Lesser Gods
Authors: Adrian Howell
Adrian Howell’s PSIONIC
Book Three
Lesser Gods
Table of Contents
Chapter 11: The Last Sky Guardian
Chapter 12: A Finding-Day Surprise
Chapter 13: The Gathering of Lesser Gods
Chapter 14: The Arena and the Phantom
Chapter 15: Discovery and Decision
Chapter 17: My Sister’s Keeper
Chapter 18: The Dawn of a New Age
Introduction
From our most embarrassing, desperate desires to our deepest, darkest fears, in dreams, we have no choice but to be entirely honest with ourselves. I hate dreaming. The only good thing about dreams is that most of them fade quickly once the sun rises, and those dreams we remember with open eyes are fortunately censored by the mental filters we create to protect our sanity from childish thoughts and fears.
But even the worst of nightmares can never quite compare to the horrors that waking life can provide.
My name is Adrian Howell. At the age of fourteen, I shot to death an unarmed man. True enough, he did attack me first, but I was the one with the gun. That was the first time I had killed. There were others.
This is my third book, which picks up several weeks after my combat instructor, Terry Henderson, and I were made Honorary Guardian Knights for our actions that, in part, led to the successful recovery of kidnapped Guardian Cynthia Gifford. It apparently didn’t matter to the Guardians that Terry had helped the Angels abduct Cindy in the first place. Nor did it matter that we actually failed to locate Cindy. It was the Guardian Knights – the
real
Guardian Knights – that rescued Cindy before she was psionically converted into an Angel. I’ve no idea what Mr. Baker and the New Haven Council had been thinking.
Lost? Then you probably haven’t read the previous two books. Fair enough. Don’t read this one either. Not if you believe in valor or miracles or the power of good over evil. You will find none of that nonsense here, and my story does not end happily.
But if you continue reading, you will learn a bit more about us. You will learn that we really aren’t all that different from normal people like yourself. We love and we hate, we bleed and we die. Compared to that, the ability to fly is practically immaterial.
And if you are smart, you will also conclude that the best way to deal with us is to stay far away and mind your own business. I hope that you do, because someday your life may depend on it. The story within these pages is not a fairytale. We are not imaginary. If you go looking for us, chances are you will find us, and if you do so without good reason, you may not live to regret it.
And with that happy thought, may I humbly invite you to turn the page...
Chapter 1: Security Breach
My father peered out through the dining-room window, his eyes moving from the pale, overcast sky to the snow-patched backyard. He sighed quietly once and said grimly, “I guess we had better start getting ready. How many are coming, did you say?”
“Last count, twenty-four, and only two moms,” replied my mother from her seat at the breakfast table. Then she turned to my little sister, Catherine, who was stuffing her mouth with waffles. “Chew your food, Cat.”
Cat mumbled something, probably along the lines of “I am,” but it was impossible to tell.
I rolled my eyes and took another bite of my sausage.
The icy February weather showed no hint of spring yet. The air outside was still cold enough to warrant ear muffs. It either snowed or drizzled almost every evening, and trapped under a thickly overcast sky, our little town hadn’t seen the sun for an entire week. It was the kind of weather that sapped away your desire to get up in the morning, and while I enjoyed a good snowball fight as much as the next kid, I strongly felt that we had had enough winter for one winter.
The gloomy weather had absolutely no effect on my little sister, however. Her excitement had been steadily mounting as she counted down the days to her eighth birthday. Now that her party day was finally upon us, our parents had resigned themselves to sustaining serious property damage as almost every kid in Cat’s second-grade class – all of the girls and a few select boys, and, of course, their siblings – would soon be crowding into our living room.
The doorbell rang. My father, having already finished eating, stepped out of the dining room to answer it. A moment later, he reappeared with a small paper package under his arm and a square envelope in his hand.
“What is it?” I asked.
“It’s from my brother,” said Dad, peering at the envelope. “Looks like a birthday present for Cat.”
Bits of waffle shooting from her mouth, Cat cried out, “Let me see!”
She jumped up from her chair and rushed over to Dad, who quickly lifted the package and envelope out of her reach.
“Whoa there, Cat!” he said. “Don’t you want to wait till your party?”
Cat made an unsuccessful jumping grab for the package.
Dad chuckled. “Obviously not.”
“Oh, please!” whined Cat. “It’s already my birthday, isn’t it?”
“Oh, please, yourself!” Dad said with a grin. “Your real birthday isn’t for another three days. It’s still Saturday, you know.”
“But my party’s today!” argued Cat. “So today’s my birthday too!”
“Well, I suppose that makes some highly illogical sense,” agreed Dad, nodding. “You can open just this one, but only if you promise you won’t argue about any of the other presents until it’s time to open them.”
“I promise,” said Cat, all smiles again as she took the items from Dad.
I glanced across the table at Mom, who remained silent but clearly disapproved of these negotiations. When Mom said no, she always meant it, and I could tell that the only reason she didn’t voice her displeasure in how Dad handled this situation was because today was Cat’s birthday party. Thus I realized that even Mom could act illogically under select circumstances.
Ignoring the envelope, Cat tore open the package first.
“It’s a necklace!” she exclaimed, pulling out a delicate silver chain. “There’s a stone on it too.”
I gave a non-committal “hmm” as Cat showed off her violet pendant stone.
“It’s Cat’s birthstone,” said Dad, who had opened the envelope and was skimming through the birthday card it contained.
“What’s a birthstone?” I asked, just a bit curious.
Dad explained, “There’s a different stone for every month, so whichever month you’re born in, it’s different.” Dad knew about rare stones from his brother, who ran a jewelry shop. “February is the amethyst.”
“Ame-what?” said Cat, putting the chain around her neck and fingering the small violet crystal.
“An amethyst,” Dad repeated slowly, but Cat didn’t try saying it again.
“Is it expensive?” I asked.
“Not really. They’re pretty common in volcanic regions.”
I smirked. “With Uncle Bill owning that store, I would have thought he’d give Cat a diamond or something.”
Mom frowned at me. “Just because he owns the store doesn’t mean he’s rich, Addy.”
I frowned too. I felt that I was getting too old to be called by my baby name, but my mother still insisted on using it.
“It costs a lot to get the stones to his shop, Adrian,” said Dad. “Besides, even if he had a diamond to spare, I think an amethyst is better for a February girl. Diamonds are for April.”
“I like it,” said Cat, smiling at her birthstone. “It’s really pretty.”
Dad said, “Adrian, finish eating and help me clear the living room for the army.”
“Sure, Dad,” I replied, taking one last bite out of my waffle before standing up.
“And Cat can help as soon as she writes a thank-you note to Uncle Bill,” said Mom.
I usually had to help clear the dining table on days that I wasn’t rushing off to school, but today I was let off so I could help with the “man’s work” as Dad called it, dragging couches and sofas to the edge of the living room in order to clear a space for the impending invasion.
Cat came in when we were just about finished. She had taken her pendant off from her neck and was twirling the silver chain on her right index finger, spinning the amethyst around like a propeller.
Dad said to me, “We better get that stuff off the bookshelf in case someone crashes into it.” He was eyeing the neat row of decorated ceramic pots, vases and delicate plates resting on little wooden stands lining the top of a large bookshelf against one wall. Mom called them “china” but they were pots and plates as far as Dad and I were concerned. Pots and plates that couldn’t even be used for meals.
Eager to get in the way, my sister came and stood next to the bookshelf, looking up at the items as if she was about to scale the bookshelf and get them down. The bookshelf was quite tall, and even Dad couldn’t safely remove the heavier things from the top without something to stand on.
“Fetch me a chair from the dining table, would you, Adrian?” he said.
Cat’s silver chain, still spinning around her index finger, chose that moment to slip off, sending the pendant sailing in a wide arc across the living room where it hit the opposite wall and fell onto the floor. Cat scrambled after it.
I was about to go get Dad a chair when something about the largest vase on the shelf caught my eye. Had it just wobbled a bit? No, it was nothing after all, probably just a trick of the light. Shrugging, I turned toward the dining-room door, but then I heard a surprised cry from my father and spun back around. The vase had somehow slipped off the shelf. A split second later it hit the floor with a loud crash, shattering into a thousand tiny white fragments – right where Cat had just been standing!
Mom came rushing into the living room. “What happened? Oh my goodness!” she gasped. “Richard! Are you alright?”
But once Mom was convinced that no one was injured, worry quickly made way for upset. “That was my most expensive piece, Richard! Couldn’t you at least use a chair or something?”
“I didn’t touch it!” Dad said defensively, shaking his head. “I was going to use a chair, of course. I guess it just fell by itself.”
Mom eyed him with suspicion, and Dad said uncomfortably, “I know it sounds strange but... well, it’s true.”
Of course it just fell by itself
, I thought to myself.
What’s so strange about that?
True, it was usually smaller and lighter things such as little picture frames or wall calendars that fell off their designated spots, but a vase was not all that different.
“Cat was just standing there,” I said quietly, looking down at the decimated vase.
Dad breathed a sigh of relief and turned to my sister. “Lucky your new pendent reached escape velocity in time, Cat. That vase could’ve killed you.”
“Very lucky,” I agreed.
“It’s my lucky pendant,” said Cat, smiling as she put the pendant back around her neck.
“I suppose it was lucky,” Mom grudgingly agreed. “At least no one was hurt.”
“Imagine what might’ve happened if it had fallen during the party,” Dad said quietly. “Let’s not keep our pots and plates on the bookshelf from now on.”
“China,” corrected Mom. “I’ll get the chair.”
“It’s okay, I’ll get it,” I said.
That was when the floor fell out from under me.
I yelped as my left elbow smashed against something solid, and then my back hit the floor hard, knocking the wind out of me. There was a carpet, but it didn’t soften my abrupt landing by much.
My eyes opened to the semi-dark bedroom that I shared with my other sister, Alia Gifford.
I heard Alia’s telepathic voice in my head say groggily,
“Addy? Are you okay?”
Still winded by my impact with the floor, I just barely managed to croak sarcastically, “Fine, Ali! I’m just fine!”
Alia was used to that from me.
“Did you hit yourself on my desk?”
“My arm,” I replied, breathing slowly and deliberately to get the air back into my lungs as I pulled myself into a sitting position.