“Maybe so, but I still can’t wait to leave. I only have a little over four months left at the orphanage, you know? And you can’t tell anyone this, but I think that I’m going to leave sooner than that.”
“I don’t think that’s a good idea, Marina. You’re very young to be on your own. Where will you go?”
“America,” I say without hesitation.
“America?”
“There’s somebody there I need to find.”
“If you’re so determined, then why haven’t you already left?”
“Fear,” I say. “Mostly fear.”
“You’re not the first,” he says, taking a moment to empty his entire glass. His eyes have lost their sharpness. “The key to change is letting go of fear.”
“I know.”
The door to the café opens, and a tall man wearing a long coat and carrying an old book enters. He moves past us and takes a table in the far corner. He has dark hair and bushy brows. A thick mustache covers his upper lip. I’ve never seen him before; but when he lifts his head and meets my gaze, there’s something I immediately don’t like about him and I quickly look away. From the corner of my eye, I can see he’s still staring at me. I try ignoring it. I resume talking to Héctor, or rather I babble, hardly making sense, watching him refill his glass with red wine; and I hear next to nothing of what he says in reply.
Five minutes later the man’s still staring, and I’m so bothered by it that the café seems to spin. I lean across the table and whisper to Héctor, “Do you know who the person in the far corner is?”
He shakes his head. “No, but I’ve noticed him watching us, too. He was in here on Friday, sitting in the same seat and reading the same book.”
“There’s something about him I don’t like, but I don’t know what it is.”
“Don’t worry, you have me here,” he says.
“I really should leave,” I say. An odd desperation to get away has come over me. I try not to look at the man, but I do anyway. He’s reading the book now, the cover of which is angled toward me as though he wants me to see it. It’s brittle and worn, a dusty shade of gray.
PITTACUS OF MYTILENE
AND THE
ATHENIAN WAR
Pittacus? Pittacus? The man is watching me again, and though I can’t see the bottom half of his face, his eyes suggest a knowing grin on his lips. All at once I feel as though I’ve been struck by a train. Could this be my first Mogadorian?
I jump up, smacking my knee against the bottom of the table and nearly knocking over Héctor’s wine bottle. My chair falls backwards, crashing to the ground. Everybody in the café turns.
“I gotta go, Héctor,” I say. “I gotta go.”
I stumble through the doorway and make a mad dash for home, running faster than a speeding car, not caring if anyone sees. I’m back at Santa Teresa in seconds. I crash through the double doors and quickly slam them shut. I put my back against them and close my eyes. I try to slow my breathing, the twitching in my arms and legs, my quivering bottom lip. Sweat runs down the side of my face.
I open my eyes. Adelina stands in front of me, and I fall headlong into her arms, not caring about the tension from an hour before. She tentatively hugs me back, probably confused by my sudden display of affection, which I haven’t shown her in years. She pulls away and I open my mouth to tell her what I’ve just seen, but she brings a finger to her lips the same way I did to Ella at Mass. Then she turns and walks away.
That night, after dinner and before prayers, I stand at the bedroom window gazing out as darkness falls, scanning the landscape for anything suspicious.
“Marina? What are you doing?”
I turn around. Ella stands behind me; I hadn’t heard her approach. She moves through these halls like a shadow.
“There you are,” I say, relieved. “Are you okay?”
She nods, but her big brown eyes tell me otherwise. “What are you doing?” she repeats.
“Just looking outside, that’s all.”
“What for? You’re always looking out the windows at bedtime.”
She’s right; every night since she arrived, since I saw the man watching me in the nave window, I’ve been looking outside at bedtime for any signs of him. I’m now certain he’s the same man I saw in the café today.
“I’m looking for bad men, Ella. There are bad men out there sometimes.”
“Really? What do they look like?”
“It’s hard to say,” I reply. “I think they’re very tall, and they’re usually very dark and mean looking. And some might even be muscular, like this,” I add, doing my best bodybuilder pose.
Ella giggles, going to the window. She stands on her tippy toes and pulls herself up to see out.
It’s been several hours since I was in the café, and I’ve managed to calm down a bit.
I place my index finger on the foggy window and trace a figure onto it with two quick squeaks.
“That’s the number three,” Ella says.
“That’s right, kiddo. I bet you can do better than that, huh?”
She smiles, sticks her finger onto the bottom of the window, and soon there is the beginning of a beautiful farmhouse and backyard barn. I watch as my number three is absorbed by Ella’s perfect silo.
Three is the only reason I was allowed to leave that café today, it’s the distance from John Smith to myself. I’m now absolutely convinced that he is Number Four by the way he is being hunted; just as I’m convinced the man at the café was a Mogadorian. This town is so small I rarely see someone I don’t recognize, and his book—Pittacus of Mytilene and the Athenian War—plus his constant stare, are no coincidence. The name “Pittacus” is one I’ve heard since childhood, since long before we made it to Santa Teresa.
My number: Seven. It’s my only refuge now, my greatest defense. As unfair as it might be, I’m separated from death by the three others who all must die before me. So long as the charm holds, which, I assume, is why I was left alone and not attacked right at the café table. But one thing is certain: if he is a Mogadorian, they know where I am and they could take me any time they choose and hold me until they kill Four through Six. I wish I knew what’s keeping them at bay and why I’m allowed to sleep in my bed again tonight. I know the charm ensures that we can’t be killed out of order, but perhaps there’s more to it than that.
“You and I, we’re a team now,” I say. Ella puts the finishing touches on her window drawing, curling her fingernails over the heads of a few cows to give them horns.
“You want to be a team with me?” she asks in a tone of disbelief.
“You bet,” I say, and hold out my pinky. “Let’s pinky-swear on it.”
She smiles widely and hooks her pinky around mine. I shake it once.
“There, that settles it,” I say.
We turn back to the window, and Ella wipes her picture away with the heel of her palm. “I don’t like it here.”
“I don’t like it here either, believe me. But don’t worry, we’ll both be out of here soon enough.”
“You think so? We’ll leave together?”
I turn and look at her. That wasn’t what I had meant at all, but without thinking twice I nod in agreement. I hope it isn’t something I’ll regret promising. “If you’re still here when I leave, then we’ll leave together. Deal?”
“Deal! And I won’t let them hurt you.”
“Who?” I ask.
“The bad men.”
I smile. “I would appreciate that very much.”
She leaves the window and walks to another, again pulling herself up to look out. As always, she moves like a ghost, making no sound. I still have no idea where she might have hidden today, but wherever it was, it was clearly a place no one would think to look. And then an idea occurs to me.
“Hey, Ella? I need your help,” I say. Ella drops from the window and looks at me expectantly. “I’m trying to find something here, but it’s hidden.”
“What is it?” she asks, lea
ning forward in excitement.
“It’s a chest. It’s wooden and looks very old, like you might expect to see on a pirate ship.”
“And it’s here?”
I nod. “It’s here somewhere, but I have no idea where. Somebody did a very good job of hiding it. You’re just about the most clever girl I know. I bet you can find it in no time.”
She beams, rapidly nodding her head. “I’ll find it for you, Marina! We’re a team!”
“That’s right,” I agree. “We are a team.”
Chapter Thirteen
SIX DRIVES OUR CHARCOAL-COLORED SUV, WHICH we saw for sale in a yard two miles down the road for fifteen hundred dollars, into town to buy groceries. While she’s gone, Sam and I spar together in the backyard. The three of us have spent a week training, and I’m amazed at how good Sam’s gotten in the short amount of time. Despite his small size, he’s a natural; and what he lacks in strength, he makes up for in technique, which is much better than my own.
At the end of each day as Six and I retreat to the corners of the living room or to our empty rooms, Sam stays up studying fighting techniques on the internet. What Six learned from Katarina and I learned from Henri is a method of combat that loosely resembles a blend of jujitsu, Tae Kwon Do, karate and Bojuka here on Earth, a system designed to be committed to muscle memory, including grappling, blocks, fluid body movements, joint manipulation and strikes to vital points of a person’s central nervous system. For Six and me, having the benefit of telekinesis, it’s a matter of sensing the subtlest of motions in a radius around us and then reacting to them. Sam, however, needs to keep his enemies in front of him.
While Six ends each session without a mark, Sam and I both finish with new scrapes and bruises. But despite them, Sam never loses passion or drive. Today is no different. He comes at me, chin tucked and eyes alert. He throws a right cross that I block, then a left side kick that I counter by sweeping his right leg out from under him, sending him crashing to the ground. He stands, then charges me again. Though he connects often, with my strength, his shots aren’t very effective. But sometimes I feign pain to boost his confidence.
Six gets home an hour later. She changes into shorts and a T-shirt and joins us. We drill for a while, slowly doing the same block-counterkick over and over until it becomes second nature. But while I take it somewhat easy against Sam, Six goes all out against me, thrusting me backwards with such force that the wind is knocked out of me. Sometimes I get irritated, but I can still tell I’m getting better. She’s no longer able to deflect my telekinesis with a casual flick of the wrist. Now she’s required to throw her whole body into it.
Sam takes a break and watches from the side with Bernie Kosar.
“You’re better than that, Johnny. Show me the good stuff already,” she says after she upends me when I threw a sloppy roundhouse kick.
I charge her, closing the gap between us in a tenth of a second. I throw a left hook but Six blocks it, taking hold of my bicep and using my momentum to toss me over her head. I brace myself for a painful landing, but she doesn’t let go of my arm, instead twisting me back over her shoulder so my feet hit the ground.
She wraps her arms around my arms; my back is smashed against her chest. She sticks her face against mine and playfully kisses me on the cheek. Before I can react she kicks the back of my knees and my butt hits the grass. My arms are swept out from under me and I’m flat on my back. Six easily pins me, and she’s so close I can count the hairs on her brow. Butterflies flood my stomach.
“Okay,” Sam finally interrupts. “I think you got him pretty good. You can let him up now.”
Six’s smile widens, and mine does, too. We stay that way for a second longer before she leans back and hefts me up by my shoulders.
“My turn with Six,” Sam says.
I take a deep breath, then shake my arms to rid them of their jitters.
“She’s all yours,” I say, making a beeline towards the house.
“John?” Six says just as I reach the back door.
I turn, trying to tamp down a strange fluttery sensation at the sight of her. “Yeah?”
“We’ve been in this house for a week now. I think it’s time to lose whatever sentimentality or fear you’ve been holding on to.”
For a second, after what just happened I think she’s talking about Sarah.
“The Chest,” she says.
“I know,” I say, and I enter the house, sliding the door behind me.
I go to my room and pace, taking deep breaths, trying to figure out what just happened out in the yard.
I go to the bathroom and splash cold water on my face. I stare into the mirror. Sarah would kill me if she caught me looking at Six like that. I tell myself again that I have nothing to worry about because Loriens love one person for life. If Sarah is my one love, then Six is simply a crush.
Back in my room I lie on my back, fold my hands across my stomach, and close my eyes. I take deep breaths, holding each one in for a five-count before exhaling out my nose.
Thirty minutes later I open the door and creep down the hall, hearing Sam and Six milling about in the living room. The only place I could find to hide my Chest in the house was in the utility closet, on top of the hot water heater. I struggle getting it out, making as little noise as possible. Then I tiptoe back to my room, gently closing and locking the door behind me.
Six is right. It’s time. No more waiting. I grab hold of the lock. It quickly warms, then squirms against the palm of my hand, taking on an almost liquid form, and snaps open. The inside glows brightly. It’s never done that before. I reach in and remove the coffee can containing Henri’s ashes and his letter, still in its sealed envelope. I close the lid and relock it. I know it’s stupid, but I feel like I’m somehow keeping Henri alive by not reading the letter he left behind. Once the Chest is open, and once the letter is read, he’ll have nothing left to tell me, nothing left to teach—and then he’ll become nothing more than a memory. I’m not ready for it yet.
I open the closet where my clothes sit in a pile, and I bury the coffee can and letter under them. Then I grab the Chest and leave the room, hovering in the hallway to listen to Sam and Six streaming a show online called Ancient Aliens. Sam is asking Six about all the alien theories he knows and Six quickly confirms or denies them based on the teachings of Katarina. Sam furiously scribbles answers on his legal pad, which then breeds more questions that Six patiently answers or shrugs her shoulders at. Sam eats it up, drawing parallels to what he already knows.
“The pyramids of Giza? They were built by the Loric?”
“Partly us, but mostly the Mogadorians.”
“What about the Great Wall of China?”
“Humans.”
“Roswell, New Mexico?”
“You know, I’ve asked Katarina that once and she had no idea. So I don’t know either.”
“Wait, how long have the Mogadorians been coming here?”
“Almost as long as we have,” she says.
“So, like, this war between you two, is it new?”
“Not necessarily. What I know is that both sides have traveled to Earth for thousands of years; sometimes we were here at the same time, and from what I understand, much of it was spent on friendly terms. But then something happened that ruined the relationship, and the Mogadorians left for a very long time. Beyond that I don’t know much, and I have no idea when they started coming back.”
I cross the living room and plop the Chest in the middle of the dining-room floor. Sam and Six glance up. Six grins, again giving me strange flutters. I smile back, but it feels insincere.
“I figure we might as well open this thing together.”
Sam begins rubbing his hands with a crazy look in his eyes.
“Jeez, Sam,” I say. “You look like you’re about to murder somebody.”
“Oh, come on,” he says. “You’ve been teasing me with this Chest for almost a month now and I’ve been patient and I’ve kept my mouth shut out of
respect for Henri and everything, but how often do I get to see the treasures from an alien planet? I just think about how the guys at NASA would die to be sitting where I am right now. You can’t blame me for being so into this.”
“Would you be mad if this whole time it’s been full of nothing but dirty laundry?”
“Alien dirty laundry?” Sam asks sarcastically.
I laugh, then reach down and grab hold of the lock. My hand instantly glows when touching the cold metal, and the lock again warms, shaking and twisting in my grip, protesting the ancient powers that keep it closed. When it clicks open I remove the lock, set it aside, and place my hand on the Chest’s top. Six and Sam both lean forward in anticipation.
I lift the lid. The Chest is yet again ablaze with light that hurts my eyes. The first thing I do is remove the velvet bag holding the seven orbs that make up Lorien’s solar system. I think of Henri and how we watched the light glow and pulsate at Lorien’s core, showing that the planet is still alive, albeit hibernating. I place the bag in Sam’s hand. All three of us peer down into the Chest. Something else is lit up.
“What is that glowing?” Six asks.
“No idea. It never did that before.”
She reaches down and plucks a rock from the bottom of the Chest. It’s a perfectly round crystal no bigger than a Ping-Pong ball, and when she touches it, the light brightens even more. And then it fades, and begins to slowly pulse. We watch the crystal, transfixed by the glow. Then, suddenly, Six lets it drop to the floor. The crystal ceases to pulse and resumes its steady glow. Sam reaches down to pick it up.
“Don’t!” Six yells.
He looks up, confused.
“Something doesn’t feel right about it,” she says.
“What do you mean?” I ask.
“It felt like pinpricks against my palm. When I grabbed hold of it I got a really bad feeling.”
“This stuff is my Inheritance,” I say. “Maybe I’m the only one allowed to touch it?”
I bend down and carefully pick up the glowing crystal. Within seconds it feels as if I’m holding a radioactive cactus; my stomach compresses and acid climbs up my throat, and I instantly toss the crystal onto a blanket. I swallow. “Maybe I’m doing it wrong.”
The Power of Six (I Am Number Four) Page 11
