“Well, you might say I became obsessed with finding you. I kept in contact with her, and over the years I guess you’d say we became friends.”
“Did you . . . love her?”
“Not in that way, if that’s what you’re implying. But yes, I cared about her a great deal.”
“She trusted you.” She said it with a certainty that surprised him. It was a statement of fact, not a question. His cheeks warmed under her gaze.
“I guess she did. I did my best to be a good friend to her, to help her. But it wasn’t enough to keep her . . .”
“To keep her from killing herself?”
He sighed. “Yeah, from self-destructing. I tried so hard to find you, to bring you back to her. I knew it was the only thing that could heal her. Without you, she had no reason to get up in the morning. She held out hope for a long time, but I guess eventually she lost faith in me. Lost faith in ever seeing you again.”
“It’s not your fault.” Her voice was quiet, gentle.
“I just wish I could have found you while she was still alive.”
“I would have liked that, too.” When she smiled she looked just like her mom. “But you’ve found me now.”
He smiled in return. “I have. And I have to say, I’m still in shock. I keep expecting you to disappear the moment I turn my back. I don’t want to let you out of my sight.”
“Would it . . . I have a spare bedroom. It’s got its own bathroom and everything, so it’s totally private. Would you stay?”
He thought about it for a moment. “Well, I think we have a lot of talking to do tonight. And you’re going to need help with the cooking and stuff. So, yes, I’ll stay. At least for tonight.”
She talked until her voice was hoarse, filling him in on every detail of the past few days, stopping only to sip at her water. At one point she made a pot of coffee. She drank three cups of it, and he wondered how she wasn’t buzzing around on the ceiling. The caffeine from the single cup he had consumed was thundering through his body like stray voltage.
By the end of her strange tale, he had more questions than he did answers, and he wasn’t any closer to figuring out where the lost children were than he had been the day before. And yet he felt excited, almost euphoric.
Behind the vault doors of her mind lay the answers to everything—of that he was certain. He just needed to find the right combination: the one that would turn those tumblers and expose what hid within to the light of day.
CHAPTER THIRTY
His lungs were burning. Each exhale seared the inside of his throat before escaping in a puff of fear-vapor. He couldn’t hear anything above the thundering of his heart or his ragged breath, but he knew they were following. He could feel them closing in.
Days—or was it weeks?—of confinement had made him weak and tired. But he pressed forward, tripping over exposed roots and dodging away from the branches that tried to grab him with their sharp claws.
How far? How long until he was away? Until he was safe?
Jack didn’t know where he was or where he was going. But that didn’t matter; he went anyway. He had to.
He’d been dreaming. Again. Dreaming of the girl with the red hair. Dreaming of the blond boy in the stable. And was that boy a young version of the man he’d seen out the window? The man who had told him to hold on to himself? Jack thought so.
He was trying to hold on to the Jack that was. But it was so hard to do. So hard.
Their drugs and their words were tearing his mind apart.
Jack had to get to them, to the blond boy and the red-haired girl. He had to warn them, help them. They didn’t know what was coming. Although they sensed the devil riding in, they didn’t know how. They didn’t know the instrument of the world’s destruction. But Jack did.
His angels had told him everything. They were frantic for him to get away; he’d never seen them so panicked. They buzzed around him like a swarm of bees trying to protect their hive.
“If they find out what you are, Jack,” they kept telling him, “the White will be lost!”
“What? What am I?”
“They must not know, Jack!” was all they would say as they fluttered around him, faster and faster. His angels could not affect the physical world, but Jack understood that their swarm was creating a barrier around him. It was protecting him from detection, blinding the Priests to the truth of whatever he was. He understood something else, as well: his angels were getting tired. He wasn’t sure how much longer they could protect him. He had to get away. And he had to get to the red-haired girl.
She needed his help, but time was so short.
Too short, it’s too short!
He pushed the thought away. There was no giving up. He had to try.
Jack pushed harder, his legs trembling from exertion. There was an opening ahead of him, a vastness, a place where the trees surrendered. He didn’t know what lay beyond the forest, but if he could get there, maybe he would be safe.
“They’re close, Jack. They’re so close!” his angels called.
By the time he realized his mistake, it was too late to stop. And the Priests were there; they were upon him and his angels were wailing. His feet found the edge and he teetered over the sudden drop, feeling the emptiness reaching up to him from below.
He knew the blow was coming before he felt it.
Batter up!
He heard the whistle of the shovel as it moved in a perfect arc toward his skull. He could just make out the neat rows of farmland below him in the moonlight, laid out like a checkerboard.
Craaaaack!
And then he was flying. He turned and twisted like a dove. He saw the stars above him. Millions and millions of stars. Specks of glorious light that hid the promise of the end within their twinkling beauty. If he looked closely enough, would he be able to see them coming?
Those devil’s horsemen, trailing their carriages of fire?
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
“Noooooooooooo!” Sumner screamed as he watched the boy cartwheel out over the dark fields, arms spread as though he might fly. But he didn’t fly; he dropped. He dropped.
Sumner sat bolt upright in bed, wailing. It was that boy, Jack. He was certain of it. As certain as he was that it was not a dream. It was real.
Oh Jack. My fault. My fault!
His keening brought them running. The light flared on above his head and he shielded his eyes. He was in the spare bedroom of Ora and Lexy’s apartment in downtown Houston.
“What! What is it?” Ora shouted.
“Sumner? What’s wrong? Are you okay?” Lexy was grabbing at him. Only Phoenix stood in the doorway, dour and silent.
“It’s Jack! Oh shit, poor Jack. Poor Jack!” He rocked back and forth, tearing at his eyes in an attempt to rip the vision of Jack Barbetti’s last moments from his sight.
“Who?” Ora asked.
“Who’s Jack? Sumner, calm down and talk to us!” Lexy shouted.
“Shut the fuck up!” Phoenix hollered. He strode into the room and backhanded Sumner across the face. His hand was as hot as a poker straight out of the fire, and it was the heat rather than the shock of the impact that silenced him.
Why was his hand so hot?
Lexy’s eyes widened in panic and she jumped up, grabbed her brother by the shoulders, and pushed him out the door.
“Igloo, Phoenix! Think igloo!”
Sumner watched their retreat, perplexed. Why was the room so hot? There were beads of sweat breaking out on his forehead and dampening the back of his neck.
“Oh, shit!” Ora bounded out of the room after them, and Sumner managed to find his feet and follow.
At the doorway of the living room, he ran straight into a wall of heat. He staggered backward, hit the wall behind him, and slid down to the carpet. The air inside the living room was rippling in the same way it would abov
e the pavement on a hot summer day.
“What the hell?”
“Igloo!” Lexy screamed.
Phoenix was crouched in the middle of the room. His hands were fisted against his face, and he was snarling and roaring, spittle flying from his mouth. He looked like one of those demonic statue dogs from Ghostbusters.
“Holy shit.” Sumner’s heart had lodged itself in his throat. “Hang on, Zuul, while I find the Keymaster!”
They ignored him.
“Phoenix! The fireplace!” Ora yelled as she crawled toward him. Crawled, because the room was too hot to stand in.
Phoenix lifted his eyes and, for a moment, Sumner could have sworn they were the orange of a bonfire. Ora shrank back from his gaze, lifting an arm reflexively to shield her face. With sudden ferocity Phoenix stood upright, knocking Lexy to the floor. He turned to the fireplace, where a pile of logs was stacked into a pyramid.
Whoooooooosh!
The interior of the fireplace exploded, white-hot flames leaping forth as though the pits of hell had suddenly opened. The bricks surrounding the rim of the fireplace blew out like missiles. One caught Ora’s arm a glancing blow and she screamed. Another just missed Lexy’s head.
“Get water!” Ora yelled, scrambling toward the kitchen. Sumner rolled over onto his belly and crawled to the bathroom, away from the merciless heat that threatened to bake him like a human kebab.
There was a vase on the bathroom counter filled with wilting roses. Sumner dumped them on the floor and filled the vase from the tap in the tub. Dripping water, he ran back down the hall and staggered into the living room.
The water hit the flames licking the edge of the carpet. The fire roared up in angry response. As he watched, wide-eyed, the curtains caught fire. The flames hungrily chewed their way toward the ceiling.
Lexy screamed, and Ora dropped her pot of water and stared. Phoenix, too, was staring, his mouth open in shock.
“We have to get out!” Sumner screamed, pulling at Lexy’s arm. “Ora! Phoenix! We need to get the hell out of here! Now!”
Ora blinked, coming out of her daze. She grabbed Phoenix, who seemed paralyzed by the vision in front of him.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he was muttering.
“It’s okay, baby,” Ora said, pushing him away from the flames. “It’s okay, but we need to get out.”
They scrambled down the hallway, Sumner in the lead, and tore through the door into the blessedly cool corridor beyond.
“Close it!” Sumner shouted, and Lexy pulled the apartment door closed behind them.
“We need to get out of here before the fire department shows up!” Ora said.
They made a beeline for the exit stairs. Sumner pulled the fire alarm as they crowded into the stairwell, and they descended six stories surrounded by the echo of the alarm and the hollow thunder of their feet pounding the stairs. As they fled into the cool night, they could hear the wail of the fire trucks, still several blocks away but closing in.
They ran in the opposite direction.
“Dammit, Phoenix! You have to control yourself!” Lexy was standing over her brother, who was slumped forward on the white leather couch, cradling his head in his arms. They had made it the five miles to Phoenix’s gleaming white penthouse on foot. From this height they could see the inferno in the distance, spewing black smoke into the predawn air.
“Don’t you think I know that? Lay off me, Lexine. I couldn’t help it.” His voice was muffled against the white silk of his sleeve.
They were an interesting contrast, Sumner thought absently as he watched from the wing chair. They were opposites in every way: where one was light, the other was dark.
Phoenix was tall and muscular. Lexy was petite, no more than five feet tall. Phoenix had Aryan features; white-blond hair, pale skin, and pale eyes. Lexy’s skin was the color of caramel. She had dark curly hair, and eyes the color of coal. He would never have pegged them as siblings.
Of course, they would have had different mothers. The Amante system at its finest.
“You couldn’t help it?” Lexy was clearly furious. “My apartment is in ashes! Because you couldn’t control your temper. Again.”
“I said I was sorry!”
“We could have been killed! Do you even care about that?”
“Of course I do! I’m not a monster!”
“Oh no? Then what are you?” she spat.
“Lexy, that’s enough!” Ora jumped in, grabbing Lexy’s arm and pulling her away from her brother. She pushed her into a seat at the other end of the room, where Lexy sat fuming.
“Phoenix.” Ora sat beside him on the couch, stroking his arm. “What happened?”
“He lost his damn temper. That’s what happened!” Lexy shouted.
“Enough!” Ora said, before turning back to Phoenix. “Tell me what happened.”
He looked up, grabbing her hands. “You know I didn’t mean it, Ora. I’m so sorry.”
“I know you are, honey. It’s okay.” He crumpled into her, cheek to ample chest. Even Sumner, an outsider to this weird little group, could see his motivation wasn’t entirely pure. But instead of pushing him away, Ora wrapped her arms around him and rocked back and forth, murmuring words of comfort in his ear.
“Like that, is it?” Lexy pouted.
Ora shot her a look over the top of his pale head, and Lexy snorted and turned away.
“You know what? I’m really getting sick of the lot of you,” Sumner piped up. “Is anyone going to tell me what the hell is going on?”
No one responded. Lexy continued pouting, Ora continued comforting, and Phoenix continued nuzzling his face into Ora’s cleavage.
“Hello?” He could feel his temper rising. He’d been with them less than thirty-six hours, and already their narcissistic immaturity had driven him to the brink. He’d made a game-changing decision when he’d joined Ora for that plane ride to Houston. He had expected to meet up with people who had knowledge and resources, and some kind of plan. Instead, he’d thrown his life away to join the cast of Beverly Hills, 90210.
“That’s it! I’m out of here. You can continue your stupid little rebellion without me!” He was almost at the door when Ora’s voice stopped him.
“You ever see the movie Firestarter?”
He turned slowly. “The one with Drew Barrymore? Yeah.”
“Well, that’s what he is. A firestarter. If he gets mad, or upset . . . well, you saw.”
“Holy shit. Is that for real?” Even growing up at The Ranch, Sumner had never known anyone to have that kind of power.
Phoenix met Sumner’s eyes. “I’m really sorry. Most of the time I can control it, but . . .” He shrugged.
“So, what? You got mad because I had a bad dream, and burned down a building?”
“It wasn’t a dream, and you know it.”
“What are you talking about, Phoenix?” Ora asked.
“It wasn’t because he had a bad dream. I’m not that volatile, no matter what you think, Lexine.” He looked pointedly at his sister, who smirked in return.
“Then what was it?” Ora was stroking his arm, and it reminded Sumner of gentling an antsy horse. Another lesson learned at The Ranch.
“I saw what they did to that boy. To Jack. I saw what you saw, Sumner.”
Sumner sat back down. “You did?”
“Yeah. I mean, when I came into the room I could see it, like, replaying in your head. They killed him, right?”
“I think so.”
“Killed who?” Lexy asked.
“A little boy. He was trying to escape and . . .”
“Someone took a shovel to his head,” Sumner finished, and both Ora and Lexy winced.
“He fell off the cliff above the farm,” Phoenix said.
“No way.” Lexy was shaking her head. Phoenix turned on he
r.
“What do you mean, ‘no way’? I saw it! He saw it!” He jabbed a finger at Sumner.
“They wouldn’t do that.”
“Lexy . . .” Ora reached out to her.
“No! They wouldn’t do that. They wouldn’t kill a boy. I don’t believe it.”
“That’s because you’re a naïve little—”
“Phoenix!” Ora cut him off.
“Stop it!” Sumner yelled, and all of them turned to look at him, like kids in a classroom. Damn, they were young.
“Jack is . . . was . . . one of the latest kids to be kidnapped. He was still in The Hut, being reprogrammed or whatever you want to call it.”
“How do you know that? That he was kidnapped?” Lexy asked.
“Wow, you really are naïve. Or brainwashed. Where do you think all these kids have been coming from?” Sumner asked.
“I told you,” Phoenix said smugly.
“Oh, shut up!”
Phoenix opened his mouth to reply, but Sumner cut him off. “Enough! Both of you!” He turned to Lexy. “I know because for the past ten years, I’ve been in charge of finding them.”
She blinked at him. “What do you mean?”
“I run the public-school testing that finds these kids. The special ones. The ones I Fidele wants. I find them, and I tell I Fidele where they are.”
“Did you know that?” she turned to her brother.
“I suspected. I knew he worked at the Department of Education.”
“NCES, actually,” Sumner corrected.
“Look,” he went on, “there’s a lot you guys don’t know, being born at The Ranch. You get to come and go as you please, completing your assignments without anyone giving you a mind-wash first.
“You never went through what the Disciples did. You weren’t ripped from your homes. You didn’t have your memories of life before I Fidele scrubbed clean, and then at seventeen scrubbed clean again so they could send you out into the world on some mission you weren’t even aware of.
“You didn’t have to go through the hell of awakening! Of receiving a note and losing your implanted memories when I Fidele decided it was time to fuck with your head for the third time so they could bring you home!” At this point he was yelling, and all three were staring at him with wide eyes.
The Faithful Page 18
