Lesser Gods (55 page)

“Thanks,” I croaked, looking up at Alia. “I’m okay. Heal Terry first.”

Dropping the jo stick, Alia knelt beside Terry. Terry’s shoulders were quivering, and I saw thick tears streaming down her cheeks.

“I’m sorry, Adrian,” sobbed Terry. “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s alright,” I breathed, still unable to sit up. Unable to wipe my own tears. “It’s over, Terry. It’s over.”

Terry’s head injury was superficial, as was the cut on my leg. But Terry had to realign my broken nose before Alia could heal it, and that was very painful.

Once we were no longer bleeding, we sat down together on the mats.

“Quite a punch you have there, Adrian,” said Terry, massaging her stomach. “Is that how you killed the Slayer?”

I nodded.

“Looks like you managed to learn a few tricks after all,” Terry said with a smile.

I smiled too. “I had a good teacher. The very best.”

Terry said quietly, “I never blamed you for Laila, you know.”

I raised my eyebrows, and Terry looked away, saying, “Alright, maybe I did.”

“It’s okay, Terry,” I said. “It was my plan that got her killed.”

Terry shook her head. “No, it wasn’t just your plan, Adrian. It was mine too. I agreed to it. Between you and Mrs. Brown, I figured that you had the better chance of survival. I couldn’t let Laila lose her mother.” Terry wiped her eyes. “When Laila died, it was just easier blaming you for it. I miss her too, you know. I miss her fire.”

I touched Terry’s shoulder. “Good guys don’t hide.”

Terry nodded. “Yeah, good guys don’t hide.”

The Guardians, like all psionic factions, made sure their members were well hidden from the outside world, even in death. If you were to search through piles of birth and death certificates, school transcripts, receipts, tax files, and all the other junk that traces our progress through our lives, all you would find of Laila is her name and a bunch of numbers. There might be a memo or two somewhere, but you would learn next to nothing about who Laila was, what she stood for, and how much she meant to us. In fact, there is very little evidence anywhere that a kind and brave girl named Laila Brown ever even existed. Except here.

The next day, Terry joined us in the greenhouse, and the day after, Alia and I joined her in the dojo for a more normal training session. We were slowly becoming a family again.

Meanwhile, the Guardians were cautiously celebrating their great victory. On the first Saturday of June, a grand party was held to honor the heroes who had taken part in the gathering of lesser gods. I didn’t want to go, but Terry forced me, saying that the air would do me good. I didn’t argue with her. It had only been three days since Terry broke my nose.

The party was held in the same location that we had celebrated the founding of New Haven, and the turnout was quite something. New Haven had really grown in the last two years. Our psionic population alone was now greater than five thousand, to say nothing of non-psionic family and friends. The main party hall was too small to accommodate all the attendees, so the majority of the general population couldn’t enter. Lucky them.

Inside the lavishly decorated hall, Mr. Baker and members of the Council made painfully long-winded speeches, promises and predictions, most of which I had no interest in, but as it was a yawn-at-your-own-peril event, I kept my impatience to myself.

Mr. Baker took me on stage again like he did when I first arrived in New Haven. He publicly reprimanded my reckless crossing into the Angel camp, and then commended me on creating the diversion that helped the Knights accomplish their mission. I could tell that Mr. Baker was just making sure he wouldn’t be held accountable for helping me. I wasn’t about to spill the secret. After all, it was my secret too.

Terry and Ms. Lillian Dallas were also called on stage, and both were given medals to honor their victories in the blood trial. Mr. Baker cleared Terry’s record, informing the crowd that Terry’s defeat had been a deliberate part of the Knights’ plans. I knew that Terry didn’t care for medals or honor, but she smiled and pretended to be happy.

Then we all drank a toast to the ones who didn’t return.

After the speeches, Mr. Baker sat with Cindy, Terry, Alia and me at our table. We ate, we talked, and we all drank another toast to what Mr. Baker called “the dawn of a new age.”

“It will truly be a brave new world for us,” said Mr. Baker. “A world without psionic masters.”

“Was Larissa Divine really the last one?” I asked.

“Thanks largely to you, Adrian, we are now rid of every known master-controller bloodline,” Mr. Baker said happily. “There is always the remote possibility of a wild-born master from an undiscovered bloodline, but most likely, the age of masters is finally over. The Angels will soon fall apart and the balance of power will be restored.”

“You mean that chaos will be the new world order,” I said, shaking my head.

“True,” admitted Mr. Baker. “But you must agree that even chaos is better than allowing a single master to rule the entire planet.”

I did agree. If there was one good thing that came out of all of this, it was that the world, at least for other people, would be a better place. A safer place, and hopefully a happier one.

Cindy took Alia home at around eight o’clock, leaving Terry and me with Mr. Baker, who I was hoping would leave us too so that I could go home.

That was when Mr. Baker said something that threw me. “Adrian, Jodie Decker told me that you saw the bodies of Mr. Simms and Jack F in the underground tunnel that you used to escape. Is that correct?”

“Yes,” I replied stiffly. “Why do you ask?”

“I’m just curious,” Mr. Baker said lightly. “Were there any others down there?”

“Several. I didn’t recognize the others, though. It was really dark, and I think some of them were Angels.”

“I see,” said Mr. Baker, carefully studying my face. “And you are absolutely certain that they were all dead?”

“I didn’t check their pulses, if that’s what you mean. I was scared and running.”

Terry said to Mr. Baker in an annoyed tone, “Adrian has already stated all of this on record during the debriefing, Mr. Baker.”

“I understand,” said Mr. Baker, and then turned to me again. “I spoke with Jack Pearson today. He was hoping that you might know a little more.”

Jack P, who now had only eight fingers and wore a patch over his left eye, was the new leader of the Raven Knights. He had called Terry and me in for an official debriefing within a week of our return, and I had given him an abridged version of my escape. In addition to skipping the part about blasting Mr. Simms, I had also claimed that Randal Divine had scampered when I pulled the gun from his hands. I wasn’t about to admit that I had deliberately let the Angel go. And fortunately, I was still too young to delve.

“But it’s okay, Adrian,” said Mr. Baker, his lips bent almost imperceptibly downward. “I’m sure it’s nothing important. Have a good evening.”

Mr. Baker left us, and as soon as he was out of earshot, Terry huffed loudly. “If it’s nothing important, don’t ask! What was all that about anyway?”

I shrugged. My memory of Mr. Simms’s end was eating at me again, but I forced myself to smile as if nothing was amiss.

Suddenly Terry said sharply, “Adrian?!”

I looked her in the eye. “He was dead, Terry.”

Terry stared back at me for a moment, and then shrugged. “I’m sorry. It’s none of my business.”

“He was dead!” I repeated forcefully. “I’m not sorry he died, but he was dead when I found him.”

“Okay,” Terry said in a subdued tone. “It’s alright, Adrian. I’m not particularly sorry he died either. I always liked Jack P better.”

I breathed easier. Whether Terry believed my story or not, she seemed determined to put it behind us. Terry reached across the table for the wine bottle. “Let’s have another drink, Adrian.”

“I’m not so sure I want another, Terry.”

“Oh, come on,” Terry said playfully. “Remember the last time we were here?”

I nodded. “That’s why I’m not so sure.”

Terry laughed as she poured herself another glass, and then refilled mine too. We stayed out until past midnight, and we were both quite hung over the next morning.

Another week passed.

Terry asked me over breakfast, “You know what day it is?”

“Of course,” I replied.

Laila was just ten days older than Terry, and today was her seventeenth birthday. I had missed Laila’s sixteenth last year, having met her for the first time on Terry’s. I wasn’t going to miss today.

Terry said, “I thought we might have a drink in her honor after dinner.”

I shook my head. “I have a better idea.”

Alia had been running a moderate fever since the night before, so I left her with Cindy and took Terry out of the penthouse in the early afternoon.

“Do you mind telling me where we’re going, Half-head?” Terry asked in an annoyed tone as we rode the elevator down to the lobby.

“You’ll see,” I replied lightly. “You dragged me to that party last week and let Mr. Baker make a fool of me on stage. Today you’re going to do what I want.”

Terry figured out our destination well before we arrived.

“Adrian, you know I don’t believe in this stuff,” she said as we approached the open doors of Mark’s church.

“Well, neither do I, Terry,” I replied. “But she did.”

Terry looked at me for a few seconds, then smiled and nodded, and we entered the church together.

Mark wasn’t in that day, but another priest who I knew fairly well walked with us to the prayer candles. I gazed down at the small white candles set in the box. I watched the flames flickering beneath the statue of Jesus, each candle a prayer. I glanced up at the statue of the man who always looked so peaceful even as he was nailed to a cross.

And suddenly I felt ridiculous.

Maybe Terry was right. I didn’t really believe in any of this church stuff either, and to pray for Laila as if I did was a lie.

The priest handed us our candles, and it was Terry who lit hers first. She carefully placed her candle in the box. Then, putting her right hand up to her prosthetic, she slowly closed her eyes.

I looked down at the candle in my hands. Coming here had seemed like a good idea this morning, but now I felt very uncomfortable.

Good guys don’t hide.

But I wasn’t a good guy. Not anymore. Not since Mr. Simms.

Maybe not ever.

I wished Mark was here. Mark had always been accepting of my lack of faith, and he had guided me through some difficult times. He might be able to tell me if what I had done was right... or at lease forgivable.

But Mark wasn’t here today. And, more importantly, he had never killed someone in anger. No, Mark wasn’t my best choice anyway. Not this time. I needed to talk to someone who had taken life. Someone who understood revenge.

I glanced over at Terry, who still had her eyes closed in silent prayer. I could talk to Terry. Terry was someone who understood revenge. And she already knew most of the story anyway. If I told her that I had blasted Mr. Simms and left him to die in that tunnel, what would she say?

You always were an idiot, Adrian.

I shook my head. I could trust Terry with just about anything, but she wasn’t the person to go to for moral guidance.

Terry opened her eyes and looked at me. “What’s the matter, Adrian?”

“Nothing,” I replied, hastily lighting my prayer candle and placing it next to Terry’s. “Just give me a moment.”

I closed my eyes and put my palms together. But I didn’t pray. I couldn’t.

I realized now that what bothered me most about what I had done to Mr. Simms was that I really wasn’t sorry about it anymore. Over the weeks, I had slowly come to the conclusion that while what I did might not have been ethical, if I could go back and change things, I wouldn’t. I just wondered what Laila would say if she knew.

And what of Alia and Cindy?

My sister didn’t need to hear this yet. Cindy hadn’t told her how the people who hurt her had died, and I wasn’t about to let her know what I did to the man who hurt Charles’s little sister.

But I lived in Cindy’s house. Cindy deeply regretted killing Alia’s keepers. I didn’t regret Mr. Simms. If I had become the monster that I had wanted to kill, then at least Cindy had a right to know.

Terry and I returned to the penthouse in time for dinner.

Alia’s fever had gone down, but not enough for Cindy to let her out of bed, and Terry disappeared into her room as soon as she finished eating. It was my turn to help with the washing up, which gave me the time alone that I needed with Cindy.

Helping me load the dishwasher, Cindy said to me, “You seemed a little lost over dinner, Adrian. How was your visit to the church?”

“I didn’t see Laila, if that’s what you mean,” I said, shrugging.

Then I took a deep breath, faced her and tried my best to keep from fidgeting as I said slowly, “Cindy, I need to tell you something. Something that happened back at the blood trial. Something that I did.”

“You sound serious.”

My voice faltered a bit as I added, “Something terrible.”

Cindy looked at me carefully. “Am I about to hear what really happened to Jason Simms?”

I stared, astonished, and Cindy explained, “Mr. Pearson’s Ravens apparently heard a call for help on their frequency soon after the last transports pulled out of the factory grounds. The signal was pretty faint, but they think it was Mr. Simms’s voice.”

I shuddered. In the darkness, with a broken leg and a hole through his elbow, Mr. Simms had managed to crawl his way to Jack F’s radio.

Cindy asked in a concerned voice, “So what happened down there, Adrian?”

“I left him there,” I replied in a monotone. “He was already injured, but I made sure he’d die.”

Cindy put a comforting hand on my shoulder. “It’s okay. You were scared, Adrian. You can’t blame yourself for not helping him. You might not have made it out in time yourself if–”

“No!” I shouted, pulling away from her. “You don’t understand, Cindy! I blasted him! I broke his arm so he couldn’t escape. I made sure he’d die!”

Cindy stared.