Lesser Gods (14 page)

“Thanks, Addy,”
said Alia, reaching out of her blanket and fingering the violet crystal.

“Now get some sleep, Ali, or I’ll be gone before you wake tomorrow.”

I turned off the light as I exited the bedroom, hoping my sister would be in dreamland by the time I returned.

I found Cindy sitting cross-legged on the living-room floor where she spent an hour or two a day meditating and re-powering her hiding bubble over New Haven. Her eyes remained closed as she said, “So how did Alia take it?”

I didn’t reply, but instead quietly sat down next to Cindy. I no longer meditated with her as frequently as before, but today I felt like sitting for a while.

“Adrian?” pressed Cindy.

“She’ll get over it,” I told her, borrowing Terry’s favorite line.

“I dare say she will,” Cindy said a bit stiffly.

“Will you?”

Cindy opened her eyes and said, “Adrian, I can see that your mind is completely made up about going on this mission, so I’m not going to try to change it. But as someone who cares deeply for you, let me just say this once...” Cindy stopped, her eyes somewhat misty, and I waited uncomfortably until she found her voice again. “Just remember that God-slayers don’t take prisoners. In a way, they are the most dangerous of our enemies. I don’t mean to hold you back. I’m just afraid that one of these days, you’re going to get yourself killed.”

“I should have died long ago, Cindy,” I whispered. “In fact, I did die once, remember?”

“And your point is?”

“Well...” I began, carefully choosing my words because I wasn’t quite sure how to put it. “You know I don’t exactly believe in fate, but I’m still alive, and there could... possibly... be a reason.”

“Don’t bet on it, Adrian. People die in this conflict all the time. You might be a powerful destroyer, but you’re still flesh and blood, and you are my family.”

I sighed. “Cindy, it’s not that I don’t appreciate you looking out for me. You are my mother. But I’m just not–”

“Not Alia,” Cindy finished for me, smiling sadly. “I remember.”

Cindy and I sat together for a while longer, but I could tell that Cindy wasn’t in a very meditative mood either.

Chapter 5: In Harm’s Way

Though not at all a morning person, especially in the summertime, I had been up since 4am. Unable to return to sleep and afraid that I would wake Alia, I went out for a short jog to stretch my legs before what was promising to be an agonizingly long car ride. Fortunately, the rain had stopped and most of the clouds had cleared overnight, and I watched the sunrise from a clearing in the park. The sun was one of the few absolutes in the world. It had risen in exactly the same way when dinosaurs roamed these lands, and would shine on this world long after humanity perished from it. There was something deeply comforting about that, and it was a while before I noticed the time and hurried back to the penthouse.

When I got home, everyone was up, including Alia. I had secretly hoped that she would sleep in so I could avoid yet another uncomfortable goodbye, but no such luck. As I sat at the breakfast table, I noticed that my sister was wearing both her bloodstone and my amethyst. Neither Cindy nor Terry commented, for which I was grateful. Alia finally seemed, if not cheerful, at least comfortable with this nasty business. It almost felt like a typical school-day morning.

After breakfast, I showered, double-checked the contents of my duffle bag, and then gave Alia and Cindy quick hugs at the front door. But as I was about to step into the elevator with Terry, Cindy came running after us.

“Wait, Adrian!” she said in a panicked tone. “I haven’t reinforced your hiding bubble yet. You probably only have a day or two left on your last one.”

Cindy tried to put her palms on my chest and back to restore her protection, but Terry yanked me away from her, saying, “No time, Cindy! We’ll be late. Besides, we’re going after Slayers, not psionics.”

“But you’ll be traveling,” protested Cindy. “In the open.”

“And the Ravens have plenty of hiders for the road,” said Terry, pulling me into the elevator and hitting the button for the basement parking lot.

“Don’t worry,” I said to Cindy, “I’ll stay inside the hiding protection that the other Knights make, okay?”

Cindy frowned at me from outside the elevator car. “You promise?”

As the doors began to slide shut, Terry said in an exasperated tone, “Would you please stop treating us like infants, Cindy?”

“No,” Cindy informed her, “I won’t.”

With that, Cindy was lost from sight and I felt the floor gently drop out from beneath us. As we rode the elevator down, Terry shook her head and laughed, saying, “She really is impossible, isn’t she?”

I shrugged. “That’s just Cindy. At least she didn’t follow us down.”

Terry turned to me and smiled. “No regrets, Adrian?”

“None,” I answered flatly. “Especially for this mission.”

“There’s no guarantee that the Slayers really have the identity of the Angels’ second,” said Terry. She knew that I had little interest in the destruction of the God-slayers’ training camp except for the possible prize it contained.

“It’s a chance though,” I replied. “Any chance is better than none.”

We found Mr. Simms and most of his team, about forty people, already assembled in the basement parking lot. Some were lazily sitting in their cars, which were mostly SUVs, while others were loading last-minute supplies into a large, dark green van.

Mr. Simms, who was talking with two other men, spotted us as we exited the elevator and said, “Terry, Adrian, just hang tight for a moment. You two are riding with me today.”

“Sure,” Terry called back, and Mr. Simms returned to his conversation.

Carefully as not to get in the way of anyone, I wandered with Terry around the cars, and we found Mr. Watson sitting in the driver’s seat of one of the SUVs.

Rolling down the window, Mr. Watson said, “Hello there, Adrian! So he let you come after all, did he? Hey Terry, good to have you back!”

Terry nodded curtly. “Mr. Watson.”

“This is going to be a good one,” Mr. Watson said excitedly. “We’re going to break the Slayers’ backbone with this.”

“You sound like you’re actually going to be fighting,” laughed Terry. “You’re just a driver, aren’t you?”

Mr. Watson laughed too. “Being just a driver has its advantages, Terry. You get to help raise hell and still know you’ll come home alive.”

I asked him, “If you’re not going to fight, why are you coming at all?” After all, someone else could drive.

Terry answered in Mr. Watson’s stead, “They need a hider for every car, Adrian. Mr. Watson’s only good enough for one this size.”

Mr. Watson grinned. “Can’t argue with you there, Terry, but this is better than what you’re riding today.” Reaching out the window, he gave the outside of his door a light pat. “My baby’s bulletproof.”

We heard Mr. Simms call, “Terry, Adrian, come here!”

We walked back to him, and Mr. Simms’s voice echoed through the parking lot as he introduced us to his team. “You’ve all probably heard of Terry Henderson and Adrian Howell by now,” he said, “but here they are in the flesh, so to speak. You’ll know them as Rabbit and Hansel.”

The Raven Knights gave us a mild applause.

“Individual introductions will have to wait,” said Mr. Simms. “Time to go!”

The two men Mr. Simms had been talking to came with us as Mr. Simms led Terry and me up the exit ramp, out of the parking lot and onto the street, where I found a bus-size motorhome parked on the curb, engine running.

“All aboard!” said Mr. Simms, opening the side door for us. The other vehicles were already coming up the ramp. No sooner had we climbed into the motorhome and shut the door than the monstrous vehicle lurched forward and joined the motorcade. We were off.

Terry tossed her duffle bag onto a bunk bed built into the wall, and I followed suit as I took in my surroundings. I had never been inside a motorhome before, and was shocked at how narrow the center corridor was. To the left and right were a total of four narrow bunk beds, a tiny shower cubicle and toilet, and a cooking area with an electric stove and a microwave oven built into the wall. Near the front of the vehicle was a lounge space with a curved sofa wrapped halfway around a small oval table. To the rear was a living-room-bedroom with large curtained windows, a long sofa and a double bed, but most of the room was packed with cardboard boxes of various sizes. A slender, dark-skinned woman was sitting on the edge of the bed, looking through one of the boxes, which seemed to contain canned food.

“That’s Jodie Decker,” said Mr. Simms. “She’s one of my sharpshooters. Ex-cop.”

“Hey kids,” she called to us with a smile before getting back to whatever work she was doing.

Mr. Simms then introduced the two men who had boarded the motorhome with us, saying, “This is my second-in-command, Jack Pearson, who is my very best hider as well as a darn good spark and delver. He’s the only one on my team who can put a movable hiding field on a car this large.”

Jack Pearson was a heavyset man with a very square jaw. He looked like the kind of person who belonged in a boxing ring. We shook hands, and he playfully sent a mild jolt of electricity through my arm. I didn’t appreciate that in the least, but I smiled anyway.

“And this,” continued Mr. Simms, gesturing toward the other man, “is Jack Forsyth. He’s an ex-cop like Ms. Decker. He’s not psionic, but his professional skills more than make up for that. I’ve seen this man put a bullet through another bullet at a hundred yards. He and Ms. Decker handle my security.”

“Two Jacks, huh?” I said. Jack Forsyth also had the build of a prize fighter, and his handshake was no less painful than Jack Pearson’s.

“Jack P and Jack F,” explained Mr. Simms. “I believe you already know the driver.”

I doubted that, so I walked down the corridor to the front of the motorhome where I got a greater shock than what Jack P had just given me.

“Mr. Barnum?!” I said, astounded.

“Adrian!” Mr. Barnum smiled, glancing at me once before returning his eyes to the road ahead.

“You’re a Knight now?” I asked in disbelief. It had only been days since I heard that he joined the Guardians.

“I am a probationary Raven Knight,” replied Mr. Barnum. “I was asked to join this mission yesterday.”

“But why?”

Mr. Simms, who had followed me to the front, answered, “I asked Art to be my driver this time, seeing as he has a good deal of experience with large rigs at high speed.”

“I used to drive a fire engine,” said Mr. Barnum.

“Art won’t be coming into battle with us this time, Adrian,” said Mr. Simms, “but having him with us will spare another member of my team to join in the assault. Our designated drivers are going to stay behind and make sure we can make a speedy escape if things turn sour.”

“I figured I owed the Guardians as much for taking me in, Adrian,” said Mr. Barnum. “I didn’t know it until they told me about the Wolves, but you saved my life back there.”

I swore under my breath. I hadn’t stepped in front of Mr. Barnum’s shotgun so that he could join the Knights and help them kill people. I wished that someone who had been through the horrors he had wouldn’t be so eager to jump back into the fray. Still, that was his choice. After all, he was a psionic destroyer now and, in his past life, a man of action. Having felt the same debt when I decided to join the Guardians, I did understand his rationale, but I still didn’t like it in the least.

Our motorcade consisted of seven vehicles. In addition to Mr. Simms’s motorhome, there were four rugged SUVs, one large van equipped with off-road tires, and the horrible bright yellow minibus that Alia and I rode into New Haven two years ago. Each SUV carried two to five people, the minibus carried the rest of the team, and the van was stuffed with supplies. Our motorhome, though not bulletproof like Mr. Watson’s baby, was no doubt the most comfortable of the rides.

Our motorhome’s lounge area was just large enough to seat the six of us minus our driver, but I felt awkward sitting with big Mr. Simms and his two burly Jacks at the table. Ms. Jodie Decker seemed friendly enough, but she was always busy doing something or other in the back. Thus, for much of that day’s journey, I sat up front next to Mr. Barnum. I didn’t talk with him much. I didn’t know what to say to him, and he seemed to like driving in silence. But it was nice to sit quietly behind the over-size windshield and watch the world go by.

We didn’t stop for lunch. The rest of the Raven Knights apparently had packed theirs. In our cramped kitchen space, I helped Jack F throw together some sandwiches and then made some fruit salad.

Once we were well away from civilization, our motorcade took a ten-minute leg-stretching break, and I got to meet several of the other team members. Most were destroyers, while some were non-psionics. There were three with controller powers: two peacemakers and a dreamweaver, but they had joined us for their other skills as destroyers or hiders. This was going to be an all-out assault.

I noticed that while the majority of Mr. Simms’s Ravens were men, there were a fair number of women as well. The Knights didn’t discriminate. According to Mr. Simms, anyone who was “capable and willing” was welcome to join. Terry fit right in.

In the early evening, our motorcade was stopped by two motorcycle police who asked us where we were going. Our peacemakers did the talking, and soon we were on our way again.

Despite not stopping for lunch, we weren’t actually in a hurry, this mission having been in the planning for weeks now, and that evening, we pulled into a designated camping area for the night. The Ravens had brought tents in their SUVs, which they pitched in a large circle around a blazing campfire. We feasted on chicken stew and canned beans.

Mr. Simms took the double bed in the back room of the motorhome to himself, and his core team, including Mr. Barnum, got the four bunk beds, so Terry and I ended up with sleeping bags on the floor.

Mr. Barnum kindly offered to give his bed to one of us, but Mr. Simms stopped him.

“Kids can rough it,” said Mr. Simms.