Lesser Gods (44 page)

“We’ve lived in worse places,” I reminded her as we changed into our nightclothes.

Alia disagreed. “Even our room at the PRC had a proper bathtub.”

“It’s only for another week, anyway,” I said, deliberately leaving out the days required for the trip home.

“I’ll survive,” Alia said unhappily.

We had lined up our three bedrolls in a neat row, with Alia’s sandwiched between Terry’s and mine. The three of us had been camping every night on the long car trip out here, but that was in a tent with sleeping bags. This was more like a sleepover – except that we were in a graffiti-covered concrete room in a crumbling office building at the corner of an abandoned factory compound that housed two hundred and fifty people who wished us bodily harm. That wasn’t the kind of happy thought that led you into a deep and peaceful slumber. Despite my sister’s soothing telepathic murmurs, I lay awake for a long time after she and Terry had fallen asleep.

The next morning, I woke to Terry’s rude laughter and realized that sometime during the night, Alia had found her way over to my bed and put her arms around my chest, resting her head against mine.

“Now I know why you two share a room,” Terry said between giggles. “Wait till Laila hears about this!”

“You are getting too old for this, Alia,” I grumbled, shaking my sister awake.

Laila’s mother was breakfasting with the Council, so Laila joined us in our room that morning, and Terry lost no time embarrassing Alia and me. My sister denied deliberately crawling into my bed. She insisted that she must have rolled over in her sleep, which was highly unlikely, but I gave her the benefit of the doubt if only to avoid an argument. As strong as Alia was, being five days out of New Haven, away from Cindy and in the middle of this horrible event, I could hardly blame her for feeling insecure.

Terry wanted to get some training time to keep her skills sharp, so she found a separate room and a few Knights to spar with. Laila, Alia and I watched Terry for a while and later retreated to our room, playing games and counting the hours to the first match.

“I’m not going today,” Laila announced after lunch.

“Your mother said no?” Terry asked in surprise. “After bringing you all the way out here?”

Laila shook her head. “She didn’t say either way, but I don’t really feel like watching someone get killed. Even if it is an Angel.”

I was feeling exactly the same way. And besides, there was no guarantee that a stray telekinetic blast or fireball wouldn’t find its way into the spectators.

“I think I’ll stand down too,” I said.

Laila backing out gave me the perfect excuse to follow suit and keep Alia out of harm’s way as well. After all, the Guardians had other healers that could take care of Ms. Dallas if she got hurt.

“I’m still going,” Terry said resolutely. “She’s partly fighting for me, after all.”

“When you put it that way, I kind of feel like a traitor,” I said meekly, and Laila gave Terry an apologetic look as well.

Terry smiled. “It’s alright, both of you. You’re probably right in staying behind, anyway. Even in that big room, there’s no telling what’ll happen.”

“I’ll be there for your round, Terry,” promised Laila.

“Me too,” I said quickly. “At least when you fight, there won’t be any psionics involved.”

We said no more about it, and as the hour approached, the Guardians slowly began to filter into the factory building. Terry joined the procession as Laila, Alia and I stood by and watched. Ms. Dallas had already entered the building, and I wondered if I would see her alive again.

Soon the only people left were a few Knights in charge of camp security and a handful of Guardian witnesses who, like us, had a change of heart and weren’t going to witness anything. During yesterday’s speech, Mr. Baker had asked the parents of the few underage attendees to keep them out of the arena, and some had complied with his request.

I spotted a teenage boy arguing loudly with his apparently telepathic mother, who wasn’t replying verbally but was shaking her head so furiously that I wondered when it would fly off. The boy was probably not much older than me, and the argument was about whether or not he, like his father who had just entered the factory, should be allowed to watch the match. I listened, half-amused, as the boy whiningly made his case over and over. It was obvious that he had never seen a drop of blood spilt in his entire life, but the boy nevertheless thought he was mature enough to watch someone die horribly. I both pitied and envied him.

I also wondered what Terry was about to witness. Perhaps I was missing some great and historic battle. Something that might even teach me a little more about how to fight as a psionic destroyer. But no. In my experience, there were necessary risks and unnecessary risks, and the best course was always the one that kept the unnecessary risks to a minimum.

“That mom should just let him go,” I muttered. “Then he’ll learn what he’s made of.”

“Let’s go back to my camper,” suggested Laila. “I think there’s some coffee left in the pot.”

I wasn’t interested in the coffee, but it was nice to sit in a cozy room with Laila, and we managed to touch lips a few times even with Alia looking on and giggling.

According to the camper’s clock, it was still a few minutes to 4pm. That was when the speeches would start. The Angels, perhaps Larissa Divine herself, though more likely a representative, would announce their so-called grievances, and then the Guardians would reply, and there would be more talk, no doubt punctuated by rude shouts and gestures until everyone was talked out, riled up, and ready to watch someone die. At least, that’s how I pictured it from what I had heard so far.

There was a sharp rapping on the camper door. I opened it to Mr. Ted Williams, who didn’t even bother saying hello, but jumped straight to, “Are you still a Raven Knight, Hansel?”

“I’m not exactly sure,” I replied. “Why?”

“We could use an extra pair of hands,” he said. Glancing past me, he added, “And maybe a healer too.”

Laila asked, “What’s going on? I thought you were with Mr. Baker.”

“I’m in charge of camp security today, Miss Brown,” Mr. Williams replied curtly. “And I’m sorry but I’m in a bit of a hurry now. Hansel?”

“I’m coming,” I said, stepping out of the camper. When Alia tried to follow, I reflexively turned to her and said, “No, you stay here with Laila.”

My sister glared at me. “I’m coming too, Hansel.”

I could sense Mr. Williams’s impatience, so I shrugged and said, “Suit yourself, Knight. Just stay close, then.”

As I helped Alia out of the camper, Laila called worriedly after us, “Both of you be careful.”

Alia turned her head, threw Laila a quick smile and said, “Always.”

I nearly laughed out loud.

Taking Alia’s hand, I kept pace with Mr. Williams’s quick-march as he led us toward the defensive wall.

“So what’s going on, sir?” I asked. I had forgotten Mr. Williams’s call sign, and I couldn’t call him by name since he had referred to me as Hansel.

“We’re not entirely sure yet, but one of our spotters on the office roof reported a possible Angel phantom. We don’t have any fliers in the camp now. I was hoping you could give us an extra bird’s-eye view.”

“A phantom?” I asked, remembering Mr. Watson’s invisibility trick. “You mean a pair of floating eyeballs?”

Mr. Williams seemed to smile. “That’s correct, Hansel. Our spotter thinks he saw the phantom’s eyes just as they left the Angel camp, but then he lost sight of them. My finder can’t pick him up either, so he’s either a hider himself or has protection. Assuming this phantom is inbound, he could be leading a team of Seraphim toward us.”

I remembered how Mr. Watson had called himself a “half-baked phantom” since he could only turn his own body invisible. Many phantoms could turn other things and people invisible as well. Now I understood Mr. Williams’s real concern: one phantom with visible eyeballs could be leading any number of completely invisible (and psionically hidden) followers so long as everyone held hands.

“How long ago was the sighting, sir?” I asked.

“Long enough that they could be here by now,” Mr. Williams replied grimly. “Up in the air, Hansel. Right now! Gretel can stick with me.”

I gave Alia a quick nod and kicked off from the ground, using my telekinetic power to pull my body about ten yards up into the air. I wanted to cover as much territory as possible without going so high that I would miss the tiny pair of eyeballs approaching the motorhome barrier.

My heart pounding, I did my best to stay calm and look around slowly. The pavement was a shade of dirty gray. From above, the phantom’s eyeballs should look relatively red. So far, nothing.

Through the corner of my right eye, I saw Mr. Williams, pistol drawn, jogging up to one of the gaps between the motorhomes, Alia fast on his heels. I knew that Alia’s presence was hidden by her personal hiding bubble, but that didn’t make her impervious to bullets, blasts and everything else. It irked me that Mr. Williams wasn’t paying as much attention to Alia’s safety as I wanted him to, but right now I had to focus on scanning for the missing phantom.

Five rapid gunshots echoed across the parking lot. They hadn’t come from Mr. Williams, but from a different gap farther down the motorhome line. I flew toward the source of the sounds, descending as I went.

I recognized the face of the Lancer Knight who held the smoking gun, but I didn’t know his name. The Knight stood over the Angel phantom, who had returned to a visible state the moment he had been shot. Breathing heavily, the phantom lay face up on the concrete, his shirt a bloody mess where one bullet had entered his abdomen. The fact that he was wearing clothes meant he was a fully capable phantom. I looked around nervously.

The Knight said to me, “I can’t sense any others nearby.”

“I’m alone,” croaked the Angel. “Help me. Please.”

I looked down at his face, which was contorted with pain. The man had short gray hair and somewhat wrinkly skin, and I guessed he was about fifty years old. He had dark blue eyes.

“Gretel!” I called out.

There was no need, as by now Mr. Williams and Alia, as well as several other Knights, were crowding around from all directions.

“Give me space!” shouted Alia, pushing past me and kneeling beside the Angel. “And somebody pull that cloth out of his wound. I can’t get any blood on my fingers or I’ll be drained.”

The “somebody” ended up being me. I telekinetically pulled the Angel’s bloodied shirt up so that Alia could heal him. Alia quickly put her hands up close to the torn flesh, but I stopped her before she started to work her power.

“Wait up,” I said to her. “The bullet’s still in there.”

“Can you get it out?”
she asked into my mind.

“I’ll try.”

A bullet surrounded by bloody flesh was a fair bit of metal. It certainly wasn’t beyond my telekinetic power to control, but I couldn’t actually see the bullet, which complicated things to no end. I had to ask Mr. Williams to pry open the wound with his fingers so I could lift out the metal slug, and two Knights had to hold the Angel phantom down to keep him from thrashing about in agony. I felt a sort of grim satisfaction putting the Angel through that, though my eardrums hurt from all his screaming. Once the bullet was safely removed, Alia healed up the wound, leaving behind a pretty messy scar but the Angel still breathing.

“We’ll take it from here,” said Mr. Williams. “Thank you for your help, Hansel and Gretel.”

I ignored the chuckling from the other Knights at the mention of our call signs, and led my sister back to Laila’s camper. There we stayed until we heard the sounds of the Guardian witnesses returning to the camp at a little past 5pm. Looking out the camper’s little window, I knew instantly from everyone’s expression what the outcome of the first battle was.

“The fight lasted twelve seconds,” reported Terry over dinner. “A single focused blast straight through the bastard’s skull.”

“Glad I didn’t line up for that one,” I laughed, trying not to imagine the Angel’s brains splattered over the factory floor. Ms. Dallas had apparently suffered some second-degree burns for her utter devotion to her telekinetic aim, but Guardian healers had already taken care of her, and she was currently celebrating with her friends in the camp.

“We also got a look at our opponents for the second and third fights,” Terry said casually. “Mine’s a real beast. Lots of muscles and probably some pretty good reflexes behind them too. But I’m faster.”

“Are you going to win?” Alia asked worriedly.

Terry grinned. “I always win, Alia. You know that.”

In combat, Terry had a pretty decent track record so I kept my mouth shut, but Alia knew just as well as I did that nothing was ever “always.” My sister continued looking at Terry in a way that made her uncomfortable enough to change the subject.

“I heard you guys saw some action today too,” said Terry. “Spider says there may even be a few in New Haven that remember Mr. Jenson.”

Terry had attended a short Council meeting before dinner and had already gotten the details from Mr. Ted “Spider” Williams.

The Angel phantom, Mr. Jenson, was actually a former Guardian, taken by the Angels long before the death of the last Guardian queen. He was currently locked in the basement of the office building, and the Knights had already questioned him as to why he had tried to sneak into the Guardian camp. According to the phantom’s account, with his psionic conversion wearing thin, he had used this opportunity to defect back into the Guardians where he hoped to be reunited with his lost son. He wasn’t a hider himself, but had received hiding protection prior to leaving his Angel settlement.

Guardian delvers had confirmed Mr. Jenson’s story, but that didn’t mean the Guardians completely trusted him just yet. Delvers could only read current thoughts going through a person’s mind, and as such, they could sometimes be fooled. Thus Mr. Jenson would remain under strict guard until the blood trial was over, and once back in New Haven, the Council would decide his fate. Mr. Jenson himself seemed perfectly happy with that arrangement, especially since the Angels were none too happy to discover a traitor among their ranks just as their first hero lost his head to Ms. Dallas.