by W. J. May
Tristan’s eyes flashed to him sharply. “Don’t be a dick, Simon.”
Simon was about to retort or apologize, he hadn’t yet decided which, when Dr. Stein strode down the hall to meet them. He was a tall man, like most of the staff at Guilder, who had a head of tight black curls that stood in shocking contrast to the paleness of his face. He wore a white lab coat and a pair of spectacles that both dramatically aged him and dramatically magnified his eyes. Thus, it was impossible to tell if he was shocked to see them there, or if it was just his normal expression.
“Mr. Wardell, Mr. Kerrigan.” The glasses were placed in a pocket, and the look of surprise turned out to be real. “I wasn’t expecting you today…” His voice trailed off as he gave them both a once-over. “Although I can certainly see why you’ve come. Please, sit.” He gestured them both to an examination table and Tristan hopped on first.
With the excruciating damage done to his arm, he must have been counting down the hours until Stein got back to Guilder. He eyed him now with a look of extreme relief as the doctor took off the sling, slowly unwinding the bandages binding his arm.
Stein moved at a measured pace of professional indifference, until his face tightened in sudden alarm. “Tristan…” His voice dropped to half-volume as his fingers made a slow rotation, examining it from every angle with increasing distress. “What the hell happened?”
“Oh, you know…” Tristan winced, but flashed Simon a rueful grin, “the usual.”
“These ligaments have been torn straight through,” Stein gasped softly. “You’re not telling me that Jason did this to you, are you? I know his reputation, but even he would never—”
“Naw, it was just some of the guys,” Tristan dismissed casually. “Can you fix it?”
Simon stood off to the side, feeling incredibly guilty and silently marveling at his friend’s ability to lie. When he wasn’t careful, he could hear echoes of Tristan’s screams in the Oratory in his sleep. The blood was literally on his hands, and no matter how many times he’d tried to talk himself past it, the accompanying guilt was overwhelming. To hear Tristan try to downplay it now? It was surreal, to say the least.
“Some of the guys?” Stein asked sharply. He lifted his eyes, but when Tristan returned his gaze with an innocent stare, he returned to his work with a sigh. There was an unofficial ‘what happens in the sparring room stays in the sparring room,’ policy at Guilder. A policy that even the teachers and the medical staff had come to respect. “Well, of course I can fix it.”
His eyes drifted slightly out of focus as he ran his hands along Tristan’s arm. A second later, Tristan let out an actual gasp of relief. As Stein tilted up his face to remove the swelling and discoloration from his jaw, Tristan stretched it out in front of him, flexing it tentatively and rotating it this way and that.
“Feel better?” Stein asked as he pulled away.
“Good as new.” Tristan hopped off the table with a bright smile. “Thanks, Doc.”
Simon was up to bat. Without waiting to be asked, he sat down where Tristan had just left, staring up curiously at the doctor. For a second, he was almost tempted to try out his tatù. Stein would be touching his skin anyway; it would be very easy to copy the ink. He wasn’t sure if he was exactly allowed, but hey, what could the guy do to stop him?
But Jason’s falcon was still flying high through his veins, and he thought better of it at the last minute. Going out on an unsanctioned mission? Best to have a quick exit strategy.
“Well, you boys just went through the ringer, didn’t you?” Stein asked a bit sarcastically as he ran his hands along the edges of Simon’s face. A trail of blissful relief followed behind his fingers, as if he was spreading a magical balm. “And from what I’ve been told,” he finished and took a step back, “that wasn’t the only thing that happened to you when I was away.”
In an uncharacteristic show of support, he put a hand on Simon’s shoulder and helped him down off the table. Tristan stood silently in the corner, while Simon looked up in surprise. He had never seen the doctor’s face so serious.
“What happened in the Oratory was inexcusable. I’m very sorry that happened to you, Simon.” His voice was soft, full of deep regret. “An assault of that magnitude, I can’t begin to imagine how you must be feeling. I only wish I had been here to help you in the aftermath.” His forehead tightened with a frown. “It seems a very inopportune time for me to have been absent.”
Simon blinked quickly and dropped his eyes to the floor. The doctor had always struck him as clinically impassive when it came to the students. He hadn’t imagined that he actually cared.
“That’s alright. Dr. Stanton did fine.” A rather generous assessment, but why make the guy feel bad? Simon rushed to move the conversation along. “So, where were you anyway?”
Tristan cleared his throat sharply, and Stein looked down with a bit of a smile. Almost at once, Simon realized his mistake. Of course, the doctor had been away on PC business. Probably tending to an agent who couldn’t be moved. Classified location.
“Sorry,” he back-pedaled hastily, “it’s just…it’s good to have you back.”
“Yes, it is.” Tristan tossed his sling carelessly on the counter as he threw an arm around Simon’s shoulder and led them out. “No more vacations, Doc. We need you too much right here.”
“I’ll take it under advisement,” Stein replied with a smile. “In the meantime, I’m recommending the PC equip all prospective agents with full body armor. Not that I don’t enjoy these little visits of ours…”
* * *
“What did Stein mean back there?” Simon asked as he and Tristan raced through the English countryside in Tristan’s brand new Porsche. The car had been an instant source of silent resentment from Simon, but he had pushed past it in light of these new troubling questions. “About us being prospective PC agents.”
Tristan glanced over in surprise. “That’s what the recruitment letter we got was all about. It’s the whole reason we’re training with Jason. Surely you had to know that.”
“No, I knew that part of it, just…” Simon trailed off, gazing nervously out the window. “Do people like Dr. Stein make official recommendations? Do the professors? How seriously does this recruitment thing start now that we all have our tatùs? I mean, I’ve heard that a lot of times they take kids right out of school so they can enlist.”
Tristan’s face grew thoughtful as he considered it. “I don’t think that Stein makes an official recommendation. I know they talk to our professors, but most of their decision is going to be based on whatever Jason says in his final report. At least, that’s what the recruitment officer told me.”
Simon’s head whipped around in alarm. “You talked to a recruitment officer?”
The accusation cut sharply through the space between them, and Tristan seemed to be choosing his words carefully. “He came to watch one of my sessions. I got to talk to him for a minute afterwards.” His eyes flickered to Simon. “Don’t get all dark on me, Kerrigan. That ‘it can only be one of us’ thing was only from Jason to make us stop fighting. The PC hires multiple kids from every class. It’s not like we’re going to be competing for a slot. They take the most talented. The ones with skills, unique tatùs, and whatever else is on their list of requirements.”
Simon’s chest relaxed ever-so-slightly, but he pulled in a deep breath.
“Yeah…but we will be competing for the slot.” Tristan flashed him an inquisitive glance, and he clarified. “Top recruit. First pick in the class. Most promising new agent.”
He refused to believe even for a second that Tristan hadn’t thought about this. After all, he had the entire school on lock; he was no stranger to the idea.
But Tristan’s face lightened in honest surprise. “I don’t think it really works like that. You’re in or you’re out. That’s it.” Simon shot him a doubtful look, and he laughed. “Don’t get me wrong, Kerrigan, if you want to war it out for some kind of coveted position, you know wher
e you can find me. You also know exactly what will happen if you do.”
Simon’s face twisted with a sly smirk. “You’ll end up on your knees again, begging for mercy?”
The car slammed to a sudden stop, and Simon went flying into the windshield.
“We’re here,” Tristan said coldly, unbuckling his seatbelt as he climbed out of the car.
With a painful groan, Simon peeled himself off of the dashboard, popped his wrist back into alignment, and followed him out. Guess I deserved that.
He hadn’t even realized that their seemingly aimless driving through backcountry roads had narrowed into picturesque residential villages. The house they’d stopped in front of here looked like it could have been on a postcard. ‘Come visit Rockford, where everything is sunshine and smiles.’
Everything, apparently, except the people.
Before he and Tristan could take two steps up the long driveway, a pair of people burst out of the house. They were in the middle of such a heated argument that they didn’t even notice the two teenagers standing there.
“—don’t give a damn what they’re saying, Katie! It’s by sheer luck that they ended up leaving at all. We’re getting the hell out of this town. Now.”
It was only then that Simon realized they’d been loading up the back of a car. The trunk was open and it was already half-filled with everything from furniture to photo albums, to armfuls of clothing. Nothing was particularly organized, and nothing was actually packed.
A tearful woman flitted around behind the man who had shouted, hovering there like a furious shadow. Every time he put a bag into the car, she’d throw it right back out again. “And leave the place where Davey grew up? All those memories? All those firsts?” A flood of tears stained the top of her shirt, and her voice cut off with a sob. “You built him that treehouse in the backyard. Paul, we can’t just go!”
The man, Paul, turned around with a look of pale determination. When it became clear that she was in a world beyond help, he took her firmly by the arms. “Kate, we go before they come. That’s all there is to it. There was a rule, we broke it. They aren’t going to forget that. They aren’t going to forgive.”
She shook her head, unwilling to believe it was true. “But they said… they said it was all over. They would have told us if—”
“That’s what they do!” Paul yelled, throwing a lamp in the backseat. It shattered on impact. “They tell you that everything’s alright, and then one day, two innocent-looking teenagers show up at your house, and…”
His voice trailed off as he looked suddenly down the driveway, towards the street. Upon seeing the look of fear wash over his face, his wife was quick to follow his gaze. Her eyes locked upon Tristan and Simon, and her skin grew as pale as her husband’s.
“Uh…Simon?” Tristan said nervously.
Both boys took an instinctive step closer together.
“Yeah,” Simon breathed, “this might’ve been a bad idea
Chapter 6
The boys had training, but it was training done in a safely controlled environment within a school. They had an instructor, but as tough as Jason was he would never do anything that might put them at risk of serious harm. The boys were there to satisfy their curiosity, but the parents of the slain child believed they were fighting for their lives.
Needless to say, when the attack came…they were not ready.
Before he knew what was happening, Simon was on the ground. A sharp pain burned down the front of his chest, and the smell of burnt fabric filled his nostrils. A second later there was a soft cry, and Tristan landed on the ground beside him. He, at least, had been able to dodge the majority of the blast. He hadn’t had ten months of advanced reflexes for nothing. As another wave of what looked like fiery blue light shot towards them, he was able to pull Simon out of the way.
“Shit,” he panted, “a lightning bug. We’ve got to get out of here.”
A lightning bug?
The wife and husband yelled something back and forth to each other, but at the moment Simon was too pre-occupied with the burn to care.
“A lightning bug?” His stunned brain struggled to piece it together. “That was…lightning he shot at us?”
“Yeah, and he did it well.” Tristan’s eyes were alight with panic as he threw Simon’s arm over his shoulder and tried hoisting him to his feet. “Come on! We’ve got to get back to the car.”
“Wait!” Simon got to his feet, but refused to move another step. They had come all this way for a reason; he wasn’t going to give up so easily. “We’ve got to talk to them.”
“Talk to them?!” Tristan ducked down to avoid another blast. “They don’t want to talk, Simon! We’ve got to get the hell out of here!” He began pulling them towards the car, but Simon held firm.
“I said wait! There’s got to be something we can do!”
Without another word, he ripped his arm free and took off running towards the frightened couple. In hindsight, it probably wasn’t the most non-threatening approach, but his brain was still recovering from a bolt of lightning and he couldn’t think of anything else to do. He heard Tristan yell something behind him, but he kept his mind focused on the task at hand. When he got halfway up the drive, he lifted his hands innocently into the air. “Listen, we just want to talk—”
There was an electric sizzle, and he was on his back once more.
He had truly never felt anything like it. There was pain, sure. But it wasn’t the pain that was the problem. The second the electricity touched his skin, certain parts of his body simply stopped working. He couldn’t make himself talk. He couldn’t make himself stand. He just lay there, and hoped that the man doing all the shooting would come to realize that he wasn’t fighting back.
A dark shadow fell over his face, and he pried open his eyes to see the silhouette of the husband standing over him, a terrifying cloud of blue energy crackling at his fingertips.
“We didn’t come to fight you,” Simon tried to say. “We just wanted to talk.”
That’s what he tried to say.
All that ended up coming out was something that sounded a bit like, “Tinf u-alk.”
The man, Paul, smiled darkly as he lifted up his hand. “This is for my son,” he said in a trembling voice. “This is for Davey.”
Simon closed his eyes. Twice in one month. This had to be some sort of record.
But before the blow could fall, another shadow streaked across his face. One that didn’t slow down in the slightest before colliding with the other. With the mightiest effort, Simon was able to hoist himself up onto his elbows to see what was going on. It didn’t really jive with his peace talks…
“Get the hell away from him!” Tristan shouted. There was a tone in his voice Simon had never heard before, and a look on his face to match.
As fast as Paul was, Tristan was much faster. The bolt of lightning hit the railing behind him, shattering a flower vase, but he was already on the opposite side of the porch. Before the man had time to react, he was spinning through the air, landing a solid kick to his chest. Paul went stumbling backwards as Tristan landed in front of him with a menacing scowl. A soft sigh of relief escaped Simon’s lips as his friend positioned his body protectively in between him and the line of fire.
“He told you,” Tristan panted, “we just came here to—”
But at that moment, everything started to go very wrong.
Tristan’s voice cut off abruptly as the air around him began to shimmer. A second later, his feet floated a couple of inches off the ground. His hair came up around his face, as if it was blowing in a strong breeze, and his eyes widened in shock as he tried to pull in a breath.
Except that he couldn’t. Because it wasn’t the air that was shimmering.
He was trapped inside a column of water.
Simon pulled himself up in horror and watched as his friend thrashed about. No matter what he did, he was unable to free himself. And after just a few seconds, his face began to pale with the beg
innings of asphyxiation.
“Wait!” Simon cried, scrambling to his feet. He turned to the couple in supplication, feeling as though he, too, wasn’t able to breathe. “No one sent us! We just want to talk! We go to school at Guilder, and…”
He cast a stricken look behind him to where Tristan was floating, suspended in the air. The edges of his lips had begun to turn blue, and his frantic struggles had quieted to a dull, pressing force.
“LET HIM OUT!” Simon shouted, on the verge of a full panic attack.
The edges of his sight dimmed with tunnel-vision as Tristan’s hands stopped moving and his head tilted back to the sky. When Paul and Kate simply stood there, Simon launched himself towards the wall instead, kicking it and punching it with all his might.
Nothing worked. Not matter how hard he attacked it with his fists, it bounced back with a strength precisely strong enough to match his own. A second later, Tristan lost consciousness.
“PLEASE!” Simon yelled. “PLEASE let him out! He’s DROWNING!”
No one moved.
“PLEASE!”
When Simon thought back on it later, it seemed to be a critical turning point in his life. A moment where all those hypothetical questions boys liked to ask themselves came to a sudden head.
What would you do if the life of a friend was in danger? How far would you be willing to go? What would you be willing to sacrifice?
As it turned out…Simon Kerrigan had no limits.
With a scream of rage, he launched himself at Paul. Jason’s tatù kicked in, and the man went down before he could even raise his hands. Again and again Simon hit him. No limit to his fury. No limit to his strength. He wasn’t even sure it was about Tristan, by the end of it. There was simply a feeling inside of him that needed to be satisfied. A deep hunger that needed to be quenched.
It took him a full thirty seconds to realize that Paul had blacked out. Another ten seconds after that to realize that Kate had been trying with all her might to pry him off. Another five seconds after that to realize a sudden, startling truth.
