“The repairs aren’t easy,” my dad continues. “Sandor’s work is impressive and I’ve—ah—been out of the game for awhile. Everything works like I remember, it’s all just much smaller. The Lectern might be too intricate for me to get fully operational. I’ve been able to make some repairs to the controls. Some of the booby traps should be operational as well. It’s not perfect, by any means, but it’s something.”
“I’m sure it’s great,” John says. “Anything that could improve our training will help. I’d like to get a team session together before we go to Flo—”
Nine flings open the workshop door with enough force to almost tear it loose from its hinges. He takes one big stride forward and then violently kicks a stack of junk, sending circuit boards and scrap metal flying in our direction. I start to shield my face, but John catches the temper-tantrum shrapnel with his telekinesis.
“What the hell?” John yells. “Calm down!”
Nine looks up, startled, like he didn’t even realize we were in here. “Sorry,” he mutters, then stomps over to John. He holds out a hideously swollen right hand. “Heal this.”
“Damn,” I say. “What happened to you?”
“I punched Five in the head,” Nine says matter-of-factly. “It didn’t go well.”
Well, that didn’t take long, I think. Nine’s been trying to get under Five’s skin since we walked in the door. I’m actually more than a little surprised it’s Nine in here needing the healing. That’s not how I would’ve imagined that fight going. I keep my mouth shut, letting John deal with his wounded attack dog. He takes Nine’s forearm, maybe with a little more force than necessary, and holds his hand out over Nine’s messed-up fist. But he doesn’t heal him.
“You’ve gotta chill out,” John says, locking eyes with Nine. “No punching our friends. No challenging them to rooftop fights. No bullshit.”
Nine stares John down and, for a second, I think he might take a swing at him too. He doesn’t. Instead, he slaps on a big grin, as if the whole thing was one big joke. “I’m like the shittiest welcoming committee ever, huh?”
“Back in Paradise, Sarah’s mom used to bake stuff for anyone new that moved into the neighborhood. Maybe you should have to bake some cookies every time you punch someone,” I suggest.
John laughs as he sets about healing Nine’s hand. “I love that idea, Sam.”
“I am not baking,” Nine growls, fixing me with a death stare.
My dad clears his throat. We all look over at him. Standing straight, his hands folded behind his back; it’s the same look I’m sure his students at the university used to get. “Nine, I was wondering if you might want to assist me in the Lecture Hall?”
“With what?”
“Your Cêpan built the equipment. I was hoping you might have some insight into how it works.”
Nine laughs with disbelief. “Yeah, uh, sorry, dude. I left the nerd stuff to him.”
“I see,” my dad replies, undeterred by Nine’s bluster. “In that case, perhaps we could figure out how it works as a team? Unless you’re too busy punching things.”
To my surprise, Nine actually considers this. I see the same wistful look on his face that I noticed on John’s face earlier and it occurs to me that they’re both thinking about their Cêpans. I realize then what my dad is doing, reaching out to the angry guy, trying to get him involved in a project, Afterschool Special style. It’s a total parent move, but I admire it.
“All right, yeah,” Nine says. “It’s my shit. I should know how it works. Lead the way.”
As Nine and my dad head into the Lecture Hall, John turns to me.
“Your dad’s a good guy,” he says. “We might have to make him an honorary Cêpan.”
“Thanks,” I reply, my smile brittle. A cold knot of dread forms in my stomach, because I know what happens to Cêpan around the Garde, what happens to adults. It’s a dark thought, I know, but I can’t suppress it. I’ve only just reunited with my dad––I don’t want to lose him. Without realizing it, I’ve started rubbing the scars on my wrists. John must intuit what I’m feeling because he puts a hand on my shoulder.
“Don’t worry, Sam,” he says. “We’re not going to lose anyone else.”
I hope he’s right.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
“SO WHEN ARE YOU GUYS GOING TO FLORIDA?” Sarah asks me casually, like it’s a vacation I’ve been planning.
I’m beat. It’s a good kind of tired, though—today was a productive day. No time spent running and hiding, no time wasted. We cataloged the contents of our Chests, Sam managed to print up some solid fake IDs, and I got some training time in the newly refurbished Lecture Hall.
“Two days from now, I hope,” I answer Sarah, dropping down to the floor to knock out a quick set of push-ups before bed. “I want to get everyone together in the Lecture Hall tomorrow, see how the team looks. I don’t expect much trouble recovering Five’s Chest, but you never know. It’ll be good to have everyone get some experience together. And then we’re off.”
Sarah’s gone quiet. I look up at her. She sits on the edge of the bed—our bed, still weird to even think that—her legs curled beneath her. She wears her pajamas—a V-neck gray T-shirt and a pair of my boxers. She’s watching me, but isn’t paying attention to a word I’m saying. I clear my throat and she blinks her eyes, flashing a lopsided smile. “Sorry, you distracted me with push-ups. What were we talking about?”
I sit down on the bed next to her, curling my fingers through her just-brushed hair. She smiles at me and suddenly I’m not so tired anymore. I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t thought about what could happen with us sharing a bed. Things have been hectic since we’ve been in Chicago, between Ella’s nightmares, Five’s call for help, and my own insomnia. Plus with everyone else sleeping in the next rooms, it hasn’t felt right.
“Florida,” I remind her.
“Oh yeah,” Sarah says. “You lived there for a while, didn’t you?”
“Yeah, a few months. Why?”
“Just trying to fill in some blanks. There’s still a lot I don’t know about you, John Smith.” She puts her hand on my cheek, lets her fingers run down my neck, and then along my shoulder. “Also, talking helps distract me from what I really want to do.”
My hand slips through her hair, down the back of her neck, and slowly dances across her spine. Sarah shivers a little and I slide closer, bending my head down towards hers. “You know, it seems pretty quiet tonight. I think everyone’s asleep.”
Right on cue, someone knocks on our door. Sarah’s eyes widen and she laughs, her face flushed. “Is horrible timing one of your Legacies?”
I open the door to find Six waiting, her coat on, like she’s just come in from outside. She glances over my shoulder at Sarah, then catches my exasperated look, and cracks a devilish smirk. “Oops,” she says, “interrupting?”
“It’s cool,” I say, playing it off. “What’s up?”
“You need to come to the roof and see this. BK’s going nuts.”
We pull on some clothes over our pajamas and then race down the hall after Six. I can hear BK before I’m even at the staircase leading to the roof. The sound he makes is like a cross between a wolf howling and an elephant blowing through its trunk—it’s loud and soulful, not a bad sound at all, but totally not of Earth.
“He won’t shut up,” Nine says, as soon as I emerge onto the roof. He rubs his temples, probably exhausted from using his telepathy to try calming BK.
He is still pretty much in beagle form, although his shape bulges and stretches erratically, like he might change into something else at any second. The antler from Eight’s Chest is clenched in his teeth, the sound not at all muffled by it. Flecks of drool drip down the antler and into BK’s fur. He stands up on his hind legs, his snout pointed at the moon, the oddly melodic noise flowing out of him. It looks like he’s in some kind of trance.
Eight teleports in from downstairs. “I’ve got Sam and Malcolm monitoring emergency channels,
just in case some nosy neighbor calls the cops,” he says. “I don’t know what’s gotten into him, John, but I think it’s got something to do with that antler.”
“No shit,” Six says. She snaps her fingers at BK. “Quiet, Bernie Kosar!”
BK doesn’t even seem to notice. I spot Marina over at the edge of the rooftop, using her night vision to keep an eye out for anyone that might spot us. Luckily, we’re high enough and Chicago is loud enough that I don’t think anyone will hear BK. Even so, I don’t want to take any chances.
“Did you try taking the antler from him?” I ask.
“Yeah,” Nine replies. “He didn’t like that. Growled at me and wouldn’t let go. I didn’t want to hurt him.”
“That doesn’t sound like BK,” Sarah says, her eyes widening with concern.
“Think this is some kind of Chimæra nightmare?” Six suggests.
I shake my head. All this weirdness with BK started when he got hold of that antler. It doesn’t seem like anything in our Chests should work against us. Even my bracelet, which hurt like hell initially, turned out to be helpful. There should be a rational explanation for this.
“Where is Ella?” Sarah asks. “Could this be like what’s happening with her, but for Chimæra?”
“Sleeping right through it,” Marina replies. “And this seems totally different.”
I reach out with my telepathy—Bernie Kosar, you need to be quiet now—but don’t get any response. Not seeing any other option but to try and wrestle the antler away from him, I step forward. Before I take a second step, Bernie drops onto all fours, letting go of the antler. His howling echoes in my ears for a few seconds after it’s over. I grab the antler with my telekinesis and pluck the slobber-covered thing out of the air. BK pants happily, looking around at everyone.
I make eye contact with Nine, both of us patched into BK telepathically. “It’s like he doesn’t know what just happened,” I say.
“Are you drunk, BK?” Nine asks, mystified.
BK bounds over to us, tail wagging. He’s got the same look of dog euphoria that he gets when we’ve just come back from a really satisfying run outside.
“You freaked us out,” I tell him. “You know you were up here making all kinds of noise, right?”
BK sits down at my feet. Sarah crouches down to scratch his ears.
“Can you ask him what he was doing?” Sarah says, looking up at me and Nine.
“Trying,” I reply, and Nine nods too, squinting at BK. “It’s a lot of images and feelings, you know? Not exactly words.”
“Telepathic barking,” Eight observes.
“Pretty much,” replies Nine.
“He says—” I pause, wanting to make sure I’m getting my interpretation of BK’s thoughts right. “He says he was calling the others.” I hold up the antler. “I guess that’s what this is for.”
“The others?” Marina asks. “You mean the Chimæra from Ella’s ship?”
“I guess so,” I reply, looking down at BK. Do you think they heard you?
BK rolls over onto his back, asking Sarah to rub his belly. I guess that’s the Chimæra equivalent of a shrug.
“He doesn’t know,” I say.
Nine shakes his head. “Well, crisis averted. I’m going to bed. Can we have a night without screaming or howling, please?”
Everyone else follows Nine downstairs, leaving just Sarah, BK and me. The night air is cool and, now that BK has stopped with the noise, it’s peaceful. I kneel down next to Sarah and put my arms around her. “Cold?”
“Not really,” she says, smiling. “But you can leave your arms. I see why you like it so much up here.”
We sit like that for a while, Sarah in my arms, both of us gazing out over the Chicago skyline. This is one of those perfect moments, the kind I need to save up and remember for when things get bleak.
And then, because maybe Sarah is right and bad timing is one of my Legacies, a dark shape detaches from the night sky and zooms towards us.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
“WHAT IS THAT?” SARAH CRIES.
“I don’t know,” I reply, springing to my feet and instinctively putting myself between Sarah and the black blur that’s descending on us. I fire up my Lumen, feeling some comfort in the fresh heat, ready for anything.
The dark form slows down. It’s definitely a person, I realize. The shape lands gracefully on the other side of the roof, its arms raised in a gesture of peace.
“Five.”
“Hey, guys,” Five says. “You’re up late. Did I scare you?”
“What do you think?” Sarah asks, gesturing at the fireballs still held in my hands. On edge, I finally let them dissipate. Five, wearing a black sweatshirt and pants, pulls down his hood so I can see his apologetic face.
“Shoot. Sorry. I didn’t think anyone would notice.”
I legitimately thought we were under attack for a second there, so my words come out harsher than I mean them to. “What the hell were you doing?”
“Just flying around. Sometimes I like to see how high I can go.”
I try to think of a response that won’t make me sound too bossy. I’m all for training, but flying around the city of Chicago seems like a pretty stupid idea. Hiding in plain sight is one thing; hiding while teenagers soar through the air around your base is another.
“Aren’t you worried someone might see you?” Sarah asks, taking the words right out of my mouth.
Five shakes his head. “No offense, Sarah, but you’d be surprised how little your people bother to look up. Anyway, it’s night and I’m in dark clothes. Trust me, guys, I’m cautious.”
“Still, there are cameras to think about, airplanes, who knows what else,” I say, trying not to sound like I’m lecturing.
Five sighs deeply and holds out his hands, like he’s sick of arguing. On the heels of his run-in with Nine earlier, I guess he doesn’t want to make any more trouble. “I’ll stop if you want me to,” he says. “You should know that I’m getting better at it, though. Covering more distance. In fact, I could probably just swoop down to the Everglades and pick up my Chest, be back before breakfast.”
I like this can-do attitude from Five; he suddenly doesn’t seem like the kind of guy we need to worry about passing up training for video games. Still, I shake my head. “We’ll go as a team, Five. We don’t need to do anything alone ever again.”
“Safety in numbers. You’re right.” Five yawns, stretching his arms out. “All right, I’m gonna turn in. The Lecture Hall first thing tomorrow, right?”
“Right.”
Once Five has marched downstairs, I turn to Sarah. She’s gazing up at the night sky, a tiny smile playing at her lips. I take her hand.
“What do you make of that?” I ask her.
She shrugs. “If you could fly like that, wouldn’t you?”
“Only if you could fly with me.”
Sarah rolls her eyes, elbowing me gently in the ribs. “Okay, cornball. Let’s get to bed before anything else crazy happens.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
“ARE YOU SURE YOU’RE UP FOR THIS?”
Ella nods her head as we walk towards the Lecture Hall together. She looks pale, dark circles under her wide eyes, like she’s just gotten over a horrible illness. She made it through last night without any nightmares or screaming fits, but she still looks drained.
“I can do it,” Ella says, straightening up.
“No one will think any less of you if you sit out,” I tell her.
“You don’t have to baby me,” she replies sharply. “I can train just as hard as the rest of you guys.”
I nod, dropping the argument. Maybe some physical activity will be good for Ella. At the very least, it should tire her out enough so that she’ll get some real rest.
We’re the last two to arrive in the Lecture Hall. Everyone stands in the middle of the room, dressed in workout clothes. Malcolm sits behind the Lectern’s console, examining the glowing buttons and levers through his glasses.
Six rolls her eyes and Five stifles a groan. I stand next to Eight, who flashes me a quick smile. I hope we end up on the same team.
“The rules are simple,” Nine says. He gestures to the opposite ends of the gym where he’s mounted a pair of makeshift flags made out of old Chicago Bulls T-shirts. “The first team to grab the other team’s flag and bring it back to their side is the winner. You’ve gotta be holding the flag at all times, no telekinesis. Also, no teleporting the flag back to your own side—ahem, that means you, Eight.”
Eight smirks. “No problem. I like a challenge.”
Piled on the floor are four Mogadorian rifles that I grabbed on our way out of Arkansas. Figured we might want them for just this kind of exercise. I notice Sam eyeing them hesitantly. “What are those for?” he asks.
“Each team is going to get two guns,” explains John, jumping in. “Malcolm has modified them so they’re nonlethal. Like stun guns. We always end up using their own guns against the Mogs in battle; I figured this would be good practice.”
“Also, we wanted to give you non-Garde a fighting chance,” says Nine, glancing at Sam and Sarah.
Malcolm strides over from the Lectern, his hands clasped behind his back. “I’ll be using the Lecture Hall’s systems to throw in some obstacles,” he says. “Remember, if anyone gets hurt, it’s okay to call a timeout so Marina or John can heal you.”
Nine sighs, annoyed. “There’re no timeouts in a real fight, so let’s try to keep wimping out to a minimum.”
John glances around, taking a less cavalier approach. “Remember, this is just practice. We’re not really trying to kill each other.”
John and Nine are captains, dividing us into two teams. John chooses Six with his first pick, and Nine selects Eight. Next, John takes Five and Nine picks Marina. John’s third pick is Bernie Kosar, and then Nine surprises everyone by choosing Sarah. I expected to go in the last round; there’s no shame in it when the rest of the players are packing superpowers. John picks me, probably wanting to divide the humans up evenly, which leaves Ella to join Nine’s team.
The Fall of Five (I Am Number Four) Page 16
