GHOST CROWN: THE TRACKS TRILOGY - Book Two

by J. Gabriel Gates

  Because if the Order got their hands on the treasure, all would be lost.

  The Magician seemed to comprehend Chin’s thoughts, for he smiled and nodded.

  “Your willingness for self-sacrifice is very noble, Chin, but will it be enough?”

  “It will have to be,” Chin said simply. His fingers and toes were freezing, and his cheeks ached with the cold.

  “Are you so full of pride you think you can fight them alone?” There was a hint of tenderness, even compassion in the Magician’s voice.

  Chin thought of Raphael. There was so much he’d concealed from his students. At first, because they weren’t ready to hear the truth about Middleburg. Then, he was afraid they were too young to accept the part they must play in its destiny, and to bear the terrifying burden he had carried all these years. Ignorance, Chin knew, truly was bliss. Those who know the rules must be accountable when they break them. Those know about an impending tragedy are duty bound to try to avert it—even if their efforts may prove futile. Still, Raphael—and Zhai—were as important to Middleburg’s destiny as Chin was. More important, in fact. Perhaps it was time to put more responsibility on his pupils. Besides, the Magician was right. There was no way he could fight the Order on his own.

  “I will consider your words, teacher,” he said.

  “The nectar of wisdom is not always sweet,” the Magician declared. “But it is always nourishing.” And with a bow, he became a million fluttering snowflakes scattering on the wind.

  Chin trudged back across the field toward his house, his feet, his hands and his mind completely numb. Like a sleepwalker, he entered his home, climbed the steps to his little bedroom, undressed, and slipped into bed.

  Whatever the Order was using Zhai for, it was done for tonight, so Chin would rest. He would recover and prepare for what was to come. Perhaps it was time to tell Raphael the truth. He would, he decided. As soon as they got Zhai back, he would tell both of them everything. How strange it would be, after all these years, to have companions on this harrowing journey.

  He thought of Raphael’s request to be allowed to train the Banfield girl. Could it be that the All was recruiting more soldiers for the Army of Light? Or were they all just snowflakes in the wind, being blown and buffeted and finally melting to nothing when spring came at last?

  So many questions without answers—but as urgent as it was for Chin to reason through them, he was falling, plummeting fast, into the dark chasm of slumber, toward dreams of a mighty, black snake waiting and watching, ready to wrap all of Middleburg in its deadly, coiled embrace.

  

  Aimee was sitting on the couch, watching MTV and crunching down the last of her Lucky Charms when the doorbell rang. She was already so tense about her first training session with Raphael—not to mention the fact that she would have to sneak into the Flats to get to it—that she nearly spilled milk all over herself when the doorbell rang.

  Annoyed, she put her bowl and spoon in the sink and went to answer. It was probably one of Rick’s stupid friends, but he was downstairs working out with this music cranked up so loud he’d never hear the bell. As she pulled the door open, a frigid wind blasted her, slicing straight through her clothes and chilling her to the bone. Orias stood on the stoop, smiling at her.

  “Uh, hey,” she said. “My dad’s not here. He had a meeting in Topeka with a senator or something.”

  “I’m not here to see him,” Orias said. He stepped inside, shutting the door behind him.

  “Rick’s downstairs pumping iron, if you want to. . .” she began, but he was already shaking his head.

  “I’m not here to see him either,” he said softly, staring at her with those eyes of his. “I’m here to see you.”

  She didn’t know how to answer that, and she felt a vague panic, standing so close to him. She was oddly aware of the driving music blasting on Rick’s stereo and the floor beneath her vibrating with the beat.

  “Well,” she said at last, ending the silence. “I . . . have somewhere I need to be.”

  “I’ll give you a ride,” Orias said pleasantly. When she hesitated, he laughed. “You’d rather walk in the freezing cold than ride with me? Am I really that horrible?”

  Aimee shook her head. “You’re not horrible,” she said quietly. “I just don’t think—anyway,” she finished, “I could really use the exercise.”

  “Well . . . have a nice afternoon, then.” His eyes became veiled, as if he was suddenly self-conscious. As if he’s used to being refused, she thought, and again she felt bad for him, as she had when she heard his talk on career day. “I didn’t mean to intrude.”

  He started to leave, but Aimee stopped him. “Wait.”

  He turned back to her.

  “I guess you could give me a ride downtown,” she said, and his radiant smile gave her a warm rush of unexpected pleasure. She grabbed her purse and yelled down to Rick in the basement:

  “Hey! Rick!” The volume of the music suddenly decreased.

  “What?” he yelled back.

  “I’m going out with Orias!”

  Over the music, she heard his grunted, “Whatever.”

  As Aimee rode down the hill with Orias, she realized what a stroke of luck it was that he had dropped by. Rick thought Orias was beyond cool—and he was the only person who could get her out of the house without a full-scale interrogation from her brother.

  Orias stopped his Masaratti at the corner in front of the Dug Out, and she smiled and thanked him. As his car roared away, she feigned going into the coffee shop, then turned around, crossed the street, and hurried toward the Flats.

  

  It was all Aimee could do to keep from fidgeting and biting her nails as she waited, as Raphael had instructed, for her first kung fu lesson. She was in the backyard of his apartment building where no neighborhood gossips or stray Toppers could see her if they happened to pass by on the street. After a few minutes, she heard footsteps coming up the driveway and then Raphael came around the corner of the building.

  He wore one of those black jacket-shirt things with the weird buttons that kung fu guys always wore in movies, and baggy black pants, and he had tied a plain strip of black fabric around his head to keep his hair out of his face. On anyone else, she thought, that getup might look a little cheesy. On Raphael it looked perfect . . . right. Even sexy.

  “Hello, teacher!” Aimee flirted, and hurried in for a kiss, but Raphael stopped her, pressing a gentle finger to her lips.

  “None of that until after the lesson,” he said gently but firmly. He was smiling, but he seemed serious, too. “It’s important to stay focused. If you’re really going to come with me to look for your mom, this stuff might save your life one of these days.”

  “Fine,” Aimee teased. “But that doesn’t mean I can’t think about it.”

  He took his keys out of his pocket and went over to a set of peeling, half-rotted cellar doors that angled out from the foundation of the house. He unlocked the padlock and threw them open, then ushered Aimee inside.

  Giving him a skeptical glance, she looked down into the dimness that waited at the bottom of the crumbling concrete stairs, but Raphael reassured her with a smile.

  “It’s okay,” he said. “There’s nothing scary down there, I promise.”

  “Right,” Aimee replied dubiously, moving down the steps as bravely and quickly as she could. “Except spiders and rats.”

  “And cockroaches,” Raphael added. “Don’t forget them.”

  At the bottom of the steps, Aimee stopped while Raphael slipped past her and waded into the darkness. After a moment, there was a heavy click and an overhead bulb came on, along with several strings of Christmas lights.

  “Wow,” Aimee said, surprised. The basement was actually pretty cozy. There were a few old, worn rugs laid over the bare concrete floor, a couple of plush reclinin
g chairs in the corner, and a host of posters on the wall: Jimi Hendrix stood shoulder to shoulder with Bruce Lee and Dave Matthews. There were also a lopsided floor lamp, a stack of old water-stained books, and a dusty set of free weights. In one corner of the room, a rusty, potbellied furnace churned away, filling the place with nearly tropical warmth. The Christmas lights cast everything in an inviting glow, and Aimee felt comfortable immediately.

  “My buddy Joe has been the maintenance guy at our building for a few years now,” Raphael explained. “He used to hang out down here sometimes. He let me copy the key.”

  Aimee was ready to kick back in one of the easy chairs and relax—but Raphael was already getting down to business.

  “We always start with a bow,” he said. “Make a fist and press it against the palm of your hand, like this.” They bowed to each other. “Good. Now let’s begin with our opening stance.”

  Aimee studied Raphael’s posture as his knees bent and his hands went up in front of him in a defensive ready position. She tried to copy him.

  “Stay there,” Raphael said, and he walked over to her, put a hand on her shoulder, and gave her a little push. She stumbled a few steps back.

  “Hey,” she said, kidding but also mildly embarrassed.

  “Try it again,” he told her, and she again assumed the opening position. “Widen your legs, bend your knees more. Sink down. Good. Now tilt your pelvis forward.”

  Aimee felt a little thrill as Raphael put his hand on her hip and guided it into the correct position, but she tried not to smile.

  “Back straight, shoulders back. Get your hands out farther. Good. You want both hands to be straight up and down, like shark fins. These are going to protect your center line. That’s where all the most vital parts of your body are—your nose, jaw, eyes, solar plexus, stomach. With your hands up like this, it will be harder for your enemy to strike you in those spots.”

  In the slightly squatted position, Aimee’s legs were already beginning to ache and tremble. “It’s not very comfortable,” she pointed out.

  “No,” Raphael agreed. “Not at first. But your legs will get stronger. Plus,” he stepped over to her and pushed her again. This time, she barely moved. “It’s a much stronger position. This is called the horse stance.”

  Once she had the stance correct, Raphael showed her the first part of the form, a series of choreographed movements she was to practice every day in order to perfect the mechanics of her technique. She performed the movements along with Raphael, and they seemed simple enough at first—aside from the persistent trembling in her legs—but the second time they went through it, he made about a dozen corrections in her form. She felt a little discouraged, but he assured her it was normal.

  “It’s like learning to ride a bike,” he said. “If you don’t have the mechanics exactly right, you’re going to tip over. But once you have it down, it just feels right.”

  Once Aimee had written down the different parts of the form so she could practice it at home, three times a day as Raphael had instructed, he showed her a simple block—the Pak Sau—used to deflect straight punches.

  “Make sure your energy is going forward,” Raphael warned. “If it’s going to the side, you’ll over-extend and leave your centerline open.”

  Next, he showed her the Biu Sao block. To Aimee it looked like the salutes Nazis gave one another in one her history class videos.

  “It’s for blocking haymakers,” Raphael explained. “Ready?”

  Aimee nodded, a little frightened, but when Raphael threw a big, powerful punch toward her head, she surprised herself by blocking it.

  “Whoa. I did it!” she exclaimed, laughing.

  “You did,” Raphael agreed. “Nice work.”

  Next, he taught her the basic strike, a quick but powerful series of jabs that she was able to throw fast, one after the other. It felt almost as if she was paddle-wheeling her arms, but in reverse.

  “These punches don’t generate quite as much force as a haymaker,” Raphael explained. “But they can be thrown much faster. The power comes from the speed. You can deliver four or five punches this way in the time it takes for most people to punch once.”

  After he’d shown Aimee these basic moves, he made her drill them over and over and then put them together in combinations until her shirt was drenched with sweat and her legs were trembling so much she could hardly stand. But she didn’t complain. In fact, she felt amazing. For the first time in a while, she felt like she was really working toward something—something that would not only allow her to get her mom back, but would help her become a stronger person, too. Plus, it was fun.

  “You’re a natural,” Raphael said, and the pride showing in his smile made her heart swell with joy. Actually, she thought she was terrible; all the movements felt awkward and foreign to her, but when she watched Raphael performing the same techniques, she saw how they could be fluid, even graceful. Of course, she reminded herself, he had been doing it since he was about seven years old. Maybe if she worked hard enough she’d be good, too.

  Finally, Raphael had Aimee sit cross-legged on the floor with him.

  “Now I’m going to teach you to meditate,” he said. “This was the last thing Master Chin taught me, but I think it’s important for you to begin cultivating your use of Shen now. That way when you need it, it’ll be there.”

  “Shen,” Aimee repeated the strange word. “That’s what you blasted Oberon with, right?”

  Raphael nodded. Unbidden, the memory flashed before Aimee’s eyes: Raphael and the strange, black-winged form of Oberon doing battle on the top of the temple in that bizarre, ancient Middleburg. Just when it looked as if Oberon was undefeatable, Raphael had pointed a finger at him and some kind of magical power had lashed Oberon in the face, causing him to stumble backward and tumble off the temple summit. It still seemed too crazy to be real, like something out of some cool fantasy movie, except she’d seen it with her own eyes.

  “You’re going to teach me to use Shen?” she asked. It was still hard for her to believe Raphael had been able to do it. She couldn’t imagine herself shooting magical blasts at people.

  “I’m still learning about Shen,” Raphael admitted. “Master Chin is always vague when he talks about it, but it seems like it manifests differently in different people. The abilities it gives you might be different from the ones it gave me.”

  Yeah, Aimee thought. It’s not going to work for me, guaranteed.

  But she followed Raphael’s instructions, lying on a mat on the floor, closing her eyes, slowing her breathing, and imagining a heavenly illumination filling her as she silently chanted the words he gave her.

  Fill me, oh light.

  And when Raphael finally told her to open her eyes, she did feel a little different. There was a slight tingle throughout her body, and she felt calmer, more centered, more balanced. More than that, she felt satisfied too, as if a thirst she didn’t even know she had was now quenched.

  “So,” Raphael said, finally breaking his kung fu master demeanor and smiling at her. “Do the form three times, and meditate once, every day until our next class. Any questions?”

  “No, Master. You’re a very thorough and honorable master,” she said with playful sarcasm.

  Raphael laughed, also playful. “You don’t have to call me master,” he said. “Sifu will be fine.”

  And Aimee decided she had kept her hands off him long enough. “Thank you, Sifu,” she said, and crawled across the floor and kissed him.

  It was only after she got home later that she realized she’d forgotten to tell Raphael about getting a ride with Orias. She’d meant to—she didn’t want to keep any secrets from him. But, she told herself, it was no big deal. There was nothing wrong with it, and being with Raphael all afternoon had felt so right.

  Chapter Twenty

  Chin was sweeping the floor of his kwoon o
n Sunday afternoon when Raphael burst in, fifteen minutes early for his lesson.

  “Sifu,” he said, bowing to Chin as he entered the barn. “I—are you okay? What happened to your face?”

  “Long story,” Chin said. He tried to smile but it hurt, so he settled for a wink instead. It was easier, since his eye was swollen almost shut anyway.

  “I need to talk to you.” Raphael told him.

  Chin was surprised; he was about to say the same thing to Raphael. Silently, he pulled the beanbags over to the wood stove and they sat down.

  “It’s Zhai,” Raph began. “Something’s wrong with him—I mean, more than usual.” His attempt at humor fell flat. “Last night he almost killed a little Flats girl.”

  “But you saved her.” A statement of fact, not a question.

  “Nass did. He was in the right place at the right time. He just knew where to be.”

  “Ah, yes—Ignacio, your spirited second. He will serve you well,” said Chin.

  “Last night was the second time Zhai has attacked us—unprovoked.” Raphael’s indignation grew with every word. “If anything, we should be going after him. It’s his father and Jack Banfield who are evicting all the families in the Flats—block by block—and digging holes under all the buildings.”

  “As I suspected. They’re looking for the treasure.”

  “You know about it!” Raphael exclaimed.

  “Of course,” Chin said. “But how do you know about it?”

  “Aimee. Her new history teacher has an old scroll that tells all about it.”

  Chin leaned forward, the beanbag chair scrunching under his shifting weight. “You are sure about this?”

  “Aimee saw it.”

  Chin leaned back in the chair again. “Aimee’s teacher must be warned,” he murmured. “She is in grave danger. If the original scroll still exists, they’ll stop at nothing to possess it.”