouse, I quickly told Cindy what had happened.

Hugging us both, Cindy said, “I’ll call Mr. Baker. If we’re quick, we might still catch them.”

“No,” I answered.

“What do you mean, ‘no’?!” Cindy asked sharply.

“I promised to give him a head start,” I said matter-of-factly.

“We’re not playing games here, Adrian!”

“Neither am I, Cindy. But the Angel let us go because I promised to let him go.”

Cindy looked long and hard at me, and then smiled warmly. “Okay, Adrian. We’ll call Mr. Baker after dinner.”

“Sounds good.”

However, it turned out that the Guardian Knight who had delivered us had already notified Mr. Baker, and less than a minute later, the phone rang. Cindy answered it and had a heated exchange with Mr. Baker, who clearly was in no mood to play games either. Still, Cindy was adamant, promising Mr. Baker that if he came up now, he would find the door locked and bolted. Then Cindy sat me down in the living room and calmly continued my tutoring.

Alia spoke very little over dinner, but for that matter, I was probably pretty quiet too.

After eating, I spent the rest of the evening in 3901 talking to an irritable Mr. Baker and several of his Knights about the near-abduction. I described the gray-haired man’s face while one of the Knights drew a sketch. I couldn’t describe the driver, but I was quite impressed at how closely the sketch of the peacemaker resembled my memory of him. The sketch artist, in addition to being a part-time Guardian Knight, was also a city policeman.

After I had told my story for the third time straight, Mr. Baker finally said, “Based on your statement, Adrian, theoretically, they could have belonged to any faction. But I must agree that they were most likely Seraphim.”

“Seraphim?” I asked. I somehow knew that seraphim was a religion-related word, but hadn’t a clue what it meant. I wondered if it was the name of another psionic faction.

“Angels, Adrian,” explained Mr. Baker. “Much like our Knights, it is what they call their fighters.”

I looked out the window of Mr. Baker’s condo, wondering if I really had done the right thing by honoring my promise to the peacemaker.

Mr. Baker said, “It appears we’ll need to assign you and Alia a security detail like Cindy’s.”

I didn’t like the sound of that, but I was still too shaken by what had happened to care too much. Even if I was going to be hounded by Knights, well, I supposed it beat being kidnapped by Seraphim.

We went through every little detail of the incident over and over, even taking a walk back to the actual location so I could show them exactly where the black sedan had been parked. I didn’t get back to the penthouse until a little after Alia’s bedtime.

“That took a long time,” said Cindy when I finally got home. “Are you alright?”

“I’ve been better,” I admitted. “But I’m okay. I’m just tired.”

“You’ve had a rough day,” said Cindy. “I just tucked your sister in, but I’m sure she’s waiting up for you.”

“No doubt,” I said, chuckling. “How is she doing?”

“She’s still a bit shaken,” Cindy said slowly. “But it could’ve been much worse.”

“Yeah,” I agreed quietly. “Listen, I don’t want Alia staying up for me, so I’m going to turn in now, too.”

Cindy smiled, saying, “Thanks again, Adrian.”

“We were just lucky, Cindy,” I said, shaking my head. “Maybe you already guessed this, but Mr. Baker thinks they tried to get Alia and me so that they could get to you.”

Cindy nodded. “I suspected as much. You better not keep your sister waiting.”

“On a night like this, I’m surprised she didn’t ask to sleep in your bed, Cindy.”

Cindy smiled serenely and replied, “I’m not too surprised.”

After hastily brushing my teeth, I entered my room expecting to find Alia in her bed with her big unicorn. Sure enough, the unicorn was up on her bed, but Alia herself wasn’t. I instead found my sister seated by the window where I usually rested after waking up with nightmares.

“Alia?” I called softly, but she didn’t reply.

I quietly sat down next to her, and neither of us spoke. I knew that sitting in silence was how Alia dealt with her emotions. I just had to wait until she was ready to talk.

Eventually, I heard her murmur into my mind, “Addy?”

“Yeah?” I whispered.

Alia continued to stare out the window. “Why are grownups always trying to hurt us? Why are they always so horrible?”

“I wish I knew,” I said, stroking her back. “But you’re forgetting Cindy and Mark... and Mr. Koontz and Dr. Kellogg...”

I had already run out of examples. Maybe Alia was right.

Alia turned to me and smiled slightly. “I liked Dr. Kellogg.”

“He liked you too, Alia,” I said.

Alia became silent again for a few more minutes, and we watched the full moon rise high above the city lights. Then my sister turned to me and, with an apologetic look, said hesitantly into my head, “Addy? Just for tonight, is it alright if I sleep in your bed?”

“Yeah, Ali,” I replied, “it’s alright. Just tonight, though, okay?”

“Okay.”

Alia’s bed was much too small for the two of us, but mine was about the same size as the one we had shared at the Psionic Research Center. We lay on our sides and I let Alia rest her back against my chest, putting my arms around her from behind. Her long hair tickled my nose a bit, but I gently held her until I heard her soft snores. Before drifting off to sleep myself, I wondered again where I had seen the Angel with dark gray hair, and hoped for my sister’s sake that I wouldn’t wake up screaming. Fortunately, and surprisingly enough, I didn’t.

The next day, Cindy didn’t wake us until after breakfast was on the table.

It was a sunny Sunday morning, but after yesterday’s incident, Alia seemed perfectly happy to stay at home. It didn’t matter to me since I was still determined to finish seventh grade before September. Seeing me grinding through my schoolwork, Alia insisted on doing her school stuff as well, so Cindy went back and forth between us, tutoring and checking our work. A little before noon, Cindy told me she had to leave for a meeting with Mr. Baker.

“Is it about yesterday?” I asked.

“I’m certain that will be one of the primary topics,” answered Cindy.

“Mr. Baker said he wanted to assign a security detail to Alia and me,” I said darkly.

“Personally, I don’t think that’s such a bad idea anymore,” said Cindy, “but I’m guessing you disagree.”

“I didn’t mind so much last night, Cindy. But now that I’ve had some time to calm down, I’m not so sure I’d want a group of Knights trailing me around everywhere I went.”

Cindy chuckled. “I know how you feel. Well, it’s not really for me to decide, but I’ll see if I can work something out with Mr. Baker.”

“Okay,” I said.

“Don’t forget to clean up after lunch, and see if you can finish your math worksheets before I get back, okay?”

Cindy left for her meeting.

Alia helped me cook lunch. After we ate, I sloppily finished up my math at the dining table and then checked over Alia’s work. I was happy to see that, at least outwardly, my sister was already back to normal. So was I, for that matter. I wondered if perhaps we were actually getting used to being in hazardous situations.

Cindy returned in the early afternoon. As she corrected my math, I asked her how the meeting went.

“For the moment, you’re not going to get your own private army,” said Cindy. When I breathed a sigh of relief, she added, “But there are going to be some changes.”

Cindy reached into her pocket, pulling out what at first glance appeared to be a black digital wristwatch. “For starters,” she said as she handed it to me, “Mr. Baker wants you to wear this whenever you go out.”

“What is it?” I asked, fingering the Velcro band and looking at the square-ish black plastic device set on it. It wasn’t a watch, having no display, and there was only one large round button set into the center of the device.

“It’s a tracer band,” said Cindy.

“A what?”

“A transmitter. It allows the Knights to find you in an emergency.”

I did my best to imitate Cindy’s overly innocent tone as I asked, “You mean they’re going to track me like a wild animal with a beeper collar?”

Cindy laughed. “No, Adrian, it only activates if you push that button for three seconds. It’s waterproof, so wear it at the pool too, okay?”

I wrapped the tracer band around my left wrist, pulling the Velcro so that the device fit snugly, and discovered that its weight was hardly noticeable. At least it wasn’t some bulky control band. Pulling it off again, I asked, “Is Alia getting one of these too?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t want to scare her. Besides, when does your sister ever leave the house alone?”

“Point taken,” I said, and then asked, “You said ‘changes.’ What else does Mr. Baker have in store for me?”

Cindy smiled. “Promise you won’t get angry?”

“Uh-oh,” I said slowly, recognizing the expression Cindy had worn the time she bought me a dress for my birthday.

The doorbell rang, and Cindy answered it, saying, “Right on time, as usual.”

That ominous remark already put me on high alert, but I was still shocked when in stepped...

“Terry?!”

Terry ignored my outburst and said politely to Cindy, “Hello, Ms. Gifford.”

“Oh, no, Terry,” laughed Cindy. “If you’re going to live here, you’ll have to call me Cindy.”

Terry laughed with her, replying, “Whatever you say, Ms. Gifford.”

Then she un-shouldered a large duffle bag and tossed it to me, nearly knocking me over. “Hey, Adrian. Nice catch.”

“You’re living here now?” I asked as I dropped her bag onto the floor.

Terry nodded. “Just for a few months. Ms. Gifford insisted.”

Cindy said to me, “In addition to being your trainer, Adrian, Mr. Baker just placed Terry in charge of your security. Yours and Alia’s. That means neither of you leaves the building without Terry from now on, okay?”

I gave Cindy a disbelieving stare.

Cindy shrugged and said, “Hey, if you prefer a pack of Knights, we can trade.”

“It’s okay,” I said hastily. “Terry’s fine. But why is she living here?!”

“Terry’s uncle is going off on a mission, and I couldn’t just let her live by herself, so...”

“This was the offer you made her last month?”

“Funny how things work out, don’t you think?” Cindy said with a smile.

I didn’t smile back. Cindy, my morning tutor, and Terry, my afternoon instructor, living under the same roof... Even though I was on much better terms with Terry these days, this was still going to take some getting used to. Terry was less than a year and a half older than me and yet she was a whole head taller. I had hoped that this glaring discrepancy would remain isolated to the dojo, but no one had asked for my selfish opinion.

“I heard what happened yesterday,” Terry said to me as she picked up her duffle bag. Then she rolled her eyes and continued in a loud and exasperated tone, “Honestly, Adrian, it’s bad enough that you let them go without a fight, but you actually helped them escape!? You are truly unbelievable! Idiot!”

I didn’t reply. It was useless trying to justify my actions to Terry.

“Adrian,” said Cindy, “I want you to promise you won’t tell anyone that Terry is living with us. Mr. Baker knows, of course, but aside from him, everyone should still think that Terry is living alone in her uncle’s place.”

I shrugged. “Who am I going to tell? I hardly know anyone in New Haven. But just out of curiosity, why the secrecy?”

“You know why,” said Cindy.

“Oh, right,” I said, smacking my forehead. “Dumb question!”

Terry, who had lived in New Haven since the start of her freshman year of high school, had a life and friends here. It was already bad enough that she spent so much time around me. The Guardian families would no doubt give Terry the same wide berth they gave me if they found out she was actually living with Cindy. Cindy herself rarely left the building these days, and never without her armed escort. I guessed Mr. Baker had finally convinced her to take her security more seriously.

Terry completed her move by herself, taking just one more trip down to the fourth floor. Terry didn’t wear makeup and certainly wasn’t one to decorate her room with pictures or posters or anything like that. Like her grandfather, Terry was a born-and-bred fighter, used to small quarters and living rough. I doubt she used even half of the furniture that we had put in the guestroom.

While I helped Cindy cook dinner, Alia took Terry on a tour through the penthouse. Terry couldn’t get over the fact that I shared my room with my little sister, and teased me about it all evening until, near bedtime, she saw me in my girly pink pajamas. After that, no amount of glaring could quell her laughter, and I eventually had to give up and turn in early.

There was one upside to Terry moving in, though, which was that she was an excellent pool player. The following day, she started to teach me how to play nine-ball without using my telekinesis. When Terry first saw that we had our own pool table, she had delightedly told Cindy she might consider moving in permanently. The way Terry said it, I couldn’t be entirely sure she was kidding.

Chapter 7: The Secret War

For the first few meals, we literally had too many cooks in the kitchen. Terry’s culinary style was less exacting than Cindy’s and mine. Terry liked to throw everything into the pot and hope it would sort itself out later. When we found bits of egg shell in our morning omelets, Cindy suggested that Terry leave the cooking to me and help out with other chores. Terry wasn’t much of a homemaker in other areas either, but seemed determined to make a contribution in the house.

Three days into Terry’s stay, she and I were in the kitchen loading the dishwasher when Alia came in and, seeing me there, immediately gave me an apprehensive look.

“You want a glass of water?” I asked her.

Alia nodded, frowning. It wasn’t like she couldn’t get her own glass of water, but I was deliberately blocking the faucet, and my sister knew why.

I grinned at her. “Say the words, Alia.”

Alia let out an audible groan. “Oh, not again...”

Getting my sister to mumble even the simplest of words was like pulling teeth. She had made as much progress in mouth-speaking during the last six weeks as she had last year: absolutely none at all.

Once, out of sheer frustration, I had even considered pointing out that the Wolves wouldn’t have tortured her so badly had she been able to speak to them. I decided against that tactic, however. It was a bit too insensitive, especially considering the real reason she had been put through that.

“Say the words,” I repeated firmly. “Say ‘water.’”

Alia scowled at the floor and mumbled, “Wawa.”

“Water, Alia,” I persisted. “Say it with me. Say, ‘I want water.’”

Silence.

“Come on, Ali,” I begged. “Just three words. ‘I want water.’”

“Awa-wawa,” she said, not quite as loud as a mouse.

“Water,” I repeated slowly.

“Wa-er.”

“Water, Alia.”

“Waw-wer,” said Alia, her eyes misting up.

“Okay, okay, good enough,” I said hastily, filling a glass for her. As far as I was concerned, “waw-wer” was actually a pretty good try for her.

Terry, who had been silently watching us do this routine ever since she moved in, had a different opinion that she finally decided to voice. “Is that really the best she can do?”

I saw Alia instantly tense up, so I said quietly to Terry, “Stay out of this.”

Terry ignored my demand and asked, “How long have you been working with her, Adrian?”

“A few months,” I replied. “But we had a big break in between.”

“It’s not like she doesn’t know the language, right?” Terry asked the obvious, and I could tell that Alia, who I had already pushed to her limit, was on the verge of tears.

“Please stay out of this, Terry,” I said stiffly.

But Terry had no intention of backing down. “Do you ever wonder why she doesn’t make any progress?”

“She is making progress,” I insisted.

“Wawawawa?” said Terry, raising her eyebrows, and a teardrop rolled down Alia’s cheek.

“Shut up, Terry!” I said, glaring.

Terry shot back defiantly, “She’d learn if she had to!”

“What’s that suppose to mean?” I demanded.

“It means you’re a big softy on her.”

“I am not!”

Terry shook her head, saying, “If she really had to speak, Adrian, she’d learn.”

“It’s not easy for her, Terry. We’re working on it.”

I heard Alia in my head say crossly, “Addy, would you please stop talking about me like I’m not even in the room?!”

“Tell it to Terry, Alia,” I said.

“I did. She ignored me.”

I sighed, realizing once again that my sister wouldn’t have to keep repeating herself if only she could speak aloud.

I stopped glaring and asked Terry, “What are you suggesting?”

“The same thing that worked for you,” Terry replied simply. “Drain her. Keep her drained all day and force her to speak.”

“No,” I said firmly.

“Why not?”

“Because...” I started, but I realized that I was no longer quite sure.

“Why not?!” repeated Terry. “You think you’re doing her a favor by letting her slip by with ‘wawawa’?”

“But I can’t just keep her drained all the time!” I said, giving Terry an incredulous look.

“Alia isn’t as weak as you, Adrian,” Terry said nastily. “She doesn’t collapse just because a little metal is touching her.”

That was below the belt, even for Terry. However, infuriatingly enough, she did have a point. Cindy had once said to me last year, “Experiment. Do whatever works.” I wondered if constantly draining Alia was within experimental bounds. If Dr. Otis had suggested something like this, I would have objected. It was just too cruel.

“We can try,” I said slowly.

“Addy! No!” Alia yelled in my head.

“You know something, Alia?” I said, turning to her. “Terry might be right.”

Alia started crying for real now, stamping her feet and saying, “No! No! No! Please, Addy!”

“We’ll need something to drain her with,” said Terry. “Something she won’t be able to take off by herself.”

Hearing that, Alia bolted for the kitchen door, but I used my telekinesis to slam it shut before she could reach it. Then I levitated her back toward me.

“No, Addy! Put me down! Put me down!”

“Adrian!” Terry cried in alarm. “You can’t do that!”

“What do you mean?” I asked, keeping Alia’s flailing feet from touching the kitchen floor. “It was your idea.”

“No! You can’t use your power against another Guardian. Not even her, Adrian. That’s Guardian law!”

“Oh, yeah,” I said, grinning. “But you know what, Terry? Alia isn’t a Guardian.”

“Wow,” said Terry, whistling softly, “and I thought I was heartless. Listen, I’ll run downstairs and see what I can find for her. Your control band is too big.”

Terry left, and I walked to the living room, Alia wailing and bobbing along in my wake.

“Put me down, Addy! Put me down right now!”

“No,” I said simply. “Not until you calm down.”

“I’m telling Cindy!”

“Go ahead. But you’ll have to tell her with your mouth.”

“No!”

I turned to her. “Please stop crying, Alia. I’ll put you down, okay?”

I set my sister down on a couch and then cautiously sat down next to her. I was relieved that she didn’t try to run away. Alia stopped crying, wiping her eyes with the back of her hands, but I could see that she was well on her way to a full-blown pout.

“You’re so mean,” she said, staring off into space.

“Yeah,” I agreed quietly, “I am.”

“That’s not funny.”

“Neither is your handicap, Alia.”

“What’s so great about being able to speak with your mouth, anyway?!”

I grinned and said, “Well, you could shout for help when Terry returns with whatever she’s getting.”

Alia glared at me, and I mumbled, “Sorry, I guess that wasn’t funny either.”

Alia wiped her eyes again. “I just can’t do it, Addy. Honest.”

“I know you can speak, Alia. You just need to practice.”

“But I don’t want to practice! It’s too hard.”

I looked into her puffy eyes and said, “Come on, Alia, you’re tougher than that. Think of everything we’ve been through. Think of everything you did just this summer. You learned how to ride a bike. You learned how to swim. Are you really going to spend the rest of your life avoiding telephone calls and babbling like a baby?”

Staring down at her knees, Alia slowly shook her head.

I put an arm around her and, pulling her closer, continued gently, “Alia, Terry was right about me. Thanks to you, I’m learning to balance my power. I can actually cut my own nails now. I may even be able to go back to school. Terry might be just as right about you. I know it’s hard. It’s always hard to learn something you’re bad at. What do you think I’ve been doing in the dojo all these weeks? You’ve been there. You know it’s not fun. But you can’t give up just because something is hard.”

Alia remained silent, but I could see in her eyes that she wasn’t tuned out. She was thinking it over.

The front door opened, and Terry stepped into the living room. She was holding something behind her back, and to her credit, she didn’t force it upon Alia. Instead, Terry looked at me and asked, “Is she ready?”

“I don’t know,” I replied. “You’d better ask her yourself.”

Terry knelt down in front of Alia. Looking carefully into my sister’s eyes, she asked quietly, “What’s it going to be, Alia?”

We waited a few seconds, and then Alia nodded.

Terry smiled. “Okay, then. Let’s do it.”

Terry showed us what she had brought. It was a pair of steel handcuffs. Terry snapped both cuffs onto Alia’s left ankle so that they hung there like a pair of anklets. I wondered for a moment what kind of place Terry lived in on the fourth floor that would have control bands and handcuffs lying around.

Terry tossed me the key to the cuffs and said, “Let’s just try this for one day and see how it goes, okay?”

Fingering the silver key and trying not to show how drained it was making me, I asked, “Are you sure you trust me with this, Terry?”

Terry laughed. “Of course I don’t trust you with it, Adrian. But Alia does. Be strong, okay?”

“I’ll try,” I said, pocketing the key.

The truth is, before the end of that very day, I already missed hearing Alia’s voice in my head. After confirming that Alia was a (grudgingly) willing participant in this experiment, Cindy did not comment one way or the other. But I could tell that she felt, as I certainly did, that this was borderline abuse.

In the days that followed, my sister took to her shock treatment with the strength of one who had gone through far worse and survived. The constant draining effect made her slightly clumsy and lethargic, which for her meant scraped knees and longer naps, but otherwise she was okay. So that she couldn’t cheat and have her cuffs removed whenever she needed to say something difficult, we agreed that she would remain drained from before breakfast until just before her bedtime. She still cheated a little, saving up what she wanted to say until the cuffs were removed, but we let her slip by, knowing that even Alia couldn’t keep silent for an entire day. My sister survived her daylight hours through a mixture of enigmatic pantomimes and frustratingly inaccurate pronunciation. Before the week ended, Terry bought a silver ring to replace the handcuffs so that Alia could go outside without attracting attention to her clinking left ankle. Alia could easily remove the ring herself, but rarely did so without my consent.

Aside from the obvious difficulty in communication with Alia, I realized that her draining caused another problem for me. Though my sister couldn’t ease my regular muscle pains, she was my designated healer for all of my CQC-related cuts and bruises. In an emergency, such as a broken finger or perhaps even a nosebleed, Alia would temporarily remove her ring and heal me, but considering what she was going through now, I felt it somewhat dishonorable to ask her to heal my lesser bruises during the day.

Perhaps Terry was right in that I was soft on Alia. I never blocked the water faucet again, nor did I do anything extra to force my sister to speak. I knew how hard mouth-speaking was for her, and I wasn’t about to push her any more than was absolutely necessary.

Terry, as was often the case, took the complete opposite stance. As if it weren’t enough that Alia had to remain drained all day long, Terry went out of her way to cause extra trouble for my sister. Terry would hide Alia’s shoes so that she would have to ask for them before going out. She frequently blocked the bathroom door, not letting Alia in until she counted aloud to ten. And when Terry ran out of tricks to play, it was often the threat (or the reality) of another really good tickling that drew a few extra words from Alia’s reluctant lips. Terry was as merciless with Alia as she was with me in my CQC training, which I supposed was her idea of fairness.

“How long do I have to do this?” Alia asked at the start of her second week of training.

My sister had started sleeping with her unicorn again, so I knew how strained she was. But I was also convinced that this was for her own good, so I answered flatly, “Until you can talk and be understood, Alia. Or until you die of old age, whichever comes first.”

Alia threw me an annoyed frown as she slid her ring on and stalked out of our bedroom.

If Alia was stressed about her mouth-speaking, I was equally stressed about my last mad rush to finish my seventh-grade studies. Cindy had assured me that I could enroll late if I had to, but I was still hoping to get back into normal society from the starting line like everybody else. Terry seemed somewhat frustrated as well, possibly with my CQC progress, though it was impossible to tell because she was always a bit on the edge.

“What’s the matter, Adrian?” Cindy asked me as I was helping her cook breakfast on the last day of August, and I wondered how many times this summer I had been asked that.

“It was last night,” I answered quietly. “My parents...”

I hadn’t even realized it until I woke up that morning and saw the calendar hanging by my desk. It had been one year to this day that, just past midnight, my parents were killed by the Angel berserker. This time last year, I was sitting beside Ralph in his rusty blue convertible, heading toward a Guardian gathering that I never attended.

“Oh, right,” Cindy said softly. “If you like, we can go visit their graves sometime.”

I shook my head. “It’s okay, Cindy. I’m not sure I’m ready to do that just yet.”

If I was going to visit my parents’ graves, I wanted Cat to be with me, however long it took. I wasn’t sure I could face them without her.

“Well, since you’re already in a crummy mood this morning,” said Cindy, “I suppose I won’t make it any worse no matter what I tell you.”

I raised my eyebrows, and Cindy continued, “You’ve made remarkable progress in the last two months, Adrian. You’re practically finished with all of your seventh-grade studies, and your power balance is just enough to go back to school if you really want to.”

That certainly sounded a lot like good news, but Cindy wasn’t looking directly at me. Nor did I miss the hint of reservation in her voice.

“But?” I asked apprehensively.

“But as long as you are in my care,” said Cindy, sighing heavily, “there’s no way to send you off to school. The Knights won’t be able to protect you well, and the other Guardian families...” Cindy’s voice trailed off.

I glared down at the kitchen floor, furious but unable to direct my anger toward the people who deserved it.

“I’m sorry, Adrian,” Cindy said quietly. “I know how much this meant to you.”

I looked back up at her, asking, “Why did you push me so hard to finish seventh grade if you knew this was going to happen?”

“I didn’t know,” said Cindy. “I suspected, but I was hoping that we could work something out. But after what happened on the street two weeks ago, I had to agree with Mr. Baker that sending you to school would be an irresponsible risk to the other families.”

There was no need to admonish Cindy for her blind optimism. If there had been even the slightest chance, I would have taken it too.

After a moment of uncomfortable silence, Cindy added, “Listen, Adrian, if you really want to go back to school, we could–”

“No!” I cut across her sharply. “Don’t you dare say that!”

“Adrian...”

“Don’t even think it, Cindy!” I said heatedly. “I’ve already lost one family. I’m not going to lose another!”

Cindy looked at me for a moment before smiling and saying quietly, “Okay, Adrian. Thank you.”

I just shook my head and smiled.

Cindy said, “At least we can take things a bit slower from now on, huh?”

“That would really be great,” I answered, nodding.

Cindy finished up in the kitchen while I got Alia to help me set the table.

As we all sat down for breakfast, I was determined not to let Terry see me upset over something as trivial as being denied access to school. After all, there were plenty of worse things that could happen to a person. And once my stomach started to fill up on steaming hot bacon and eggs, my mood did improve just a little.

“Ad-yi, pash’a saw peas,” said Alia from across the table. Translation: Addy, pass the salt please.

I telekinetically slid the salt shaker toward Alia as I said to Cindy, “She’s getting better.”

“Every day,” agreed Cindy, and Alia gave us a toothy smile.

Admittedly, Alia was still speaking borderline gibberish, but the mere fact that she had asked for the salt aloud rather than stand up and walk around the table for it was marked improvement.

“Told you she’d learn,” mumbled Terry, her mouth full of salad.

“I don’t think we could ever thank you enough, Terry,” said Cindy. “You’ve really come through for us. Adrian’s power balance and Alia’s mouth-speaking.”

“It was my pleasure, but you’re welcome all the same, Ms. Gifford.”

“Someday,” said Cindy, waggling a finger at her, “you are going to call me Cindy.”

Terry grinned. “Someday, Ms. Gifford.”

It was a Sunday, and though I didn’t absolutely need it, Cindy decided to give me a full day off from my studies. At Cindy’s suggestion, Terry canceled my CQC lesson too. All four of us spent much of the afternoon playing nine-ball pool in the game room. Alia was a bit short for the table, but I levitated her when her turns came around. Terry saw that I was giving my sister some help with where the balls were going too, but she knew better than to cry foul.

Over dinner that evening, Cindy said, “Everyone still seems a bit overworked. How about tomorrow, we sneak out of this prison and get out into the countryside for a day? The air will do us all some good. What do you say, girls?”

“Girls?!” I repeated, giving Cindy a withering stare.

She laughed. “You’re a given, Adrian. You’d never miss an opportunity to get out for a while.”

“Sounds like fun,” said Terry. “But by ‘sneak out,’ do you mean we’re going to ditch your Knights?”

“Sure,” replied Cindy. “It wouldn’t be much fun with a crowd like that tagging along. You’re security enough for all of us.”

“How are we going to sneak out?” I asked.

“You’ll see.”

I spent the rest of the evening wondering and prying, but Cindy refused to crack. Terry told us that she knew a perfect campsite, well away from prying eyes, so we changed our plan for a day in the country to an overnight trip. (There was no way to make it longer than that since Cindy had to maintain her hiding bubble over New Haven.) Terry took the elevator down to her Uncle Charles’s condo and returned with a bundle of camping gear. Alia and I helped with the packing.

We woke well before sunrise the following morning.

Grabbing our packs, the four of us headed down the elevator, but only Terry got off at the basement parking lot. Terry took all of our heavy bags too.

“See you on the other side,” said Terry as the elevator doors closed again.

Cindy took Alia and me into the subbasement. The guard and his desk had been removed a week ago, replaced by a security camera bolted to the concrete ceiling. Ignoring the camera, Cindy led us through a door I hadn’t been in before, down a narrow corridor, through another heavy steel door, and into...

“The holding block,” explained Cindy.

It was a large rectangular room with eight jail cells lining one wall. The front walls of the small square cells were made of vertical bars that extended from the ceiling to the floor, inset with heavy iron doors. Each cell contained a shoddy bed and a toilet bowl. At the far end of the holding block was a control panel with a series of levers on it, which I presumed operated the cell doors.

“This is where they kept the spy?” I asked.

“Yup. In this one here,” said Cindy, pointing to the cell nearest the entrance.

Alia and I followed Cindy to the far end of the room, where Cindy pulled the leftmost lever on the panel. The cell door nearest the panel opened with a loud creaking sound, and Cindy led us into the little cell, clanging the door shut behind us. It locked in place.

I stood in the center of the jail cell and looked back through the bars at the control panel. “This isn’t much of a holding block,” I said as I gestured toward the levers. “I could pull those from inside any of these cells.”

Cindy smiled, saying, “I’m sure you could, Adrian. But if you were locked up in here, you would be drained at all times.”

“That’s no fun,” I said. “Why are we in here?”

“This cell is the secret exit.”

“Oh,” I said, stepping toward the far end of the cell and pushing a little switch that was carefully hidden in the concrete wall.

One of the concrete slabs slid away, revealing a long and dark corridor.

“Adrian,” said Cindy, looking at me strangely, “how did you know where the switch was?”

“I don’t know,” I said, wondering the same thing myself. “Lucky guess, I think.”

“Did Terry teach you that?”

“Maybe,” I said slowly.

While I was pondering that possibility, the concrete slab automatically started to move back into place. I pushed the switch again, reopening the secret entrance, and the three of us stepped into the corridor beyond.

The entrance closed behind us. For an instant, we were thrown into pitch-black darkness, but Cindy quickly turned on a small flashlight she had brought. There was no way to reopen the entrance from this side, so the only way out was down the passage.

Alia gripped my right hand. “It’s creepy in here.”

“Yeah,” I agreed quietly, not only because the long, dark corridor was exceptionally creepy, but because I had the strangest feeling that I had been here before.

“Come on,” said Cindy, taking the lead. “Terry will be at the other side by now.”

We walked for what felt like nearly half a mile down the corridor, finally arriving at...

“A dead end?” I asked.

“No,” said Cindy, stepping aside to reveal an iron lever built into the left side wall. “Try pulling it.”

I did. Another slab of concrete moved, letting us out into a dark, dank and smelly stone pipe which was large enough to drive a truck through.

“What is this place?” I asked as the doorway sealed itself behind us.

“A sewage drain,” said Cindy. “Come on. This way.”

Cindy led us down a narrow walkway that ran along the side of the pipe, and then up a ladder built into the concrete wall. The ladder was made of rusty iron bars. Though I was pretty sure I could handle it, I wasn’t about to take any chances, so I levitated myself up behind Cindy and Alia. We emerged through a manhole behind a large apartment building. Terry was waiting for us at the top.

“What took you guys so long?” asked Terry as she resealed the manhole.

I grinned at her. “You weren’t there to push us.”

Terry led us around to the parking lot, where she had parked...

“Ralph’s car?!” I said, gaping at the rusty blue convertible that I had been abducted in last year.

Terry smiled. “Well, I couldn’t exactly take Ms. Gifford’s, seeing as it has a Guardian tracking device on it.”

“It does?” I asked in surprise.

Cindy answered, “Yup. The Knights could find that car from the other side of the world. So you see, Adrian, I’m the one with the beeper collar.”

I laughed, and then asked, “Where is Ralph these days?”

“He’s out on a mission as usual,” said Terry. “He took his motorcycle. With any luck, he won’t come back.”

“Terry!” exclaimed Cindy, but Terry just shrugged.

Cindy drove from there. Terry sat with her up front, leaving Alia and me cramped in the back seat. We kept the top up. Ralph’s convertible wasn’t designed for lots of luggage, and what we couldn’t fit into the trunk was piled upon us. We had decided to give Alia a break from her mouth-speaking training just for the camping trip, but her voice in my head kept fading in and out like a badly tuned radio. Eventually, we discovered that a metal buckle on a backpack at her feet was rubbing up against her thigh.

“And that’s why you need to learn to mouth-speak,” Cindy called from the front as I helped Alia slip a towel between her leg and the offending bag.

“It’s the car that’s too small,” grumbled Alia, and I nodded in agreement. I never thought I’d be riding Ralph’s junky old convertible again.

As the sun finally began to rise, Cindy called up Mr. Baker on Terry’s cell phone. She explained to him what we had done, but of course refused to tell him exactly where we were headed. Though I couldn’t make out what Mr. Baker was saying, he certainly sounded very upset and angry. But I had to agree with Cindy here: It wasn’t fun being under constant surveillance. Sometimes we all just needed to be free.

Leaving the city limits, we drove for nearly four hours before arriving at the spot Terry had chosen for us. It was a deserted, broken-down farmhouse surrounded by fields overgrown with weeds and tangled thickets. The gravel road it was on led to a dead end, so there was little chance anyone would come down this way.

“Give me a moment to extend my bubble,” said Cindy, cutting the engine.

Cindy had placed a hiding bubble around the car before we left her big one over New Haven. Out here, however, the moment we got out of the car, we could be sensed by psionic finders from a great distance away, especially in a wide open and metal-free place like this. We sat quietly as Cindy worked her power, and after a few minutes, she said, “Okay, we’re set. I had almost forgotten how easy this is to do out in the countryside.”

Terry and I pitched the tent in a clearing by the road while Alia helped Cindy set up the barbecue. It was a perfect late-summer day, with a warm sun and a cool breeze to balance it off.

After lunch, I asked Cindy if I could go fly a little.

“Of course, but don’t go above the lowest clouds,” said Cindy. “The bubble doesn’t go much higher than that.”

I kicked off the ground hard, shooting up into the air as fast as I could go. My heart leapt with delight as I felt the wind on my face. It was my first outdoor flight this year, and I had almost forgotten how much fun this was. I could hear Terry and Alia calling my name, so I cut my ascent and swooped down toward them. Kick-stopping several yards from the ground, I snapped them a quick salute. Then I flew upwards again, doing a few somersaults in midair before spinning around once and floating back down. Human levitation was one of the hardest things to do for a telekinetic. Many couldn’t do it at all. I could hover for just over five minutes at a time if I wasn’t moving swiftly, but aerobatics like what I was doing now took far more energy, and soon I had to land and catch my breath.

“You’re a better dancer when your feet aren’t touching the ground, Adrian,” said Terry, coming up to me.

“I’ll try to take that as a compliment,” I said, laughing with her.

“My turn, Addy,” said Alia, tugging on my arm.

That wasn’t surprising, but a second later, Terry also said, “My turn.”

“Sure, Terry?” I asked. “I thought you didn’t like being picked up.”

“Well, not when I’m trying to hit someone,” said Terry. “But that looked like fun.”

With frequent breaks to steady my breathing, I gave each of them nearly half an hour of flight time. My sister didn’t want to go very high, but Terry was laughing and screaming like a little kid as I flew her around and over the farmhouse.

Terry and I wanted to take a look in the farmhouse, but Cindy said it was too dangerous. She was probably right. The house looked on the verge of collapse, but that didn’t stop Terry from ignoring Cindy’s warning and taking a few steps inside to look around. Later, we played tag and volleyball in the field.

When it got too dark to play, we roasted marshmallows over a blazing campfire and tried to teach Alia a few camp songs to sing out loud. To make things fair, Terry suggested that we all sing with marshmallows crammed into our mouths. Alia loved it, and I don’t remember ever laughing so hard. It was a miracle that nobody choked.

Terry wanted to sleep outside the tent, under the stars, but the rest of us weren’t feeling as adventurous. Who knew what creepy crawly critters lurked in the bushes and tall weeds around us?

“Suit yourselves,” Terry said lightly, pulling her sleeping bag out of the tent and unrolling it next to what little remained of our campfire.

I smirked. “Enjoy the snakes, Terry.”

Leaving the fire in Terry’s care, the rest of us retired into the tent for the night.

As Cindy zipped the tent flap shut, Alia telepathically said something to her, and she replied, “Don’t worry, sweetie. The inside of this tent is a designated nightmare-free zone. You’re going to be just fine.”

Alia shook her head and looked at Cindy anxiously.

When we started out on this trip, I too had been a little worried over how my sister was going to sleep without dreamweaving treatment. There was no way to tell if Alia had been cured of her nightmare-induced bedwetting or if it was just temporarily on hold thanks to Mr. Koontz. I wished we had at least brought along Alia’s unicorn.

Catching Cindy’s hopeful eye, I said hastily, “I’m absolutely not sharing my sleeping bag with her, Cindy.”

Cindy gave me a withering smile. “You don’t have to be so heartless, Adrian. At the very least, you can let her sleep next to you.”

The tent was pretty roomy, especially without Terry, but Cindy laid our three sleeping bags in a tight row.

Patting Alia’s head, Cindy said to her, “You know, sweetie, the real trick to not having nightmares is to already be inside a good dream when you fall asleep. Just keep thinking of all the fun you had today.”

Absolute nonsense as far as I was concerned. Nightmares were nightmares no matter what you did, but I wasn’t about to say that out loud.

Snugly sandwiched between Cindy and me, my sister still looked a little apprehensive about closing her eyes, but nevertheless much calmer than a moment ago. We hadn’t brought any of Alia’s books, so Cindy made up a bedtime story on the spot, whispering to us about a lonely goat that lived on top of a mountain. I don’t remember the story well, but I clearly remember the calm I felt hearing Cindy’s quiet voice. By the time Cindy turned out the lamp, my sister looked highly unlikely to have a bad night. My own dreams were pretty peaceful too, and everything would have been perfect had we not been rudely awakened at two o’clock in the morning by none other than...

“Mr. Baker?” I asked groggily, stepping out of our tent and squinting into the headlights of the two sedans the Guardian Knights had arrived in.

Terry was already out of her sleeping bag, standing in the bright light and gazing warily at the Guardians’ cars.

Mr. Baker’s haloed silhouette said anxiously, “Adrian! Terry! Is Cindy okay?”

“I’m here,” said Cindy, pulling herself out of the tent too.

Mr. Baker rushed up to her. “Oh, thank goodness!”

“How did you find us?” asked Cindy.

“No time for that now,” Mr. Baker said hurriedly. “Please, all of you in the car. Leave Ralph’s car and your tent and everything. We have to get you out of here.”

Mr. Baker got behind the wheel of one the sedans. Cindy sat up front with him while Terry and I got in the back with Alia sandwiched between us. The Guardian Knights that had come in this car, as well as all but the driver of the second car, were left at our campsite as we drove away.

Alia was yawning, but I could tell that Terry was as awake as I was. Something was definitely very, very wrong.

“What’s going on, Travis?” Cindy demanded crossly.

“You tell me, Cindy!” Mr. Baker replied irately. “You are being protected for a reason. You can’t just disappear like this!”

Cindy snapped back, “We were sleeping nice and sound until you lot barged in!”

“Then perhaps it would surprise you to know that we got an anonymous call that gave us not only your exact location, but also informed us that a team of Seraphim were hunting you, and would probably have arrived before sunrise.”

Nobody spoke. Cindy was probably looking at Mr. Baker in exactly the same way that Terry and I were staring at each other. Who had known where we were going? Had someone spotted us in the city and followed us? Someone had told the Angels where we were, and someone else had warned the Guardians for us. Turning away from Terry, I looked out the window and into the darkness. So this was what it was like to be in the middle of a secret psionic war.

We were back in New Haven by first light. None of us had gotten any sleep in the car. As we made our way up to the NH-1 penthouse, I wondered if the Angels had already attacked our camp, and if so, what had happened.

“Guess I blew it,” said Cindy over breakfast. “Perhaps things are even more dangerous here than I thought.”

“It was still a fun day yesterday,” I said, forcing a smile and stifling a yawn at the same time. “I just hope no one gets killed in the ambush.”

“Me too,” Cindy said quietly.

“I hope they all get killed,” Terry muttered savagely, and when I looked at her, she added, “The Angels, I mean.”

We spent the rest of the day in the penthouse. After a short morning nap, I played nine-ball with Terry, once again losing almost as spectacularly as I usually did in the dojo. When Cindy returned from an afternoon meeting, we got to hear the rest of the story.

“Two dead, both Angels,” announced Cindy. “The rest got away. One of our Knights is badly burned, but she’ll live. We were hoping to catch some of the Seraphim alive to discover how they found us, but it looks like they were half-expecting an ambush.”

“It could have been worse,” I said quietly. “It could have been you.”

It soon became worse, though mainly for me.

The following day was Terry’s last before she returned to school. I would have thought that she would want to spend her last day of summer vacation out with her friends, giving me a day off, but Terry was in no mood for play.

“No jog?” I asked as she led me straight down to the subbasement.

Terry shook her head. “In light of recent events, I think we’ll start you on your weapons training today. It’s time we stepped things up anyway.”

Terry led me through several doors before we arrived at a shooting range. My first impression was that it looked a bit like a bowling alley. There were ten lanes, but at the end of each, instead of bowling pins, there were paper targets hanging from ceiling-mounted rails that extended down the length of the room. A large black silhouette of a man with white circles over his chest was printed on each target.

I flinched a little when I heard the slightly muffled sound of a gunshot. The firing point of each lane was separated by soundproofed walls to stand between, so I couldn’t see who was doing the shooting, but apparently there was someone in the farthest lane firing at a target that was nearly the full length downrange.

“I thought we agreed no guns,” I said, refusing to take the pistol Terry was holding out to me.

Terry rolled her eyes. “No, Adrian, you agreed no guns. But I’m the instructor, and I say you learn.”

I still didn’t touch it. “I don’t want to kill anyone.”

“If you practice really hard, you may even learn how to shoot someone without killing him.”

“Ah,” I said, putting my right index finger up, “but if I don’t use the darn things at all, I won’t run the risk of killing someone in the first place.”

Terry scowled impatiently. “Just humor me and learn, okay?”

I reluctantly took the pistol from Terry, and she showed me how it worked. I learned how to load the clip, and how to unload it when I needed to. Terry showed me where the safety switch was, and also how to remove the chambered bullet. Once I had the basics down, Terry set up a target sheet for me in one of the lanes, sliding it down the rail about five yards.

Then, using her standard philosophy toward teaching, Terry said, “Okay, fire away.”

I did, and the first four bullets missed the paper completely. Only when I realized that I was supposed to line up both target reticules on the front and end of the barrel did I finally hit the paper, though I emptied the entire clip without ever hitting the person painted on it. I was actually kind of happy about that.

Terry shook her head, saying, “You did that on purpose.”

“I did not,” I replied, loading my spare clip. This time, I did deliberately miss, hoping Terry would let me off the hook if I showed her how terrible I was at this.

After six shots, Terry yelled exasperatedly, “That target is five yards away! What is the matter with you?”

“I’ll tell you what the matter is!” I replied angrily. “I don’t want to learn how to kill. I’m not Ralph!”

Terry shook her head again and let out a loud huff. “You know, Adrian, I wasn’t going to say this, but I doubt very much my grandfather ever tried to kill you.”

“What?!” I cried angrily. “He shot at me with a crossbow, Terry!”

Terry shrugged. “He just wanted to drain your power. He wasn’t aiming to kill. Besides, Alia was there to heal you.”

“He tried to suffocate me!”

“It would have only knocked you out,” said Terry, unimpressed.

“I can’t believe you’re taking his side!” I said furiously.

“I am not taking his side!” Terry shot back. “You know perfectly well I hate the bastard! But he does whatever is necessary to accomplish his mission, and you have to admit, there is a certain logic to that.”

I stared at her incredulously, and Terry said in a quieter tone, “Listen, Adrian, I won’t pretend to understand your aversion to self-preservation, and in the end it’s up to you whether or not you ever shoot a gun at a live target. But my grandfather is right about one thing: This is a war. So if you’re going to be a Guardian, you’re going to need to be ready to kill.”

I shook my head. “I don’t think I’ll ever make a very good Guardian, Terry.”

“You told me at the party that you’d die for family,” said Terry.

“So?”

“Would you kill for family too?”

I looked away, answering cautiously, “I don’t know, Terry. Maybe...”

“What would you have done if the Angels had attacked us the other night?”

“I don’t know,” I said again, but looking down at the pistol in my hand, I thought to myself, Not this.

“What is so wrong about what I’m trying to teach you, Adrian?!” Terry asked in a frustrated tone. “They try to kill us all the time. Even you know that by now.”

I heaved a heavy sigh and said slowly, “I know you hate the Angels, Terry, and I understand why. I lost my parents too, and I don’t know if I’ll ever see my first sister again. But have you ever considered that the Angels are victims themselves?”

Terry’s jaw dropped. “Victims?!”

“They’re converted, right? They do what they do because they have no choice. Because they’ve been brainwashed by their queen.”

Terry poked me painfully in the chest. “Okay, let’s get something straight here! Not all of the Angels are converted. Many join because they want to, and they choose to attack us for their own personal gain. You may not believe in choices, Adrian, but I promise you they made theirs. And even the ones that are converted, well, you can pity them all you like, but you can’t reason with someone who is trying to kill you. You can’t spare them, Adrian. War doesn’t work like that.”

I remembered what Cindy had once told me about conversion. True, not all of the Angels were converted. And many of the converted ones stayed with their faction even after their conversions wore off. Perhaps Terry had a point, but I wasn’t about to kill a man just because he was an Angel. Or for any reason, for that matter. I had seen my share of death and I wanted nothing more to do with it.

“I know you’re trying to help me, Terry,” I said, “but I just can’t do it. I won’t.”

Terry gave me a sly look and said, “Maybe your aim would improve if you pretended that that target was my grandfather.”

Suddenly, I heard a raspy voice from the far lane say, “Why pretend when you can have the real thing, lad?”

I stepped out from between my lane’s soundproofed walls and saw the gangly, fidgeting form of Ralph Henderson standing there. His beady, sunken eyes, partly hidden under his unkempt, curly white hair, were gazing at me in what appeared to be mild amusement.

I hadn’t seen old Ralph since our bus ride to New Haven, and I almost reflexively pointed my pistol at him. Instead, I carefully flipped the safety back on and held the gun loosely at my side.

Terry stepped out of our booth too, and Ralph gave us a nasty grin, saying, “Somebody stole my car.”

“You were listening to us just now,” said Terry, bristling.

Ralph replied coolly, “Believe me, Teresa, I take no pleasure in listening to some silly little argument between two brats like you, but I overheard enough to know you’re soft on the boy.”

Ralph strode up to me, saying, “Not willing to kill, eh? Whatever happened to the fire in your eyes when you tried to cut my throat?”

“That was a mistake,” I answered quietly. “And I haven’t killed anyone yet, Ralph. Not even you.”

Ralph snorted loudly. “Ha! Haven’t killed anyone? How many people died to save you and that healer, eh? How many?! You think you’re some kind of saint?” Ralph brought his face close to mine and continued in a slow, growling voice, “You’re a destroyer, lad. You got the same blood on your hands as me, and you’re no less a killer. If you’re going to fight for the Guardians, you’d better start getting used to it.”

I glared up at his wrinkled, leathery face. Ralph smirked, knowing he had touched a nerve.

Roughly pushing me aside, Ralph left the shooting range. Looking down, I discovered that my hands were shaking so badly that I might have accidentally shot myself in the foot had my pistol not been set to safety.

“He’s got a point, you know,” Terry said quietly at my side.

I threw her an angry look.

Terry shrugged. “If you like, we can go back to the dojo and I’ll teach you how to break a man’s neck with your bare hands.”

Flipping my pistol’s safety off, I rapidly emptied the rest of my clip into the target. One of the bullets actually hit the painted man on it, piercing his left shoulder.

“That’s a start,” said Terry, grinning. “Next time, try holding the gun with both hands.”

I scowled at her. “Give me another clip.”

Chapter 8: Past, Present and Personal

As the new school year started, I got to watch Terry skip off to school every morning, where she had friends and an almost normal life. I didn’t resent her, but I was bitterly envious. Cindy was a great home tutor, but I just wanted a few friends my own age. That wasn’t going to happen as long as I lived with “the Heart of New Haven,” but Cindy knew better than to try suggesting again that I live with someone else. Given the choice, I was where I wanted to be, but that didn’t stop me from wanting the best of both worlds. Alia, whose mouth-speaking was still quite horrid, didn’t mind not going to school in the least. This was, at least in my opinion, due to the fact that she didn’t know what she was missing. Though she had long since completely overcome her fear of strangers, Alia showed little desire to go out and make new friends. She was perfectly content to continue living in her little world of Cindy, Terry and me. But unlike my sister, I did know what I was missing, and I missed it a lot.

Terry usually made time after school on Mondays and Thursdays, as well as on weekends to continue my CQC training. We also started adding half-hour pistol training sessions after each of my CQC lessons. Just like in the dojo, there were occasionally a few Guardians to be found practicing in the shooting range. Most of them were using pistols or rifles, but I sometimes saw a pyroid or telekinetic practicing his flame-throwing or blasting at the targets. Once, I even saw a spark who could throw thunderbolts from her hands. But the shooting range was never really crowded, and to my great relief, I never saw Ralph there again. Terry told me that he had shipped off on yet another mission. I didn’t ask where.

With practice, I eventually did start hitting the paper targets more regularly, occasionally landing an entirely accidental bull’s-eye. However, even though holding a pistol was far less taxing on my physical strength than doing CQC with Terry, I still wasn’t sure which I disliked more. The gun never felt right in my hands. It was heavy and awkward, not only because the steel drained my strength, but because I knew firsthand what these things could do, and I wouldn’t wish that on anybody, not even Ralph. Not even the berserker who had killed my parents.

Nevertheless, even on the days that I didn’t have Terry’s sessions, I spent some time lifting weights in the dojo and practicing my pistol work in the shooting range. Nobody was telling me to do this, but I assumed it was part of the “terms of my service” to the Guardians. Terry had asked me what I would have done if the Angels had attacked us that night in the countryside. I still couldn’t entertain the idea of killing, even in self-defense, but Terry was right when she said that the better I was at fighting, the more likely I could take down an opponent without killing him. Unlike many psionics, I had only one power. I had no idea when or if I would gain another. I couldn’t help being a destroyer, so on my own terms, I wanted to be the best destroyer I could be. Just in case.

At the moment, however, my pistol aim was barely good enough to hit a close, stationary target, to say nothing of targeting specific body parts for a non-lethal takedown. I was actually a much better shot without the gun. My telekinetic blasts focused through my right index finger always hit the targets dead center. However, as Terry logically pointed out, a semi-automatic pistol could fire ten rounds in the time it took for me to prepare a single focused telekinetic blast. Bullets also had a far greater range. My finger shots were only potentially lethal at fifteen yards or less. I remembered how Terry had once claimed that the problem with new psionics is that they think their powers make them superhuman. True enough, my telekinesis allowed me to do things no one could recreate with current technology, but in terms of combat capabilities, I had to admit that conventional weapons were superior to most destroyer powers.

Cindy was still tutoring me during the mornings, now in eighth-grade material, but not at the impossible pace we had been going during my mad rush to finish seventh grade. I found enough spare time in the afternoons to lounge about in the penthouse or occasionally get Terry to accompany Alia and me out to the park. At Cindy’s suggestion, I started to take things easier in the dojo as well, rarely doing more than an hour of training on the days I went down alone.

There were two consequences to my slower lifestyle.

The first was that my sister ended up getting a lot more mouth-speaking practice from me. I still wasn’t actively teaching her, figuring that one Terry in the house was enough for Alia, but I had a lot more free time to spend with her playing board games and such. Still pretty much friendless in New Haven, it wasn’t like I had anything better to be doing anyway.

But a nonexistent social life wasn’t my worst problem at the moment.

If the absence of dreams was any indication of how deeply a person sleeps, then the second and more serious consequence of taking things slower was that I became a lighter sleeper and thus more prone to having nightmares. For the first two weeks after arriving in New Haven, I had been so constantly plagued by nightmares that I had seriously considered stowing my pride and asking Mr. Koontz for help. The frequency of these nightmares had gradually declined, and I had thought that I was basically over and done with them by late July. However, it turned out that the main reason my nights had been relatively calm for the remainder of the summer was that, due to Terry’s training sessions, I was simply too tired at night to dream. Often, the whole night would pass in a single blink.

Not so anymore.

My nightmares these days weren’t quite as graphic as they had been before, but I still frequently found myself springing up in bed at night, heart racing and panting heavily. Waking up screaming was almost as bad as waking up levitating. Whenever I did either, the noise I made would invariably wake Alia, and she would end up sitting by the window with me for however long it took until one of us yawned. I would have felt sorrier for my sister had it not been for her continued insistence on sharing a room with me. (Not that there was an open room left in the penthouse that she could move to anymore, but if she really wanted, we could have cleared away the library or the game room.) But Alia never once complained about the lack of sleep I was causing her, and her continued nighttime telepathic murmuring always made going to sleep (or back to sleep) just a little easier for me. She couldn’t stop me from having bad nights, though, and those bad nights usually bled right into the next mornings, where I felt awkward and irritable at the breakfast table.

To make matters worse, what Ralph had said to me on my first day in the shooting range clung to me like a leech, breaking my concentration whenever I held a pistol or even squared off with Terry in the dojo. Deep down, I had always known that Ralph was right about what had happened in the research center. I knew that I was, at least in part, responsible for Dr. Kellogg’s death, and for the deaths of everyone else down there. But amidst so many other things that had been bothering me since my arrival in New Haven, I had conveniently managed to keep my guilty feelings about the Psionic Research Center locked safely away in the back of my mind.

Now, thanks to Ralph’s unkind reminder, the more I tried to push my conscience aside, the more it burned me. I had helped the Guardians gather the information that had led to the complete destruction of the research facility. If it hadn’t been for my capture – I still cringed whenever I thought about the stupidity of my actions that led to it – and for my subsequent escape, none of the doctors or the military personnel there would have died. Dr. Kellogg would be alive today. And Dr. Otis... and even Dr. Denman. As much as I hated Dr. Denman, I was sure I wouldn’t have wished him the end that he had met. Including the guards, there must have been nearly a hundred people at the facility. I had only known them as my captors, but there was no denying that some of them, perhaps even most of them, were not really evil at heart. I remembered the soldier who had brought Alia’s new control bands to our room. I had hated him, as I hated all the guards there. But he was somebody’s son, and perhaps somebody’s father. Now he was dead, and I didn’t even know his name. That bothered me, but I knew better than to tell someone like Terry, who would only scoff at my weakness.

Out of habit, I was still meditating with Cindy fairly regularly, and when, in the third week of September, Cindy asked me what was keeping my concentration at bay this time, I told her.

“You did what you had to do,” Cindy said softly. “And remember, you didn’t actually kill anyone down there.”

“But they all died because of me,” I said, staring down at my hands.

“Don’t think like that, Adrian. I was a part of it too, and you know perfectly well how I feel about killing. But what happened down there wasn’t our fault. No one knew it would end like that.”

“But was it right?”

“It certainly wasn’t wrong.”

I frowned at her. “That’s not what I asked, Cindy.”

“What we did brought you and Alia back to me, Adrian. For that, I am happy.” Cindy gave me a tender smile. “In a way, I’m glad you feel so bad about those people, because it means I was right about you all along. But try not to dwell on it too much. You are not a killer, Adrian. You never will be. Don’t let anyone tell you differently, especially Ralph Henderson.”

Try not to dwell on it?! Thanks a lot, Cindy, I thought angrily as I lay on my bed that night.

I knew that Cindy had meant well, but far from comforting me, her words only frustrated me even more. I remembered how Cindy had begged me not to kill Ralph when I had the chance to put an arrow into his neck. And yet it was Ralph who had killed Cindy’s husband. That was how much Cindy valued life, and how much she valued my innocence. But just because Cindy couldn’t see me as a killer didn’t mean that I wasn’t one. I loved Cindy, but in this matter, I really needed an objective opinion. After spending a few more days feeling confused and uncomfortable, I decided that it was time to make a long-overdue visit to a good friend.

In the early afternoon of the following Sunday, while Cindy was at another one of her meetings, I cycled out to the church where Mark worked. Technically, I wasn’t supposed to leave the penthouse without my bodyguard, but Terry had also been out since morning. Besides, I wanted to talk to Mark alone. For that reason, I had forbidden Alia from accompanying me, leaving her alone in the penthouse.

Stepping into the spacious church building, I looked around for Mark, but couldn’t find him.

One of the nuns, noticing my lost expression, approached me. “May I help you?”

“I’m looking for Father Parnell,” I told her.

The nun smiled. “He is in the confessional. I believe it is open now.”

I had never been inside a confession room before, and was surprised to find that it was as small as a closet, with an uncomfortably hard wooden chair against one wall. The confessional was built into the church wall, and once I closed the booth door, I could be assured of my privacy. Only through the smallest slit in the wall in front of me could I tell that there was a priest on the other side.

“Bless me, Father, for I have sinned,” I said, trying hard to keep a straight face. “It has been, uh, forever, since my last–”

“Adrian?!” Mark’s voice sounded much louder than I had expected.

“Hey, Mark,” I said. “One of the sisters outside told me you were in this box.”

“What are you doing here?” Mark asked in a hushed voice.

“Confession?” I suggested meekly.

“But you’re an agnostic, Adrian.”

“I know. I just needed to talk to a friend.”

“Is this something you can’t speak to Cindy about?”

“I tried, but I don’t think she understands as well as you.”

Mark said kindly, “Oh, well, anything I can do to help. Do you want to go somewhere else?”

“This is cozy enough, thanks,” I said.

“So what’s bothering you?”

Where to even begin? I decided to start with the most recent, which was what Ralph had said to me in the shooting range. Mark, in his usual calm manner, listened without interruption until I was completely talked out. Then he asked quietly, “And you think what happened down there makes you a killer?”

“I don’t know, Mark,” I replied. “But I don’t think self-preservation automatically justifies killing.”

“I’m impressed, Adrian. You might have made a good priest.”

“I’m sorry, Mark,” I said carefully. “No disrespect, but I’ve never really read the Bible, and I’m not so sure I believe in God, either.”

“You don’t have to,” said Mark, and though I couldn’t see him through the slit in the wall, I could tell that he was smiling. “All people who search their souls are looking for God in their own way, Adrian, even when they claim, as you do, that they don’t believe in him. The most important part of true faith isn’t about reading the Bible or attending church, or even about believing in God, for that matter. It’s about finding what is right, and making it a part of who you are.”

“I don’t know what is right anymore.”

“Right is a very difficult thing to know sometimes,” agreed Mark. “As I’m sure you understand perfectly well by now, Adrian, we live in a very imperfect world. It is enough to make anyone question their faith from time to time. In this world, we do what we can and what we must, but no one is destined to live or die.”

I wasn’t sure what he was getting at, so I asked, “What do you think of what we did, Mark?”

Mark paused for a moment before answering slowly, “Personally, I believe that what we did at the research center was, however horrible the outcome, nevertheless entirely justifiable. Don’t get me wrong, Adrian. I do not think any more lightly of the lives lost during that raid than you do. Every man there had his own life and story that was abruptly ended because of what we did. They had families that will grieve for their losses, and most of them were, as they say, just doing their jobs.”

“Then how can it possibly be justifiable?” I asked, frustrated at what, to my mind, was a clear contradiction.

“Because, Adrian,” Mark said patiently, “it was either us or them. It just so happened that we succeeded. Had things gone differently, they could have just as easily killed us.”

Us or them... That sounded too much like Terry’s argument when she first took me down to the shooting range. I had been hoping for something better from a priest. “It can’t be that simple, Mark.”

“I trust God to guide my life, Adrian. I believe that God intended us to succeed that night, and if he had not, then we would have failed. Since you apparently don’t believe in God, for now you will just have to trust yourself to know when it is right, or at least acceptable, to kill.”

“But how will I know when it’s right?” I asked anxiously. “I’m a destroyer. Even if I don’t count the people at the research center, someday I’ll be expected to fight for real. And kill. How will I know?”

Mark answered quietly, “As long as you wonder, Adrian, you will know. I promise you.”

I frowned. “That’s not very helpful.”

“Cindy told me that you refused to part with your identification tattoo. If it was for the reason that I think it was, then I’m certain you will know.”

I touched the P-47 mark on my upper left arm. “Thanks, Mark,” I mumbled.

I couldn’t say that I was satisfied with Mark’s answer. His view of what we had done at the PRC wasn’t so different from Cindy’s. Still, Mark hadn’t tried to paint me in innocence or tell me not to dwell on it, and I was grateful for the adult treatment. I decided that, as long as I was unable to find a better answer on my own, I would have to accept Mark’s comparatively unbiased conclusion. After all, he was a priest.

After a pause, Mark said, “There’s something else troubling you as well, isn’t there?”

“Yes,” I answered quietly.

“Care to share it?”

“Um... can you keep a secret?”

Mark laughed quietly. “In this tiny little box, I am bound by the Seal of the Confessional, Adrian. Even if this isn’t exactly a normal confession, I would nevertheless honor the confidentiality of our discussion. So in short, yes, I can keep a secret.”

I remained silent for a moment, gathering my thoughts. Mark waited patiently until I said, “It’s a bit complicated. You see, I woke up injured the morning after the big party, and, well, that was when the Angel spy escaped.”

“Ah, yes,” said Mark. “Cindy told me how you knew of the secret switch to the escape tunnel. Are you concerned that you might have had a hand in the Angel’s escape?”

“I was really drunk that night, Mark. I don’t remember anything.”

I wondered if I was about to receive a reprimand about underage drinking, but Mark only asked, “Well, why would you help an Angel, even if you were drunk?”

“I was wondering the same thing,” I replied.

“How were you injured?”

“That’s the problem,” I said, frustrated. “I can’t remember.”

“No, I mean, where were you injured? What part of your body?”

“Oh, well, I had a bruise on my arm and a bump on my head.”

“Weren’t you with Terry that night?”

“Yes.”

“Did you ask her how you received those injuries?”

I had, actually, several weeks ago. “She said I fell down some stairs.”

“And do you have any reason to doubt her?”

“Not really,” I answered. “Just the secret button in the farthest jail cell.”

“Knowing you, Adrian, you might have just instinctively known. Or perhaps Terry had once told you and you simply don’t remember it.”

“Possibly...” I said slowly.

I heard Mark sigh. “You being constantly knocked around that dojo isn’t doing your spirit a lot of good, and the mind can be a fickle thing. Still, I’m no expert in psionics. If you are really worried about this, I would suggest you speak to Mr. Baker. He would know more about the incident, and I doubt you will get into any trouble just for being honest with him.”

“Maybe I will,” I said. “Thanks, Mark.”

“Always happy to help,” he said. “Maybe it’s time we got out of these cramped quarters.”

I exited the confessional, and Mark came out from the other side.

The nun who had shown me to the booth came up to us and said smilingly, “That was a long confession for a young boy.”

“Oh, he’s been very bad,” joked Mark.

After introducing me to a few other members of the church, Mark walked me out, asking, “How is everything else with you these days?”

“Things are a bit easier now that Terry is in school,” I said. “And I’ve learned a bit from her too. These days, I can almost survive five seconds against her. Alia’s mouth-speaking is actually starting to get better too.”

Grinning widely, Mark asked, “So what’s it like being the only man of the house?”

I rolled my eyes. “Don’t even ask.”

Mark laughed heartily and patted my shoulder, saying, “Thirteen is about as tough as it gets growing up, and you have a lot on your plate. Hang in there. Things will get better in time.”

I would have liked to spend some more time talking with Mark, but I was getting a bit worried about my sister. After what happened on our camping trip, I was always a bit edgy about leaving her alone.

I cycled back at top speed and, parking in the basement, I took the elevator up to the penthouse. Even before I finished unlocking the front door, however, I could already hear Alia’s voice in my head.

“Addy! You’re home!”

“What’s the matter, Ali?” I asked, opening the door. “Why aren’t you wearing your ring?”

Alia looked at me uneasily. “Terry’s crying.”

“She’s what?” I asked, disbelieving her voice in my head.

“She came back a few minutes ago, and she had a little box, and now she’s crying.”

Terry – crying? That didn’t sound at all like the wild and tough Guardian I knew. But as I stepped into the living room, I could hear it too. Terry wasn’t just crying. She was wailing as if she had been mortally injured. I ran to her room door and just barely stopped myself from barging in.

“Terry?” I called, banging on her door with my fist. “Terry, are you okay?”

“Don’t come in, Adrian!” she shouted, her voice completely cracked. “Please, just leave me alone!”

If it had been Alia or even Cindy, I would have ignored that and busted down the door, but my combat instructor commanded a more respectful distance, and I hesitated, unsure what to do. Terry was no longer crying loudly, but I could still hear her sobbing uncontrollably.

A moment later, the door burst open and Terry practically threw me aside as she bolted for the bathroom. She slammed the door and locked it, and I could hear her sobbing for a few more minutes. It wasn’t like I enjoyed listening at the door, but I couldn’t help myself. This just wasn’t like Terry at all. I heard the toilet flush, and ducked out of sight as Terry exited the bathroom. I caught a glimpse of her as she hurried back into her room. It might have been a trick of the light, but I thought for an instant that there was a bloodstain on the front of her shirt.

“What’s going on, Addy?” asked Alia, looking at me anxiously. “What’s the matter with Terry?”

“I don’t know,” I said, and knocked on Terry’s door again as I called, “Terry, are you sure you’re okay?”

“I’m fine,” Terry called back in a forced voice. “Just stay out, okay?”

It wasn’t okay, but what could I do?

I led my sister back to our room. After making her put her draining ring back on, I sat down with her at the window and read one of her storybooks to her. My mind was lost to memories of Terry’s tear-stained face as she ran past me on her way to the bathroom, so I’m sure I wasn’t reading very well, but Alia probably wasn’t listening either, so it didn’t matter.

Shortly before Cindy came home, Terry visited us in our room to apologize for what she described as an “embarrassing outburst.”

“I’m really sorry, Adrian,” she said emotionlessly. “I was just upset about something.”

“That much is obvious, Terry,” I said, noticing the lines on her cheeks. “What happened?”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Not even to your family?” I asked, raising my eyebrows.

Terry forced a little smile and said, “I’m okay now. Really. Please don’t tell anyone I was like that, Adrian. What will people think of me?”

I grinned. “They might mistakenly think you are actually human.”

Terry gave a weak laugh. I noticed that she had changed her shirt, but I couldn’t be sure if I really had seen blood on her. Perhaps Terry had simply changed because her shirt had been soaked with tears.

“It’s nothing important, Adrian,” said Terry. “I just had a bad relationship.”

“Boyfriend?” I asked timidly.

“Ex-boyfriend, okay? Please just stay out of my personal life.”

“Sure thing, Terry.”

Chapter 9: The Closet Monster

Terry’s baffling episode had almost driven my own problems from my mind, but the day after speaking with Mark, I found myself standing at the door of 3901. I hadn’t had a one-on-one talk with Mr. Baker since arriving in New Haven, and as I knocked on the door, I wondered if I should have had Cindy make an appointment for me. There was no answer so I knocked again, slightly harder. I was about to turn and leave when I heard the lock click open.

“Well, hello, Adrian,” said Mr. Baker, opening the door. “There is a doorbell.”

“Oh, right,” I said, laughing embarrassedly.

“Come in. Let’s not stand out here.”

I followed Mr. Baker into his condo and sat with him at the low table in his living room. This time, when he offered me sugar with my tea, I accepted it and the silver spoon to stir it with.

“To what do I owe the pleasure?” asked Mr. Baker once we had taken a sip.

“I was wondering...” I hesitated. What was I going to say? That I got drunk and couldn’t remember what I was doing the night the Angel spy escaped? That maybe I had done something to help him? Now that I was actually here, the whole story sounded utterly ridiculous.

“Yes, Adrian?” asked Mr. Baker. “You were wondering?”

“About my sister, Mr. Baker,” I said clumsily. “About Catherine. Any news of where she is?”

“Ah, well, it was about time you came around on that account,” said Mr. Baker, nodding.

I looked at him hopefully, but Mr. Baker shook his head. “Unfortunately, we still have no information concerning your sister,” he informed me. “However, please do not lose heart. The Angels are a very large faction, with many subdivisions and countless servants. Just because Catherine has not been located doesn’t mean she is not with them. Besides, even if we found her today, we probably would not be able to remove her from the faction without severe damage to her mind.”

“I know of the dangers of separation,” I said, remembering the Angel pyroid who had gone insane. “But how long do people need before they can be safely separated?”

“It depends,” Mr. Baker said carefully. “With a child, it could be until adulthood, and even then, it is unlikely that she will ever be completely free of her conversion. She may spend much of her life longing to return to the service of the Angels.”

I frowned. Cindy had told me the same thing last year.

Mr. Baker gave me an encouraging smile. “Of course, if we could somehow kill the Angel queen, Adrian, your sister’s conversion would wear off very quickly.”

I knew that from Cindy too. Killing the Angels’ master controller, Larissa Divine, was the only sure way to release Cat from her mental enslavement. I didn’t like the idea of killing anybody, now more than ever, but if that really was the only way to recover my lost sister...

I looked at Mr. Baker hesitantly. “Are you?”

“Trying to kill the Angel queen?” asked Mr. Baker. “Yes, Adrian, we are. But that isn’t as easy as it sounds. I’m sorry to have to tell you this, but you really need to be patient.”

“Patience is my favorite virtue,” I said, forcing a smile.

I finished my tea, and I was about to leave when Mr. Baker asked, “Was there anything else you wanted to ask me about?”

I thought about Terry. Was it really a boyfriend that had caused her to act like that yesterday?

Ever since arriving in New Haven, despite the outward appearance of the moderately safe and halfway normal life I led here, I had always felt something deeper was going on. Something just beyond my grasp, like the fading memories of a dream. Like a closet monster. It was there until you opened the closet, and then it was under your bed until you looked there too. I was well past the age of believing in closet monsters, but that was exactly what it felt like. Something was always there until you looked closer, and then it was somewhere else.

“Adrian? Was there anything else you wanted to ask me about?”

“Oh,” I said, snapping out of my thoughts. “No. Thank you, Mr. Baker.”

There were so many little things that didn’t make sense in my life that, for the sake of my sanity, I decided I’d stop trying to make sense of them. Whatever had happened the night the Angel spy escaped, it probably had nothing to do with me. We still had no clue how the pair of dark-suited Angels intercepted Alia and me on the road in mid-August. If someone had told the Angels about our secret camping trip, then someone else had also saved us, so that balanced out nicely. And since we weren’t about to do anything like that again, it made little difference what had really happened. Terry’s tears were none of my business either, though I thought perhaps her ex-boyfriend might have sent her some kind of horrible break-up gift. I had enough trouble imagining what kind of boy Terry might go out with in the first place, so I quickly gave up trying to guess what her personal life might be like. I was much too old to be hunting closet monsters anyway.

As for Ralph’s words down in the shooting range, it took me a little more time to work through most of my feelings about the Psionic Research Center, and even to this day I still wonder about it sometimes. But Mark had it right: It had been a simple matter of “us or them,” and even if I did have a hand in the deaths of all of those people, there was nothing I could do about it now. I hadn’t yet directly killed anyone, and I planned to keep it that way. I decided to humor Terry and learn every nasty piece of CQC she had to offer, including how to use guns and knives and jo-sticks (whatever they were). Ultimately, it was my call whether or not to actually use these skills. No doubt Larissa Divine already had enough people trying to kill her without me joining in the hunt, and I wasn’t going to get my hands dirty in this war just because I learned how. Accepting that, I could focus on my training again.

Then, one morning in mid-October...

“Wake up, Addy!” Alia happily yelled into my head.

“You’re awake enough for the both of us,” I moaned, yawning loudly and squinting in the early morning sunshine filtering in through the curtains. “Let me sleep a bit more.”

“No!” cried Alia, pulling off my blanket and shaking me. “It’s happy birthday today!”

Mornings were never my thing, and turning fourteen didn’t change that too much, but I hauled myself out of bed nevertheless.

I knew perfectly well that I was only a day older than I had been the day before, but I had to admit that “fourteen” had a nice ring to it, and it felt good to be saying goodbye to what had been a very shaky year for me. Besides, now I really was only a year younger than Terry. Sort of.

“You were talking in your sleep again, Addy,” said Alia. “Really loudly, too.”

“If it bothers you,” I said, stretching my arms, “get your own room.”

“It doesn’t bother me. It helps me go to sleep.”

“You’re weird, Alia,” I said dryly, though admittedly I felt the same way about her telepathic nighttime murmurs.

Alia smirked. “Do you want to know what you were saying?”

“Not particularly, but I have a feeling you’re going to tell me anyway.”

“You were calling out Terry’s name. And it sounded like you were telling her to stop doing something.”

“I probably had a dream about being in the dojo with her,” I said.

In fact, I didn’t remember any of my dreams from the night before, but that seemed a likely explanation.

“Anyway, you better put your ring on, Ali,” I said. “Breakfast time.”

“Here we go again,” said Alia, frowning as she slipped her silver ring on.

“Hey, you’re getting there,” I said, giving her an encouraging smile.

Alia scowled. “Ya, rye. I wiss I coo joo dis afta bay-fass.”

“Why?” I laughed. “So you can talk with your mouth full?”

Alia stuck her tongue out at me, spun on her heel and stalked out of the room.

It was a Sunday, but Terry canceled my afternoon CQC lesson, and Mark joined us for dinner. Terry had Cindy bake my birthday cake in the shape of, shockingly enough, the psionic control band I had used to learn my power balance. Such was Terry’s idea of a joke, and though I inwardly felt it more than a tad on the insensitive side, I laughed along with everyone else.

“So,” said Mark, “fourteen years old! May this year be a better one, Adrian.”

“I certainly hope so,” I laughed as he handed me a small box.

Mark’s present turned out to be a waterproof digital watch that had no metal parts on the outside. Even the buttons were made of plastic, and a little metal near my wrist (as opposed to touching it) wasn’t about to noticeably drain me. I always wore my tracer band on my left wrist when I went out, so my birthday watch went onto my right.

Terry, in blatant defiance of Cindy’s fashion taste, gave me a black leather jacket, for which I was extremely grateful. I knew it wouldn’t match any of my colorful sweatpants, but at least it would hide my ridiculous shirts.

Alia gave me another self-created card, this time with legible writing on it, as well as a light brown leather cord to replace the one that held Cat’s amethyst. My current one was quite old and on the verge of snapping. (Alia had already had to replace her pendant cord twice because she kept playing with it.)

Cindy said to me, “I know I said your bicycle was your birthday present, but I got you one more.”

She handed me a large rectangular box. Unwrapping it, I discovered to my delight that it was a high-power telescope and tripod. I had owned a smaller telescope back at my old home, but the one Cindy gave me was quite a monster.

“I know how much you like stargazing,” said Cindy. “Alia tells me you sometimes spend half the night looking up out of your window.”

I grinned. “Thanks, Cindy.”

Cindy knew, of course, the real reason why I (and consequently Alia) spent so much time stargazing, but it was also true that I liked looking up at the night sky.

That night, we all stayed up late – Alia well past her bedtime – trying out the new telescope.

It took some dedicated trial and error to assemble the telescope and mount it onto its tripod. One of the few things Terry and I agreed on was that instruction manuals were for decoration, not reading, so we fiddled with different bolts and screws until everything looked about right. Then we carried the entire contraption to the greenhouse, which seemed like the best place to start. However, the greenhouse didn’t cover the southern or western horizons, so we ended up moving the telescope around the penthouse to almost every window available. Powerful meant bulky, and being made almost entirely of metal parts, the telescope wasn’t easy to carry and utterly impossible to levitate, so Terry had to help me a lot.

Actually, I didn’t know a whole lot about the stars – I certainly couldn’t name most of them. And though New Haven was on the edge of the city, there was still too much light and air pollution to make out more than the brightest stars. Still, we got a good look at the craters of the moon as well as a not-so-good look at the Orion Nebula and the rings of Saturn. Even Terry, who didn’t share my fondness for stargazing, was visibly impressed when she discovered that Saturn’s rings could actually be seen, and weren’t the product of an overly imaginative science-textbook artist.

As I lay in bed that night, I had a very good feeling that I wasn’t about to have any nightmares. But when I closed my eyes, my mind wandered briefly to a single word that had somehow got stuck in my mind during the course of the evening: “Assembly.”

Assembly? Where did that come from? I didn’t even remember anyone saying that word, but somehow it was floating in my mind. It was a strange and uncomfortable feeling, but one that I soon left behind as I drifted off to sleep.

The next morning before breakfast, Cindy said to me, “Adrian, you left your telescope box in the living room last night. Put it away somewhere. You never know when we might have to pack it up again.”

“Sure, Cindy,” I said, heading to the living room.

The big empty cardboard box would have been easy to levitate. However, having just woken up, I was still feeling too groggy to concentrate, so I picked the box up with my hands and carried it back to my room. I was about to slide it under my bed when something about the box made me do a double-take. What was it? I looked at the picture of the telescope on the side of the box, and then my eyes fell upon the fine-print: “Some assembly required.” That was what had caught my eye.

“Some assembly required,” I muttered to myself, looking down at the warning on the box. So that was how the word “assembly” had entered my thoughts last night. But I was certain that I had heard those words before, and in a different context. I shook my head. Somehow, it didn’t feel like your typical deja vu. Some assembly required. I felt a chill run down my spine, though I couldn’t figure out why.

Two nights later, despite having had a long and grueling CQC lesson with Terry, I was nevertheless woken a little past midnight by a nightmare, and spent some time playing with my new telescope. Fortunately, I hadn’t screamed in my sleep, so Alia remained peacefully unconscious. I was quite used to waking up with nightmares, but as I adjusted the telescope’s focus, I couldn’t help but think that something was slightly different this time.

For starters, Terry had been in it. My usual nightmares were about things that happened before I arrived in New Haven, such as the night my parents had been killed, my fight with Ralph, or being shot and tortured by the Wolves. So if it hadn’t been for Terry’s intrusion into this particular dream, I might not have taken any notice. To the best of my rapidly fading memory, Terry and I were standing in a large room with two angry men. I didn’t recognize them, but they seemed familiar. I was pretty sure that they were both soldiers from the Psionic Research Center. One of them was threatening me, possibly with a gun, and Terry was arguing with the other one.

I couldn’t remember any more details than that. Perhaps it was just another PRC-related nightmare after all, and Terry had just popped into it by chance. Either way, I wasn’t one to dwell too deeply on nightmares since mine were too numerous to bother with on a regular basis. After fiddling with the telescope for about thirty minutes, I quietly slipped back into bed. Listening to Alia’s soft murmurs in my head, I drifted back into a sleep too deep to remember any other dreams I might have had.

“You were dreaming about Terry again last night, weren’t you?” asked Alia the next morning.

I frowned. “I was not.”

“You’re such a bad liar, Addy.”

“Put your ring on, Alia,” I said, and she blew me a big raspberry.

But from then on, Terry did start making infrequent appearances in my dreams, and whenever she did, they were almost certainly nightmares. These nightmares usually involved some kind of argument with a few soldiers from the PRC. There were a few guns, and something about “assembly.” Something about “the Gifford boy.”

There was that closet monster again. I had decided that as long as my nights were being plagued by nightmares, I wasn’t going to let them take over my waking life as well. I stubbornly refused to dwell on them. Whenever my sister caught me saying Terry’s name in my sleep, she would tease me about it. It was embarrassing and annoying, but there was little I could do to control my dreams.

Halfway through November, the real-life Terry told me that her Uncle Charles had briefly returned to New Haven, but Terry continued to stay with us.

“He’s only here for a week,” she said, “and I don’t want to bother him.”

I gave her a smirk, saying, “You mean you prefer Cindy’s cooking and you like having a pool table in the house.”

“Well, being your personal trainer and bodyguard has to come with some compensation.”

“Bodyguard?” I laughed. “You hardly ever come with Alia and me when we go outside these days.”

“Well, in case you haven’t noticed, Adrian, I’m still a fulltime student. Besides, the chances of the Angels trying to kidnap you again are a million to one.”

Mr. Baker might have blown his top had he known, but the fact that Terry was shirking her responsibilities didn’t bother me in the least. I just felt like reminding my combat instructor that even she didn’t get everything perfect. And I knew, of course, why she did it. Terry didn’t like being seen outside with us because it would make it difficult for her school friends to be with her. Cindy had once told me not to blame parents for wanting their children to be safe, but even I knew that there was more to life than just being safe. Ever since my run-in with the gray-haired peacemaker, whenever I took Alia out of the penthouse, I was more alert and mindful of our surroundings, and I made sure to wear the tracer band too. But I wasn’t about to limit our outdoor time just because Terry refused to go out with us.

I decided that waking life wasn’t so bad. Terry knew me well enough not to talk about school in front of me, and though winter was closing fast and it was too chilly to go out very often, I found enough things to occupy my time when I wasn’t studying or training. Alia and I still went cycling on the weekends, and we often went out to Mark’s church together. Mark always praised Alia’s improvement in mouth-speaking, though my sister’s speech was still pretty much incomprehensible.

December came, and the first heavy snow fell in New Haven. Alia begged for a snowball fight, which saved me the trouble of suggesting it, and Cindy and Terry came with us to the park. We discovered that even Terry, who could dodge my telekinetic blasts, couldn’t avoid three snowballs at once. We were out long enough to be chilled to the bone, but it was a fantastic day for me. I was enjoying myself so much that I could briefly forget all of my troubles, and I knew I’d be so tired out by the end of the day that I ran only the slightest risk of having a bad dream.

Nevertheless, that very night...

“Addy, wake up already!”

I opened my eyes halfway and discovered that Alia was sitting on my stomach and shaking my shoulders.

“Alia, what are you doing in my bed?” I asked groggily.

“You’re in my bed, Addy,” Alia informed me.

“What?” I said, quickly lifting my head and rubbing my eyes. I was in her bed. I narrowed my eyes and demanded in mock-anger, “Okay, what am I doing in your bed, then?”

My sister laughed. Then she explained, “You were sleep-hovering again, Addy. I didn’t want you to have another bad fall, so when you were right over my bed, I pulled you back down.”

“Oh...” I said, gently levitating Alia off of my stomach and getting up. “Thanks, Ali.”

“You really should wear a rope or something.”

“For the hundredth time, no,” I replied flatly as I set Alia back onto her bed.

Cindy and Alia frequently pestered me about wearing a leash at night to keep me from drifting out of my bed, but I always refused. I wasn’t quite sure why I was being so stubborn about it, especially since I did get quite bruised sometimes. I guess I just didn’t like the idea of being tied down, even if I could easily remove the tether.

I glanced at my birthday watch. It was still 3am. Sitting down on my own bed, I asked Alia, “What were you doing up, anyway?”

“I was just getting a glass of water.”

“Oh. Do you think you can go right back to sleep?”

Alia gave me an uncomfortable look.

“What’s the matter?” I asked.

“Terry was crying again. I heard her on my way to the kitchen.”

“Did you talk to her?”

“No. She wouldn’t let me in her room.”

Chances were, Terry wouldn’t let me in either. I thought about telling Cindy, but remembered my promise to stay out of Terry’s personal life. Besides, Alia had probably long since told Cindy about the first time back in September. Still, I was both curious and concerned about Terry. Alia was the kind of kid that demanded constant attention, was quick to tears and emotionally fickle on the best of days. In contrast, it was precisely because Terry was such a trooper that I worried so much about her crying in the middle of the night. Still, I had promised...

Terry seemed fine the next day, and I filed the incident away in the back of my mind, along with all the other things that I couldn’t quite figure out but was unwilling to pursue.

As the year end approached, Terry was out of school for her winter holidays, but she had brought home a mountain of homework, which meant she couldn’t increase my combat training time as much as she would have liked. It seemed that high school really was as tough as people said, and Terry was often ill-tempered after a few hours shut up in her room studying her books. While I secretly suspected that Terry wasn’t the most academically oriented person I had ever met, I knew better than to ask her what kind of grades she usually got.

On New Year’s Eve, we were all invited to a countdown party for the Guardian Council. The Council, I learned, was the core of New Haven’s newly formed government. It was made up of the former leaders of the largest Guardian breakaway factions that had joined the New Haven Project. Mr. Baker was no longer the single leader of the Guardians here, but rather the head of this council.

The party was held in the subbasement, in one of the larger meeting rooms, and the party organizers had done their best to decorate the drab concrete room with colorful ribbons and flowers. There might have been sixty or more people attending – mostly Council members and their families. After the opening speeches by Mr. Baker and a few of the prominent guests, everyone mingled freely, waiting for the countdown.

For much of the party, Mr. Baker was busy chatting with other adults. But when I had a brief chance to speak with him, I asked, “So, are the Guardians a democracy now?”

“Not entirely,” admitted Mr. Baker, “but we are much more democratic than we were when we had a queen.” He laughed as he added, “These days, I have to watch myself and keep the Council happy. Otherwise, they can pass a vote of no-confidence and replace me.”

Cindy wasn’t a Council member but, like at the last party, had been invited as the guest of honor. There were no other children here aside from Terry, Alia, and me. That was a slight disappointment, but at least the party attendees didn’t treat us like the black plague. Many of them introduced themselves and shook our hands, and I had my first glass of champagne with everyone else right after the clock struck midnight. Having learned my lesson from last summer’s Welcome to New Haven party, however, I drank regular grape juice with Alia for the rest of the party. Terry was vocally unimpressed, but at least I didn’t have her headache on New Year’s morning.

Once Terry went back to school in early January, things returned to a normal routine... or at least as normal as it ever got in New Haven.

“How is your combat training coming?” asked Cindy one morning during the last week of January.

The question threw me for a moment. Cindy never asked me about my dojo time. She didn’t like to dwell on the fact that the Guardians were training me to be a soldier.

I answered jokingly, “Well, I can pin Alia pretty easily.” Cindy gave me a withering look, and I shrugged, adding, “I don’t know, Cindy. Terry is so completely out of my league. I can only beat her when she lets me, which she hardly ever does, so it’s hard to tell how I’d fare against someone less skilled.”

These days, Terry often had me face off with whoever was down in the dojo at the time. There were no novices in the dojo aside from me, so needless to say, I lost every match.

“Why do you ask?” I said.

“I’m just wondering if all of the bruises you keep coming back with are worth it.”

“You’d prefer I lived in peace.”

“Yes,” said Cindy. “I’d prefer we all did.”

“Well, that makes two of us,” I told her. “But recently, I think Terry has a point too. We have to be ready.”

Cindy just smiled sadly.

Cindy still felt, just as I did, very conflicted about my learning combat. However, there were certain undeniable benefits to my dojo time. The most noticeable was that I was clearly much more physically fit than I had ever been in my life. Despite my still incomplete power balance, I had enough control over my psionic power to keep it from interfering too much during my weight training, and as a result, my arm and leg muscles were much firmer. I wasn’t about to win any arm wrestling tournaments yet, but I found that I could almost keep up with Terry’s insanely fast-paced jogs. I also had much better physical balance, which meant I didn’t trip very often, and my reflexes were noticeably faster too. Once, having woken up hovering, I even managed to land on my feet.

In addition to the physical side of my training, I also found that I had greater control over my telekinetic focus. Things no longer fell off of the shelves unless I consciously made it happen. I hardly ever broke anything by accident, even when I was upset or angry. I had extended my flight time as well, managing to stay in the air for nearly eight minutes as long as I stayed relatively still. I decided that all in all, Terry’s combat training was well worth the pain and injuries. Terry herself was a much better teacher these days too, having finally gotten it through her head that I was a learner and not an opponent.

I wasn’t the only one making progress, however.

In recent weeks, I had noticed that my sister’s mouth-speaking was finally starting to improve. For the most part, she still talked like her mouth was stuffed with marshmallows, but just occasionally she would make a proper D, K, or T sound. She even managed to say “Addy” aloud a few times. The frequency of her successes still suggested that they were almost entirely accidental, but nevertheless we praised her a lot. Alia had altogether stopped trying to hide her mistakes by whispering, so although her sentences were still borderline gibberish, she spoke in a clearly audible volume. Terry insisted that Alia continue wearing her silver draining ring until she could speak full sentences and be understood, but Alia no longer seemed to mind in the least. My sister had finally found her door and was enjoying the challenge of opening it.

Mid-February. I glanced at the calendar pinned over my desk and realized that it was Cat’s twelfth birthday. Twelve years old... That’s how old I had been when I turned psionic. Technically, I had been halfway to thirteen, but still it felt strange thinking of Cat as my age. I hadn’t seen her in a year and a half.

Drawn to our house on the scent of a wild-born telekinetic, the Angels had kidnapped my first sister when they failed to get me. Cat wasn’t psionic, but the Angels were betting on the possibility that someday she might be.

And it was very possible indeed.

Cindy had once explained to me that when a dormant psionic bloodline was reactivated by the right combination of parents, it was fairly common for the siblings of wild-borns to become psionic too. Judging by the strength of my power, Cindy believed that both of my parents had come from dormant psionic bloodlines, and that meant there was a very good chance that my sister would also someday turn psionic.

What would her powers be like? Would she be a telekinetic like me, or were there other skills in our blood? What would the Angels make her do when she finally became psionic? Would she be forced to join their Seraphim? Would she be forced to fight the Guardians?

Neither Cindy nor anyone else here knew that today was Cat’s birthday. I hadn’t told them last year and I wasn’t going to tell them this year either. It wasn’t as if I could send my sister a card. But as was often the case when I tried to hide something from Cindy, it didn’t work.

“A little out of focus today, are we?” Cindy said playfully to me over lunch when I telekinetically knocked over the lemonade pitcher by accident.

Helping her towel off the table, I replied, “I guess I’m just a little tired.”

“More bad dreams?”

I shrugged. “Just your average, everyday nightmares, Cindy. I’m fine. Really!”

“Is that why you were playing with your pendant all morning?”

I scowled at her. I might have been absentmindedly fingering Cat’s amethyst more than usual that day, but Cindy didn’t have to spy on me.

“Come on, Adrian,” said Cindy, peering into my eyes, “what’s bugging you?”

“You are!” I said, annoyed. “Do you really have to know every little detail of my life?”

Cindy gave me a wounded look. “No, but I’d like to.”

“Well, this one is none of your business,” I said stubbornly.

And that was where we left it until dinner that evening. Near the end of the meal, Cindy announced, “I have a special surprise for you today, Adrian.”

Terry and Alia looked up from their plates. I raised my eyebrows.

Cindy added hesitantly, “But you have to promise you won’t get angry.”

I usually hated it when Cindy said that, but this time I already knew what her surprise was. Smiling broadly, I asked, “Now what makes you think I’d get all upset over a chocolate cake, Cindy?”

Cindy looked stunned. “How did you know?”

“Easy!” I laughed. “Alia is a world-class blabbermouth.”

I had been in my bedroom studying while Alia was helping Cindy bake the cake, and Alia couldn’t resist taking off her silver ring and telepathically spilling Cindy’s secret through the walls.

“Snitch!” said Cindy, giving Alia a gentle poke in her stomach. “I should have known.”

Alia giggled and said aloud, “Sorry, Cinney.”

Still smiling, I shook my head and said resignedly, “Trust you to bake a birthday cake for a missing person, Cindy.”

“I wasn’t sure you’d be happy,” said Cindy, carefully studying my face, “but it felt like the right thing to do.”

“It’s fine,” I assured her, and it was. Cindy had probably been nervous because of how I reacted back when she had bought Alia her bloodstone pendant, but this was different. In fact, I was no longer even sure why I had been so thorny during lunch today. Cindy Gifford was simply incapable of not caring, and that was what I loved about her.

As Cindy brought the cake in from the kitchen, I asked her, “But how did you know that it was Cat’s birthday? Not even Alia knew that.”

Cindy replied slyly, “I read it off your police record.”

Terry looked at me, asking in an impressed tone, “You have a police record, Adrian? What did you do?”

I laughed. “I’m missing, remember?”

“Oh, that kind of police record,” Terry said disappointedly. “Boring.”

“I like boring,” I said, smiling. “Boring is fun.”

Alia laughed as Terry rolled her eyes.

Cindy wanted to light candles and sing the happy birthday song for Cat, but I stopped her. “Come on, Cindy! That’s just plain silly! Cat’s not even here.”

“Someday, we’ll get her back, Adrian,” promised Cindy. “Someday, we’ll celebrate for real.”

Cindy was talking about months, if not years, in the future, but I still touched Cat’s amethyst and quietly agreed, “Someday.”

As Cindy passed out slices, I felt a little guilty about having Cat’s birthday cake without her. After all, who knew what kind of horrible life my sister was suffering in Angel captivity? Did they even celebrate their slaves’ birthdays over there?

But not eating the cake wouldn’t help Cat in the least. If our places had been reversed and I was the Angel slave, I would definitely want Cat to be having a good time. Besides, I knew that Cindy hadn’t really baked the cake for my lost sister. She had baked it to cheer me up, and I was happy that we were celebrating Cat’s birthday like this. The cake was delicious.

We had one more celebration that month, this one for my second sister.

One early morning near the end of February, I had been slowly dragging myself out of bed when Alia, who had already changed and left for the dining room, came bursting back into our room. She tugged hard on my arm and said aloud, “Hurry up, Addy. Cindy says brea’fast is ready. You can change la’er.”

I stared at her. I never imagined she would get this good. True, Alia was speaking slowly and deliberately, and her intonation was quite off, making her sound like she had severe brain damage, but nevertheless it was obvious that anyone who heard her speak would be able to understand her.

“See?” Alia said carefully, showing me the ring on her finger, “I’m wearing it.”

Even if I tried, I would never have been able to stop the ridiculously wide smile that crept over my face as I said, “Well, take it off, then, Ali. You don’t need it anymore.”

Tearing the ring off her finger, Alia jumped into my arms as I cried, “You did it, Ali! You really did it!”

“I did!” she said jubilantly into my head, and then out loud, “I dee! I dee! I dee!”

We danced around the room laughing so loudly that both Cindy and Terry barged in a moment later, but two more minutes had to pass before Alia and I were calm enough to explain what we were celebrating.

Cindy said to Alia, “I knew it was just a matter of time now. Really, if Terry hadn’t stopped me, I would have suggested that you stop wearing that ring weeks ago.”

“You owe Terry a big thank-you, Alia,” I said.

Alia knew that well enough without being told, and jumped on Terry next, hugging her tightly as she said, “T’ank you, Terry! T’ank you! T’ank you!”

Terry seemed quite embarrassed, but smiled and said, “You’re very welcome, Alia.”

We had another small party that night to celebrate the end of Alia’s drained mouth-speaking training. There was no cake this time, but we had plenty of ice cream. Terry had some fun giving me a hard time over the fact that Alia’s vocal abilities had caught up with my power balance. It was true, too. Draining still made me dizzy.

“Maybe you should wear the ring now, Adrian,” Terry said with an evil grin.

“Fortunately, it’s too small,” I said, laughing it off and hoping that Terry was only joking. She did, after all, still have the handcuffs.

I doubt Cindy and I could ever have forced upon Alia what she had to endure to get this far, but there was no denying the results of Terry’s unconventional methods. In just six months, Alia had gone from indecipherable baby-babble to somewhat clear and almost concise speech. She still used her telepathy whenever she was alone with me, and probably with Cindy and Terry too. But if there were two or more people in the room, Alia spoke aloud even if she was speaking to only one of them. It made polite sense, though I was sure that no matter how perfect Alia’s mouth-speaking became, she would still prefer to speak telepathically.

It had been only eight months since our arrival in New Haven and the beginning of our new lives in the Guardian community, but so many things had changed that I could scarcely remember my life prior to turning psionic.

Chapter 10: A Fairytale Mission

There are few things that are for certain in this world, but one of them is that peace is as fickle as a candle in the wind. Only about a week and a half after our celebration of Alia’s achievement, something happened that once again threw all of our lives into chaos.

Cindy had been gone all morning, leaving me to tutor Alia in third-grade math. My sister had completed her mixture of first- and second-grade schooling just last month, and was plowing forward with her studies. I found it easier to teach her than to focus on my own textbooks, especially after another nightmare-ridden night.

Ever since my birthday last year, despite the fact that my daytime life had become almost mundane, my nightmares were nevertheless getting progressively worse, and I often found myself thinking of that enigmatic word, the origins of which continued to elude me: assembly. Every time I caught myself pondering its meaning, I kicked myself for letting the closet monster interfere with my mind. It doesn’t mean anything, I would think to myself angrily. It’s just a stupid dream!

And yet, for all my efforts at trying to live a normal life, I had to admit that in the past few months, I had become increasingly prone to mood swings. Quite often, I would suddenly become angry or frustrated for no reason at all. Alia could usually snap me out of these moods, but I never knew when or why I might become irritated at the smallest things.

Cindy had merely restated her belief that I was still going through “typical PTSD” and that when I was mad, I should just be mad. I didn’t like that advice at all because I knew how much Alia hated it when I was grumpy. Besides, though I admittedly knew next to nothing about post-traumatic stress disorder, I nevertheless felt that this was something different. It was like my mind was struggling to tell me something, as if my consciousness was stuck in something that it couldn’t break free of. It was the kind of frustration you feel when you’re knee-deep in mud, and every time you try to pull one leg out, the other slips deeper into the sludge.

I was almost finished correcting Alia’s worksheets when I heard the front door open, and Cindy announced her arrival a second later. Alia got up and ran out of our room to greet her, so I followed. The moment I saw Cindy’s face, however, I knew she had something very serious to say.

“I just had a very long meeting with Mr. Baker,” Cindy began carefully.

“Is it Cat?” I asked, raising my eyebrows.

Cindy’s frown deepened. “No. I’m sorry, but they haven’t found her yet.”

“Then what’s going on?” I asked.

“Sit down, Adrian.”

I imagine that whenever someone says that, sitting down is the last thing you’d feel like doing. Nevertheless, I obediently sat down on a sofa, and Cindy sat across from me with Alia next to her.

“So what’s going on?” I asked again, wondering what could make Cindy look so serious.

“We’ve been called on for a mission.”

“A mission?” I repeated, surprised. “You mean, like, fighting the Angels?”

“That’s right.”

“And ‘we’ means who?” I asked.

“You, me, Alia.”

Alia? I was almost certain I had misheard her. I opened my mouth to say so, but there was a knock on the front door.

“Please let us explain,” Cindy said to me as she opened the door and Mr. Baker entered.

Before the Guardian leader could even greet me, however, I stood up and asked him bluntly, “What is this about a mission, Mr. Baker?”

Cindy frowned at my lack of manners. Alia remained seated, but looked nervously between Mr. Baker and me.

Mr. Baker replied calmly, “I will explain about the mission, Adrian, but first I want you to know how this came about. Please be patient with me.”

“Patience,” Cindy silently mouthed at me, and I returned a wry smile.

Once we were all seated around the coffee table, Mr. Baker began, “Perhaps you’ve already heard this from Cindy, Adrian, but the Angels currently have two master controllers. The older, Larissa Divine, is the current queen of the Angels. She is over eighty years old, and may not live many more years. When she dies, she will be succeeded by the younger, who is only about thirty.”

I knew the name Larissa Divine, of course, but I hadn’t known that she was so old or that she had a successor. I listened carefully as Mr. Baker continued, “The younger one... well, we don’t even know her name, so we simply call her Number Two. This Number Two will someday be the new queen of the Angels. Now, Queen Divine is far too well protected for us to approach. However, if we could capture Number Two, then all we’d have to do is wait out Larissa’s natural life, and the Angels will become master-less, just like us. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

I nodded slightly and replied, “I understand that you’re lying when you say you’re going to capture this Number Two. You have no use for a master controller for the Guardians, so you’ll be looking to kill her, not capture her. I’d really prefer it if you just talked straight, Mr. Baker.”

Mr. Baker looked taken aback, but recovered quickly and said, “I’m sorry about that, Adrian. Terry tells me that you’re a bit of a moral pacifist. I’ll be straight with you, then. It is indeed our plan to kill Number Two. We think she will be less protected than the queen, and could be within our power to terminate.”

I was already regretting asking him to talk straight. “Cindy said you want to send Alia on this mission. What does all this have to do with her?”

“I’m getting there,” said Mr. Baker. “You see, we have learned that the Angels have a gathering in less than a week, and one of the Angels attending may know who and even where Number Two actually is. We are hoping to capture this Angel by means of a trap.”

“What does that have to do with us?” I asked, still clueless as to what Mr. Baker was driving at.

Mr. Baker continued in a business-like manner, “We do not want to risk a direct raid on their community for fear of accidentally killing or losing our target Angel. We want to lure him out to us. Do you realize that you and Alia are the only child psionics in New Haven? Alia is the youngest psionic I have ever met, and the fact that she is also a healer makes her all the more valuable. The Angels would never pass up an opportunity to get her. We will place her in a house along their route to the gathering. They will assume that she is a wild-born psionic and move to intercept. Our Guardian Knights, hidden by Cindy in a neighboring house, will capture them when they come.”

“Alia is the bait?” I asked disbelievingly.

“In a manner of speaking, yes,” replied Mr. Baker.

Alia, still sitting next to Cindy, remained silent.

I narrowed my eyes and said, “Mr. Baker, whatever happened to, ‘We are not savages’?”

“I am not asking her, or you for that matter, to fight,” said Mr. Baker. “Alia will be well protected at all times. We value her more than the Angels do, I assure you.”

“Have you forgotten that Alia isn’t even a Guardian?”

“But I am, Adrian,” said Cindy, putting an arm around Alia’s side. “And I’m Alia’s guardian.”

I rounded on her. “You agreed to this?!”

Cindy nodded. “Unwillingly at first, but yes, Adrian, I agreed to this.”

“I can’t believe what I’m hearing, Cindy.”

“In this matter, I trust Mr. Baker,” Cindy said simply.

“Enough to leave Alia alone in a house to be targeted by the Angels?!”

“Of course not!” said Cindy. “She’s not going to be alone, because you’re going with her.”

“Like hell I am!” I shouted, shaking my head, all the more angry that she would assume something like that without even asking. “No way, Cindy!”

“Well, if you feel that strongly, I certainly won’t force you,” Cindy said with a smile. “I guess your sister will have to do this one alone.”

“That,” I sputtered, “is really, really, really unfair!”

“Adrian,” Cindy said in a calming tone, “I know this looks bad. But once you know the full details of the plan, I think you’ll agree that it’s not as risky as it seems.”

“This is insane, Cindy!” I shouted, jumping to my feet.

“This,” Cindy said heatedly as she stood up too, “is what you signed on for when you agreed to join the Guardians!”

“Cynthia, please,” said Mr. Baker, also getting up.

Then he turned to me and said, “This is what we call a calculated risk, Adrian.”

“A calculated risk?!” I repeated.

Mr. Baker nodded. “Adrian, I can’t promise you that this mission will be entirely risk-free. No mission ever is. But I guarantee that the risk is minimal and the prize is worth it. Taking out the Angels’ younger master could permanently turn this war around.”

“And you would kill this woman just for being a master controller?” I asked disgustedly. “Before she even becomes the queen of the Angels?” It wasn’t that I was taking the Angels’ side here, but my family had been destroyed simply because of what I was, not what I did. For me to help the Guardians kill an Angel who hadn’t yet done them any harm... To kill her now simply because of what she was and what she might someday become... It just didn’t feel right.

Mr. Baker sighed heavily. “Adrian, the sad truth of it is that the Angels’ monopoly on master controllers is costing us this war. They have our backs against the wall, and I no longer have the luxury of being an idealist. I have to work with what I have. I wouldn’t risk Cindy or Alia, or you for that matter, if this weren’t so important to the Guardian cause. This one mission could lead us straight to breaking the Angels’ advantage. In turn, it could also considerably speed you along to recovering your real sister, Adrian.”

“Alia is my real sister!” I shot back furiously.

Alia was the only one still sitting, and through the corner of my eye, I saw her looking up at me, smiling. I continued to glare at Mr. Baker.

“My apologies, Adrian,” Mr. Baker said quietly. “Please at least let us try to convince you of our plan. If you find fault with it, you are more than welcome to request changes.”

“Alright,” I said with a huff, sitting back down on the sofa.

Cindy and Mr. Baker sat too, and Mr. Baker explained, “Our information suggests that our target group consists of seven Angel psionics, but only two of them are Seraphim. Our team will have more than twenty of our very best Knights. We will also put two non-psionics in the house with you to keep you company during the mission. Neither Alia nor you will be hidden.”

I asked, “Wouldn’t it be kind of strange to find two wild-borns in the same house?”

“It would be, if they really could find two,” said Mr. Baker. “However, as both of you are children, it will be difficult for them to accurately sense either of you from any distance. As long as you stay together, a finder would think that the two of you are actually one child with three psionic powers – almost too good to be true.”

“How would a wild-born suddenly have three powers? I thought psionics developed over years.”

“It’s uncommon, but not unheard of, for people to gain more than one power at the same time. Three is admittedly quite rare, but Cindy told me you would never let Alia do this alone.”

I reflexively glanced at Alia, who was still quietly looking at me. I gave my sister a quick smile before turning back toward Mr. Baker, saying, “Cindy’s right. But is this finder really going to think that Alia and I are the same person?”

Cindy was the one who replied, “When you and Alia are in the same room, even I can’t tell your powers apart.”

I asked Mr. Baker, “How do you know your target Angel will even come? He might send someone else, like a berserker or something.”

“We believe he is the only finder in his settlement skilled enough to sense a child psionic, so he will have to come in person,” answered Mr. Baker. “As for the others, there are no controllers among them. Not one.”

I still didn’t like the idea of Alia and me being put in this house without any guard. I asked, “Why are your Knights hiding in a separate house?”

“Because we can’t put a hiding bubble over the one you’re in without hiding you as well.”

“But Cindy could give each Knight individual hiding protection,” I pointed out.

“True,” said Cindy, “but if you stand too close to a person who has his own hiding bubble, you end up hidden too. We don’t want to risk the Angels becoming suspicious if your power phases on and off.”

“Why do you need Alia?” I demanded. “Why can’t it just be me?”

“It could,” replied Mr. Baker, “but you are merely a telekinetic. Your, um, sister, is a healer. Pardon my bluntness, Adrian, but she is worth more than you.”

Healers, I already knew, were exceptionally rare among psionics. I didn’t mind Alia being “worth more” than me, but it still burned me a little to be called “merely a telekinetic.”

“You’re a healer, Mr. Baker,” I said, remembering hearing that when we first met. “Why can’t it be you in that house?”

“Again, it can. But for a mission of this importance, we really would prefer a child. You see, a child psionic gives off a unique signature that any adept finder could identify. For the Angels, a child would be worth far more in conversion, and a child would also be harder for the Angel finder to pinpoint.”

Mr. Baker gave me a few seconds to respond, and when I didn’t, he added, “Besides, we plan to intercept the Angels long before they reach your house. We’ll spring the trap outside of the town. All you and Alia have to do is live in the house for a few days and leave everything else to us.”

“That sounds almost too good to be true,” I said wryly.

“Ah, but it is true,” insisted Mr. Baker. “I give you my word on that.”

“And who’s going to be living with Alia and me while we’re out there?” I asked, running out of challenges to Mr. Baker’s plan.

“Father Parnell, for starters,” said Mr. Baker. “We want at least one adult there to pose as a parent and avoid local suspicion. But to guarantee your security, I am also planning to ask Terry once she gets back from school today.”

“And you’re sure that there are no controllers?” I asked.

Mr. Baker nodded. “Positive.”

I looked at my sister again. She hadn’t said anything during the entire conversation, and her expression was impossible to read. I wondered how much of this she really understood. I had underestimated her comprehension before, but still, this was a bit different. This wouldn’t be Alia’s first time to face danger, but never had she willingly walked into it.

I thought back to how Cindy had suggested that I not join the Guardians, and how I had answered that I owed them for my freedom. Was I going to go back on that promise, now that they actually needed me to do something mildly risky? And after all, how dangerous could it be, when Cindy herself had agreed to draft Alia into it?

I also thought about my first sister. If capturing this Angel finder could really lead the Guardians to killing Master Number Two, then there would be no one left to reconvert Cat when Larissa Divine finally died. Killing the younger master before she succeeded Queen Divine wasn’t the least bit fair, but it was no less fair than what had happened to my own family. If by Number Two’s death, my lost sister could be saved, then that was reason enough for me to join this mission. After all, I wasn’t being asked to directly kill anyone, and this wouldn’t be the first time I had helped others to kill.

“Are you satisfied now?” asked Mr. Baker, breaking into my thoughts.

I asked, “Is Ralph coming?”

“No.”

“Well, that’s one thing to be satisfied about,” I said dryly.

Mr. Baker laughed, and I slowly nodded, sighing as I said, “Alright, we’ll go. When is the Angel gathering?”

“Next week. We want to be set up in the next two days so that we’ll be ready when this Angel unit begins to move. That means we leave late tonight.”

After Mr. Baker left, Cindy spent most of the day in the living room powering her hiding bubble over New Haven. When I asked if it would be enough to last a whole week, she answered that it was highly unlikely, but that Mr. Baker had agreed to the temporary risk involved in letting New Haven’s shield down.

We told Terry about the mission as soon as she returned from school. It was hard to read her reaction. She seemed excited at finally being allowed on a real Guardian mission, but also disturbed about something, like she was at odds with some conflicting emotions. Perhaps she felt she was being patronized, being given a babysitting mission like this when she would rather have joined the Knights’ ambush team.

“Listen,” said Terry, “I want to sort some stuff out in my uncle’s place, so I’ll be gone for a while, okay?”

“Sure, Terry,” said Cindy. “But all you’re going to need is some clothes.”

“I like to be extra prepared,” answered Terry, leaving us to do our packing.

Terry didn’t return in time for dinner, and at around 7pm, Cindy asked me to go knock on Terry’s condo to see what was taking her so long. I got her room number, 0403, and took the elevator down to the fourth floor. I both knocked and rang the doorbell several times, but got no answer.

Guessing that Terry might have gone down to the dojo for some last minute training, I went looking for her there. The dojo was empty, so next I went to the shooting range. There was only one woman there, and when I asked her, she told me that she and Terry had come down the elevator together.

“So where’d she go?” I asked.

“To the dojo, I think,” the woman answered.

I returned to the dojo once more to double-check, but it was just as empty as it had been minutes ago. Starting to get worried, I headed back up to the fortieth floor. I was going to ask Cindy to telephone Terry’s condo, but when I arrived at the penthouse, I found Terry already back.

“Where were you?!” I demanded, my mounting frustration over this whole business making me even more cranky than usual.

Terry uncharacteristically ignored my tone and answered civilly, “Well, I did my packing, and then I went to the dojo to work out.”

“I was just in the dojo, Terry. You weren’t there.”

“Oh, you must have just missed me,” said Terry, shrugging. “I finished my workout with a jog around the block. I figured if we were going to be cooped up in some old house for a few days, I really wanted to stretch my legs a bit first.”

I continued staring at her, and she finally admitted in an exasperated tone, “If you must know, Adrian, I went to say goodbye to a few of my school friends. You never know how a mission is going to turn out, after all.”

“Oh, that’s very comforting,” I said sarcastically.

Terry smiled. “Still, this certainly beats hanging back and watching other people shipping off on missions, don’t you think?”

“I’d rather watch,” I replied, knowing it would irritate her.

“Oh, that’s right. Boring is fun for you,” said Terry, shaking her head. “You are so totally uncool it’s not even funny, Adrian.”

I didn’t really believe that boredom was fun, of course, but it sure beat times like this. Even so, I realized that by accepting this mission, I was finally paying back some of my debt to the Guardians, and that part of it felt right.

Once we finished our packing, I asked Terry what “extra preparations” she had brought from downstairs. It turned out to be a pair of pistols and a long cylindrical stick. The stick, made of smooth red oak, was about four and a half feet long and slid neatly into a wooden sheath. The sheath came with a leather strap so that it could be worn on a person’s back.

“Let me guess... a jo stick?” I asked, pulling the stick halfway out of its sheath and examining it.

Terry nodded as she took it back from me. “Want to see how to use it?”

“Only if it doesn’t involve knocking me on my back with it.”

“Then how can I show you?” said Terry, giggling.

Now that Terry was back from her last minute training and goodbyes, she was all bubbly with excitement. I knew my combat instructor had been bitterly disappointed when Mr. Baker had refused to let her join the attack on the Psionic Research Center. After a lifetime of training, this would be Terry’s first real mission, and it looked like she had decided not to be too angry about her assigned role as den mother, but to make the best of it. At the same time, I both wished that I did, and was glad that I didn’t, share her enthusiasm.

Mr. Baker came up with Mark at about 11pm to collect us. Waking Alia, we went down to the basement parking lot together, where a motorcade consisting of five sedans and two vans was waiting for us.

We were directed to one of the vans, and Mark drove, with Mr. Baker sitting beside him up front. Cindy rode with Terry in the middle seat, and Alia and I got the back. Our van was set in the middle of the motorcade so that Cindy could easily keep all of the cars hidden.

Alia was quickly falling back asleep, and as she leaned heavily against my side, I wondered how she really felt about all this. It occurred to me that, to the best of my knowledge, no one, not even Cindy, had bothered to ask my sister if she really was willing to go along with this plan. Considering that Alia, a non-Guardian, was being asked to risk her life for them, it seemed rather unfair, but perhaps Cindy was just trying to keep from needlessly worrying her. I also thought again about how suddenly everything could change. It was only late this morning that I had learned about this mission, and here we were, crammed into a motorcade, heading into the unknown. This wasn’t the first time that my life had taken an unexpected turn, but that didn’t make it any easier.

The van was still moving when I woke early the next morning. Groggily opening my eyes, I knew I had just left the dream I had months ago dubbed the Assembly Dream. It was slightly clearer than before. This time, I could almost make out the faces of the men who were arguing with Terry. At least one of them, I suspected, wasn’t a soldier from the PRC as I had originally thought. Rather, it appeared that he was the gray-haired peacemaker who had tried to kidnap Alia and me last summer, and he might have been the one who mentioned the “assembly.” There was something about “the Gifford boy” again, and also something about being “too young.” No, the bit about being too young must have been from my thoughts about Alia last night. There had also been a brilliant flash of light. Where had that come from?

Alia, noticing that I was awake, turned to me and said into my head, “Did you have a nice Terry-dream?”

I grimaced. It was embarrassing enough that I frequently woke up screaming. Why did I have to talk in my sleep as well? Cindy and Terry were still fast asleep on the van’s middle seat, and I wondered whether either of them had heard me last night. I sincerely hoped not. I didn’t want to worry Cindy any more than I already did, and I couldn’t bear to let Terry hear me saying her name in my sleep.

By the time the sun had risen enough for the sky to be blue, we were driving through a residential area on the edge of a small town. The houses lining the road were nearly identical two-stories, but many of them looked old and dilapidated, their gardens unkempt and overgrown with weeds. I guessed that this neighborhood was once much prettier, but in recent years had declined into borderline slum. It was probably no big task for the Guardians to rent houses around here at short notice.

Our two houses turned out to be diagonally across the street from each other. The motorcade would have been much too conspicuous in this neighborhood, so with the exception of one sedan for each house, we left the vehicles in a nearby rental parking lot. From there, we walked in small groups to our new hideout. During a rest stop last night, for which I hadn’t been woken, Cindy had given each Knight personal hiding protection so that they didn’t have to walk like a pack of tourists.

By the time my group entered the Knights’ house, most of the Knights had already settled in, placing sleeping bags, weapons and miscellaneous equipment upon the creaking floorboards of the various dusty rooms.

“So, here we are,” Mr. Baker said cheerfully as I wrinkled my nose at the musty smell of the long-out-of-use house.

Mark, Terry, Alia and I stood together in one corner of the living room, waiting to be told where to go. Cindy was busy setting up a hiding bubble around the house. As the Knights gathered in the living room, I recognized several of them as members of the group that rescued Alia and me from the PRC. They smiled and waved, and suddenly I felt just a little better about this mission. These were the same Knights who survived an assault on a high-security underground base with zero losses.

Mr. Baker said to us, “You can head over to your house after lunch. Yours is in better condition than this one. I’m told it was occupied until just last week and it’s still fully furnished, but don’t forget to take your sleeping bags just in case.”

Then he handed me a small handheld radio transceiver, saying, “The phone lines are dead, and we’re not going to use cell phones because they can be traced by the Wolves. Whenever you need to talk, use this. Mark and Terry already have theirs.”

“Adrian and Alia don’t know their handles yet, Mr. Baker,” said Terry, suppressing a smile.

“Oh, yes, I almost forgot,” said Mr. Baker. “In fact, I did forget, but now I remember, thanks to Terry. Adrian, when you talk on these or aloud during any mission, never use your real name or anyone else’s. That’s standard mission protocol. On missions, we always use call signs. Codenames, if you will, so that our real names are not as easily discovered.”

“You mean like secret identities?” I asked, frowning.

Mr. Baker chuckled. “We are not mask-wearing superheroes, Adrian, but that doesn’t change the fact that the fewer times our names are publicly announced, the better.”

“Derrick used Ralph’s name over the intercom at the PRC,” I said, remembering how Derrick had shouted through the entire research center.

“Derrick is not a Knight, and he was panicking because our transceivers failed to work through the shielding,” explained Mr. Baker. “Just for your information, Ralph’s call sign is Biter. Mine is Cookie.”

“Cookie?!” I repeated incredulously.

“Well, you know, Baker... Cookie, see?” Mr. Baker laughed. “Call signs are not chosen according to our powers. After all, what would be the point in having a giveaway hint like that, right?”

I could understand Biter for Ralph-the-Former-Wolf, but Cookie?!

“Hmm...” I said, not at all sure I would be able to say “Cookie” over the radio without laughing.

Mr. Baker continued, “Cindy here is known as Silver. Mark has asked to be identified as Jacob, and Terry has inherited Rabbit, which was her late Uncle Patrick’s call sign.”

“He had buckteeth,” explained Terry.

“We get to pick our own names?” I asked.

Terry laughed and shook her head. “You would have if you were awake last night, but since you weren’t...”

“Cindy chose yours and Alia’s already,” said Mr. Baker. “I believe she thought long and hard about what might accurately reflect two lost children such as yourselves.”

I frowned at Cindy, who was wearing her usual giggly smile that preceded the kind of news that would make me want to bury my head.

Mr. Baker continued, “Your call sign, Adrian, will be Hansel, which of course makes your sister...”

“Gretel,” I finished, throwing a quick scowl at Cindy, who had started to laugh.

Some of the other Knights were chuckling too.

“Don’t make a big deal of it, Adrian,” Terry said quietly into my ear. “It’s just a communication protocol. It’s not like they’re sending you into the forest.”

Since about this time last year, “protocol” had been one of my least favorite words, and I felt that us being called Hansel and Gretel in accordance with the Guardian Knights’ communication protocols added insult to an already awkward mission.

Alia wanted to explore the Knights’ house, so while “Rabbit” and “Jacob” helped the Knights with lunch preparations, I followed my sister upstairs. Most of the rooms were devoid of furniture, which probably was a good thing considering how many sleeping bags had to fit here.

“Codenames!” I spat disgustedly once we were out of earshot of the others. “Like we’re secret agents or something. Corny secret agents at that! I can’t believe Cindy named us Hansel and Gretel.”

“I think it’s cute,” said Alia, giggling.

“Oh, yeah,” I said sarcastically, fingering the front of my flowery red and yellow shirt in distaste. “Just what I want in my life right now. More cute.”

“Well, I like it anyway.”

I rolled my eyes. Despite having nothing to do with unicorns, Hansel and Gretel was one of Alia’s favorite bedtime stories, and I had read the picture book to her many times over at the research center. Cindy probably knew that too.

“Would you rather be Cookie?” Alia asked in a stunningly accurate imitation of Cindy’s fake game-show-host tone.

“Hansel is fine.”

We divided into the dining room and living room for lunch, which was basically a ton of macaroni and cheese. Mr. Baker performed a toast in his politician’s voice, saying, “To what will hopefully be our first step in restoring the balance of power.”

“I thought that establishing New Haven was the first,” one of the Knights joked, and I recognized him as the one who had escorted Alia and me back to the penthouse after our near-abduction last year.

“I had forgotten about that one!” laughed Mr. Baker. “We still have a long way to go, but if we can capture this Angel, it could very well speed us along.”

After eating, it was time to say goodbye to Cindy and head to our own house across the street. Mark, Terry, Alia and I picked up our bags and sleeping bags, and Cindy walked us out to the sidewalk.

“Now, I’m not going to visit,” said Cindy. “The mission starts right now, since you are no longer being hidden.”

“We know,” said Terry.

Cindy gave her a smile and a nod. Then, after shaking Mark’s hand and giving Alia a big hug, she turned to me, saying, “Take care of your sister, like you always do.”

“I will,” I promised.

“And don’t forget to use your codenames, okay, Hansel?” Cindy said with a wink.

I gave her an exasperated look. “Leave it to you to give us fairytale names, Cindy! You’re really impossible, you know that?”

Cindy smiled and said, “Remember, Adrian? Happily ever after.”

“Oh, right,” I chuckled. “So that’s where this came from.”

I had once told Cindy that Cat had suggested “And they all lived happily ever after” as the ending to my story. I was surprised that Cindy actually remembered that.

Cindy said seriously, “Just be safe, okay?”

I nodded and replied, “Always.”

As Cindy walked back into the Knights’ house, Mark led us across the street and into our new temporary home.

Despite being furnished, our house was hardly better than the Knights’. The curtains were stained and torn, the floorboards cracked and creaky. The beds in the second-floor bedrooms were too moldy to even consider sleeping on, and Alia jumped when she heard the scurrying of rodents above our heads.

“Ghosts?” she asked in my head.

I laughed. “Worse than ghosts, Ali. Ghosts are dead. Those are rats. Living, breathing, ugly rats.”

The presence of rats was really the only evidence that this house had been recently occupied. I tried not to imagine what kind of person could have been living here until just a week ago. After finishing our short tour, we elected to simply lay our sleeping bags in the living room and make do with that. At least there were no rat holes in this room, and we could close the door on any potential nocturnal vermin. Fortunately, the house did have electricity, which meant a working refrigerator and microwave oven.

Terry had brought only weapons, but Mark and I had sensibly packed our bags with entertainment. Between us, we had brought card games, board games, coloring books for Alia, you name it. My sister had once again left her biggest unicorn at home, but she had brought along one of her smaller unicorn dolls. I hoped it would be enough.

Mission rules stated that Alia and I were restricted to the house and front and back yards, but Terry and Mark were free to go out so long as one of them stayed home with us. Mark agreed to do our shopping, and left in the sedan that the Knights had supplied us with.

I was still holding the transceiver Mr. Baker had given me, and Terry said, “Go ahead, try it. Call up Mr. Baker and say hi.”

“Okay...” I said hesitantly. I had never used one of these before, and there were so many little buttons on it that it took a moment before I even found the power switch. Terry watched me with amusement as I jumped when a bit of static burst from the speaker.

“Now what?” I asked.

“I think they said they were on channel four.”

I examined the buttons on the front of the device and discovered what she was talking about. Once I got the radio frequency set correctly, I put the transceiver up to my ear. Terry quickly snatched the device out of my hand, saying, “It’s not a phone, Adrian. You don’t need to stick it on your head. And see this big red button? Push to talk. Say ‘over’ when you’re finished and release it so you can hear them.”

I took the transceiver back and, holding it in front of me, I pressed down the largest red button.

“Say hello,” said Terry, nodding with approval.

I just barely managed to say with a straight face, “Hansel to Cookie, hello?”

“Say, ‘over’ when you’re done,” Terry reminded me.

“Oh, right,” I said, and added into the transceiver, “Over.”

“And let go of the talk button!”

I did, and we immediately heard, “This is Cookie. I read you loud and clear. Silver wants to talk. Hold on.”

A burst of static later, we heard Cindy’s voice on the speaker say, “Silver to Hansel, come in. Over.”

“Hansel here. Over,” I said.

Terry slapped my shoulder and said, “Push the button, Hansel!”

I scowled at her and, pushing the talk button, repeated, “Hansel here. Over.”

“How’s the house, Hansel? Over,” said Cindy.

“Very cozy, Silver. We’ve already met the resident ghosts. Over.”

Alia tugged on my arm, saying aloud in her slow and awkward voice, “I want to talk to Cindy.”

“Okay,” I said, “but don’t forget to call her Silver.”

“I know.”

We heard Mr. Baker’s voice say, “Is everyone already settled in? Over.”

“Yeah, um, Gretel wants to talk to Silver. Over,” I said.

Mr. Baker replied, “Roger that. Go ahead. Over.”

I held the transceiver close to Alia’s mouth and pushed the talk button for her. Alia said carefully, “Silver, hello. How are you?”

I added the “over” for her and released the button.

Cindy replied, “I’m great, Gretel. But I can hear you in my head at the same time. Try just using your mouth, sweetie. And what was Hansel saying about ghosts? Over.”

Alia took the transceiver in her hands and, pushing the talk button, said, “They are not ghosts. They are rats. Over.”

Terry whispered into my ear, “Your sister is better using that than you are.”

I ignored Terry as we heard Cindy laugh and say, “Well, don’t let them eat you up, Gretel. Over.”

“I’m talking on a phone,” Alia said excitedly into the transceiver. “I’m really talking on a phone. This is so fun, Cindy!”

I snatched the transceiver away from Alia. It crackled for a moment and then we heard Mr. Baker’s voice again. “Cookie to Hansel,” he said irately while Cindy giggled in the background, “please reinstruct Gretel on communication protocols before letting her use the transceiver again. Over.”

“Hansel to Cookie, will do. Over.”

“Over and out.”

I switched the transceiver off and sighed. This was going to be a very long week.

Alia gave me a worried look and asked into my head, “Did I say something wrong, Addy?”

I gave her a big smile. “Not from where I stand.”

Chapter 11: The Puppeteer

“Cookie to Jacob, Silver is detecting movement. Targets inbound. We estimate contact in approximately nine hours. Over.”

Mark, who was holding the transceiver, looked at us to see if we had heard that. Terry was grinning from ear to ear.

Mark replied, “Roger that, Cookie. Rabbit will want regular updates from here on in. Over.”

I narrowed my eyes at Terry. “You’re really enjoying this, aren’t you?”

“Aww, come on, Adrian,” Terry said cheerfully. “Learn to live a little!”

I stared at her. “Living requires staying alive, Terry.”

We had been in the rat house for three days now. When I wasn’t practicing CQC with Terry, I whiled away the hours playing board games with Alia or chatting with Mark.

Though my sister still occasionally forgot to use our call signs on the transceiver, we let her speak with Cindy every day. Alia spent a lot of time standing at the front window, waving to Cindy and practicing her mouth-speaking over the air. Even when she was excited, she talked slowly and deliberately, carefully sounding out each syllable, and still made many mistakes. Though I had already gotten used to hearing Alia speak with her mouth, I felt it was unfortunate that anyone who didn’t know her would assume she was unintelligent. At least she was no longer shy about speaking in a loud voice. I often wondered if Cindy could, from diagonally across the street, directly hear Alia shouting into the transceiver. Even if she couldn’t, Cindy was probably still hearing Alia telepathically as well.

Our house only contained the four of us so, to the casual observer, we probably looked like a normal family. Watching the Knights’ sedan pull into their driveway with takeout food for more than twenty people always made me chuckle. Mr. Baker had assured me that we wouldn’t be staying long enough for the neighbors to get too suspicious. In this part of town, people generally kept their noses to themselves.

But even in a decrepit, rat-infested house, you can quickly fall into a routine. A routine of CQC, board games and microwave cooking of the kind Cindy would never allow into our penthouse. Mr. Baker’s announcement had broken that routine. “Targets inbound.” They were coming.

“They’ll never get this far,” Terry said with a disappointed frown. “But if they did, at least we’ll be ready.”

Terry already had her sheathed jo stick strapped onto her back and was wearing both of her pistols in her waist holsters. It was a “minimum precaution,” as she put it. The battle, which would happen miles away, was still nine hours off.

I watched Terry recheck her pistols. “You really hate the Angels, don’t you, Terry?”

“And you don’t?” asked Terry.

“Well, of course I do,” I said reluctantly. “But I’m not out for their blood or anything.”

“Are you calling me bloodthirsty, Adrian?”

“Well, you certainly don’t seem to mind them dying.”

Terry groaned loudly, rolling her eyes as she said, “Are we going to have another argument about sparing people who want us dead?”

“Not if you shut up,” I muttered under my breath.

I’m sure Terry heard me, but she pretended not to, and instead walked to the window. It was still only about 7pm, but the March sky was completely dark. Looking out into the twilight, Terry said, “I wish they’d get close enough to see, but I doubt it. It’ll be over before the Angels reach the town’s edge.”

With the exception of Alia, who fell asleep in my lap, we stayed up all night. Cindy and Mr. Baker, who remained in the other house while the Knights set up their ambush outside the town, relayed hourly updates until about midnight. Then we contacted them every ten minutes, and then every five. Mr. Baker, getting tired of repeatedly answering “No change,” had Cindy talk us through the mission’s progress while he coordinated the attack with the on-site Knight leader. The Angels were coming faster than we had expected. Cindy told us that they would probably step into the Knights’ trap at around 3am, if not sooner.

Every time Terry got restless, Mark called to Cindy, saying, “Jacob to Silver, come in. Rabbit requests update. Over.”

And Cindy would invariably reply, “Silver here. No change. Over.”

2:40. Although I knew that I was well out of harm’s way this time, it was still a hard wait that reminded me of my last day at the Psionic Research Center. Waiting was bad for the heart. Perhaps sensing the tension in the room, Alia had woken a few minutes ago and was stretching her arms.

“Can I talk to Cindy?” Alia asked aloud.

“I’m not so sure it’s a good idea right now, Ali,” I answered, not wanting to miss any updates just so that my sister could play telephone. “Let’s let Mark handle the radio, okay?”

“Oh, come on,” whined Alia. “Please?”

“Sure, Alia,” said Mark. “Hold on.” Pushing the talk button on his transceiver, Mark said, “Jacob to Silver, Gretel wishes to talk. Come in, Silver. Over.”

We waited for a second, but Cindy didn’t reply.

Terry looked up excitedly, saying, “Maybe the battle has started.”

Mark said again, “Jacob to Silver, please respond. Over.”

All we could hear was a quiet burst of static.

I said to Mark, “I thought Mr. Baker was handling all the mission stuff. Why can’t Cindy talk?”

Terry immediately turned on her transceiver and said, “Rabbit to Silver. Come in, Silver. Over.”

No reply. Terry switched frequencies to Mr. Baker’s channel, saying, “Rabbit to Lancer One, come in. Over.”

Still there was only static. Terry tried again. “Rabbit to Lancer One. Come in, Lancer One. Cookie, are you there? We can’t hear Silver. What’s going on? Over.”

After a few more seconds, Terry, her voice becoming just a bit panicky, said into her transceiver, “Rabbit to Lancer Two. Lancer Knight Command, come in. We’ve lost contact with Lancer One. Do you read? Over.”

Lancer Two, which I guessed was the on-site attack team, didn’t reply either.

Terry turned to me and said, “Adrian, try yours. Try calling Ms. Gifford again.”

I did, but the result was the same.

“Why can’t we reach them?” I asked.

“There must be some kind of interference,” Terry said slowly, but I knew she didn’t believe it any more than I did. The house was right across the street. How could there be any interference?

“I’m going over there to see what’s what,” said Mark. “Terry, please stay here.”

Looking out the window, Alia said excitedly, “They’re coming here!”

A moment later, Cindy and Mr. Baker were banging on our door. Mark ran to unlock it.

“What’s going on?!” I demanded as the three adults rushed into the living room.

“No time to explain!” Mr. Baker said hastily. “Evac, now!”

“Forget the bags!” Cindy said sharply. “Let’s go! Now! Right now! Come on!”

Terry had already drawn both of her pistols and was holding one in each hand.

Cindy, eyeing Terry’s weaponry, said, “Terry, hand me one of those guns!”

I stared at Cindy. Terry took a step forward to offer her a pistol, but I quickly jumped in between them.

“Don’t give it to her, Terry!” I shouted.

“Why not?” Terry asked in surprise.

“Because Cindy would never ask for a gun!”

Even as I shouted that, Cindy made a dash for the door. Mr. Baker jumped on her from behind, knocking her down and shouting at the same time, “They have a puppeteer!”

I had less than a second to wonder what, in psionic terms, a “puppeteer” was. Suddenly my right arm jerked up, and I realized in horror that I was aiming a telekinetic blast at Alia. I tried to shout a warning, but my mouth was wired shut. Alia was slammed against the wall as my blast hit her in the side. My palm had been open when I blasted her, so it wasn’t a focused shot, but at this range it hardly mattered. Alia crumpled onto the floor, blood-soaked and unmoving.

“Move and I’ll kill her!” I heard myself growl as I pointed my right index finger at Alia’s limp body. A focused shot at this distance would probably crack her skull open.

Cindy was no longer struggling against Mr. Baker, and I said to them in a deep, raspy voice that I hadn’t even known I could make, “Ms. Gifford has an appointment with my master. No one is going anywhere. If anyone so much as twitches, the kid dies.”

“Alright,” Cindy said quietly. “Just stay calm. Please don’t hurt anyone else.”

I snarled at her, “Silence, Gifford!”

All the while, I was screaming in my head, This isn’t me! This is not me! I had known about controllers who could manipulate thoughts, but a puppeteer didn’t care what I was thinking. He was doing all the real thinking for me now.

Through the corner of my right eye, I saw Terry, still holding her pistols in her hands. Terry was my one hope. Terry would stop this. Terry would kill me. Better that than to let Cindy walk right into the Angels’ hands, or to let me kill Alia. For all I knew, my sister could already be dead. Come on, Terry, I thought desperately. Do it! Shoot me already!

I heard Terry pull the hammer back on one of her pistols. That’s right, Terry! Shoot me! Now! Before it’s too late!

I slowly turned to her, my right index finger still pointed at Alia, my focused shot ready to put a hole through her head.

“Put the guns down, girl,” I sneered at Terry, “or we’ll see how good a shot this little destroyer really is.”

I sensed something behind my eyes. It was the puppeteer. He was looking through my eyes at the scene before me. I had to turn away from Terry. I had to turn my head so that Terry could act. But it was like pushing against a brick wall. My head wouldn’t turn. I had no control over any part of my body except for my panicked, screaming thoughts.

“Put them down, girl!” I said again.

Terry carefully lowered her pistols.

“Throw them down,” I commanded. “Both of them.”

Terry did, gently plopping both guns onto the floor.

“Step back slowly,” I said, and Terry complied. I couldn’t believe it. Terry, who had once told me that I should have sacrificed Alia to save myself, was giving up! It couldn’t be happening like this.

My eyes glanced at the guns on the floor. Pick them up! I thought desperately to myself. If only I touched a gun, I’d be drained. My power balance was such that it wouldn’t make me fall over anymore, but Terry wouldn’t miss the chance to knock me down. The puppeteer seemed to know this, because my body ignored the guns on the floor and kept my finger pointed at Alia. My sister still wasn’t moving.

“Everyone stay calm,” I said in my unnaturally deep voice. “We will be here in a moment.”

“Adrian?” Cindy called softly. “Adrian, you have to fight it.”

I looked back at Cindy, shaking my head and smirking at her.

The next moment, I was knocked forward as Terry slammed her jo stick into my back. Turning swiftly, I released my focused blast. It tore through Terry’s left forearm and punched a hole in the ceiling as Terry fell on me, screaming. Terry’s blood had splattered onto my face, and I felt my psionic power fade. But the puppeteer was still in control of my body. Terry grabbed me by my hair, and I saw a brilliant flash of light as she rammed the back of my head against the hard wooden floor. I couldn’t see straight anymore.

Darkness started to close in, and I welcomed it, but the puppeteer was still pulling me. He was refusing to let go. I screamed. Even as I fell into nothingness, I knew he was still with me.

Chapter 12: Ups and Downs

I was standing in the middle of a busy highway. In a tunnel with no end in sight. Cars and trucks were zooming past me at breakneck speeds. They had mouths, filled with razor-sharp teeth. They were laughing. They were screaming.

I turned around and found myself in a cavern. Around again, and I was in a dark alleyway with flickering neon lights. There were screaming voices everywhere, echoing, laughing, raging.

A flash of light. A flash of darkness. The clattering of silverware and the smell of honey and pancakes.

“Cat, stop playing with your food.”

“We’re gonna be late for the bus!”

I was sinking deep below the surface of a vast ocean. I saw a battered girl in a dirty hospital gown sitting alone on a bed. What was her name?

“What’s your name, boy?” asked the man with gray hair.

And Terry said, “He’s not to be harmed.”

An explosion. A shadow in a pipe.

Ralph. “Are you going to kill me, lad?!”

Everything was echoing through the giant pipe, and somebody was there. Somebody without a face.

“Who are you?” I called out. “Who are you really?”

A colorless field of tall weeds quickly grew into a forest of tangled tree branches. The darkness deepened.

A crisp voice said, “They went in here, sir.”

I tried to run, but I was stuck in thick, black mud. The mud was everywhere. It was alive, wrapping itself around my ankles and pulling me down.

“Don’t worry,” said Dr. Kellogg, “they do trust you.”

No! You’re dead. You’re dead like everyone else down there!

“Control, Adrian,” said Cindy.

The gray-haired man’s voice echoed again, laughing, “...or there’ll be some assembly required when you get him back.”

I heard someone shout, “He’s too young!”

And then Terry was walking away from me. She was walking into a trap.

“Terry! No!” I shouted. “What are you doing?”

She turned to me, but her eyes were empty. “It’s just a bad dream, Adrian.”

Another flash of light. I slipped deeper into the mud.

“Go on, little destroyer!” shouted Ralph.

Terry smiled. “There’s always a choice.”

“Addy, will it hurt us when we die?”

As the mud poured into my mouth, a soft voice called from above, “Adrian?”

I opened my eyes. For nearly a minute, I could barely make out the difference between light and shadow. Very slowly, my eyes began to adjust, and when they finally came into focus, I saw Cindy leaning over me and looking down at my face.

My head was throbbing. The whole room seemed to be swaying violently from side to side, like the cabin of a tiny boat on a stormy sea.

“Adrian?” Cindy said again.

I tried to open my mouth, but it seemed to be glued shut. I realized that I had been clenching my right fist, and when I tried to open my mouth, my fist had opened instead. I slowly cleared my mind and visualized where my mouth was. To my surprise, I discovered that it was on my face, under my nose and above my chin.

“Where am I?” I croaked.

“Home,” Cindy answered quietly. “Technically, you’re in the healers’ office on the eighteenth floor. But you’re home.”

Once I had a general idea of where my head was in relation to the rest of my body, I tried to lift it a bit, but found that it still hurt too much. Next I tried to bring my hand up to my head, but couldn’t do that either. At first, I thought I was moving the wrong part of my body again, but then, looking down at myself, I realized that my wrists and ankles were tightly strapped to the bed.

“What’s going on?” I asked weakly. “Why am I tied down?”

“We were afraid you would hurt yourself,” said Cindy, undoing the leather cuffs around my wrists. “How are you feeling?”

“Everything’s spinning.”

“That’s because Terry knocked you out while the puppeteer was still inside you,” explained Cindy. “It will take some time to reorient yourself.”

Who was Terry? It took a moment for the name to register, and then all the memories came flooding back.

“What happened?” I said, struggling to sit up. “Where’s Alia? Where is she?!”

Cindy forced me back down onto the bed, saying, “Calm down, Adrian. Alia is fine. She has hardly left your side these last two days, but she’s eating lunch now with Terry upstairs. Mark and Mr. Baker are okay too. We all made it out.”

“Alia is alive?”

Cindy smiled. “Alive and well.”

I let my head fall back onto the pillow. “I thought I killed her.”

“I wasn’t so sure myself until she woke,” said Cindy. “Don’t worry. I explained to her what happened. She’s not mad at you, and I’m sure she still wants to share your room.”

I closed my eyes for a moment. The boat was still swaying, but the sea was slightly calmer.

“What happened out there, Cindy?” I asked. “How did they get so close?”

“I’m so sorry, Adrian,” Cindy said miserably. “You were right. You were right and I was wrong.”

“What are you talking about?”

“The mission. We were almost killed. It was an ambush – by the Angels. They set us up. They had a hidden team of Seraphim twice our number.”

“But how?”

“Mr. Baker thinks one of his team may be a spy. Three of them were members of my personal guard, and they all survived. They are being questioned about this mission and on account of what happened back in August on our camping trip.”

“What happened to the rest of the Knights?”

Cindy sighed softly. “Many are dead, Adrian. The Angels weren’t trying to capture them. They were after me, so they came at us full force, and the Knights barely managed to hold them off while we escaped. Many of them... Most of them are dead, Adrian.”

It took a moment for her words to sink in. I closed my eyes again and tried to picture their faces. I could see a few of them. I wondered who they were.

“Adrian?” said Cindy.

I looked up at Cindy and whispered, “I’m okay. How long was I out?”

“Two days. Well, three if you count the ride home. You were semi-conscious for a while. Do you remember?”

“No, and I still feel horrible.”

“I’m not surprised,” said Cindy. “You were having a 48-hour nightmare. That’s why we had to tie you down. Derrick was afraid that if we pacified your dreams, you might not recover completely from the puppeteer’s control. He wanted you to work through it naturally.”

“Was I talking in my sleep?” I asked, starting to remember bits of my dream.

Cindy nodded. “Talking, yelling, cursing from time to time. It was amazing Alia ever managed to sleep in this room last night, but she insisted.”

“Did I mention anything about some kind of assembly?”

Cindy raised an eyebrow. “An assembly? You mean like a meeting?”

“Or maybe assembling something.”

“I don’t know,” said Cindy. “I wasn’t really listening. It kind of felt like eavesdropping. Besides, you were, for the most part, incoherent. Why do you ask?”

“I don’t know. I just thought it was important for a moment.”

It wasn’t important. The nightmare was already fading away. What was important was that we were alive. Cindy and Alia and Terry and Mark. We were all still alive. Thanks to Terry.

A portly, middle-aged man wearing a long white coat and a horrendously obvious toupee entered the room and said, “Ah! He’s up, I see.”

Cindy looked like she was about to introduce him, but he strode up to my bed and started to speak rapidly in an oddly squeaky voice. “Welcome back to the land of the living and peacefully coherent,” he said. “I am the resident healer on duty this week, Dr. Pales, and I am also a dentist by trade and you need to be brushing your teeth more.”

Cindy laughed, saying, “One thing at a time, Doctor.”

“You are absolutely right, Ms. Gifford,” replied Dr. Pales, and then peered into my eyes, asking, “Can you feel at least three of your limbs?”

“I can feel all of them, Doctor,” I said.

“Excellent! All seven, then, yes?”

I laughed a little, and Dr. Pales said, “Do you feel strong enough to get up and eat at the table or shall we treat you like a baby for a few more hours?”

The room was still rocking somewhat, so I answered, “Baby sounds good right about now.”

“I will bring you a tray but you will have to feed yourself.”

“Fair enough.”

What I really wanted to do was go back to sleep, but lunch didn’t seem like a bad second option. Dr. Pales was gone only a moment.

“A freshly reheated instant meal that tastes as bad as it looks on the cartons I just threw away!” announced Dr. Pales as he set the tray on my bed. It was some kind of pasta and steamed vegetables. I tried to pull myself up into a sitting position, but found that my ankles were still strapped to the bed.

Undoing the leg binds for me, Cindy asked, “Do you want me to call Terry and Alia down now?”

I hesitated. Though I obviously hadn’t been in control of my actions when I injured Alia and Terry, even so, I felt that I owed them both a very serious apology. I just didn’t know how I was going to say it.

Correctly reading my expression, Cindy said, “A simple sorry will suffice for your sister. As for Terry, well, it’s up to you. I’m sure she got a kick out of saving the day.”

Cindy telephoned our penthouse. Less than three minutes later, Alia and Terry came bursting in.

“He lives!” cried Terry as Alia jumped onto my bed, upsetting my tray and sending most of Dr. Pales’s reheated junk food onto the floor.

I did apologize to them both, but Terry just laughed, and Alia, judging by the way she was hugging me, probably wasn’t even listening. After half an hour of chatting with them, I decided to try getting up. Walking was a bit awkward at first. I couldn’t be sure which foot to put forward. When I nearly fell over, I tried to stick out my arms to steady myself but stuck out my tongue instead. Fortunately, no one saw that.

Once Dr. Pales deemed me “fit to travel to the moon and halfway back,” as he put it, we thanked him and left his office.

In the elevator, Alia lifted up her shirt to show me what she laughingly called her “Addy mark.” The ugly round scar on my sister’s lower left side resembled the bullet scars on my stomach and back, only much larger, and I couldn’t find it nearly as humorous as she did. Alia claimed that she didn’t remember any pain. I still would have preferred that she be at least a little cross with me after what I had done to her, but that was Alia for you.

When we entered the penthouse, it finally occurred to me that it was a weekend, the evidence being that Terry was not at school, and from there I correctly deduced that it was the 15th of March. I hadn’t even lived in New Haven for one whole year yet, but what a year it had been!

Terry suggested that she and I play a game of nine-ball to help me reacquaint myself with my body. I felt the introductions were pretty much complete by now, but I happily agreed. Pool was no different from other things Terry and I did together in that she was guaranteed to win, but at least we were playing a game that didn’t risk human lives.

“Terry, there’s, uh... something I want to say,” I began hesitantly as I helped set up the table.

“I heard your unnecessary apology the first time, Adrian,” replied Terry.

“It’s not that. I wanted to say thank you.”

She looked up at me. “Thank you?”

I smiled and said, “Thank you for not killing me, Terry.”

Terry snorted. “So I’m not the bloodthirsty monster you thought I was?”

“I don’t know, Terry,” I said slowly. “Sometimes I wonder about you. I think I know you, but then you do something totally unexpected and I think I’m way off.”

Terry gave me a curious look and said, “It’s hard to know who anyone truly is, don’t you think?”

“Yeah,” I answered quietly.

Terry lined up her cue stick for the break shot as she said, “I’m not above taking life, Adrian, but that doesn’t mean I’d enjoy it any more than you. Maybe if you stopped trying to see the world in black and white, you’d understand that.”

I shrugged. “I like black and white, Terry. It helps me sleep – comparatively – better at night.”

I missed my shot and Terry took over, sinking two balls before she missed.

She turned to me and said, “You really thought I was going to shoot you dead, didn’t you?”

I nodded. “The thought did cross my mind.”

Terry slowly shook her head and smiled. “It crossed mine too.”

I laughed, and Terry continued in an undertone, “But I wasn’t going to end up like...”

Terry’s voice trailed off, so I asked, “Like what?”

“Never mind,” she replied stiffly.

“Oh, come on, Terry!”

“I said never mind!”

“Okay, okay,” I said hastily.

“And for the record, Adrian, you’re the one who shot me, okay? It took Mr. Baker nearly an hour to heal my arm, and I had to wait my turn since Alia was the priority case.”

Terry rolled up her left sleeve and showed me where my focused blast had ripped through her forearm. Perhaps Mr. Baker wasn’t as skilled a healer as Alia, or maybe he just didn’t have the strength left after saving Alia’s life, but Terry’s arm was deeply scarred on both sides.

“I’m really sorry, Terry,” I said, looking uncomfortably at the damage.

Terry narrowed her eyes. “Do me a favor and stop apologizing. Come on, it’s your turn.”

I actually managed to sink one ball, but my next shot was a scratch. Terry pulled the cue ball out of the side pocket and proceeded to sink the nine with a combination shot.

“Another game?” Terry asked in mock-innocence.

“Sure,” I said. I had long since stopped letting losing to Terry bother me.

Resetting the table, I said seriously, “Terry, after what happened out there, I really want to spend some time learning to block controllers.”

Taking the break shot, Terry asked, “What makes you think I know anything about blocking controllers?”

I was stunned. “But... when it came to combat, I thought you knew everything.”

Terry laughed. “Nobody knows everything, Adrian. Not that I haven’t tried to learn, of course. But when it comes to blocking, you’re going to have to wait just like me.”

“What do you mean?”

As we continued to play, Terry explained, “The best, and really only way to learn how to block controllers is by having a controller actually use his power on you. But most forms of control can cause brain damage if used on people younger than eighteen or twenty or so.”

“Oh, yeah,” I said, remembering what Cindy had told me.

“You can already block peacemaking and dreamweaving, can’t you?”

“Yes,” I answered, though I suspected that it had been a rhetorical question, seeing as Terry knew me almost as well as I knew myself.

“Then you’re already as good at blocking as I am, and there’s not much more either of us can learn until we’re older,” said Terry. “Believe me, it’s frustrating for me too. Being young sucks.”

Blocking was the one aspect of combat training that I had no moral qualms about doing, and yet I’d have to wait several years before I could begin. Terry was right: it sucked being a kid.

I asked her, “So, what happened that night, Terry? I mean, after you knocked me out. How did we escape?”

“The Knights bought us time,” said Terry, eyeing a combination shot that could potentially end the game. “They held the Seraphim off until the last minute, and we managed to drive away. It was insane, though. Mr. Baker was healing Alia, Mark was driving like a maniac, and Ms. Gifford... Well, the puppeteer reentered her so I had to restrain her until we were out of range, and of course you had killed my left arm so it wasn’t easy.”

“I’m sorry about that,” I said.

Terry fouled up her shot. “Adrian! Would you please stop apologizing?!”

“Oh, right,” I said, leveling my cue stick on the table. “But I still can’t understand why the puppeteer chose me and not you. And why did he stay with me like that? Why didn’t he release me like he did Cindy, and go after someone else?”

I missed again.

“You really don’t know your psionics stuff yet, do you?” said Terry, and took three balls in rapid succession as she explained, “The puppeteer was much too far away to lock onto any of us directly. But he was clearly a skilled finder as well. That’s how he could focus his power on Ms. Gifford and you. Mr. Baker is an excellent blocker. As for Father Parnell and me, well, we aren’t even psionic, so the puppeteer couldn’t sense us with his finding.”

“Cindy wasn’t hidden?”

“Her hiding bubble was only around the other house,” Terry reminded me. “Cindy was trying to put a new bubble around our car when the puppeteer entered her the second time.”

“How many Knights died to save us?” I asked.

Terry missed, and as I took my shot, miraculously sinking two, she answered, “We didn’t know the final body count until yesterday night, when the last of our team finally made it back to New Haven. We lost fourteen, Adrian, with only five confirmed kills to show for it. I knew six of the Knights pretty well.”

“I knew some of them too,” I said quietly. “Maybe not as well as you, but still... Are there going to be funerals for them?”

“Father Parnell is making most of the arrangements.”

At least nineteen dead in one night. When I first asked Cindy about the conflict between the Angels and the Guardians, she had called it a feud. But Cindy was talking about a time when she had been a Guardian under Diana Granados. Perhaps it had been an escalating feud back then, but I had to agree with Ralph’s assessment now. This really was a war.

“Come on, Adrian, next shot,” said Terry, snapping me out of my thoughts. “You’re actually getting good enough at this to make it interesting.”

But not quite good enough to win.

I still felt somewhat weak that day, so when my sister’s bedtime came and Cindy suggested that I share it, I didn’t argue with her. Slipping under my covers, I looked over at Alia, who was being tucked in by Cindy.

“Both of you go straight to sleep, okay?” said Cindy.

“Okay,” said Alia, yawning quietly.

Cindy turned to me. “Especially you, Adrian. That way you might be able to get right back on the horse starting tomorrow.”

I nodded. “I guess we’re not about to leave New Haven again.”

Cindy smiled. “No, Adrian, I can pretty much guarantee it. You were right, after all, about the mission.”

“For the record, Cindy, I thought last year’s camping trip was a good idea.”

“Well, we’re going to have to temper our good ideas with good sense from now on, unfortunately.”

“It’s not so unfortunate,” I said. “As long as I can still go outside, I don’t mind living peacefully here in New Haven. Terry might go insane, but it’ll be worth the risk.”

Cindy laughed. “Well, no more missions, anyway. I made that very clear to Mr. Baker.”

“Thanks, Cindy.”

“Straight to sleep, Adrian,” said Cindy. Then she winked and added, “No midnight assemblies, okay?”

Chuckling, Cindy closed the door.

Suddenly having an idea, I whispered to my sister, “Hey, Ali, you were in my hospital room longer than anyone, weren’t you?”

“Of course,” replied Alia. “Where else would I be?”

“So, um, did you ever hear me use the word ‘assembly’ in my sleep?”

“No, but you said ‘Terry’ like one million times.”

“But never ‘assembly’?” I persisted.

“No, Addy. I mean, I don’t know. Maybe you did. But you were really crazy all night. Sometimes you were talking like I used to.”

“I don’t know why, Alia, but I think this is important. Please, think. Did I ever say ‘assembly’ or anything really strange? Anything at all?”

“Everything you said was strange, Addy,” said Alia, and then she smirked, adding, “If it’s something inside your dreams, why don’t you ask Terry when you meet her there?”

Telekinetically grabbing my sister by the ankles, I hung her upside down over her bed and shook her until she stopped laughing. Plopping her back down onto her mattress, I grinned and said, “Maybe I will. Thanks for the tip, Ali.”

Alia giggled. “Anytime.”

As I rested my head back on my pillow and closed my eyes, I thought that my sister might have a legitimate point. This whole “assembly” business was definitely tied to Terry – she was always in those dreams. But where had I heard that word before?

Terry did not appear in my dreams that night. In fact, I had no dreams at all, which was, considered what I had just come through, nothing short of miraculous.

The next day, Cindy refused to let me sleep in, insisting on tutoring me as she always did. Though it was a Monday, Terry came home right after school and dragged me down to the dojo to practice CQC. My best guess was that they had decided behind my back that the best treatment for me was to keep me occupied. I secretly agreed, though by the end of the CQC session, I was so tired that I begged to be let off kitchen duty that evening. Cindy agreed to let Terry have another go at being her assistant, and we all regretted it at dinnertime.

“A salt shaker contains more than a teaspoon of salt, Terry,” I said, discovering that our fried chicken had taken a dip in the ocean.

Alia was too polite to comment verbally, but she drank three glasses of orange juice and left half of her meal unfinished.

“I’ll help with the kitchen stuff from tomorrow,” I promised.

There was a succession of funerals that week. I didn’t attend most of them, but I did go to the one for the Knight that had found Alia and me on the street last summer. It felt strange seeing him lying in the casket. I knew next to nothing about him. Not even his name, until I learned it at the funeral. I realized that it could have been me in that box, or Mark, or Terry, or even... No. That was one place my mind refused to go.

I was still waking up almost every night, stargazing and wondering why I was so obsessed with this one strange dream about Terry arguing with a pair of strangers. One of them, I was absolutely certain now, was the gray-haired peacemaker. Sometimes there was a third man there too, but I could never see his face. Asking the dream-Terry about it wasn’t as easy as my sister had made it sound, since you really can’t control what goes on in a dream.

Alia badgered me about it almost every morning, asking, “Did you talk to Terry last night?"

“No,” I’d reply, wishing I could still shut her up with the ring.

Once, Alia even suggested, “Why don’t you just ask the real Terry?”

I scoffed at the stupidity of the notion. What was I going to say? “Oh, Terry, I was wondering if you could help me. You see, I often have dreams about you...” She’d probably break my neck!

March 24th was Alia’s “finding day,” which was the day Cindy had rescued her from the forest where she had been abandoned at the age of four. We didn’t know Alia’s real birthday, so this was as close as she got to having one.

Cindy and I baked the double-layered chocolate cake, and Terry helped with the decorations. Though still quite short for her age, Alia was nevertheless getting too big for her kiddie bed, so Cindy finally ordered a normal-sized one for her. It had arrived the day before and Terry helped us assemble it in our bedroom.

Mark couldn’t come to the party, but he called and talked to Alia over the phone for nearly half an hour. Along with the bed, Alia received a sizable addition to her unicorn collection, toys, puzzles and coloring books.

There was one more surprise that evening, but it was for me, and not at all pleasant.

I was walking down the corridor on my way to the bathroom when I heard Terry’s voice from inside her room. “Hold it like this, Ali,” Terry was saying. “Keep your arms straight. Feel the weight.”

I knocked on her door, asking, “Terry, is Alia in there with you?”

“Sure, Adrian,” I heard her answer. “Want to see something cool? Come on in.”

I opened the door and saw what, to Terry’s mind, was “cool.” Alia had a pistol in her hands and was pointing it at me.

After overcoming my initial shock, I entered the room and roared, “What the hell is going on here?!”

Terry replied calmly, “Hey, don’t have a freak attack, Adrian. It’s not loaded.”

“Alia, put that down right now!” I shouted.

My sister quickly returned the pistol to Terry, who laid it on her desk.

I glared at Terry, who said defensively, “Hey, Alia saw me with it and wanted me to show her.”

“And you didn’t see anything wrong with teaching an eight-year-old how to use a gun?!” I asked furiously.

I heard Alia say into my head, “I’m nine today, remember?”

“Shut up!” I growled, rounding on her. “You’re in enough trouble as it is!”

“I was four when I learned!” Terry said heatedly. “Adrian, Alia’s not like you. She’s a healer. She can’t defend herself.”

“She’s a kid! She doesn’t need to defend herself!”

“Oh, like because you’re such a good protector!” Terry said sarcastically.

“That has nothing to do with it!”

At that moment, Cindy rushed into the room, saying, “Hey, what’s all the shouting about?”

I explained as Terry paced the floor in frustration. Alia’s expression was hard to read. Cindy listened to me silently, and then crouched in front of my sister, asking her in a soft tone, “What would you do with a gun, Alia?”

Alia slowly answered aloud, “I don’t know. I was just curious.”

“Would you shoot someone if they tried to hurt you?” asked Cindy.

“I don’t know,” mumbled Alia, looking down at her feet.

“Would you shoot someone if they tried to hurt Addy?”

“I don’t know,” Alia said again, shaking her head.

Cindy smiled warmly. “Then maybe you’re not ready to use a gun yet, sweetie.”

Cindy stood up and turned to Terry saying, “Listen. Personally, I don’t mind Alia knowing how to use a gun–”

“Cindy!” I cried, shocked.

Cindy held up her hand to stop me. “But only when she knows why and when to use it.”

Terry answered quietly, “Okay, Ms. Gifford. I’m sorry.”

“And someday, Terry,” Cindy added with a wink, “you are going to call me Cindy.”

Taking Alia with her, Cindy left Terry’s room.

Terry and I glared at each other for a moment. Then Terry said nastily, “Maybe Alia’s not ready, but I certainly hope you are, Addy.”

I turned silently and strode out the door.

In bed that night, I found that I could still hear Cindy’s question to Alia in my head: “Would you shoot someone if they tried to hurt Addy?” I pictured the face of the Guardian Knight in the casket. Would I shoot someone if they tried to hurt Alia?

“I don’t know.”

“What?” Alia asked into my head, and only then did I realize that I had spoken out loud.

“Nothing, Alia. Go to sleep. Happy birthday.”

“Goodnight, Addy. Sweet dreams.”

“Don’t I wish,” I muttered, turning onto my side and closing my eyes.

My nightmares continued. When I woke early one morning several days after Alia’s party, I first thought the shouting I was hearing was just part of my dream. But as my mind cleared, I could tell that it was a very real, heated argument coming from the living room. The voices belonged to Cindy and Mr. Baker. It had woken Alia too, and we stared at each other for a moment before creeping down the corridor to listen in.

I heard Mr. Baker say harshly, “The boy has a weakness, Cindy!”

“We all have weaknesses, Travis,” Cindy replied in a sharp, irritated tone that I knew she was capable of but rarely heard her use.

“Do you really believe that, given the choice, he wouldn’t be tempted? Or that he could resist a dedicated controller? We have to check.”

They were talking about me.

“Out of the question!” snapped Cindy.

“It’s process of elimination, Cindy,” said Mr. Baker. “We have to clear his name.”

“He’s too young!” said Cindy, and I wondered where I had heard that before.

Mr. Baker replied, “He’s fourteen, a borderline adult. We are not talking about Alia here.”

“Travis, may I remind you that Adrian was the only one against us going?”

“I know that,” said Mr. Baker, sounding a little flustered. “But you’re also talking about a boy who has already proven himself an adept spy.”

Cindy’s voice came up an octave as she yelled, “For us, Travis! So we could rescue him!”

“Who’s to say what they did to him down there? He may not even remember it himself. He’s hardly better at blocking than you are. Look how easily he was taken by the puppeteer.”

“Adrian is not a spy, Travis! For the Angels or for the Wolves, or for anyone!”

A spy? Was that what they thought?

Mr. Baker said, “I know you believe that, Cindy, but it just doesn’t add up. None of this does.”

“You’re right, Travis. It doesn’t add up. And you’re trying to make it add up by attacking my family!”

“Please don’t be unreasonable.”

“Unreasonable?!” shouted Cindy. “You’re talking about performing a completely unnecessary operation on my son that could give him permanent brain damage! Don’t you dare talk to me about being unreasonable!”

“You’re not his mother, Cindy!”

“I’m the closest he has! I won’t allow it!”

Enough, I thought, opening the door and striding into the living room. Alia didn’t follow.

“Adrian!” said Cindy, turning to me. “You heard us?”

“It was kind of hard not to,” I said, smiling at her.

Then I leveled my gaze upon Mr. Baker, who I discovered was as serious as his voice made him sound. He had brought an armed escort of two Guardian Knights.

“I guess you haven’t found the spy yet,” I said mildly. “Are you going to arrest me?”

Mr. Baker looked at me uncomfortably. “Well, ‘arrest’ might not be the word I’d choose. We just have to make sure–”

Cindy cut him off, saying, “Mr. Baker wants to probe your mind with a delver. Of course he’s going to arrest you.”

Mr. Baker said, “Cindy, there’s no need to scare him like that. We have no reason to force this upon him.”

“Oh, I see,” Cindy replied sarcastically. “So you expect Adrian to give you his consent to being delved? Perhaps you were going to trick him into it, telling him that the risk is negligible?”

“Well, I – I...” sputtered Mr. Baker, looking at his Knights as if asking for support.

I stepped toward Mr. Baker and said quietly, “You have my consent.”

Cindy nearly exploded. “Adrian!”

I turned to her and said, “Cindy, could I speak with you alone for a moment?”

Slightly mollified, Cindy nodded, and we started to head out of the living room when Mr. Baker finally found his voice, saying, “Now, just wait one minute!”

Cindy said sharply to Mr. Baker, “I will speak with him alone.”

“Don’t worry, Mr. Baker,” I said. “We’ll be in the library, and if she shouts for help, you can come in and kill me.”

Leaving Mr. Baker and his escorts there, Cindy and I walked into the library, through it, and to the greenhouse.

We stood there, looking out through the tall glass panels at the city below. The sun was just beginning to creep up over the distant mountains. The light was still cold.

“Adrian, I’m sorry I woke you,” Cindy said quietly.

“Cindy,” I said slowly, “I don’t know if I’m ready to call you Mom yet, but you’re a good mom.”

Cindy smiled, and I looked away, embarrassed at my own words.

I heard Cindy sigh softly and say, “You really don’t have to do this, you know.”

I looked at her again and replied, “Yes, I do.”

“But why?”

“Because something is wrong with me, Cindy. Something has been wrong all year. Ever since we arrived in New Haven. I just can’t put my finger on it.”

“I’ve told you before, Adrian. Emotional ups and downs are a common part of PTSD. No one could go through what you did and not have scars to show for it.”

“It’s not just that, though,” I insisted. “I feel like there’s something inside me. Not like the puppeteer. Something that’s hiding, but is still a part of me. It’s been there forever. I want to know what it is.”

“Even if it means risking your sanity?”

“What sanity?” I scoffed. “I wake up every night, Cindy. It’s worse than ever now! I just want to know what’s going on.”

“What’s going on is that you could end up a vegetable, Adrian.”

I stared silently out the window, and Cindy pleaded softly, “Don’t do this, Adrian. Please don’t do this.”

I sighed, thinking of the last time Cindy had said those words to me. Was I ever going to learn from my mistakes?

Cindy crouched in front of me, looking carefully into my eyes. “Listen, Adrian. Maybe you’re right. Maybe there is something going on. I don’t know. But I know you’re not a spy. I know you would never do anything to hurt me or Alia or anyone. If you think something is hiding in your head, then a delver is not the answer. The one person who has the best chance at finding whatever it is you think is hiding in your head is you. A delver can only read your current thoughts, Adrian. You alone can read your own mind, if you give yourself the time. You just have to give yourself time to work through your emotions.”

The door opened, and Mr. Baker stepped into the greenhouse, followed by his Knights.

Mr. Baker looked at us accusingly. “I thought you said you’d be in the library.”

Cindy snapped back at him, “And I thought you were going to stay out of it!”

“Now listen here, Cindy–” began Mr. Baker.

Cindy cut across him, saying furiously, “No, you listen, Travis! You may have Adrian’s consent, but you certainly don’t have mine!”

“I’m sorry, Mr. Baker,” I said, “but I take back my consent too. You’re going to have to arrest me after all.”

Cindy said to Mr. Baker, “That Adrian gave permission at all should be proof enough that he is no spy.”

Mr. Baker shook his head. “I am not as convinced, Cindy. You realize that you are not only risking your own life, but you are risking the rest of New Haven as well?”

“A calculated risk, Travis,” Cindy replied icily. “Surely you of all people understand the merits of a calculated risk?”

Mr. Baker sighed deeply, nodded and, giving Cindy a wry smile, turned to go.

Cindy saw them out, but I stayed in the greenhouse, wondering if I had really done the right thing. I knew Cindy was only looking out for me, but what if Mr. Baker was right? What if, unknowingly, I was in fact a threat to New Haven, and to Cindy as well? Cindy would trust me no matter what I said or did, because that was who she was. But I knew better. Deep down, I knew that the bruises I woke up with on the morning after the welcoming party were suspicious, no matter what Terry had said, and no matter how drunk I had been that night. There was a reason why I knew about the secret switch in the holding block. My hazy, incomplete dreams about the peacemaker, and “assembly,” and something about being too young... Somehow, it had to fit. It just had to.

Or did it? Was I, as Cindy had just accused Mr. Baker of doing, trying to make something add up that didn’t? Could these apparent coincidences be just that? Mere coincidences?

I continued watching the sunrise from the greenhouse windows, not noticing the time passing until I heard Alia’s voice in my head say, “Cindy says breakfast, Addy. And wake up Terry on your way to the dining room.”

Walking back through the library to the corridor, I rapped my knuckles on Terry’s door, calling her name.

Terry said loudly through her door, “I’m already awake, Adrian. I’ll be out in a minute. Tell Alia to stop shouting into my head.”

I went to the dining room where, sure enough, my sister was sitting with the slightly vacant expression she usually wore when sending her telepathy through walls.

“She’s awake, Ali,” I said.

“I know,” Alia replied aloud, giggling. “I just like bugging her.”

Complaining about having another one of her meetings to attend, Cindy left the penthouse just as Terry sat down for breakfast.

“How did you manage to sleep through all that?” I asked Terry as she served herself a plate of pancakes.

“All through what?” she asked.

Alia said to her, “Cindy had a big fight with Mr. Baker.”

“Really?” Terry asked in a surprised tone. “That must have been interesting. I’ve never seen Ms. Gifford fight before. I didn’t know she had it in her.”

“Oh, she’s capable of it,” I said, grinning. “She just usually doesn’t.”

“Too bad I missed it!” laughed Terry. “My room is farther down the hall than yours. I guess the noise from the living room doesn’t carry that far.”

I put down my fork, staring at her.

“If you didn’t hear the argument, Terry,” I said slowly, “how did you know it was in the living room?”

Terry stared back at me for a moment before answering, “Where else would it be?”

“Right,” I said, not sure why it felt so strange. It was like the chill you feel on a sunny day when a drifting cloud suddenly blocks the sun.

“So what was the argument about?” asked Terry, her voice remaining cheerful.

Alia laughed and said, “Mr. Baker thinks Addy is a spy.”

Terry laughed too, and then asked me in a serious tone, “Well, are you?”

“Of course not!” I answered angrily, turning away.

“Relax, Adrian! It’s a joke.”

I looked at Terry again, and the cloud passed. Of course I knew she was joking. Emotional ups and downs are a normal part of PTSD. Cindy was probably right.

Terry stood up. “Well, I’m off to school. Give my regards to the Angels for me, Adrian.”

I laughed with her, but somehow I doubted that my hope for a peaceful future was about to be fulfilled anytime soon.

Chapter 13: The Closet Monster Revealed

Shadows. Human shapes, large and small, dancing around me. A giant tunnel filled with echoing laughter. Surrounded by the shadows, the gray-haired man stood smirking at me. And Terry was walking into a horrible trap. I had to stop her before it was too late. But I couldn’t catch up with her. Everything was in slow motion, swaying heavily as if underwater.

I called out to her, “Terry! No! What are you doing?”

Terry turned around, but she had no face. “It’s just a bad dream, Adrian.”

The shadows were touching me now.

“Get off of me!” I shouted, struggling against the grasp of the Angel peacemaker.

“Addy, wake up already! Addy!”

I heard Alia let out a little shriek as my eyes snapped open in the darkened bedroom. Looking up at my sister, I realized that I had roughly grabbed her by the front of her pajama shirt. She had been sitting on my mattress and leaning over me, shaking me awake. My heart was racing and I was out of breath.

“Ali, is this my bed or yours?” I groaned, releasing my grip on her shirt.

“You were having another nightmare,” she said. “I didn’t want to wait until you screamed.”

“Oh. Thanks,” I said, letting my head fall back onto my pillow. I glanced at the watch Mark had given me for my birthday. It was still 3am.

“What were you doing up?” I asked.

“Glass of water,” said Alia. “You’re nightmares are getting worse again, aren’t they?”

“They’re as bad as always,” I lied. “Not worse.”

“But this is the third time tonight.”

“That’s easy for you to say, Alia,” I said, annoyed. “You’ve got a dedicated dreamweaver singing you lullabies every night.”

“Excuse me, Dr. Howell, but Mr. Koontz hasn’t been helping me since December.”

I sat up and looked at her. “No kidding, Ali, really?”

Alia nodded. “I was perfectly okay when we were living in that dirty old house, remember?”

“Oh, yeah,” I said as I thought back to our nights in that house. “Then Mr. Koontz hasn’t been helping you at all this year?”

Alia nodded again.

I smiled. “And you didn’t even wet your bed once.”

“Addy!” Alia cried embarrassedly. “That was a long time ago!”

“I guess so,” I said slowly.

So my sister had overcome her PTSD while I was slowly falling apart. I felt a bit envious, and regretted my decision to pretend I was such a tough guy and refuse dreamweaving treatment. I wondered if it wasn’t too late to ask Mr. Koontz for help.

Non-psionically reading my thoughts, Alia said, “Why don’t you ask Mr. Koontz to help you? It’s really not so bad, you know.”

“No,” I replied, suddenly completely sure of myself.

“Why not?”

“I can’t let Mr. Koontz stop my dreams.”

“Why not?!” she asked again.

It had been nearly two weeks since Mr. Baker’s sudden visit and ensuing argument. Since then, I had passed him in NH-1’s lobby once, but we hadn’t spoken. I still wondered every day if I had done right to refuse the delver’s probe.

“Something is wrong with me, Alia,” I said. “Maybe Mr. Baker was right after all. Maybe those doctors did something to me. Maybe they did something to my head that’s causing all of this, and I just don’t remember.”

“But I’d remember, Addy. I was with you all the time.”

“Yeah, I know.”

But I couldn’t be sure. What if I had been removed while Alia and I were asleep? What if there had been another psionic down there? Or some scientific way to mess with my mind? What was happening to me anyway? My nightmares were the only clues that I had, and I couldn’t let some dreamweaver shut them up just so that I could get more sleep and continue to live in ignorance.

I telephoned Mr. Malcolm Koontz early the next morning. I didn’t want to make my plea for assistance over the phone, so, after a brief hello, I asked if I could meet with him in person sometime soon.

“Sure, Adrian,” he answered, yawning. “But you know me. I’m about ready to go to sleep now. How about you come see me after dinner, at about, say, 7pm?”

I did just that. Mr. Koontz lived on the twenty-second floor. Taking the elevator down, I rang his doorbell at precisely seven o’clock, a habit of punctuality that I had acquired from my combat instructor.

Mr. Koontz invited me into his condo. For a middle-aged man, Mr. Koontz was rather frail and already somewhat bald. He seemed a touch healthier than when I had known him at the Psionic Research Center, but he was as pale-skinned as ever, most likely owing to his nocturnal lifestyle.

Mr. Koontz had been a good friend – one of my only friends – last year, but I hadn’t seen much of him since our escape. I apologized for that, but Mr. Koontz only laughed. “You’re a young boy, Adrian,” he said. “I wouldn’t expect you to spend all your time around me if you had the choice.”

I still felt a bit guilty about that, though. I thanked him several times for pacifying Alia’s nightmares both during and after our time in captivity, as well as, of course, for his assistance in our escape. He told me that he had decided to keep the P-31 tattoo on his upper left arm for the same reason I had kept my P-47, adding, “Besides, I hear removing these things can be a long and painful process.”

“I heard the same,” I said, laughing with him.

“But you didn’t come here to speak about ancient history, did you, Adrian?” said Mr. Koontz as he poured me a glass of apple juice in his living room.

“No,” I replied.

“Still being haunted by nightmares, then?”

“Yes.”

“So you have finally come to ask for my help. I was wondering when you would, and I was expecting you much sooner. Months sooner, in fact.”

“That’s not the kind of help I’m looking for, Mr. Koontz.”

“Oh? Thinking of breaking out of New Haven now?”

I laughed and said, “Actually, I wanted to ask you some questions about dreamweaving.”

“Ask away,” Mr. Koontz said with a smile.

I started with, “Can you see into a person’s dreams?”

“Do you mean, can I see what you are dreaming at night?”

“Yeah.”

“I can sense when you are having dreams, Adrian, and how intense they are, and what kind of mood they are. But no, I can’t actually see them. I can only see the dreams that I create for you, because to create them, I must visualize them.”

“Oh,” I said disappointedly, and then asked, “But you can tell when someone is having a nightmare, right? By sensing the mood?”

“If you are looking for a specific dream, as I now suspect that you are, well, it’s difficult. People dream many times during one night, and only remember a handful of them in the morning.”

“I’m looking for a very intense nightmare, Mr. Koontz. Something strong enough to wake me almost every time.”

“Now, that I might be able to find. But I can only overwrite your nightmare, Adrian. I cannot see or modify it.”

“Alright. Then without modifying it, can you make me wake up in my own dream so that I could have more control over it?”

“Wake up in your dream?” asked Mr. Koontz, looking puzzled.

“Yeah. When Derrick was sending me dreams back at the PRC, I would always know that I was dreaming, which made it easier to remember them after I woke.”

“Ah, yes, I remember now,” said Mr. Koontz. “You see, dreamweaving is usually a more subtle art. Good dreamweavers control people’s dreams so that they don’t know they are being manipulated. But in your case, Derrick wanted you to know, so he made sure your dreams were so outlandish that you would gain consciousness inside them.”

I smiled, remembering the many shapes and forms Derrick had assumed when sending dreams to me. Once, he had even appeared as Alia.

I asked, “Then you could sense when I am having this nightmare and wake me up in it?”

Mr. Koontz shook his head. “Making someone aware of a dreamweave is easy, but waking someone in their own dream is like trying to touch a person so lightly that they don’t know that they are being touched, and yet feel something painful enough to jump up screaming.”

“That sounds impossible.”

“It is, in a manner of speaking.”

“Then you can’t?” I asked, deflating. Mr. Koontz had been my last hope at finally hunting down the wretched closet monster and putting an end to my nightmares.

Mr. Koontz closed his eyes, deep in thought. I waited silently, listening to my own heartbeat. After about a minute, Mr. Koontz opened his eyes and looked at me kindly, saying, “For you, Adrian, I will try. If you hadn’t come into my life, it might have ended underground. I owe you for my freedom.”

“We all got out safe, Mr. Koontz,” I said, shaking my head. “You owe me nothing.”

Mr. Koontz smiled. “Nevertheless, I will try. Don’t expect a miracle tonight, though. I will be monitoring you and see if I can’t help you gain consciousness inside your worst nightmare. Personally, I would hate it if someone did that to me.”

“I thought dreamweavers couldn’t control each other’s dreams.”

“Fortunately, they can’t,” said Mr. Koontz. “I will try every night until we succeed or you are satisfied that it is not possible. I hope you find what you are looking for.”

I thanked him and returned to the penthouse. When I arrived, Terry asked me where I had been. Without mentioning that she was often a part of my nightmares, I briefly told her what I had requested of Mr. Koontz.

Terry looked at me incredulously. “You’re going to try hacking into your own dreams?”

“Something like that,” I replied.

“Dreams are just dreams, Adrian,” Terry said with a shrug. “They don’t mean anything.”

“I think this one means something, Terry. I want to know what.”

“If you’re going have a dreamweaver help you, you really should just have him overwrite your nightmares so that you wouldn’t be so obsessed by them.”

I frowned. “I’m not obsessed, Terry. I’ve been trying to ignore this ever since I started living here. I should have realized long ago that I couldn’t ignore it no matter how hard I tried. Something is happening in my head, and I’m going to find out what.”

“Paranoid,” said Terry, unsmiling.

That night was like any other. I woke up screaming twice.

Several days later, Terry asked me over breakfast, “How’s your brain hack coming?”

“Not so well,” I answered honestly.

In fact, I had made next to no progress. The last few nights, I remembered having seen flashes of dull, greenish light at the start of my nightmares. They were different from the brilliant flashes of light that my nightmares often ended with. I had called Mr. Koontz on the telephone and he confirmed that the green flashes had been his attempts to shock me into consciousness without waking me. Once, the light actually did wake me up, and while that spared me from another midnight scream, nevertheless it frustrated me even more.

“You’re wasting your time, Adrian, and Mr. Koontz’s as well,” said Terry. “I’d give it up if I were you.”

“Yeah, well, I’m not you,” I said irritably. “And what do you care about Mr. Koontz?”

“Nothing, Adrian!” Terry snapped back. “He’s your friend. I just think you should get your head out of your dreams and focus on your real life. Your power balance, CQC, all that stuff.”

“Hey, what I do in my sleep is none of your business, Terry!”

Terry just glared at me, and we finished our breakfast in silence.

The phone rang as Terry was packing her school bag, and I answered it to Mr. Koontz’s voice. After our greetings, he said, “How would you feel about spending the night at my place one of these days?”

“If it’s for what I think it’s for, tonight is as good as any,” I answered. “But I thought you could throw your dreams a hundred miles.”

“I can,” replied Mr. Koontz. “But that doesn’t change the fact that the closer I am, the better I can dreamweave to you. This is a pretty solid building, and you are actually farther away from me than the Knights had been when I was sending dreams to the surface above the research center.”

I arranged to knock on his door at 10pm that night. Over lunch, I told Cindy what I was planning to do, and she smiled, saying, “Experiment. Do whatever works.”

I laughed. “That’s what you said about Alia’s mouth-speaking training.”

“I know,” said Cindy. “It’s a good technique when you’re stuck.”

Before leaving that night, I helped Cindy tuck Alia into bed.

“I’m just going to be gone one night, okay, Ali?” I said.

“I’ll be okay, Addy,” said Alia, hugging me, and then added into my head, “Good luck.”

“Thanks,” I said.

Taking my duffle bag containing my nightclothes and change for tomorrow, I had almost reached the front door when I heard Terry’s voice behind me, asking, “Where are you going?”

I didn’t turn around. “You’d just make fun of me.”

“Are you going down to Mr. Koontz’s place?”

I didn’t reply, and a moment later I heard her say quietly, “Come on, Adrian, I’m just worried about you. This dream hunting isn’t healthy.”

I turned toward her and said, “Listen, if Mr. Koontz can’t help me unlock this nightmare in a few more days, I’ll give it up, okay? Just give me some time.”

“Okay, Adrian,” said Terry. “Sweet dreams, then, or whatever.”

I gave her a little smile, telekinetically opened the front door and left the penthouse.

Mr. Koontz was waiting for me in his condo. He ushered me in and showed me his bedroom.

“I don’t sleep until after sunrise, so it’s all yours. I’ll leave you alone until you are asleep, but then I’ll quietly come in and sit by you, if that’s okay.”

“That’s fine, Mr. Koontz,” I said, looking around the bedroom. The only window had thick curtains drawn over them, which I assumed was how Mr. Koontz simulated nighttime while he slept.

As the dreamweaver turned to leave, I said, “Thank you for this, Mr. Koontz. You have no idea how much it means to me.”

“Thank me later, Adrian. This may not work.”

Once I was alone, I changed into my nightclothes and slipped into Mr. Koontz’s bed, which I found to be considerably harder than my own. I hadn’t had a CQC lesson with Terry that day so I wasn’t very tired, and I was in an unfamiliar room which made it even more difficult to fall asleep. I closed my eyes and tried to imagine what I might discover if Mr. Koontz succeeded in helping me “hack my brain” as Terry had put it.

Terry... What did she have to do with all of this anyway? Mr. Baker had suggested that the doctors at the Psionic Research Center might have done something to me that was messing up my mind, but I hadn’t met Terry until after arriving in New Haven.

I remembered how Terry had dragged me into that dance hall last summer. She had asked me about Alia. She wanted to know what I was willing to die for. Given the choice, I’d die for family. But I never chose to die for Alia. Choice just didn’t work that way. After all, theoretically, you could choose to hold your hand in an open flame until all the flesh burned away, leaving nothing but bones. But could you really? Of course not. For all her down-to-earth pragmatism, when it came to choice, Terry was more of a dreamer than me. She didn’t understand the fundamental truth that choice was by and large an illusion that people created so that they could make believe they were somehow in control of their own lives.

I wondered what Terry would die for.

A flash of dull, green light. Where had that come from? Where was I? My head was spinning. The whole world was rocking back and forth as a firm hand pulled me forward into the darkness.

“Where are you taking me, Terry?” I mumbled, stumbling as she pulled me along.

“Just follow me, Adrian. It’ll be okay.”

Terry led me down the car ramp and into the basement parking lot.

We entered the elevator. Terry pulled out her silver key.

“Try not to fall over,” she said, letting go of me. Closing my eyes, I leaned against the elevator wall, but soon slid down the side. It felt like the elevator had fallen into a raging sea. Was this what it felt like to be drunk?

When I opened my eyes again, Terry was pulling me into the concrete hall. We passed through a few doors.

“What is this place, Terry?”

“You’ll see,” she said, pushing me in through a heavy steel door.

It was the holding block. I looked at the cells lining the wall, and in the closest was a bearded man wearing a heavy steel ring on his right ankle. It was locked in place. I realized that this man was the Angel spy that had been caught a few days ago. He stood up from his bed and approached the bars, looking at us curiously.

“What are we doing here?” I asked, trying not to fall over again.

“Shut up, Adrian,” Terry said quietly.

Terry walked over to the bars and said to the man, “I’m going to let you out now. Don’t do anything stupid and you’ll get out of here safely.”

“Terry! No!” I shouted.

Terry turned to me. “That goes for you too, Adrian.”

I clumsily tried to make a break for the exit. Terry pushed me hard from behind, slamming me into the steel door. My right arm seared with pain as it was crushed against the doorknob. Terry pinned me against the door, and the combination of alcohol and metal draining meant that the only reason I hadn’t slid to the floor was because Terry was holding me up.

She pulled me back, throwing me down onto the hard concrete floor. “I’m sorry, Adrian,” she said, “but this is going to happen the way I want it to, and you’re not going to stop me.”

Terry opened a supply cabinet mounted on the wall and pulled out a pistol.

“You’re not going to shoot me, Terry,” I mumbled, not entirely sure she wouldn’t.

“I won’t, but he might,” said Terry, walking back to the spy’s cell.

Handing the gun through the bars to the Angel spy, Terry said to him, “If the boy screams or tries to run, kill him.”

“Sure thing,” said the Angel, leveling the pistol on me.

Terry went over to the control panel and pulled two of the levers. The spy’s cell door and the cell door farthest from the entrance both creaked open.

“How are we getting out?” asked the man.

“Through here,” said Terry, gesturing toward the farthest cell. Then she came back to me and roughly stood me up. “You’re coming too.”

“We could just leave him in my cell,” suggested the Angel.

“No,” said Terry. “Someone might come down here. I don’t want him shouting for help. Just keep the gun on him.”

We entered the farthest cell together, and Terry felt along the far wall until she found the hidden switch.

The secret passage opened, and I was pushed in first, with Terry behind me and the spy following.

“You’re crazy, Terry,” I said as I stumbled along the pitch-black tunnel. “Why are you doing this?”

“I’m not,” replied Terry. “It’s just a bad dream, Adrian.”

At the end of the passage, Terry reached around me and pulled the lever to open the door into the sewage drain.

Waiting for us on the walkway were two men holding flashlights. They were dressed in blue coveralls, and one of the men had short, dark gray hair. He was the peacemaker. His partner was slightly shorter and had a bushy beard and mustache. I sensed he was a destroyer of some kind, but I was too drunk to identify which specific destroyer power he had.

“You’re late,” said the destroyer.

“I got held up,” replied Terry.

The spy was still standing behind Terry, and the gray-haired peacemaker asked him, “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” answered the spy, carefully stepping around us and shaking hands with the peacemaker. “Thank you, sir.”

“Get going,” the peacemaker said to him, handing him a spare flashlight and gesturing toward the rusty iron ladder that led out of the sewer. “My team is waiting for you at the top. Tell them I’ll be up in a moment.”

As the Angel spy made his way up the ladder, Terry said to the peacemaker, “You got yours. Now, where’s mine?”

But the peacemaker shook his head. “This was merely a test of your loyalty, girl,” he said mildly. “You’ll get yours back when you’ve paid his debt to us.”

“That wasn’t the agreement!” shouted Terry, her voice echoing through the pipe.

“Oh, there’s no agreement,” said the peacemaker, chuckling. “You’ll do what we say when we say it, girl, or there’ll be some assembly required when you get him back.”

The peacemaker’s destroyer partner snickered loudly, and Terry glared at them both.

Then the destroyer turned his attention to me. He poked me in the chest as he sneered at Terry, asking, “And who’s this? Your boyfriend?”

“My cover!” snapped Terry. “And he’s not to be harmed.”

“We’ll decide that,” said the peacemaker. Then he shined his flashlight into my face and said in a surprised tone, “Hey, don’t I know you? What’s your name, boy?”

Squinting in the light, I didn’t immediately answer. Suddenly the peacemaker’s partner grabbed my shoulder with his left hand and shoved me down onto my knees. He pressed a pistol barrel onto my forehead as he commanded, “Answer him!”

Drained, dizzy and weak, I just stared back dazedly.

“He’s Adrian Howell,” said Terry.

“Liar!” shouted the destroyer, pressing the barrel of his gun harder against my head. “He’s the Gifford boy! I saw him on stage. We could take him now and use him to get to the hider.”

“No!” said the peacemaker. “If we take the boy, there’s no telling what new security will be set up, and Baker isn’t dumb enough to risk his precious hider for one child. If we’re going to hold this to Cynthia Gifford directly, we’ll need the healer girl with him.”

“But he’ll squeal!” argued the destroyer. “He’s got nothing to lose.”

“That’s why I got him drunk!” Terry said angrily. “He’s not going to remember anything.”

“I’m afraid we cannot take that chance,” said the peacemaker. “We’ll have to wipe him properly.”

The destroyer nodded, and then, carefully keeping his gun to my head, he stepped around behind me.

“You can’t!” shouted Terry, “He’s too young! If you destroy him, I’ll lose my alibi.”

“I’ll be careful,” I heard the destroyer say, and I realized that he must be a mind-writer as well. “I’m good at careful.”

The gray-haired peacemaker smiled down at me. “Sweet dreams, Adrian Gifford.”

I felt a sharp pain on the back of my head, saw a blinding flash of light, and then darkness.

“Adrian? Wake up, Adrian. I believe it’s over now.”

“It’s not over,” I gasped, staring at Mr. Koontz’s pale face in the darkness. “It’s not over. It’s not...”

Mr. Koontz put a calming hand on my shoulder. “Easy there. Sometimes dreams can be harder to bear than reality.”

“It’s not a dream,” I said, my breathing finally becoming a bit steadier. “It’s a memory.”

I stood up and, ignoring the fact that I was still dressed in my nightclothes, grabbed my keys and rushed to the door.

“Where are you going, Adrian?” asked Mr. Koontz.

“To talk to a friend,” I answered quietly. “I’m sorry, Mr. Koontz, but this can’t wait. If I don’t call you in thirty minutes, would you wake Mr. Baker and have him come up to the penthouse? Tell him to bring his Knights.”

“Sure, Adrian,” said Mr. Koontz, looking at me uncertainly. “Are you going to be okay?”

“I don’t know,” I said, opening the front door. “I’m not sure I know anything anymore.”

Chapter 14: The Shattered Room

I impatiently rode the elevator back up to the fortieth floor. Glancing at my watch, I realized that it was still only a few minutes past midnight. I was doing my best to stay calm, but my trembling fingers fumbled my door key twice before I could insert it into the keyhole.

Quietly entering the penthouse, I closed and locked the front door behind me. The living room was dark and silent, but I didn’t bother turning on the room lights as I carefully made my way around the couches and toward the corridor. I didn’t want to wake the house just yet. I wanted to talk to Terry first.

I was halfway across the living room when I heard a quiet male voice behind me say, “Welcome home, Adrian.”

I spun around, instinctively raising my right arm and pointing it toward the owner of the voice. He was leaning against the wall next to the front door, and as my eyes adjusted to the darkness, I could see that he was none other than the Angel peacemaker with dark gray hair.

“I’m unarmed,” he said calmly. “They wouldn’t have let me through the lobby security check if I had a gun. I told you I would see you again.”

I pointed my index finger at him. At this distance, my focused blast would be as strong as a bullet.

“What’s your name, Angel?” I asked through clenched teeth. “I want to know who I’m about to kill!”

The Angel peacemaker merely grinned. “Those who can’t do, taunt. You don’t have it in you.”

“Bet your life?” I asked, keeping my finger pointed at the man’s face.

“No, but I’ll bet hers,” said the Angel, his eyes moving toward something behind me.

I heard the distinctive sound of a pistol hammer being pulled back. Turning my head, I saw Terry and Alia on the other side of the living room. Terry was firmly gripping Alia’s shoulder with her left hand, and in her right was a pistol pressed against the top of Alia’s head.

Terry asked softly, “Did you find your memory, Adrian?”

“I was so stupid,” I replied, shaking my head. “I actually believed you when you said my injuries were from falling down some stairs at the party. There were no stairs between the party hall and here.”

“I needed you that night,” said Terry. “If someone had seen us going down into the subbasement, I could have told them that you wanted to see the Angel spy to ask about Catherine.”

“So it’s true,” I breathed. “It’s all true.”

“I’m sorry, Adrian,” said Terry, “but I don’t think I’m going to make a very good Guardian either. I was hoping you wouldn’t come back here tonight.”

“You’re not going to hurt Alia, Terry,” I said. “You couldn’t.”

Keeping her pistol on my sister, Terry said sharply, “Don’t you dare presume to know what I can or can’t do!”

Alia was staring at me, almost in a daze. What was going through her head? What had she already seen here?

“Put your arm down, Adrian,” commanded Terry. “You know better than to test me.”

I still had my right arm extended, my finger pointed at the Angel peacemaker, but I slowly lowered it now, reabsorbing my focused telekinetic blast into my body. I found it hard to believe that Terry would really kill Alia, but nor could I take the risk.

“Where’s Cindy?” I asked.

“She’s okay,” said Terry. “She’s tied up in the greenhouse. I was hoping Alia wouldn’t have to see this, but Ms. Gifford screamed and woke her.”

The Angel said, “Aren’t you going to introduce us, Terry? It appears Adrian here doesn’t even know my name yet.”

Terry didn’t reply.

“You may call me Riles,” the man said to me, taking a few steps closer. “I am the Angel coordinator for this operation.”

Ignoring him, I asked Terry, “How did you get him in here?”

It was Riles who answered, “I got myself in. I’m a shape-shifter and peacemaker. Getting in was comparatively easy. The problem is getting Ms. Gifford out.”

I looked at Terry disgustedly, saying, “I was beginning to think I was wrong about you, Terry, but I wasn’t. You really are just like your grandfather.”

“My grandfather is a professional, Adrian,” Terry said evenly. “This is personal.”

Riles chuckled and said to Terry, “We still have about fifteen minutes to rendezvous. Why don’t to tell your little friend here what you’ve been up to these past few months.”

Terry looked at me silently for a moment, and then, in a near-whisper, said, “I’m doing this for my brother, Adrian. For Gabriel.”

“Your brother is dead, Terry!” I said furiously.

“He’s alive!” Terry replied with equal ferocity.

“You told me you buried him!”

“I buried his left arm, Adrian. The Angels couldn’t convert him, but they didn’t kill him either. They kept him alive because they knew he was related to my grandfather. When Ms. Gifford came to New Haven, I learned the truth. And Riles here offered a trade.”

“Your brother for Cindy?”

Terry nodded miserably.

Riles chuckled and said, “People are worth more alive, even if they’re not in one piece.”

Terry glared at him. The Angel calmly walked over to her and said, “Why don’t you hand me the gun, Terry? You must be getting tired holding it on the child.”

Terry silently handed her pistol over. Alia broke free of Terry’s grasp and wrapped her arms around my waist.

“Terry doesn’t want to do this, Addy,” she whispered into my head.

“I know, Ali,” I said, holding her. “It’ll be okay.”

Stepping away from Terry, Riles leaned his back against a wall. He was holding Terry’s pistol loosely at his side, and I wondered if I could telekinetically knock it out of his hands. But I realized that if I tried and failed, I might not be the only one who got shot. And even unarmed, Terry was out of my league. Even if I were to levitate her, the Angel would still be free to act.

“I don’t get it, Terry,” I said. “You were setting us up all along. Why did you train me to fight? Why did you help me balance my power? And teach Alia to talk?”

“You weren’t just my cover, Adrian,” said Terry. “I wanted to give you a fair chance. And once Cindy was gone, you’d have to take care of yourself anyway.”

“Cindy?” I asked, raising my eyebrows.

“Ms. Gifford,” Terry hastily corrected herself.

Riles laughed. “We always knew Cynthia Gifford was the best-protected psionic in New Haven, but even so, I never expected it would take this long to get her. Terry has been on a number of assignments for us this past year, but somehow she just kept screwing up. Like when she went back on her agreement to hand you all over during your camping trip.”

I gasped. “You were the one who told the Angels where we were?!”

Terry looked away, unable to answer, but Riles said, “She did. But then she turned around and told the Guardians too. Such double dealing couldn’t go unpunished, now could it?”

Riles turned to Terry and said, “Tell Adrian what we sent you to remind you where your loyalties should lie.”

Terry still remained silent.

Riles said callously, “An eye for a betrayal, Terry. I believe it was his right eye.”

Terry was shaking in fury, but Riles merely smiled and said to me, “I failed to nab you and Alia last summer, and Terry failed to deliver Cindy, so then we decided on a subtler approach. I asked Terry to locate the pass codes to New Haven One’s UPS system. To her credit, she refused at first, but then she changed her mind again when we sent her an early Christmas gift. I can’t remember which ear.”

“Shut up!” screamed Terry, tears streaming down her cheeks. “Just shut up!”

Alia tightened her grip on me, which I found annoying because I was hoping Terry would attack Riles, and if she did, I wanted to be ready to help her.

“Calm yourself, girl,” said Riles. “You’re hurting my ears.”

I noticed that Riles was pointing Terry’s pistol not at me, but at Terry.

“Terry isn’t on your side, Riles,” I said. “She could’ve helped you last month when your puppeteer tried to take Cindy during the battle, but she didn’t. Terry saved Cindy.”

Riles laughed again, saying, “How do you think we managed to set up a trap for your Knights at such short notice? Terry is the one who informed us of your mission to capture our finder. But after what happened at your camping trip, we couldn’t risk our sweet little girl having another conscience attack and giving us away, so we wiped her memory. I bet she still thinks she was out with her school friends the night you all left New Haven together.”

Terry was staring at Riles. She was no longer crying, but I noticed that her hands were still shaking a bit.

“I suspected,” mumbled Terry, her voice quivering.

“So that’s why you were so well-armed that night,” I said to Terry. “You were expecting an ambush because you thought you might have told the Angels about the mission.”

Terry nodded wretchedly.

Riles snorted. “I wonder how the Guardians are going to react when they discover that Terry here not only foiled their mission, but caused the deaths of so many precious Knights.”

Terry stared, ashen-faced, down at her feet as Riles continued quietly, “But we still hadn’t captured Cynthia Gifford. And while I couldn’t fault Terry for not knowing about our ambush, there was absolutely no excuse for her interference in it. I was quite prepared to remove her brother’s remaining limbs for her treachery, but Terry begged me to give her one last chance. We agreed on a deadline for her to deliver the codes to the UPS system, and I am pleased to say that she finally did come through.”

“What’s a UPS?” I asked, wondering how many minutes we had left.

“Uninterruptible power supply,” Terry explained in a dull voice. “It’s an emergency system that keeps the building from losing power even if it’s cut from outside.”

“You see, Adrian,” said Riles, “without power, the security here is completely worthless. The tracking systems on the building’s point-defense guns won’t work, meaning there’s nothing to stop an airborne approach. The security cameras, the Knights’ communication network... everything shuts down, and we will be free to free New Haven of its heart. Terry only managed to acquire the codes last week. We were going to take a few more days and plan this out better, but Terry informed me that you were getting close to unlocking your overwritten memory, so we had to step up our plans.”

I hadn’t even known that there were such guns protecting the sky around NH-1. Or a UPS system, or anything about the Knights’ security measures. I had left every detail of our safety in the hands of total strangers. Now I was paying the price of my disinterest.

I mumbled, “I should have gone to Mr. Koontz sooner.”

“Yes, Adrian,” Terry said emotionlessly, “you should have. The Angel mind-writer didn’t want to risk damaging your brain, so it was only a very shallow implant. I was always wondering when you would break through it.”

“Terry, please don’t do this,” I begged.

Terry shook her head. She was no longer shaking, and her voice was completely steady as she looked into my eyes and said, “I’m sorry, Adrian, but it is already done. The power is about to be cut, and–”

I threw my arms forward, releasing the strongest telekinetic blast I could. Terry nimbly sidestepped it, and my blast hit the wall-mounted television, shattering the screen.

Alia was still clinging to me, but I managed to turn toward Riles, who had already leveled his pistol on me.

“No!” I heard Terry shout as I was knocked forwards. Alia released me, and a second later Terry had my back pinned to the floor.

Terry shouted up at Riles, “Don’t shoot him! Please! Go get the handcuffs on my desk.”

I struggled under Terry’s hold, but it was no use.

“I didn’t want to involve you in this, Adrian,” said Terry, keeping a firm grip on me. “I was hoping you and Alia wouldn’t find out. I wanted to remain your friend and help you after Ms. Gifford was gone. But that’s not going to happen now. Alia is too young for memory alteration.”

“So you’re taking us with you?” I yelled madly. “We’re all going to be Angels together?!”

“No! You’re not going anywhere. I’m leaving New Haven. I’m the only one who can’t stay, now that you know what I’ve done. I’ve prepared for this too.”

I couldn’t make a powerful blast without focusing it through an outstretched arm, but even so, I wasn’t entirely helpless. I screamed and, without using my arms at all, I created an unfocused telekinetic blast between us, hitting Terry in the stomach.

“Stop it, Adrian!” shouted Terry, wincing in pain but keeping her hold on me. “You’re going to get shot!”

“Get off me!” I roared, blasting her again and again. Terry refused to let go.

“Here you go, Terry,” said Riles.

I felt cold steel touching my skin, and my psionics quickly faded away. Still no expert at power balance, I felt dizzy and stopped struggling. Terry gently lifted me to my feet, turned me around, and handcuffed my wrists together behind my back.

“No, Alia,” said Terry, turning toward my sister, “I’m not going to hurt him. Or you.”

There was a loud knocking on the front door. I heard Mr. Baker’s voice shout from outside, “Cindy? Terry? Adrian? Are you alright? What’s going on?”

Mr. Koontz had called Mr. Baker early! Draining no longer weakened me to the point where I couldn’t even shout.

“Help!” I called out at the top of my lungs. “Angels!”

“Break it down!” shouted Mr. Baker, and I guessed he had brought his Knights.

Riles yelled back, “That door opens and Cynthia Gifford dies!”

Suddenly the living room became darker. Glancing out the window, I realized that all of the buildings around us had been plunged into darkness. The entire city block had lost power, and New Haven One with it. The Angels were coming.

Alia let out a loud shriek as Riles grabbed her by her arm. Terry pushed me along as the four of us filed through the library and into the greenhouse. Cindy was lying on the floor, her mouth gagged with packaging tape, her wrists and ankles bound tightly together with thin rope. She looked up at us, her eyes red with tears.

“I already promised that I’m not going to hurt your children, Ms. Gifford,” Terry said quietly. “They’re just here to see us off.”

Looking out of the greenhouse windows, Riles said, “They’re here.”

Releasing Alia and taking a step back, Riles pointed Terry’s pistol at one of the giant windowpanes. He fired several rounds in rapid succession, and the windowpane shattered into tiny pieces. The wind rushed in, swirling through the greenhouse and sending dust, leaves and flower petals everywhere.

A tall, muscular woman entered through the broken window, followed quickly by a skinny, frail-looking man, and I felt both of their formidable telekinetic powers up close.

Even in the dark, I could see that the telekinetic man was actually fairly young, probably not much older than twenty-five. He nevertheless looked frighteningly skeletal, with sunken eyes and bony limbs. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I realized numbly that I was looking at a person with such terrible psionic power balance that his physical body had almost completely decayed. This was the fate that Terry had saved me from when she taught me to balance my power, but all I felt for my instructor now was hatred.

The telekinetic woman had brought in a dark green backpack, which she quickly removed and dropped at Riles’s feet. Then, without a word, the two telekinetics grabbed Cindy by the ropes binding her and jumped back through the window.

Even as a flight-capable telekinetic, I couldn’t stay airborne for more than a few minutes, and I certainly couldn’t lift someone else along with me. These telekinetics apparently couldn’t either, but between them, they had just enough power for a controlled descent, drifting diagonally away from the tower.

As I watched them disappear into the darkness, I heard Terry shout at Riles, “What about my brother?!”

“You’ve done well, Terry!” Riles shouted over the wind. “The Angels are not unreasonable. What’s left of your brother will be released intact as soon as Gifford is safely converted.”

Even over the howling of the wind, I heard a distant pounding sound from the living room. The Knights were breaking down our front door.

Riles shouldered the dark green backpack that the telekinetic woman had left behind, which I guessed was a parachute. Clipping the straps around his chest and waist, the Angel said, “But if I recall correctly, Terry, there was no agreement for you.”

Riles pointed his gun at Terry as he picked up another backpack from the floor and threw it out the window: Terry’s parachute.

“Whoops!” he shouted, laughing. “I guess you’re going to have to stay here and deal with the Knights for us.”

“You bastard!” Terry shouted furiously.

“No agreement for them, either,” said Riles, grinning at Alia and me. “I’m guessing the healer is light enough to come with me.”

My wrists were still cuffed behind my back, but I threw myself forward, ramming my shoulder into Riles’s stomach. Riles was twice my size and I was being drained by the cuffs. But he hadn’t been expecting me, and he was already standing right in front of the broken window. The Angel lost his balance and I pushed harder until I felt his body give way.

“You come with me then!” he screamed as he grabbed my shirt and pulled me over the ledge.

I felt my stomach turn over, and suddenly I was face to face with Riles, dangling upside down over the edge of the broken window. I heard Terry screaming. An instant later, Riles had released me and was falling away into the night. I saw his rectangular parasail snap open and glide away.

Turning my head upwards, I saw why I hadn’t fallen to my death. Terry had her hands around my ankles and was carefully pulling me back into the greenhouse.

As soon as Terry managed to drag me to safety, Alia threw her arms around my neck. I didn’t look at Terry. The lights in the greenhouse came on, and I sensed the Knights surrounding us, but I ignored them too. As Alia and I sat slumped down on the floor, I couldn’t pull my eyes away from the darkness around the tower.

Cindy was gone.

Chapter 15: A Guardian’s Choice

“I want to see her,” I said at the door of 3901.

“Absolutely not!” Mr. Baker replied sternly, standing in the doorway and looking down at me irritably.

Looking past him, I could see that Mr. Baker already had numerous emergency guests inside his condo. He didn’t invite me in.

“But she can help us!” I insisted. “Just let me talk to her.”

“Out of the question,” said Mr. Baker. “We have professionals for this kind of thing, Adrian. You will have to leave it to us.”

The Knights had taken Terry down to the holding block. It had been almost half an hour since Cindy was kidnapped, and the Guardians were planning to probe Terry with a delver to extract Cindy’s whereabouts. I stamped my feet impatiently. There wasn’t time for this. Every second lost meant there was less chance of recovering Cindy.

Mr. Baker continued harshly, “Even if I did let you talk to her, nothing she says can be trusted. We need the truth, not a wild-goose chase. Terry hasn’t been specifically trained to block delving, but nevertheless she has a strong will. We must start quickly. It could take several hours before we can extract any useful information.”

“Several hours?!” I cried. “By then Cindy could be long gone!”

“Then stop wasting my time and let me do my job, Adrian!”

“At least let me try talking to her. Please, Mr. Baker!” I begged. “Your delver isn’t here yet. What do we have to lose?”

Mr. Baker paused, thinking silently for a moment before he replied, “Nothing, Adrian. There is nothing more we can lose tonight. Alright, I will let you speak with her, but only until our interrogators arrive. And anything she tells you freely will still have to be verified with the delver.”

“Fine,” I said. Right now, that Mr. Baker was planning to torture Cindy’s location out of Terry didn’t bother me in the least. But I needed answers, and I couldn’t be waiting on the Guardians.

Mr. Baker scribbled me a memo to get me into the holding block. Taking it, I sprinted back up the stairs to the penthouse. I had told Alia to stay there with Mr. Koontz, who had come up with the Knights when they raided our home.

I found Mr. Koontz sitting on one of the living-room sofas. My sister was standing by the window, staring out at the night sky. She didn’t turn around when I entered.

“Adrian–” began Mr. Koontz.

But I cut across him, saying quickly, “I’m sorry, Mr. Koontz, but I need some time alone with Alia.”

“Of course,” said Mr. Koontz. “I will retreat to your library, then.”

As soon as Mr. Koontz was out of earshot, I said, “Ali, get dressed. I’m going to need you for this.”

My sister continued to stare out the window. She didn’t answer.

“Ali,” I said again. “Alia!”

Finally she turned around and faced me, but her eyes were dazed and out of focus. I heard her voice in my head say faintly, “Cindy’s gone.”

I grabbed her by the shoulders and shook her. “Yes, Alia, Cindy’s gone! But she’s alive and we’re going to find her!”

Alia silently looked down at the floor.

“Alia,” I said as patiently as I could, “we’ve been through worse than this together, and I need you to be brave now. We’re going to get her back, just like she saved us. Please.”

Ever so slowly, Alia raised her head again. She looked at me and nodded. When I saw her eyes, I almost gasped in surprise. They were not the eyes of a sad or frightened child, but calm and determined. They were almost scary.

“What do you want me to do?” she asked, her telepathic voice completely steady.

“Come with me,” I said.

I led my sister back to our room, and we quickly changed into our outdoor clothes. Slapping my tracer band onto my left wrist, I looked at it in frustration. If only I had been wearing this earlier, Cindy might not have been taken.

“Addy?”

Alia’s voice snapped me out of my anger. This wasn’t the time to be upset at myself or anybody else. Grabbing my sister’s hand, I pulled her out of the penthouse, shouting thanks to Mr. Koontz as we left.

Taking the elevator down to the subbasement, I headed straight for the holding block. One lone Knight, an unarmed but powerful pyroid, was standing outside the heavy steel door. I wondered for a moment why there weren’t more guards down here. But then I remembered that Terry was just a fifteen-year-old girl, and not even psionic. The Guardians, and the Angels for that matter, had underestimated her before. They just didn’t learn. I showed Mr. Baker’s note to the guard.

Frisking me for weapons, the pyroid said severely, “I can’t drain you in there, Adrian Howell, but if you attempt to use your power in any way, I will be forced to kill you.”

“No problem,” I answered. I suspected that the guard was afraid I was going to try to kill Terry, either in vengeance or because I was also in league with the Angels and needed to silence her. I remembered Mr. Baker’s stirring spoon. Perhaps Mr. Baker had only agreed to let me see Terry because he wanted to know what I would do.

“The child will have to wait outside,” said the guard.

I shook my head. “I need her with me.”

“The memo is only for you, Adrian. She must wait outside.”

“Alia,” I said, turning to her, “I need you to stay here.”

My sister gripped my hand tightly. “No, Addy.”

“Alia, wait here for me,” I said firmly, pulling free of her. “I’ll need you soon.”

I didn’t wait for her answer, but quickly followed the guard into the holding block. The guard closed the door in Alia’s face, locked it and, crossing the room, sat down on a stool next to the control panel that operated the cell doors. My sister made just one more telepathic protest in my mind, and then became quiet.

I turned toward Terry. She was locked inside the same cell that the Angel spy had been in.

“I trusted you, Terry,” I said, looking at her sadly. “We all did.”

Terry didn’t reply. She just stared stonily back at me.

“Where are they taking her?” I asked.

Terry still said nothing.

I walked up close to the bars and looked into her eyes, saying, “They’re going to come down here with a delver, Terry. They’re going to torture you until you think the truth.”

“I know,” Terry said calmly. “Did you come to watch them do it?”

“Where is she?!” I shouted, banging my fists on the bars. “Answer me!”

Terry just shook her head silently.

Steadying my breathing, I said, “Last year, when you took me with you to release the spy, you didn’t know they were going to overwrite my memory, did you? Did you really think that getting me drunk would keep me from remembering anything at all about what happened that night?”

“I suspected you’d remember bits of it in time,” said Terry. “But I also thought you would understand. The original agreement was just for the Angel spy.”

“I would have understood about the spy,” I said. “I would even have understood what you did to me. For your brother, I would have understood. But you helped them kidnap Cindy, and you dragged my sister into this as well. I take that very personally, Terry.”

Terry’s voice remained emotionless as she said, “Well, we all have our personal issues.”

I shook my head. “We spent so much time down in the dojo together. Sometimes I couldn’t even feel my limbs in the morning. And yet all that time, I never really knew you. I never asked you the most important question, Terry. I never asked what you would be willing to die for.”

“Now you know.”

“Yes,” I said, “now I know. Maybe our worlds aren’t that far apart after all.”

We stared at each other for a moment. I wondered if perhaps Mr. Baker was right. Would Terry really tell me where the Angels were taking Cindy? Would she risk her brother again, after all the unspeakable things the Angels had done to him?

Terry broke the silence, asking, “What would you have done, Adrian? What if it was Alia? What if it was Catherine?”

“I don’t know, Terry,” I said. “But we don’t have time for this. You can still do the right thing. It’s not too late. Just tell me where she is.”

Terry turned away from me, facing the concrete wall as she said quietly, “The Knights want to delve it from me, Adrian. It won’t make any difference what I tell you.”

“I will make the difference, Terry!” I said furiously. “Tell me where she is and I’ll go after her myself! This is what you trained me for!”

Terry didn’t reply, silently staring at the concrete wall.

I knew I was being unrealistic. Alone, I had no chance against the Angels. I knew I was talking like a little kid. But I was too desperate to care. “Please, Terry!” I begged her. “I don’t care what Cindy means to the Angels. I don’t even care what she means to the Guardians. I only care about what she means to me, and to Alia. Cindy is the only mother Alia has. She’s all we have! Please, Terry. Please don’t let it end like this!”

Terry still kept her back to me, but I saw her shoulders quiver slightly.

Calming my voice, I said softly to her, “You once said that we are what we choose, Terry. So tell me what you are. Tell me what Gabriel is.”

Bowing her head, Terry mumbled feebly, “We’re Guardians...”

I waited, breathless.

Terry slowly turned back around and faced me. She took one deep breath and then said in a resolute voice, “We’re Guardians, Adrian. My brother and I are Guardians. I know that now. And I would help you get Cindy back if it cost me my life.”

“Then tell me where they’re taking her, Terry!”

“No,” said Terry. “I won’t let Alia lose you as well. All I can do now is tell the delver when he gets here. I swear I’ll tell him everything I know.”

I scoffed. “And by then, Cindy will be long gone, won’t she?”

“Yes,” Terry answered miserably, “she will.”

I had known that before I came down here. It was time to ask Terry the one last question that truly needed to be asked.

“What if I could get you out of here, Terry?” I said quietly.

“What?”

“What if I could get you out right now? Would you help me get Cindy back?”

Terry gave me a wry smile. “You’d never convince Mr. Baker to let me out.”

“Would you help me?” I pressed. I knew the pyroid guard was listening carefully to our conversation. I didn’t care. I needed to know. “Terry, if I busted you out of this prison, would you help me go get Cindy?”

Terry looked at me in stunned silence. I sensed the guard bristling as he stood from his stool, watching my every move.

“Answer me, Terry!”

“Of course I’d help you!” Terry spat vehemently. “You saw what Riles did to me! They’re never going to release my brother and you know it!”

I glared at her. “How can I trust someone who’d betray both the Guardians and the Angels in one night?!”

Terry gave me a pained look. “If you got me out of here, Adrian, I swear I’ll lead you to Cindy. I swear I’ll help you get her back.”

“You swear on your life?” I asked, looking deep into Terry’s eyes. “On your brother’s life?!”

Looking straight back into my eyes, Terry nodded. And with that, I had my answer too.

I stepped back from the bars.

“No, Terry,” I said, shaking my head. “You’re lying. You’re a betrayer. Mr. Baker was right. You’d say anything to get out of here now.”

“Don’t act so high and mighty, Adrian!” said Terry, her voice rising in fury. “You’re just like me. You would have done exactly the same if it was your family!”

“Maybe,” I answered quietly, turning away from her, “but we will never know.”

I called to the guard, “I’m done here. Let me out.”

Smirking, the pyroid guard walked back to the steel door and inserted his key as Terry called after me in a desperate voice, “Please, Adrian! Please believe me. I had no choice! Just like you with Alia. I just had no choice!”

Placing my right hand lightly on the back of the guard’s head, I blasted him unconscious. As he limply slid down the side of the door and onto the floor, I turned to Terry, who was wide-eyed and staring at me.

I gave her a half-smile. “There’s always a choice, Terry.”

I telekinetically pulled the lever that opened Terry’s cell door.

Terry stepped out, saying slowly, “I thought you didn’t believe in choices, Adrian.”

“I don’t,” I replied. “But you do.”

Terry looked at me for a brief moment, and then nodded, saying, “I take it you have some kind of plan?”

I lifted my left arm to show her my tracer band. “Simple plan. You take me to Cindy, and I’ll call in the Knights.”

“We’re going to have to hurry,” said Terry. “They might have moved her by now.”

We had to move the unconscious guard’s body away from the door so that I could open it for Alia.

“I was right about you, Adrian,” said Terry as she helped me drag the guard across the floor. “For all your pacifist nonsense, you really are dangerous.”

I didn’t reply. Once the guard was out of the way, I finished turning the key that had been left in the keyhole.

“Ali, I need you to heal this man,” I said as my sister stepped into the room. “Make sure he doesn’t die. I’m in enough trouble already.”

“Okay,” Alia said aloud as she crouched next to the guard’s bleeding head. Her attention focused on the man’s injury, Alia decided not to try sounding out any more words with her mouth. “Just give me a minute, Addy,” she said into my head. “Then we can go.”

“No, Alia, you’re staying here with the guard,” I told her.

I turned toward Terry to ask her to open the escape tunnel, but she was a step ahead of me. Pulling the lever that opened the farthest cell, Terry said, “Adrian, Alia, let’s go! Ali, just make it a quick fix so he doesn’t die.”

As my sister stood up, I shouted to Terry, “No! Alia is staying here.”

“Like hell she is!” said Terry. “We might need her.”

“Addy...”

“You’re not coming,” I said firmly to Alia. “I just needed you to heal the guard!”

“We don’t have time for this, Adrian!” said Terry. “The Knights could be here any minute. We need Alia with us, and she has as much right to save Cindy as you do. Maybe even more.”

“That’s not the point!” I shouted, realizing angrily that Terry did have a very legitimate point. “She’s too–”

“Young?” asked Terry. “So are you! So am I, for that matter. So was my brother, and your sister! Alia is no different!”

Alia kept looking back and forth between Terry and me.

Terry walked back over to Alia and, crouching down in front of her, said, “I’m sorry for what I did to you. Right now, we’re trying to save Cindy. Your call, Alia. Are you coming or not?”

Alia answered Terry aloud in her slow and comically awkward voice, but I knew by her eyes how serious she was. “I want to come,” she said.

“Good girl,” said Terry. “Let’s go.”

I was still very conflicted about letting my sister join us, but there was no time for further discussion. Opening the secret entrance to the escape tunnel, Terry took the lead with Alia in the middle and me bringing up the rear. Once the entrance closed behind us, it was pitch-black in the tunnel, but nevertheless we ran the full length of it. When Terry suddenly stopped at the end, Alia and I smashed into her from behind.

Disentangling herself, Terry found the lever to open the door into the sewer pipe, and from there we quickly climbed the ladder that led to the manhole behind the large apartment building. At the top of the ladder, Terry easily lifted the heavy manhole cover from below and slid it aside.

“Don’t push your tracer button yet, Hansel,” said Terry as I pulled myself out of the manhole. “I don’t want the Knights catching up with us until we’re at the Angels’ hideout.”

“Where is it?” I asked.

“No time. Just follow me. We need a car.”

“You know how to hotwire a car?” I asked, looking at the cars parked in the lot next to the apartment building.

“Sure I do, but it’ll be faster if we take one that’s moving,” said Terry, picking up a largish stone as she walked briskly toward the curb.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” I muttered, following with Alia. I realized that Terry was about to bash open a car window and pull the driver out. I wasn’t sure I even wanted to see this.

“Terry, look out!” I shouted as a black and white police car came around the turn.

“Oh, great!” Terry said loudly. “Something with a siren!”

At first I thought she was being sarcastic, but in less than a blink, Terry had dropped the rock and was running toward the police car, waving her arms wildly in the air and screaming hysterically, “Help! Police! Help me! Please!”

The squad car pulled over and two uniformed police officers stepped out of the front doors.

“What’s the trouble, miss?” asked the one closer to Terry as she sprinted up to him.

“I need your car!” shouted Terry as she piled into the cop, knocking him down onto the sidewalk and pulling the pistol out of his holster in one fluid move. The cop had hardly hit the pavement before Terry was pointing the gun over the roof of the police car at the other officer, who I realized was a woman.

Terry spoke in an even, icy tone as she said, “Ma’am, pull your pistol out slowly using the thumb and index finger of your left hand and place it on the hood of your vehicle. The only reason I haven’t shot you already is that there’s a kid watching.”

The officer, recovering from her shock, said slowly, “I can’t do that, miss. Put down the gun.”

“Don’t make me tell you twice!” barked Terry, pulling the hammer back on her stolen pistol.

“Miss...” the officer began again in what I assumed was meant to be a calming tone, but Terry was no “miss.”

Terry shot the woman in the left shoulder. The officer was spun around once, and then fell down out of sight behind the car. Turning back toward the male officer that she had knocked over first, Terry put a bullet into his right thigh. Then, rushing around to the other side of the police car, she knelt down and emerged with the female cop’s pistol, which she tossed to me.

“Get in the car, Hansel,” she said. “Gretel, you too. I’ll drive.”

“I’ve changed my mind,” I said, pointing at Alia. “We’re not taking her.”

“Oh yeah, sure!” Terry shouted sarcastically. “We’ll leave her here with two bleeding cops. By sunup she’ll be back with the Wolves.”

“I see your point,” I said wryly, opening the rear door for Alia.

My sister refused to get in. “They’re hurt, Addy! I have to help them.”

“They’ll be okay, Alia,” I said. “Come on, get in the car!”

“But-but-but...”

I practically threw Alia into the back seat, slammed the rear door, and then got in the front beside Terry.

I had barely closed my door before Terry floored the gas pedal, and the police car lurched forward, gluing my back to the seat.

“Ow!” cried Alia, who had probably been knocked over.

“Put your seatbelt on, Gretel!” shouted Terry. “Seatbelt, Hansel!”

I started to pull my belt around me but Terry shouted again, “Mine first!”

I reached around her and fastened her seatbelt for her. Even as I did, Terry whipped the squad car around a corner, knocking me back into my seat.

I managed to pull my own seatbelt on only a second before Terry pulled another near-ninety-degree turn, narrowly missing an oncoming van. Even with the belt on, I bashed my head against the door window.

“And I’m dangerous?!” I shouted over the din of car horns around us. “You’re insane, Terry!”

“Hansel, find the siren switch! Hurry, before I kill someone!”

I looked at the dashboard of the police car. There was a radio transceiver, an onboard computer and a whole bunch of buttons and switches, but I couldn’t find anything that looked like the switch to the siren.

“Hansel!” shouted Terry.

I began flipping every switch in sight until I saw the flashing red and blue lights reflecting off the buildings around us. The blaring police siren followed soon after.

Looking at all the equipment, I suddenly remembered how Terry had taken Ralph’s car for our camping trip last year because Cindy’s sedan was equipped with a Guardian tracking device. A car like this would probably have a tracking system on it too, telling police headquarters exactly where we were.

I said to Terry, “You realize that we’re going to have every cop in the city after us in less than five minutes? We probably have a helicopter looking for us by now.”

“We’ll be there in two minutes,” said Terry. “Now shut your trap or you’ll bite your tongue.”

Bouncing its tires on the curb, our patrol car sliced into the sidewalk. Pedestrians were fleeing left and right, and I could hardly believe we hadn’t hit anyone yet.

“Addy, do something!”

“Who the hell gave you a license to drive, Terry?!” I yelled hysterically.

“What makes you think I have one?” Terry replied through clenched teeth as we pulled back onto the street and ran another red light. The siren was helping very little because we were moving too fast for the traffic to get out of our way in time.

“Easy,” Terry muttered under her breath, her eyes totally focused on the road. I decided that my interruptions weren’t helping, and silently prayed Terry wouldn’t get us killed before we caught up with the Angels.

Swerving around another corner, Terry slammed on the brakes, bringing the police car to a painfully abrupt stop. My heart was still racing and it took a moment for me to realize that I was trying to get out of the car without removing my seatbelt. By the time I undid my belt, Terry had already turned off the flashing lights and the siren, exited the car and pulled Alia out of the back seat.

Stepping out of the police car, I smelled water on the night breeze.

“Are we near the river?” I asked.

“Yes,” replied Terry. “Now come on. Don’t forget your gun.”

I could hear the sound of a police siren in the distance. I quickly retrieved the female cop’s pistol from the leg room where I had dropped it. Not wanting to be drained by a gun in my hand, I shoved the barrel under my belt.

Alia and I briskly followed Terry down the street.

We soon arrived at the riverbank. The river was even wider than I had thought when I had seen it from the penthouse windows. It was too dark to see anything on the other side, which was thick forest. On the slow-moving black water, I could see the red and green navigation lights of the few boats chugging along the river.

Several hundred yards upriver, there was a long wooden pier extending to a landing stage where one ominously dark and dirty-looking towboat was moored. I had seen towboats of various sizes pulling barges up and down this river, but there was no barge attached to this one.

“Is that it?” I asked, pointing to the rusty towboat. We were coming up from behind the craft so it was difficult to gauge its length from here, but it looked fairly big.

“Yeah, that’s it,” said Terry, breaking into a jog.

I matched her pace, and as we made our way down the riverbank with Alia struggling to keep up, Terry turned her head to me and asked grimly, “Is Silver worth it?”

“Worth dying for?”

Terry shook her head. “Worth killing for.”

“We’ll see,” I said quietly.

“You better be ready this time, Hansel, because we’re going to do this my way. You just watch what I do and back me up. Push your tracer band now. We’re already out of the hiding bubble, but that’ll give the Knights an easier target.”

I put my right thumb on the tracer band’s button, keeping it down for more than five seconds. Nothing happened, and I wondered if it was broken.

“Don’t worry, Hansel,” said Terry. “It’s a silent signal. It’s working, probably.”

“Would you stop calling me that, Terry?!” I said, annoyed by what I felt was unnecessary cloak-and-dagger nonsense.

“No, and you had better start calling me Rabbit and her Gretel,” Terry said irritably. “There’s no telling when someone is listening.”

“Okay, okay.”

“Oh, and by the way, nice look, Hansel,” Terry said sarcastically. “That ought to help us keep a low profile.”

I looked down at my shirt. I had unthinkingly grabbed the first one I could from my dresser, but now I realized that I was wearing a light yellow T-shirt patterned with little red hearts and sporting a sparkly rainbow painted in glitter across the front: Cindy’s taste in horrendously cutesy clothes at its very worst. Far from being embarrassed, however, I felt happy at the thought that I had brought a part of Cindy along with me. Certainly not her best part, but a part nonetheless. It helped soften the tension I was feeling.

We were pretty close to the pier now. Seeing the towboat from the side, I could tell that it was well over a hundred feet long, and it was clearly a derelict, perhaps abandoned many years ago. There were no lights on, and some of the windows were cracked or missing. I couldn’t read the name on the hull. The paint, probably once white, had all but peeled off, and the hull and cabin walls were covered in rust.

“This boat’s been here forever,” whispered Terry as we stepped onto the pier. “I don’t know when the Angels started using it, but the hull is metal and underwater, so it’s the perfect hideout.”

“I can sense a destroyer,” I whispered back. “Maybe two.”

Now that we were close enough to the towboat, I could vaguely feel a telekinetic power, and a pyroid too. I couldn’t actually sense their locations, and I wasn’t even sure if there were two separate psionics or if it was one psionic with two destroyer powers. But I could tell the distance, and as we walked down the pier leading to the horizontal landing stage, I knew we were getting closer.

“Good,” Terry said quietly.

“Why is that good, Rabbit?” I asked, forcing myself to use Terry’s stupid call sign.

“Because they’re still here.”

I had some conflicted feelings about that being a “good” thing, but there was something else that was troubling me as well. I was pretty sure that the two flight-capable telekinetics who had carried Cindy off were not in the towboat, unless they had been given individual hiding protection. I wondered where they were. I also worried that, since my power was no longer hidden, the Angels probably already knew we were coming.

Terry knew this as well. She quickened her pace, saying, “Come on Hansel, Gretel, stick close to me. I don’t want to be caught in the open.”

“Maybe we should wait here for the Guardians to catch up,” I suggested.

Terry turned around and said frostily, “You wait. I’m going. Tell me who gets here first: the Knights, the police, the Wolves or Angel reinforcements.”

“Just a thought,” I said, putting my hands up in defeat.

Terry turned around and started walking again. “Stay with me on this, Hansel. I know what I’m doing. I’ve been training for this all my life.”

Keeping my sister close, I followed Terry at a short distance, wondering if there was anything in my life that I had always been working toward.

Nothing, I finally decided. Certainly not this.

Chapter 16: Fire and Water

We stepped onto the long wooden landing stage alongside the hull of the towboat. So far, no contact, but I felt the destroyer powers very clearly now. The towboat looked enormous up close, its superstructure four stories high and towering over us. The main deck was about three feet higher than the landing stage. Terry gestured to Alia and me, and we silently climbed up onto the towboat’s forward deck.

“I’m scared, Addy,” Alia whispered into my mind as she stood next to me on the giant towboat.

I didn’t want to respond aloud, so I gave my sister a quick smile and patted her on the back. I was scared too. Not just for myself, but for Alia, who clearly had no idea what she was getting into when she decided to come. Even if we managed to rescue Cindy, if anything happened to Alia...

Terry was gesturing toward the door of the main cabin. We cautiously approached it. But just as Terry was about to touch the handle, the metal door burst open, and several things happened at once.

Terry instantly darted to the side, placing her back against the outside wall of the cabin so that whoever was inside couldn’t see her. At the same time, I grabbed Alia by the arm and pulled her off the towboat’s deck and back onto the landing stage. Alia let out a yelp of pain, probably having hit the landing stage in a bad way.

Several gunshots rang out across the river.

Releasing Alia, I crouched in the shadow of the towboat and stuck my head up over the deck to see what was going on, but there was no one there.

“Addy!”

I turned my head back toward my sister. She was standing several feet away on the landing stage, looking up at the towboat’s superstructure. I looked up too and saw a human shape on the overhanging balcony of the topmost deck.

It was the pyroid. He had prepared a fireball in his hands, and a second later, it was raining down toward Alia.

Alia, her eyes fixed on the flame, didn’t move.

I’m not even sure I made any conscious decision to do what I did next. There wasn’t time for thought. Throwing my arms out toward Alia, I released a medium-powered telekinetic blast. It hit Alia squarely in the chest, knocking her off of her feet and throwing her several yards back as the pyroid’s fireball slammed into the landing stage where Alia had just been standing.

Drawing my pistol from my belt and flipping the safety off, I rapidly fired several rounds up into the air from my crouched position, but the pyroid disappeared back into the top cabin.

I looked at Alia again. She was moaning in pain, gripping her chest and trying unsuccessfully to stand up. I was about to go help her when, through the corner of my right eye, I sensed something move on the towboat’s main deck.

Jumping to my feet, I turned toward a dark, lanky man who seemed to have materialized out of thin air. He suddenly leapt high into the air – nearly as high as the towboat’s superstructure. The man sailed right over my head and landed softly several yards behind me on the landing stage. A light-foot.

I had followed him with my eyes, so I was already facing him when he touched down. And my pistol was already in my hands, so it took only a split second to aim it at him. A cloud that had been obstructing the nearly full moon chose that moment to slide aside, and the night became bright enough for me to clearly see the man’s weathered face. Time had slowed to the slowest crawl imaginable. The light-foot was going for his pistol. I had already leveled mine on his chest, and he was still drawing his from his side holster.

“Stop!” I shouted.

Our eyes met for a brief instant. The light-foot pointed his gun at me and fired twice.

The right side of my head exploded with pain. I screamed, dropping my pistol. The light-foot cursed too, and suddenly he was on top of me. I screamed again, this time in surprise. I felt his fingers around my neck. I tried to blast him, but I was being drained. I realized that my head was bleeding. I guessed it was my ear, but I couldn’t be sure.

I tried to shout for help, but I couldn’t breathe. The man’s grip around my neck was stronger now, and I knew that it was only a matter of seconds before I blacked out.

Another gunshot rang out, and suddenly the pressure on my neck weakened. The light-foot collapsed on top of me, keeping me from being able to take the deep breaths I desperately needed.

A moment later, the limp body was rolled off of me, and I found myself looking up into Terry’s anxious face. Kneeling over me, she grabbed the sides of my head with both hands and asked in a panicked tone, “You still alive, Hansel?”

“Yeah,” I gasped, taking in a huge gulp of air.

“Good! Then get up!” snapped Terry, pulling me to my feet.

“You’re bleeding!” I exclaimed, looking at Terry’s blood-covered hand.

“No, this is your blood.”

The reminder brought the pain back to me in full force.

I pressed both of my palms against the right side of my head and discovered that a large part of my ear was missing. There also seemed to be an inch-long gash on the side of my head leading up to my torn ear. That was where most of the blood was coming from.

“Gretel!” called Terry. “Stop healing yourself and get over here.”

“There’s a pyroid on the top deck,” I said, still wincing in pain. “He tried to burn Alia.”

“Let Gretel heal you. I’ll watch for bad guys,” said Terry, and then said sharply to Alia, “Be quick! This isn’t over.”

As Terry watched the boat, I crouched down to let Alia look at my ear.

“Ooh, this is really bad, Addy.”

“Just stop the bleeding,” I panted. “I can’t be drained now.”

I was too furious to care about my ear. I had tried to spare the light-foot, and he had tried to kill me. I looked down at his motionless body. Terry had shot him in the head from behind. I realized that I didn’t care.

Alia held her hands up close to my right ear and closed her eyes in concentration. After a few seconds, I felt the bleeding stop. I touched the scar on the right side of my head and ran my fingers along the jagged edge of my ear. It was still very tender and painful, but it was enough for now.

I stood up, still dizzy from being drained by all the blood stuck to my neck and soaked into my shirt.

I looked at Terry. “I’ve got to get this blood off me, Rabbit.”

“Then take a swim,” she suggested, pushing me over the side of the landing stage.

I came up sputtering, but free of the blood. Levitating myself out of the water, I set myself down, drenched and dripping, onto the deck of the towboat. The river water had been shockingly cold and the night air made it worse. I shivered as Terry and Alia climbed aboard the boat too.

“I couldn’t find your gun, but take this one instead,” said Terry, offering me the light-foot’s pistol. She smiled, adding, “Lucky you, Hansel. It had jammed.”

I didn’t smile back. I could only think of how stupid I had been, settling for “stop” when I had the clear advantage over the light-foot. That wasn’t going to happen again. I snatched the pistol out of Terry’s hand and, checking that the safety was on, I slid the barrel under my belt.

As we walked across the deck, I noticed Alia was massaging her chest where I had blasted her, so I asked, “Are you alright?”

Alia looked up at me reproachfully. “That really hurt, Addy.”

“At least you’re still in one piece,” I said.

“I can’t believe you blasted me again.”

I remembered how Alia had stood petrified on the landing stage as the pyroid’s fireball rushed down at her. Not that I had fared much better against the light-foot, but I had been right about my sister after all. That she had just healed me was irrelevant. It was a mistake to bring her here. A horrible mistake. Possibly a fatal one.

I roughly grabbed Alia by the front of her shirt. “Let’s get something straight, Gretel!” I growled. “If I hadn’t blasted you, you’d be dead right now! I didn’t ask you to tag along! Now stay focused and try not to get killed!”

Alia jerked herself out of my grasp and glared at me. Good, I thought, get angry. Experience had taught me that anger was a useful emotion at times like this. As long as it kept my sister alert and alive, I really didn’t care how she felt about me right now.

“Children, please!” hissed Terry.

Still scowling at each other, Alia and I followed Terry to the open door of the cabin.

Terry led us inside. It was nearly pitch-black here. The only light was the moonlight coming in from the broken windows. Even so, I could tell that the inside of the boat was even dirtier than the outside. There was a broken table and an upturned desk leaning against one wall. There were three doors on the far side of the cabin. One of them was open, revealing a narrow corridor, but it was to dark to see more than a yard in.

There were also two dead bodies on the floor, and now I understood where Terry had been when she disappeared from the main deck. The two destroyer powers had belonged to separate psionics after all, and one of Terry’s kills had been the telekinetic: I could no longer sense him.

“I think we got most of them already,” whispered Terry. “That’s why they’re no longer attacking us. They’re hiding. They want to ambush us.”

“How many did you kill?” I asked.

“Including the one that was strangling you?” asked Terry. “Three. But I didn’t see any pyroids.”

“He’s close,” I said, still sensing the pyroid’s presence in the towboat somewhere.

“Here, Hansel,” said Terry, picking up two flashlights from the floor and offering me one. “Take this. I found them on these guys.”

“I don’t want to hold that,” I said, looking at the metal casing.

“Keep it in your pocket just in case. I’ll use mine for now.”

I took the flashlight from Terry and slipped it into my pocket. Along with the gun, this now made two metallic objects which were, though not directly touching my skin, nevertheless right up next to it. That, compounded with the cabin’s metal walls around me, meant my psionic power was noticeably weaker than usual. I didn’t like this at all.

And where were the Guardian Knights? How many minutes had it been since I activated the tracer band?

“Check your targets carefully,” whispered Terry. “Remember, we’re looking for Silver in here. And we have to hurry. If the police have caught up with our car, they probably would have heard those gunshots. They could be here any minute.”

Terry turned on her flashlight and was about to lead us into the corridor when I said, “Stop. Gretel, give me your pendant.”

Alia didn’t argue as she pulled her bloodstone pendant over her head and handed it to me. I took my amethyst off too and went back to the exit.

“What are you doing, Hansel?” asked Terry.

“Markers,” I answered, tying both pendants to the outer handle of the cabin door. “The Guardians should be here soon too.”

“Not soon enough,” said a mocking voice from the dark corridor.

“I know that voice,” said Terry.

I knew it too. It was the gray-haired Angel, Riles.

We entered the corridor. Terry led, her flashlight in her left hand, her pistol in her right. Not wanting to risk losing Alia, I put her in the middle and brought up the rear.

The corridor had an occasional window on the right side, so it wasn’t entirely dark even without Terry’s flashlight, but there were so many shadows that there was no telling where anyone might be hiding. We came to a door on the left. Terry opened it, peering in and checking for Angels. It was impossible to do this stealthily. The rusty door creaked and groaned loudly at the slightest movement.

“Nothing,” whispered Terry, pulling her head back out of the room. “Keep going.”

We came to a steep and narrow stairway that extended both up toward the higher decks and down into the hull.

“Down,” said Terry. “That’s where they’ll be.”

“The pyroid could still be above us,” I warned.

“We’ll deal with him when we meet him.”

Suddenly Terry jumped backwards, knocking Alia and me over. There was a brilliant flash of light. A fireball had hit the floor, sending bright orange sparks everywhere.

“I’ll take care of him,” said Terry, jumping to her feet. “Stay here.”

Before I could reply, Terry sprinted up the stairs and out of sight.

Pulling Alia to her feet, I took out my flashlight and turned it on.

I was about to lead my sister up the stairs when I heard Cindy’s voice echoing from somewhere below deck. “Is somebody there?” cried Cindy. “Help!”

I looked at Alia. She nodded slightly.

Terry was probably long gone, chasing the pyroid through the upper decks. Terry could take care of herself. Flashlight in hand, I headed down the stairs and into the hull of the towboat, Alia silently following a few steps behind me.

One deck down, I shined my light down the pitch-black corridor. There were doors lining one side of the corridor, but they were all closed.

“Help!” Cindy’s voice called again. “I’m in here!”

Cindy was still below us. Right next to the staircase we had come down, there was another flight of stairs going even deeper into the hull.

I couldn’t use my telekinesis while being drained by the metal flashlight, so I drew my pistol and flipped off the safety. Then I realized that I couldn’t hold the flashlight and the pistol at the same time without becoming so physically weak that I could barely walk.

“You take the flashlight,” I whispered to Alia, holding it out to her.

“I don’t want to hold that,” said Alia, eyeing the metal casing.

“Fine,” I replied. “I’ll hold the flashlight and you shoot the gun.”

Alia took the flashlight.

“You lead,” I said, gesturing toward the descending stairs.

My sister took a deep breath, shined the flashlight down the stairs, and started walking.

This staircase was longer than the first. As I followed Alia off the final step, I felt certain that we were at the bottom of the hull. There was a lot of condensation on the rusty, creaking walls. The air was musty and stale. I could hear a low mechanical thumping noise off in the distance. I wondered if it was an engine, or perhaps a generator.

We were in another very narrow corridor. Alia shined the flashlight down both directions. About fifteen yards toward the rear of the towboat, the corridor turned left.

“Help!” echoed Cindy’s voice. It was coming from around the corner. I wondered if Terry was okay.

Alia led with the flashlight. I followed half a step behind her with my pistol held in both hands, my arms extended over Alia’s head. I didn’t like the idea of using my little sister as a human shield, but as long as she had the light, there was no other way to do this. My power balance nowhere near perfect, the pistol in my hands was weakening me so much that I was sorely tempted to throw it away and rely solely on my telekinesis. However, I had learned long ago that bullets were far more effective than my telekinetic blasts. I kept a firm grip on the light-foot’s pistol.

My clothes were still soaked through, clinging uncomfortably to my body. One slow step at a time, we approached the corner. There was a closed door on our left but I didn’t bother opening it.

We turned the corner, and Alia switched off her flashlight. Light was streaming out into the corridor from an open door several yards down. Cindy called out again, and I knew her voice was coming from that room.

I sensed Alia about to break into a run, so I grabbed her by the shoulder and stepped around her, taking the lead.

We cautiously made our way to the door, and I peered in, my eyes stinging from the brightness.

The towboat’s giant engine room was well lit by hanging lights, their cables running down to a portable generator. The Angels had converted the engine room into a makeshift living, dining and meeting room. There were folding tables and chairs, hammocks and sleeping bags. There was even a microwave oven on one table and a small refrigerator standing against one of the two massive turbine engines. Cindy was sitting at the largest table, and she quickly stood up when we entered the room. There was no one else with her. I lowered my pistol, clicking the safety on.

“Adrian! Alia!” cried Cindy. “I’m so glad you’re here!”

Alia dropped the flashlight, rushed forwards and jumped into Cindy’s open arms. Cindy hugged her tightly.

“You’re not tied down,” I said, surprised.

“They told me they’d kill me if I left this room,” said Cindy, still holding Alia in her arms. I noticed that Cindy wasn’t wearing her nightclothes, but a set of ill-fitting garments that looked oddly familiar.

“We already got most of them,” I said loudly enough to cover the sound of me flipping my pistol’s safety back off. “We need to get you out of here, Ms. Gifford. Come on, Alia.”

“Where’s Terry?” asked Cindy.

I raised my pistol and leveled it on her head as I said, “Strike three, shape-shifter. Cindy would never be glad that we were here. I don’t call her Ms. Gifford, and she doesn’t know that Terry is here. You’re such a bad actor, Riles. You didn’t even comment on my missing ear.”

Cindy’s hair was quickly becoming shorter, changing color from silver to dark gray. Her skin was getting a touch darker too. I blinked twice, and Cindy was gone.

“I hope you don’t accidentally hit the little one,” said Riles, holding Alia firmly in front of him.

I fired a round over his head, and Riles flinched. Alia instantly broke free of his grasp. Riles tried to grab her again, but my sister hadn’t spent months in the dojo with Terry and me for nothing. Nimbly jumping backwards, Alia turned and sprinted behind me.

“Whoops,” I said evenly, pointing my gun at Riles’s chest.

“I probably shouldn’t have told you that I was a shape-shifter,” Riles said mildly. “I was hoping to relieve you of your weapon and take you with me.”

“Too bad,” I replied. “Now, where’s Cindy?”

Riles smiled. “Long gone, I’m afraid.”

“If she’s gone, what are you guys still doing here?”

“Preparing to scuttle the boat,” answered Riles. “Our mission is complete. We want to leave as little evidence as possible here.”

“Where are they taking her?”

“If you wish to see Cynthia Gifford, you are still welcome to join us. A brave boy like you would be most welcome in the Angels. A healer doubly so.”

“I’m going to count to three,” I said, pulling the hammer back. “Where is Cindy?”

Riles only smirked. “You’re not going to shoot me.”

“One,” I counted, but I couldn’t keep my voice from quivering as I wondered if perhaps Riles was right.

“You don’t have it in you, Adrian,” said Riles, taking a step closer. “Now hand me the pistol, and I promise you’ll get out of this alive.”

“Two,” I said, my hands trembling.

Riles lunged at me.

When I saw the first dark spot appear on his shirt, I fired again, and again. Riles was knocked backwards. I tried to fire a fourth round, but nothing happened. My gun was either empty or jammed again. Riles fell onto his back, and blood seeped out from under him. I stepped forward, throwing down the pistol and pointing my right index finger at his head.

As I stood over him, Riles looked up at me, his eyes wide with pain and fear. He opened his mouth, but only a gurgling sound came out, and he coughed up blood. He was clearly beyond Alia’s help. Looking deep into his eyes, I released a focused blast through my finger, putting a hole in his forehead.

“Three,” I whispered, still looking down at Riles’s motionless form.

Alia said something into my head, but I wasn’t listening. I stared, transfixed, at the dead Angel. The unarmed man that I had just killed.

I had just killed somebody.

Terry had spent her whole life training to be a soldier. When the battle on the towboat’s main deck started, she really had been ready to kill. Her years of training made her motions automatic. Without hesitation, she had killed the telekinetic and his partner, and then came out and killed the light-foot who had been strangling me. When the pyroid attacked us inside the boat, she thought nothing of chasing him down.

For my part, I was no stranger to death either. I had watched my psionically controlled father kill my mother. I had seen my father dead at the hands of the berserker, who in turn was killed by Ralph. I had watched Ralph kill the insane pyroid in the research center, and I watched Dr. Kellogg bleed to death under a mountain of broken rock. I had seen dead bodies, mangled and burned. I was no stranger to death. But this was different. I had just killed someone. For the first time in my life, I had directly taken someone else’s. I had pulled the trigger, and a person who had been alive was now dead. I wasn’t exactly sure how I felt, but it wasn’t remorse. It wasn’t anger or excitement or satisfaction or relief. If anything, it was more like... emptiness.

“Hansel? Hansel! Adrian!” I heard Terry shout from behind me. “Wake up!”

I turned around. Terry was holding Alia’s hand and looking at me. The right sleeve of Terry’s shirt was slightly scorched, but otherwise she looked okay.

“Did you?” asked Terry, looking down at Riles’s corpse.

“Yeah,” I answered quietly.

“Good job, Hansel,” she said. “Listen, I’m sorry. I lost the pyroid. I don’t think there’s anyone else left though. I’ve been looking all over for you. Do you have any idea how many explosives are wired around the hull? I can’t be sure, but I think they’re on some kind of remote.”

Explosives? And Terry lost the pyroid. Where was the pyroid? I couldn’t sense him anywhere. He was no longer on the towboat.

“Riles!” I shouted. “He said they were going to scuttle the boat!”

“We have to find Silver!” said Terry.

“She’s not here,” I replied. “We have to get out of here! Now!”

But now was already too late.

The first explosion rocked the towboat so severely that we were all thrown off our feet. Another giant boom, much closer this time, resonated through the metal walls, causing my ears to ring. The floor was shaking so badly I couldn’t see straight. I heard a metallic crashing noise nearby, and suddenly Terry was screaming at the top of her lungs. Another giant blast, and another. I put my hands over my ears. The hull shook violently with each explosion, and even with my ears covered, the sound was deafening. It was like standing inside a massive bell.

Finally, the explosions stopped. The towboat was listing slightly as it began to sink. My ears were still ringing, but I could hear Terry wildly shouting curses that echoed around the room.

I stood up and saw what had happened to her.

Terry was lying on her back, and there was a giant steel beam next to her. It had broken apart and fallen from the ceiling, and Terry’s left arm was pinned under it. The edge of the beam had cut deep into Terry’s forearm near her wrist, stopping at the bone. Blood was seeping out of the gash. I ran to the beam and tried to lift it up. Alia helped too, but it was no use. Even if the metal didn’t drain my strength, it would have made no difference. It would take several strong men to lift this.

Terry had stropped cursing, and she was looking up at us with wide, frightened eyes. I heard the sound of rushing water and, looking around, discovered that the deeper side of the engine room was already underwater. It would be only a matter of minutes, if not less, before the room was completely flooded.

“Pick up the flashlight, Adrian,” gasped Terry. “The generator is going to go any minute.”

Alia picked it up for me. I looked around the room again. There had to be something I could use to move the beam.

The shaking from the explosions had upset several boxes, and there were a variety of tools scattered around the room: hammers, screwdrivers, wrenches. I picked up a crowbar and tried to wedge it under the beam.

“Won’t work, Adrian,” panted Terry. “You’d better get out.”

“No, Terry,” I said. “I’m not leaving you here.”

“It’s okay,” said Terry, her voice strangely calm. “The Angels will kill my brother. The Guardians will probably kill me. I’ve nothing left, anyway.”

“You’re not going to die here, Terry!” I said furiously. “Not like this!”

The water finally reached the portable generator. The lights flickered twice, and the room was plunged into darkness.

Alia turned on her flashlight.

“Forget it,” said Terry, shaking her head. “Get Alia out. Please. Before it’s too late.”

By now, the boat was listing to the point where it was hard to remain standing. I could hear some of the smaller tools and miscellaneous items rattling as they slid across the floor. The beam on Terry’s arm, however, didn’t budge.

“No!” I shouted, snatching the flashlight from Alia and shining it around the room. There had to be something I could use. My light danced across all the junk scattered across the floor. There just had to be something!

There was.

I stepped over Terry and dashed across the room, grabbing a rusty red fireman’s ax. I couldn’t imagine what it was doing on the towboat, but I didn’t care. Returning with it, I tossed the flashlight back to Alia.

“You can’t cut the beam with that,” said Terry, seeing me standing over her with the ax.

“It’s not the beam I’m going to cut,” I answered.

Terry stared up at me, her eyes even wider than before, and suddenly I wasn’t at all sure I could do this. I took an involuntary step back.

“Adrian!” shouted Terry. “If you’re going to do it, do it quickly, before I lose my nerve.”

I looked at Alia, whose eyes were fixed on my ax. “Ali, can you re-grow limbs?” I asked.

Alia cried aloud, “Are you nuts?!”

Actually, I already knew from our experiments at the Psionic Research Center that my sister couldn’t re-grow limbs. I just couldn’t face what I was about to do. I wanted a few more seconds to steady my nerves.

I turned to Terry again. The water had crept up to her side now, and in only seconds, her head would be underwater. I looked into her terrified eyes as I lifted the ax above me. Terry whimpered a little, but then nodded. I slammed the ax head down onto her arm.

Terry screamed. Alia ran forward, dropping the flashlight. I picked it up before it rolled into the water and, throwing down the ax, I shined the light on Terry and Alia. I had amputated Terry’s left arm about a finger’s length below the elbow, and blood was gushing out of the severed limb. Carefully as not to get any of Terry’s blood on her hands, Alia was attempting to close up the wound.

The water was over our ankles. I pointed the flashlight toward the exit. To my horror, I saw that the doorway was already nearly completely submerged.

I looked at Terry again. The stump of her left arm was still bleeding, but the blood was no longer pouring out. It would have to wait.

“Time to go!” I shouted.

Terry looked at me, clearly in agony but unwilling to let it show any more than she could help. The room was almost diagonal now, and the water was rising much faster.

We jumped into the murky water and swam toward the exit, which by now was no longer visible. I ducked under the water and pulled myself through the doorframe, thanking my lucky stars that my flashlight didn’t go out, and praying that Alia and Terry were right behind me.

My head broke the water’s surface, and a moment later, my sister appeared at my side, followed by Terry. We swam forward and pulled ourselves out of the water and up onto the slanted floor of the narrow corridor.

Suddenly the towboat rocked violently, and then began to level itself. I realized that this was because our side was sinking much faster now. I heard the sound of rushing water from beyond the dark corridor. A moment later, a small wave washed over our feet as the corridor began to fill up with river water.

“We better hurry,” said Terry, wincing in pain.

We sloshed our way down the corridor to the staircase. By the time we reached it, the water was above my knees, and I had to keep a firm grip on Alia so she wouldn’t get swept back down the corridor.

“You first,” I said to Terry, noticing that she had lost so much blood that she seemed ready to pass out.

Gripping the railing with her right hand, Terry began pulling herself up the staircase one slow step at a time. The water was getting louder.

“Addy!” cried Alia. “It’s coming!”

I shined my light down the corridor, but all I could see was a dark, dead end. It was a moment before I realized that the dead end was actually a rapidly approaching wall of water.

“Ali, go!” I shouted, pushing my sister up the stairs.

I tried to follow, but suddenly I was underwater, being flushed back down the corridor deeper into the hull of the sinking boat. My flailing arms hit the sides of the corridor, and then I felt my head break the surface of the swiftly moving water. I coughed the dirty water out of my mouth and tried to take a deep breath, but the top of my head hit the ceiling and my mouth was underwater again. There were only inches of space left between the water and the ceiling. I pressed my face up against the ceiling, sputtering and coughing. And suddenly that air was gone too.

I opened my eyes in the water. There wasn’t the slightest flicker of light anywhere.

Something pulled me down. A cold hand on my wrist. I opened my mouth to scream. My lungs seared with burning pain as the water rushed in. I felt my whole body convulse once, and as I fell into a darkness even deeper than the utter absence of light, I wondered if I would see my parents on the other side.

Chapter 17: A Force to be Reckoned With

A spotless white room. Clean sheets and a soft pillow. I turned my head to one side, looking out the window at the city below. New Haven. But this wasn’t my room. I turned my head the other way. There was an empty hospital bed against the wall, and on it sat a giant fluffy white unicorn. Where had I seen that unicorn before? I yawned once, and I no longer cared. Too sleepy. Just too sleepy. I closed my eyes and fell back into a deep, dreamless slumber.

When my eyes opened again, I found myself looking at the back of a man who was wearing a long white coat and a horrendously obvious toupee.

“Ah,” said Dr. Pales, turning around. “I was hoping you would wake before the weekend. You are still not brushing enough, you know.”

I stared at him for a moment, and then, with some concentrated effort, just managed to say, “Huh?”

“Nothing like a good drowning to help you sleep, don’t you think? Hope you didn’t swallow too many fishies.”

My vocal skills were finally returning to me, and I croaked, “I’m not dead?”

“No,” Dr. Pales said cheerfully, “but you were for about twenty minutes. Did you see the light?”

“Light?” I asked slowly. “What light?”

Dr. Pales laughed. “The light at the end of the tunnel, of course!”

“No,” I breathed, still too dazed to grasp what Dr. Pales was talking about. “No light. What is this place?”

Dr. Pales said rapidly, “If you were hoping for the afterlife you will have to be a bit more patient though considering the kind of risks you take I believe you may not be in for a very long wait.”

I stared at him, unsure what to say.

Dr. Pales smiled. “How are you feeling?”

“I’m a bit thirsty,” I replied.

He laughed again, saying, “I shall get you a glass of non-river water. I also promised to call Ms. Gifford as soon as you woke, so I’ll be right back, okay?”

It took a moment for what Dr. Pales had said to register in my mind, and I didn’t believe it until Cindy appeared at my door several minutes later. By then I had finished two glasses of non-river water.

“Adrian!” cried Cindy, rushing up to the side of my bed and hugging me. “You’re back!”

“You’re back too,” I breathed, putting my arms around her. “You’re back too, Cindy.”

Cindy released me and said, “I was so worried about you! Alia told me most of the story, but really, Adrian, you could have died! Oh, and your poor ear...”

“I’m fine,” I said, lightly running my fingertips along the uneven edge of what was left of my right ear. “This is nothing.”

I hadn’t actually seen it yet, but I decided that a mirror could wait.

“How did you...” I began. All my memories were rushing back to me now, and suddenly my head was spinning with questions.

“The Knights tracked me down,” said Cindy. “You led them to the Angel pyroid. They followed him to my escort.”

“Alia’s okay?”

“Yes,” said Cindy, and chuckled. “She’s back under Mr. Koontz’s care, but probably only for a few more days.”

“And Terry?”

“Alive and well,” said Cindy. Then she added sadly, “Or at least as well as she could be, under the circumstances.”

“Where are they?” I asked.

“I left your sister studying in her room. She doesn’t know you’re awake yet. I didn’t want her to jump on you, just in case you weren’t fit enough to survive it.”

“I’m more than fit enough to survive Alia,” I informed her. “But where’s Terry?”

Cindy paused, studying my face for a moment before saying quietly, “Terry is down below. In the holding block. Mr. Baker’s orders.”

“She’s in jail?” I asked incredulously. “After she led us to you? Baker put her back in jail?”

Cindy nodded.

I looked at her angrily. “Doesn’t anyone know why she helped the Angels in the first place?”

Cindy sighed. “Unfortunately, it’s not as simple as that, Adrian.”

“Have you seen her?” I asked, turning my head away.

“Yes. Alia and I have been down there every day. We’ve had some long talks.” Cindy laughed lightly and added, “Terry actually calls me Cindy now.”

I didn’t laugh. Terry was back in jail. I wanted to go see her too, but I wasn’t sure what I would say.

I looked back up at Cindy and asked, “How long was I asleep this time?”

“Three days, Adrian. They tell me you were clinically dead for a while, so I guess it isn’t such a long time to be unconscious, but you had us all worried sick.”

“I thought I was dead for sure,” I said, shuddering as I remembered my last moments in the black water.

“They found your breadcrumbs, Hansel,” Cindy said with a smile. “The Knights split into two groups at the boat. Half of them went after the pyroid, and the other half went inside to search for you guys. Terry told me she ran into them at the top of the stairs. Fortunately, one of the Knights was also a fish.” Noticing the lack of understanding on my face, Cindy added, “A water-breather, Adrian.”

Breadcrumbs... I looked down and touched the pendant around my neck. Instead of my usual amethyst, though, it was a green stone speckled with bits of red. Alia’s bloodstone.

“Oh,” said Cindy, looking down at the pendant, “sorry about that. Alia insisted on wearing yours until you woke. Would you like me to call her down?”

“Yes,” I answered, but at that moment, the door opened again and Mr. Baker strode in.

“Ah, so he really is awake,” said Mr. Baker, rubbing his hands together gleefully. “Excellent!”

“Hi,” I said, giving him a nervous little wave.

Mr. Baker approached my bed. “How are you doing?”

“I’m okay, Mr. Baker,” I said, pulling myself up into a sitting position. Three days was plenty of sleep, even after being dead for a while.

My only real problem at the moment was that, instead of an ordinary hospital gown, someone (probably Cindy) had dressed me in my bright pink pajamas. I was used to it at home, but it made me feel uncomfortably small in the presence of the leader of New Haven. I knew that Mr. Baker hadn’t come here merely to ask how I was doing.

Mr. Baker politely refrained from commenting on my girly appearance. Peering carefully into my eyes, he instead asked, “Are you fit enough for a short talk?”

I nodded, bracing myself.

“Very well,” Mr. Baker said crisply. “Adrian Howell, you have broken Guardian law. You used your psionic power and attacked one of our Knights in the holding block. You helped Teresa Henderson escape. You stole a police car and took a mad drive through the city. A police car, Adrian! Of all the insanity!”

I remained silent. Technically, the police car had been Terry’s idea, but I didn’t want to mention that. Nor was I about to remind Mr. Baker that two cops had been shot during the theft.

Mr. Baker took a deep breath before continuing in a loud and stern voice, “You and Terry were caught on the police car’s onboard camera. Do you have any idea what it cost us to keep your names and faces out of the news?! Not to mention what it took to keep the police from swarming that boat when they heard the gunshots. You have risked the public exposure of our entire settlement! I ought to have you locked up for the rest of your life!”

I glanced at Cindy. Despite the seriousness of what I had done, I couldn’t help feeling it slightly strange that Cindy was just standing back and letting Mr. Baker have his say. But Cindy’s eyes looked more amused than upset. I looked back up at Mr. Baker, who suddenly broke into a broad smile.

“Your insanity brought Cindy back to us,” said Mr. Baker, his smile becoming even wider. “Bless you, Adrian. You saved a very important part of New Haven.”

Cindy was smiling too, and I breathed my relief as Mr. Baker continued, “I hate to do this, Adrian. I really do. However, in light of your actions, the New Haven Council has demanded that I revoke your current Guardian membership.”

Mr. Baker paused, looking over my bed and out the window. It was hard to read his expression. His lips were bent down in a slight frown, but his eyes seemed to be pleased.

So he was happy that I had helped save Cindy, but nevertheless I was being banished from the Guardians. That wasn’t so bad. I could probably still live with Cindy as a non-Guardian, like Alia.

But then Mr. Baker looked down at me, smiling again as he said, “You will no longer be a civilian Guardian here, Adrian, because, by order of the Council, effective immediately, you are an Honorary Guardian Knight.”

“Knight?” I asked, wondering how Cindy felt about me becoming a Guardian Knight at fourteen years old.

“Honorary Knight,” corrected Mr. Baker.

“And that means what?” I asked.

“For the next three years, you will receive the full compensation, that is, the monthly pay, of a veteran Guardian Knight. And once you come of age, if you have not disgraced your position in any way, you will be permitted to join the Knights upon your request.”

“Does that mean I’ll also be sent on missions?” I asked, glancing at Cindy. She was still smiling, though it was wearing a little.

“Not until you come of age, and even then only if you officially join,” explained Mr. Baker. “Before that, you may be permitted to assist certain missions, but only if you choose to.”

“I like that,” I said quietly. “I like choices.”

“So, do you accept this title?” asked Mr. Baker.

“What title?” I asked.

Mr. Baker shook his head in exasperation. “Honorary Guardian Knight!”

“Oh. Yes,” I said. “I do. Thank you, Mr. Baker.”

Mr. Baker grinned and asked, “So, Adrian, how does it feel to be a hero?”

I instantly stopped smiling. “I honestly don’t know, Mr. Baker. Why don’t you go ask one? I believe you have a hero locked down in the basement.”

“Ah,” said Mr. Baker, the smile fading from his lips too. “About Terry...”

“Why is Terry still in jail?!” I demanded. “Hasn’t she been through enough?”

“Yes,” Mr. Baker said with a sigh. “She has been through more than enough.”

I gave Mr. Baker a puzzled look.

He sighed again and said gently, “You must understand, Adrian, that I do not hold Terry entirely accountable for her actions over the past year. Even though what she did led to the deaths of many of our Knights, I do not believe she should be too severely punished. Terry is a minor, and more importantly, she was merely trying to save her brother, just as you might have done for Catherine. I find Terry’s dedication very commendable, in fact.”

“Then why?” I demanded again.

Mr. Baker frowned. “Terry is still a potential threat to New Haven, Adrian. She has already proven that she would take extreme measures to prevent further harm to her brother. Again, commendable, but nevertheless dangerous to us. I cannot let her go free until we can be assured that she will never betray us again.”

“You’ll need a master controller for that, Mr. Baker,” I said dryly.

Mr. Baker’s frown deepened. “Unfortunately, you are probably right. Of course, we do not have, nor do I care to have, another master. But being without assurance of loyalty is one of our greatest weaknesses. It is a weakness that we must be constantly watchful of.”

I had a feeling the Guardian leader was throwing a subtle warning my way as he said that. I felt a touch insulted by it, but to be honest, I was no longer sure what principles I would be willing to sacrifice to retrieve Cat from the Angels. I could never betray Cindy or Alia, but beyond that, I wasn’t sure where my life was heading. I remembered how stubborn I had been about keeping my hands clean, and now I had killed someone with them. Would I kill again?

“You are,” said Mr. Baker, breaking into my thoughts, “of course, welcome to visit Terry at any time. But if you try to break her out of jail again, Adrian, you will join her in it. Know also that the secret exit has been destroyed. Now that we are certain the Angels know about it, we decided that it was a liability to us.”

“Okay,” I said. “I’d like to see Alia and Terry now, if it’s alright.”

Cindy, who had been leaning against the wall and silently listening to us, asked me, “Alia first, or Terry?”

“Alia,” I replied. I still wasn’t sure what I was going to say to Terry.

“Shall I call her? Or do you want to go up?”

“I’ll go up.”

“Well, you certainly appear healthy enough to walk,” said Cindy, looking me over. “Let’s just call Dr. Pales and get his approval.”

Approval took nearly ten minutes. Dr. Pales insisted on making sure I could move “all seven” of my limbs, and all my fingers and toes as well. Then I thanked Dr. Pales for the bed and bid Mr. Baker goodbye.

As Cindy and I rode the elevator up from the healers’ office together, I noticed that Cindy had pushed the button for the thirty-fifth floor.

“Where are we going?” I asked.

“Oh, I haven’t told you yet,” said Cindy. “Our penthouse is being renovated for increased security.”

“Bulletproof glass?” I asked in mock-innocence.

Cindy nodded. “We’re temporarily in 3502. Well, that’s where I’ve been living, anyway. It’s been kind of lonely. Terry is in jail, you were out cold, and Alia, well, you can imagine where your sister’s been spending her nights.”

I remembered the stuffed unicorn on the spare bed in the healers’ office. “We should have brought her unicorn with us.”

Cindy smiled. “You’re the unicorn, Adrian.”

I looked away, embarrassed, and Cindy asked, “Didn’t Alia ever tell you that unicorn’s name?”

“I’m sure I don’t want to know,” I replied stiffly as we stepped out of the elevator at the thirty-fifth.

Cindy unlocked 3502, and I followed her in.

“Ali, I’m home!” Cindy called out. “Guess who I brought!”

Alia knew by my footsteps. Cindy laughed merrily as Alia jumped into my arms and I spun her around, quickly losing my balance and painfully falling down onto the living-room floor.

“Not quite as recovered as you thought you were, huh, Adrian?” said Cindy, helping me to my feet.

My sister was talking aloud and telepathically into my head at the same time, calling my name again and again. As embarrassing as it was, nevertheless I was enjoying our reunion just as much as she. Once we were calmer, we traded pendants, and I apologized to her for how I had shouted at her on the boat that night.

“I’m sorry I said those things, Alia. I really wasn’t mad at you, you know. I was just scared.”

Alia smiled and said aloud, “It’s okay, Addy. Everything was crazy. And you did save me from that fire.”

“You were amazing,” I said. “Terry was right to bring you after all. You saved her life.”

“We saved her life,” corrected Alia, forgetting to use her mouth.

“Thanks for this too, by the way,” I said, tapping the right side of my head.

“I’m sorry it’s so messy,” said Alia, looking sad. “I can’t re-grow anything.”

“It’s okay,” I said with a shrug. “Actually, I haven’t even seen it yet.”

I walked to the bathroom mirror, Cindy and Alia following in my wake, visibly curious as to how I would react.

My right ear wasn’t damaged so much as it was missing. More than half of it had been torn away, leaving only the lobe and a bit of the upper part. The light-foot’s bullet, having nicked the right side of my head slightly below my eyes, had hit right inside my ear, tearing away the back.

“I’m no expert on plastic surgery,” said Cindy, “but there’s probably some way to restore it. Or at least some of it.”

“Maybe,” I replied, fingering what was left of my right ear. “But it’s not so bad, really.”

Cindy stared at me in the mirror. “Don’t tell me you’re going to refuse treatment for this too, Adrian. I’m sure it’ll be expensive, but...”

I turned to Cindy and smiled. “If someday Terry gets her arm back, I’ll have my ear fixed, okay?”

Cindy smiled too. “You really are a knight, aren’t you, Adrian?”

I turned away from her. Cindy loved embarrassing me like this. Alia giggled.

Then Cindy asked quietly, “Are you sure you want to live with a jagged ear?”

“I can still hear with it,” I replied. “It’s not that bad.”

“I suppose not,” agreed Cindy. “If you had been hit an inch more to your left, you wouldn’t be needing ears now.”

We laughed, and then Cindy said in a serious tone, “Adrian, I have to say something to you that... well, something I really don’t want to say.”

“What is it, Cindy?” I asked. “You’ve usually been straight and honest with me.”

“I don’t want to say it, Adrian, because I think what you did, that is, coming after me...” Cindy paused for a moment, as if groping around for the right words. “Adrian, what you did was dangerous, reckless, and cost you, Alia, and especially Terry very dearly. It was stupid, and I hope you never do it again. But what I really wanted to say is...”

“Yes?” I asked, raising my eyebrows.

Cindy smiled softly. “Thank you, Adrian. Thanks for coming after me.”

I grinned. “That’s what family does, right?”

“Right,” chuckled Cindy.

Then Cindy hugged Alia, saying, “You too, sweetie. Thanks for coming after me. But you better not do it again!”

Alia and I laughed, and then I said, “As long as you’re in such a good mood, Cindy, I think I’ll take this opportunity to tell you something, too.”

“Sure. What is it, Adrian?”

“Promise you won’t get upset?” I asked, grinning from ear to jagged ear.

“Never thought I’d hear that from you,” Cindy said cheerfully. “Lay it on me!”

“Okay, here it is, Cindy,” I said, my smile quite possibly widening beyond the reaches of my face. “I really, really, and I mean really hate your taste in clothes. I’m tired of dressing like a preschool girl. I want a whole new wardrobe, and I want to pick it out myself.”

Cindy stared at me for a moment. Then she suddenly exploded in a fit of laughter. Not fully understanding her reaction, I nevertheless laughed with her until my sides hurt, and when we finally stopped, Cindy said, “Okay, Adrian. You earned it. If you must, you may choose your own wardrobe.”

“Thanks,” I said, hugging her. “You’re the best!”

“But you have to pay for it yourself, okay?” said Cindy. “You’re a Guardian Knight now, so you won’t be needing an allowance from me anymore.”

“Deal!” I said, releasing her.

“You know, Adrian,” Cindy said slyly, “the main reason I bought girly clothes for you was because of this little girl.” Cindy patted Alia on the head once. “Back when you two first met, I thought she would be more comfortable around you if you looked like one of her dolls. But I never really expected you to put up with it for this long. After all, Alia got used to you pretty quickly.”

My jaw dropped. “I’ve been wearing this horrible stuff for two years, Cindy!” I cried, tugging on the front of my pink pajama shirt. “Why didn’t you say something sooner?”

Cindy shrugged. “You never complained until now. And like I said, that was the main reason, not the only one. Personally, I think you look absolutely lovely in a dress, Addy.”

“Cindy!”

Alia and Cindy laughed hard enough to shake the building. I scowled at them both.

“Hey, don’t be mad, tough guy,” said Cindy. “You can buy all the manly clothes you like from now on. Just so long as you don’t get any more tattoos.”

“Now there’s an idea!” I grinned. “I think it’d be really cool to have a skull on my other arm. And maybe a dragon across my chest.”

Cindy looked horrorstruck. “You wouldn’t!”

“No promises,” I said evenly. I wasn’t about to get a tattoo, of course, but it felt good to pay Cindy back a little for her two-year joke. At least it was finally over.

I ate lunch with Cindy and Alia, showered, and then, having no more excuses to delay any longer, I rode the elevator down to the subbasement. I forbade my sister from coming with me. I was in no mood for an audience.

Now for the hard part, I thought as I stepped out of the elevator and walked toward the holding block. The guard on duty, thankfully, wasn’t the pyroid I had blasted unconscious. He recognized me though and, with a curious smile, let me into the holding block.

Terry was again in the closest cell. She stood quietly as I entered. My eyes met Terry’s for a split second, and then I looked down at the concrete floor. I had only seen Terry for a brief instant, but I couldn’t help noticing the stump below her left elbow.

I heard Terry say, “Back from the dead, Adrian? It’s about time.”

“Hi,” I said quietly, unable to meet her eyes.

“Hi,” Terry replied evenly.

“Hi,” I said again to the floor.

“Anything else you wanted to say?”

I shook my head and mumbled, “Um... I – I think I’m just going to stick with ‘Hi.’”

“Are you okay?” asked Terry.

The question threw me for a moment.

“Me?” I asked quietly. “Sure. I’m okay.”

“Good,” Terry replied crisply.

“Terry...” I began, still looking down. “I... I don’t know what to say.”

“That much is obvious, Adrian.”

“I was so panicked that night, Terry,” I said. “I never really thought about what I was asking of you. All I could think about was Cindy. And Alia losing her mother. I never once thought about your brother... about Gabriel.”

Suddenly Terry shouted, “Adrian Howell, I am not angry at you!”

I looked up at her. Terry looked into my eyes and said quietly, “Don’t blame yourself for Gabriel, Adrian. It was my choice. In a way, I was always kind of hoping you would unlock that memory before I got the codes. I thought I could choose, Adrian. I thought I could choose my brother over you and Alia and Cindy. I thought I could do it, but I couldn’t.” Terry sighed and turned her back to me. “But I couldn’t choose you over my brother, either. They were slowly cutting him up. You were right, Adrian. Some things are beyond choice. The truth is, I was very conflicted, right up to the last minute.”

“That’s why you insisted on going aboard the boat,” I said slowly. “You didn’t want to wait for the Guardians because you were thinking about handing Alia and me over to the Angels.”

Still looking away, Terry nodded heavily. “The thought did cross my mind.”

“If they hadn’t attacked us...”

Terry turned toward me, and I noticed that her eyes were a touch watery. “I don’t know, Adrian,” she said. “I don’t know anymore what I would have done. Mr. Baker is probably right to keep me here.”

“I’m so sorry this happened, Terry. I’m sorry for everything.”

“Save it, Adrian!” Terry said harshly. “I got what I deserved.”

“You didn’t deserve this!” I insisted. “You were right, Terry. I might have done the same!”

“You couldn’t betray your family, Adrian. You couldn’t betray one for the other.”

I nodded and said softly, “Neither could you, Terry.”

We looked at each other silently. It soon got too uncomfortable for me, and I broke the silence, saying, “So what are you doing down here every day?”

Terry gave me a slight smile. “Studying, training, sleeping...”

“Training?” I asked, noticing the dumbbells on the floor of her cell.

“Sure,” said Terry. “I only have one arm left. I’ll need it to be twice as strong.”

“I’m sorry about your arm, Terry,” I said. “I wish there had been another way.”

Terry shook her head. “Don’t be sorry, Adrian. You saved my life. I wasn’t sure you’d have it in you, though.”

I scoffed. “I had just killed someone, Terry. Believe me, cutting your arm off was not that big of a deal.”

Terry laughed, and I did too, but it was short-lived and somewhat artificial.

“You know,” said Terry, “I hadn’t killed anyone until that night either. I always thought it would be harder than it was.”

“I hoped it would be easier,” I said quietly. “I guess we’re still a world apart.”

“Don’t take it too hard, Adrian. I think you did wonderfully. It’ll be easier for you next time.”

It surprised me a little that I didn’t mind hearing Terry say that. In the past, that kind of comment would have quickly escalated into an argument. But now, I merely nodded quietly.

I asked, “Just out of curiosity, why are you the only one in jail here? I thought the Knights caught the pyroid that tried to burn Alia. And there must have been a battle when they caught up with Cindy.”

Terry explained, “Well, I wasn’t there, but I heard that the Knights didn’t actually capture the pyroid. They followed him at a distance to Cindy’s escort. The Knights outnumbered the Seraphim three to one, but they weren’t about to take any chances with Cindy.”

“So they killed them all?”

“Yeah,” said Terry. “I guess I got off lucky.”

“Not that lucky,” I said, glancing again at her severed arm.

“You know,” said Terry, raising her left stump, “it’s been a couple of days now but it still feels strange. I had heard that amputees could sometimes still feel their missing parts, but I didn’t know what that meant until now. How about you?”

“I don’t know,” I said. “I could never feel my ears in the first place.”

We laughed again. It was suddenly just a bit easier to laugh with her.

“Have you seen the news article about us?” asked Terry.

“Article?” I repeated, raising my eyebrows. I remembered Mr. Baker talking about the cost of keeping us out of the news.

“I have the clipping here. Want to see?” Terry passed me a sheet of thick white paper through the bars. It had a small cut-out newspaper article glued to it, and I stared at the headline.

“Girls Steal Police Car,” I read aloud, trying miserably to keep a straight face.

“Should’ve worn that jacket I gave you, Adrian,” said Terry, laughing.

I skimmed through the article. There were no names, and no detailed descriptions. It just said that a group of three young girls shot two police officers and took a short joyride through the city streets before abandoning their stolen squad car near the river. I was happy to learn that both cops were expected to make a full recovery.

Terry said, “I’ve got the article about the boat sinking too, somewhere around here. Mr. Baker made sure the media didn’t make any connections between the two incidents.”

“What’s the story on the boat?” I asked.

“Vandals,” replied Terry. “It’s a weak cover, but nobody cared about that boat anyway.”

We stared at each other through the bars for a moment. This time, Terry broke the silence first.

“Adrian?” she said quietly.

“Yeah?”

“It’s good to see you alive.”

“It’s good to see you too, Terry,” I said, smiling.

“Will you come down here sometimes so that we can talk?”

“I’ll come here every day,” I promised. “You’re the only friend I have in New Haven, you know. Aside from a few adults, anyway.”

“I haven’t been much of a friend,” mumbled Terry, looking away.

“You’ve been a great friend, Terry,” I said, knowing how embarrassed I was making her feel and enjoying it immensely. “You are a great friend.”

I sat with Terry for a while longer before bidding her goodnight and returning to 3502. It was still my first day on my feet since my short death, so I spent the rest of the evening indoors. Our beds and dressers had been moved down from the penthouse, and Alia and I were sharing a room considerably smaller than the one upstairs. Alia had retrieved her unicorn from the healers’ office, and Cindy teased her about not telling me its name.

That night, as I lay in bed staring up at the ceiling and listening to Alia’s soft breathing, I couldn’t help but reflect upon how much things had changed since I had started living in New Haven last summer.

On the day of my arrival, I had told Cindy that I had had enough fighting for a lifetime. That was true then, and even more true now, but one thing was different: If the occasion called for it, then I was no longer unwilling to fight. There’s nothing quite like getting part of your head blown off to put things into perspective. A fight can come to you regardless of how you live, and you have to be ready and willing. That’s how people survive in the real world. When they need to, they fight.

Even kill.

Last year, I had told Mark that I didn’t believe self-preservation automatically justified killing. I realized now how naive I had been. I had almost been killed for my self-indulgent philosophy. I might have gotten Alia killed. It was stupid of me to put my pacifist ideals above reality. The moral argument ends the moment someone tries to hurt the people you love. I still felt sorry for the people we had killed, but I no longer felt at all sorry that we killed them. In the end, it really was either us or them. Given the same circumstances, I would kill again. I sincerely hoped that there would be no next time, but if there was, I suspected that it would be easier.

As I opened my eyes the next morning, I was quite surprised to discover that I had made it through the entire night without waking up screaming, even once. And the next night was almost as peaceful, as was the one after it. My nightmares had, for the most part, abated.

Even so, over the following days, my waking hours were invaded by a number of what-ifs that kept popping into my head at odd times.

What if the light-foot’s pistol hadn’t jammed? I’d be dead right now. What if Terry had killed the pyroid? The Knights would never have found Cindy. What if I had had my way and left Alia in the holding block? She wouldn’t have been there to heal us. What if Alia had been killed by the pyroid? What if I couldn’t find anything to cut Terry’s arm with? What if there hadn’t been a water-breather among the Knights on the boat? What if? What if? What if? Terry had once said to me, “Luck will only get you so far before it gets you killed.” Had we merely been lucky?

It took a while, but I eventually pulled myself clear of these what-ifs. I was never one to believe that all things happen the way they do for a reason. But things do happen the way they do, and that’s that. In the end, there’s little point in being obsessed over what might have happened, so I stopped.

“Alia tells me that you haven’t had any nightmares this week,” remarked Cindy over lunch one day, and I was surprised to discover that it had already been a full week since I regained consciousness in the healers’ office.

“Actually, I’ve had a few,” I admitted. “I just haven’t woken up with them.”

“That’s still much better.”

“It is,” I agreed. A little PTSD wasn’t nearly as bad as being haunted by a memory.

“You seem happier these days too,” said Cindy.

“I am,” I replied. “I think I finally found my place here.”

“Whatever do you mean?”

I explained, “My problem, Cindy, was that ever since we arrived in New Haven, I’ve been trying everything I could to live a normal life.”

Cindy shrugged. “What’s wrong with that?”

“It’s impossible!” I laughed.

“That’s not a very cheerful thought, Adrian,” Cindy said with a frown. “Sure you want to give up?”

“It’s impossible,” I repeated happily. “I’m a psionic destroyer. I live with the Heart of New Haven. I share my room with the weirdest nine-year-old alive. The kids in this town treat me like a rabid dog, and the only friend I ever made is in jail.”

“When you put it that way, it does seem impossible,” agreed Cindy.

“It does. But you know what, Cindy?”

“What?”

I looked into her eyes and smiled. “Impossible is fine. I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

Cindy, Alia and I continued to live on the thirty-fifth floor. The renovations to our penthouse were taking much longer than we had expected. How long did it take to replace a few windowpanes, anyway? While we weren’t particularly inconvenienced in the smaller 3502, it certainly had its downsides. Cindy grumbled about the lack of kitchen space we had here compared to the penthouse. Alia missed splashing around in the huge Jacuzzi bathtub. For my part, I missed the pool table and the view from the greenhouse windows.

But most of all, we missed our friend. The one and only thing that really frustrated me these days was that the Guardians were still keeping Terry locked up in an underground prison even worse than the one Alia and I had once been in.

“I feel it too, Adrian,” said Cindy. “I tried talking Mr. Baker into releasing Terry into my custody, but he won’t hear a word of it, and I don’t think the Council is going to overrule him on this one.”

“How long will she have to stay down there?” I asked.

“I don’t know, Adrian. I just don’t know.”

I was visiting Terry every day just as I had promised. It wasn’t a difficult promise to keep since, without CQC lessons, my afternoons were free. Some of the guards took pity on Terry and allowed her out of her cell from time to time to visit the dojo. I quickly learned that my combat instructor was as formidable as ever on the mat. She had little trouble taking me down even with her right arm behind her back. I suspected that if she really wanted to, Terry could probably escape. But Terry was a Guardian, so she didn’t.

On the last day of April, my first monthly pay as an Honorary Guardian Knight was delivered in a fat envelope. There was a Guardian-controlled bank just a few blocks down the street, and I was told that future salaries would be put there for me to withdraw at my leisure.

“Wow,” I said as I opened the envelope and fingered the bills. “This is a lot of cash.”

“That’s what adults get paid to kill people,” Cindy said dryly.

I didn’t let her words bother me. It was shopping time. The very next day, I replaced almost every article of clothing in my dresser. I bought plain shirts and pants, many of them in dark colors or even black. Cindy didn’t comment. She put most of my old wardrobe into storage for Alia when she was older, and I didn’t voice my suspicion that even my sister wouldn’t want to wear some of the more dreadfully cute items Cindy had put away. Though I never wore it again, I left the sparkly rainbow T-shirt in my dresser as a souvenir.

I wanted to buy Terry something too. But my combat instructor was such a practical person that it was difficult to find her a suitable gift. She never wore jewelry or makeup, and even if she did, what use was it to her in jail? In the end, remembering how Terry had once asked Cindy to bake a control-band birthday cake for me, I decided to return the insensitive favor. I visited a novelty shop where I purchased a plastic hook to attach to her left stump, just like a pirate captain.

Terry nearly died of laughter when I passed the toy hook to her through the bars of her cell. Alia was there, and the three of us laughed so loudly that several Guardians came in to see what the commotion was about.

“You really are horrible, Adrian!” said Terry, her eyes wet with tears of mirth. “If these bars weren’t here, you’d be in very serious pain right now.”

“That’s why I didn’t want to give this to you in the dojo,” I said, still trying to catch my breath.

“I might get one of these for real someday,” said Terry, chuckling again as she held the plastic hook to her stump. “Or maybe a blade. Cindy promised she’d get me a prosthetic hand, but a tool like this would be much more useful.”

“The hook definitely suits you, Terry,” I laughed.

“You’re looking pretty good too, Adrian,” said Terry, eyeing my new clothes. “Did Cindy finally figure out that you weren’t a girl?”

“She’ll get over her disappointment someday,” I said, grinning. “Still, I’m going to have to grow my hair longer to hide my ears, so that should make her a bit happy.”

The guards let Terry out for a few rounds with me in the dojo. Terry was in too good a mood to take revenge for my novelty hook. She played with Alia and we talked until dinnertime. It was the happiest I had ever seen her. I realized that Terry really didn’t care that she was in jail. She was no longer trapped between the Angels and the Guardians. Perhaps she still couldn’t choose, but she had accepted that the choice had been made for her, and she was free.

Four days later, when I went down to the subbasement as I usually did in the afternoons, I found the holding block empty. I rushed back to 3502 and, bursting through the door, asked Cindy, “Where is she?”

“Terry? She’s at Mark’s church,” Cindy said quietly. “Please don’t go there now. She didn’t invite you because she wanted to do this alone.”

“Do what?” I asked. “And why did they let her out of jail?”

Cindy sighed, saying, “Terry was released this morning, Adrian. She was released because she is no longer a threat to New Haven.”

“The Angels returned her brother?” I asked.

Cindy nodded solemnly. “They’re burying him now.”

Later that evening, Cindy spoke to Mark on the phone, and then told me that Terry had returned to her Uncle Charles’s condo. According to Mark, Terry wanted some privacy.

“But that’s not going to stop you from going down there, is it, Adrian?” asked Cindy.

“No,” I said flatly, “it’s not. Are you coming?”

“I would, but I think one guest is enough at the moment.”

Cindy handed me a bowl of our dinner stew to give to Terry, and I carried it down to the fourth floor.

I had to ring the bell several times before Terry opened the door for me.

“Trust you to be a nosy bastard, Adrian,” she said quietly.

“I’m sorry but I can’t help it. I’m your friend,” I said, forcing my way into her living room and setting the bowl of stew down on the table. “It’s from Cindy.”

“I’m not hungry.”

“Have it when you are,” I said. “It was just an excuse for me to come down here.”

Terry stared silently at the bowl.

“I know you don’t like my prying,” I said hesitantly, “but I just had to make sure you were okay.”

“Adrian...”

“Terry,” I said, looking into her eyes, “you don’t have to go through this alone.”

“I thought he died years ago,” said Terry, sobbing quietly. “I didn’t think I’d have to go through this again. He was the only family I really had. But I guess you were right, Adrian. I really am like my grandfather.”

I wasn’t sure what she was talking about, but I shook my head anyway.

Terry wiped her eyes and said, “You remember the puppeteer?”

“How could I forget?”

“That was how my parents died. They were both good blockers, but the Angel controllers were better. During the mission against the Angel stronghold, my parents were turned against their team. Against my grandfather...”

It took a moment before I realized what she meant. “Ralph killed them?”

Terry nodded slowly. “His only son. Yes, my grandfather killed them both. I hated him for that. I’ve hated him all my life, but...” Terry looked away and continued in a whisper, “But I never thought I’d have to choose like he did. I never thought about what he must have felt when he killed his son. And now I’ve done the same. My brother is dead because of what I did.”

“That’s not true and you know it, Terry!” I said forcefully. “You didn’t kill me when the puppeteer took me, and you did everything you could to save your brother. Everything you could do! Don’t blame yourself for this.”

Terry looked at me again, and I said in a quieter voice, “I wish you had invited me to his funeral, Terry. I didn’t know him, but still...”

“There wasn’t much left of him, Adrian,” said Terry, tears starting to stream down her face. Her voice cracked as she said, “I didn’t want you to see it.”

I didn’t know what to say, so I remained silent.

Terry was desperately trying to hold back her tears, but this was one battle she couldn’t win. “All that time we were laughing and playing down there, they were torturing him to death. I thought I had made my choice, but...”

Terry collapsed onto the floor, wailing. I knelt down beside her.

At first, I was unsure if I should, or even could, but a moment later I had put my arms firmly around her, holding Terry as Cindy had once held me by the side of a dark, cold road.

Terry put her arms around my neck and cried into my shoulder as she said, “I hate it when I cry. I hate feeling like this. I hate it so much!”

We sat embraced on the floor of her living room until well after Cindy’s stew had gotten cold. When Terry finally lifted her head and looked at me, I saw that her eyes were red and puffy, but nevertheless calm and chillingly resolute.

Terry took a few deep breaths before standing up and saying in an almost steady voice, “I’m an Honorary Guardian Knight now too, Adrian. And when I come of age, I’m going to join the Knights. I’m going to hunt the Angels down. I’m going to make them pay!”

“I’ll be there,” I promised, standing and putting my right hand on her shoulder.

“You’re a nosy bastard, Adrian, but you better be there.”

“I will,” I said again.

Terry nodded and gave me a weak smile. “I’ll be okay, Adrian. I promise. I just need some time to myself, okay?”

“Yeah,” I said, turning away and picking up Cindy’s bowl. “Do you want me to reheat this?”

“Put it in the fridge. I’ll have it later. I like Cindy’s cooking.”

I did as she said, and then asked her, “Where is your Uncle Charles, by the way?”

“On a mission, as usual. He comes and goes, but I wouldn’t want him to see me like this anyway.”

I nodded. “I’m sorry if I upset you, Terry. I’ll go now, okay?”

“I’m glad you came,” said Terry. “Thanks.”

I turned to leave, and Terry said, “Adrian, please don’t tell anyone how I was... you know... crying.”

“I wouldn’t dare,” I said with a grin. “You sure you’re going to be okay?”

“I’ll be fine,” said Terry. “Just give me some time.”

In the days that followed, I knocked on Terry’s door more often than I probably should have, but she was never at home. I finally got to meet Uncle Charles in person, though. A burly ex-Wolf soldier, Charles was only a bit younger than Ralph, and he gruffly told me that he didn’t know where Terry was spending her days. Terry wasn’t going to school, and she wasn’t in the dojo.

“She wants you to give her time, Adrian,” said Cindy when she tired of me pestering her for Terry’s whereabouts. “Give her time. Besides, I need you here to help pack the boxes. We’re moving tomorrow.”

The penthouse was finally complete. The next day, Mr. Baker himself showed us what renovations had been made.

“Bulletproof windows are just the start,” he said as we entered the new and improved penthouse. “We also installed panic buttons everywhere.”

Mr. Baker gestured toward a bright red button set into a small square panel on the living-room wall. “There’s one in each room and in the corridors as well. Push any one of them and the Knights will be up here in a flash. Try not to hit them by accident. If you do, keep your front door unlocked because otherwise the Knights will break it down. Again.”

We laughed, and Mr. Baker led us to the game room.

“Your pool room will now double as your safe room,” he said as we entered.

“Safe room?” I asked.

Mr. Baker explained, “The new door has a solid steel core, and the walls have also been reinforced with thick steel plates. Sorry if you feel a bit drained in here playing pool. Notice there is a panic button here too.” Mr. Baker gestured toward the red button and an intercom unit next to it. “The panic button also turns on the intercom, which is on an independent line directly to security headquarters. Make sure you close and lock the door first, though.”

“Quite a fortress, Travis,” remarked Cindy as we returned to the living room.

“It has to be,” replied Mr. Baker. “We’re scrapping the point-defense guns. That whole setup was always a bit awkward anyway. Instead, we’ll have better lobby security checks, and we’ve already set up a dedicated security team just for New Haven One. However, Cindy, I was still hoping I could get your approval to install security cameras, at least in the living room.”

Cindy said sharply, “We’ve been through this before, Travis. No cameras and no microphones.”

“Okay, okay...” said Mr. Baker, shaking his head.

I asked, “Mr. Baker, do you think the Angels will try to kidnap Cindy again?”

“Probably not in here,” answered Mr. Baker, “but there’s no telling what they’ll try.”

Mr. Baker gazed out the living-room window, his eyes scanning the cityscape below.

“War is brewing,” he said quietly. “The Angels know that they have us in a corner. If they can beat us here, then they will emerge as the one and only, most powerful psionic faction ever. From there, it will only be a matter of time before they reveal themselves to humanity, and attempt to take over.” Mr. Baker turned away from the window and looked at me. “But take heart, Adrian. The balance of power has not yet tipped so far that the Angels can do as they please. The fact that they tried to kidnap Cindy at all proves beyond any doubt that, even without a master controller at the helm, the Guardians are still a force to be reckoned with. The Angels will have to deal with us before they can put any of their other plans forward. And when they come, God willing, we will be ready for them.”

I nodded gravely, and Mr. Baker laughed, saying, “You just keep Cindy safe for me.”

After Mr. Baker left, I asked Cindy incredulously, “He wanted to put cameras and microphones in this place?”

Cindy nodded. “As if it’s not bad enough that we’re practically living in a jail.”

“It’s not a bad jail to live in,” I said, looking around at the spacious living room and comfortable sofas. “Nice and secure.”

It turned out that Mr. Baker had left without introducing the last addition to the penthouse’s security. The following day, while Cindy was tutoring me in the living room after lunch, the doorbell rang, and Cindy opened the door to...

“Terry!” I exclaimed.

“Hey, Adrian,” said Terry, stepping into the living room.

Then she snapped Cindy a smart salute and said, “Terry Henderson reporting in for security duty as ordered, Ms. Gifford.”

Cindy gave her an exasperated look. Terry laughed, saying, “I’m kidding, Cindy!”

Alia came running from our room. “Terry! Terry!”

“You’re living here again?” I asked as Terry gave Alia a hug.

“Where else can I get a proper meal?” said Terry, grinning.

Cindy turned to me and said, “Mr. Baker insisted on live-in security.”

I laughed. “Somehow I doubt Terry would have been Mr. Baker’s first choice.”

“No,” confirmed Cindy, “but it’s not his choice to make.”

“You look better,” I said to Terry. “It’s really good to have you back.”

Terry replied quietly, “I’m not entirely over it yet, Adrian, but yes, I’m back.”

Without thinking, I said, “Your brother would have been proud of you.”

I half-expected Terry to knock me down for saying something so tactless, but she merely smiled and replied, “Gabriel wasn’t a psionic, Adrian, but he was a Knight. He was a soldier. I think he would have understood. In a way, he died to save the Heart of New Haven. I’m just continuing his work.”

“Will you continue teaching me how to fight?” I asked.

“Sure, Adrian,” said Terry, and then laughed, adding, “As long as you don’t mind being taught by a cripple.”

Laughing with her, I replied, “It can’t be nearly as bad as being taught by a girl.”

Terry lunged at me. “Oh, you’re gonna pay for that, Adrian Howell!”

Fortunately, Cindy and Alia were there to save me from serious harm.

Terry brought the rest of her belongings (there were very few) up from the fourth floor, and it seemed that she was moving in permanently. Terry wasn’t one to decorate her room with posters or photos, but at least she was no longer living in the makeshift camp that it used to be. I noticed that she had even brought up the plastic hook, which was now sitting on the corner of her desk.

That night, after Alia went to bed, I joined Terry in the pool room. Without her left hand, Terry had to learn how to play all over again, resting the tip of her cue stick on the edge of her stump.

After I lost the first game, I asked hesitantly, “Would it be too much prying to ask where you’ve been this last week?”

“I’m sorry about that, Adrian,” Terry said in an uncharacteristically civil tone. “It’s not like I was avoiding you or anything. I know you’ve been coming to my place, and I really was glad that you came by on the day of Gabriel’s funeral.”

“So where were you?” I asked, setting up the table again.

Terry made the break shot as she said, “I was out at the cemetery for a while, and then I took a trip back to the last town where my brother and I used to live together.”

“Did you find what you were looking for?” I asked, miraculously sinking two balls in one shot.

“Yes and no,” said Terry. “The truth is, I wasn’t exactly sure why I even wanted to go back there. I guess I was just looking for something that didn’t exist anymore. When I got to the town, I realized that everything I had was back here, in New Haven.”

I missed my next shot. “You mean your normal life?”

“People like us don’t have normal lives, Adrian,” said Terry, sinking one. “But this is the best we can hope for.”

“At least you have school friends.”

“Yes, but probably not for long. All the Guardian families know I’m living with Cindy now, so I guess I’m about to find out who my real friends are.”

“You’re not going to have to drop out of school, are you?” I asked worriedly.

“There’s no telling, but hopefully not anytime soon.”

“Good,” I said as I watched Terry line up her cue again, “because I don’t know if I could survive you living here all day. Alia is trouble enough as it is.”

Terry missed her shot, and three turns later I managed to sink the nine-ball.

“I guess we’re finally evenly matched at this game, Adrian,” said Terry. “At least until I get my prosthetic.”

I grinned. “Don’t you mean your hook?”

“Well, that too.”

“It’s nice to finally beat you at something, Terry,” I said. “It’s not easy being third-rate at everything that’s expected of you, you know.”

“What are you talking about?” said Terry. “You’ve got lots of things going for you.”

“Oh yeah?” I scoffed. “Name one.”

“Well, let’s see... You’re a much better cook than I’ll ever be. You’ll make a great househusband someday.”

“Thanks a lot, Terry,” I said dryly as Terry laughed.

Then she said more seriously, “Fighting skill isn’t everything, Adrian. I saw that on the boat that night. Now I know why Alia trusts you so much.”

“I don’t,” I said. “I’m usually much better at getting her into trouble than out of it.”

“But you do get her out of it. I’m no good at protecting people, Adrian. I can’t worry about others and fight at the same time. A good offence isn’t always the best defense, but it’s the only way I know. You’re better than that, and I was right about you when I said you were a natural fighter.”

Terry didn’t often compliment me, and I wasn’t sure how to respond.

Terry smiled and said, “If we’re both still alive when we come of age, I’m going to hold you to your promise to hunt the Angels with me, Adrian.”

“Sure,” I said. “But you’re going to help me find Cat.”

“I will,” promised Terry.

After playing a third game of nine-ball (which I lost), I bid Terry goodnight and returned to my room.

As I lay on my bed and pulled my blanket over me, I heard Alia say into my head, “Who won the game?”

I shook my head in resignation. “Why am I not surprised that you’re still awake?”

“I couldn’t sleep. I’m just so happy Terry is living with us again.”

“Me too, Ali,” I said, “though I had been hoping to put you in that room soon, so I could have this one all to myself.”

“Addy!”

“Still,” I continued, smiling, “I guess it’s worth it to have her back. This time for real.”

“I just wish I could do something for her arm.”

“She’ll be okay.”

“Are you still dreaming about her?”

“No,” I said dryly. “And for your information, Alia, Terry was never my girlfriend.”

“I know,” said Alia, giggling. “I just like bugging you.”

I used my telekinesis to yank Alia’s pillow out from under her head and smack her with it a few times as she laughed hysterically.

Once Alia managed to catch her pillow, she sat up on her bed and looked at me seriously. “Do you think you’ll ever find your real sister?”

I smiled. “I already have. She’s living in my room, and she’s an annoying little–”

“I meant Cat!”

“I know what you meant, Alia. And I hope so, but after what they did to Terry’s brother...” I paused, not sure if I wanted to talk about this with Alia. But then again, she was the one who had brought it up. I continued quietly, “The really scary part is, I think the Angels already know that Cat is my sister. I think they’ve known all along. I don’t know why they haven’t tried to use her against me. Maybe because they managed to convert her... I just don’t know.”

“I think you’ll find her, Addy. I think she’ll be okay.”

“You’re just like Cindy, Alia. You’re an optimist.”

Alia looked at me worriedly. “Is there really going to be a war?”

I grinned. “There will be if you don’t go to sleep soon.”

“I’m serious!”

“I think,” I said slowly, “that the war has already begun. I think it began long before we were born. I hope it ends soon, but I’m not an optimist like you.”

Alia lay back down on her bed and closed her eyes. “Will you still protect me?”

“Always,” I whispered. “As long as you can keep me alive.”

“I can do that, Addy. I’ll keep you alive no matter what.”

“Goodnight, Alia.”

“Goodnight.”

It was.

This pentalogy will continue right where it left off in

Adrian Howell’s PSIONIC

Book Three

Lesser Gods

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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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adrianhowellbooks@gmail.com

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http://www.adrianhowellbooks.uphero.com/

Adrian Howell’s PSIONIC

Book Two: The Tower

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 © 2010 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.