Live and Let Psi

by D. R. Rosensteel

  I spun in the direction of the voice and saw a woman gazing out from behind a dying maple at the edge of the cemetery. Her head was covered in a blue bonnet, and she wore a blue denim dress. Slowly, she stepped out from behind the tree. Walking like an old injury had stiffened her joints, she held her arms bent in front of her, fingers curled like claws. She wrung her hands, raised them to her face, and drew circles around her lips with both forefingers. Her eyes had a far-off look. She swayed back and forth as though she heard some compelling music in the distance.

  “Who is watching?” I asked, taking a step back. I reached for Mason’s arm.

  “The evil ones,” the lady in blue said. “They come from the gate. I tried to keep him safe. Robert took him.”

  “Who?” I asked as a slight shudder went down my back. Even in the daylight, a woman in blue was enough to send shivers through me after Mason’s stupid stories. “Who did he take?”

  “He took…” The words came out as a whisper, then the woman balled up her fists as if she was in excruciating pain, turned her face to the sky, and wailed, “He took my boy-y!”

  Goose bumps popped up over every inch of my body. I threw my arms around Mason and squeezed, burying my face against him. I had no idea why I was so scared, but that wail did me in.

  Then the woman became unnaturally calm and took a step toward us. She moved with grace, as though her joints had suddenly healed.

  “Demons came from the gate,” she whispered. “Robert took my boy.” A hopeful expression distorted her face. “The Maven will bring him back to me. She promised.”

  “Who is the Maven?” Mason asked, holding me tightly. “Is her name Ruth?”

  “No,” the woman said sadly. “Ruth is below.”

  Mason paled. “What was Ruth’s last name?”

  The woman opened her mouth to speak but then stopped. Her eyes widened. She quickly cocked her head toward the woods behind her, and whispered hoarsely, “They’re coming! You must leave at once!”

  “What was Ruth’s last name?” Mason asked again. Just then, the sound of dogs barking in the distance floated through the trees.

  “Please leave,” the woman said, snapping her head toward the sound. “I can’t stop them. They’ll rend you!”

  A long, low howl ripped the air, and the barking began again, closer this time. Snarling echoed around the woods. The woman became very agitated, rubbing her hands against her cheeks. “Please go. Please go. They’re coming. Please go.”

  “What was Ruth’s last name?” Mason asked more forcefully.

  The woman’s face changed, and a throaty cackle burst from her lips. “Go now! They’ll drag you down!”

  “I’ll be back,” Mason said. He grabbed my hand and started pulling me across the cemetery. I turned back to ask the woman if she would be safe, but she was gone.

  “Mason, what if the dogs get her?”

  Loud baying resonated from the trees as four gigantic, mangy animals burst into the cemetery at a dead run, headed right for us.

  “I don’t think that’ll be a problem,” Mason yelled. “Let’s get out of here!”

  Chapter Ten

  Mason the Wounded Warrior

  Mason pulled me along, practically dragging me through the graveyard at a dead run. Behind us, the dogs snarled like they were rabid.

  “When we get to the big oak,” Mason said, “you climb up. I’ll handle these rejects from an Alpo commercial.”

  “I can stop them,” I said as we reached the tree.

  “No,” Mason snapped. “You’re just a girl. Remember that. Climb up!”

  Before I could say, “I’m trained for this,” Mason put his cast under my butt and flung me like a ragdoll at the lowest branches. I caught one and pulled myself up. Mason sprang up, grabbing a branch with his good hand. Just as I reached out to help him up, he jerked and the branch snapped under his weight. He dropped lightly to the ground, branch in hand, and spun to face the dogs, wielding the broken limb like a leafy sword.

  The dogs were almost on him when he swung the branch around his head, bellowing like a charging bull. He stomped the ground, and all four animals yelped, piling up on each other as they stopped short, just out of reach of Mason’s weapon.

  “Get out of here!” Mason yelled, stepping toward the ratty mongrels.

  The animals were huge, taller than a Great Dane, their brown and grey fur matted and full of mange. Wolfhounds, bred for hunting. Their heads were enormous, their bodies long and powerfully built, and their tails curved like cutlasses. The lead dog lowered its brutish head, bared bone-white fangs, and growled, deep and threatening. Another, bigger than the others and coal black, threw back its head and howled like a wolf.

  “Mason, be careful!”

  He glanced up at me then back to the lead dog.

  “I know what you’re thinking,” he said, pointing the branch at the dog like six-gun. “Did he fire six shots, or only five? Well, to tell you the truth, in all this excitement I kinda lost track myself. So, you’ve gotta ask yourself one question. Do I feel lucky? Well… Do ya, punk?”

  Lord help me. Did I say stupid things like that when I was in battle?

  The dog snarled and crouched, its muscles tensing. It lunged for Mason’s throat, and I screamed. Mason swung his club with a powerful sidearm blow that cracked against the beast’s jaw, knocking it backward. Teeth and leaves flew through the air. The massive mutt landed on the ground with a yelp, pulled itself to its feet, and took off across the cemetery at a dead run.

  “That worked well,” Mason said, gazing down at his oak branch.

  Another beast lunged. It grabbed the branch with its teeth, snarling deep in its throat. Mason pulled at his club, but the monster wouldn’t let loose. He kicked the demon dog and it grunted, but tightened its death grip on the club. While Mason struggled to free his weapon, the biggest dog went for his throat. I sucked in my breath. Before I could drop down from the tree, Mason smashed his cast against the massive animal’s head. It yelped, its eyes flashed white, and then it fell to the ground, unconscious. With a savage scream, Mason ripped his oak club from the other beast’s jaws and swung a devastating blow. The animal ducked, backpedaled, and shot across the cemetery, defeated. Yelps echoed through the Livermore Burial Grounds.

  I dropped from the tree, shaking. Relief that Mason was okay quickly gave way to total annoyance that he had gone all male-superiority on me. His ego could have gotten him mauled.

  Mason rushed over to me, panting, his face bright red. “Are you okay?”

  “Probably not,” I said, putting my hands on my hips. “After all, I’m just a girl.”

  Mason raised an eyebrow. “What are you talking about?”

  “You wouldn’t let me fight the demon dogs. You said I’m just a girl. What century do you think we’re in?”

  Mason laughed and shook his head. “Kathryn was right. You are your own worst enemy. She told me I’d have to help keep your identity a secret, because you aren’t too good at it.”

  “Kathryn? What does Kathryn have to do with you going all caveman on me?”

  Mason took my hand. “Rinnie, you’re unmasked. You have to remember to be just a girl. A normal girl. I couldn’t let you cut loose as a Psi Fighter on those dogs. Look, we both know you could have annihilated them without breathing hard, but if someone was watching us, like the wacky woman in blue said, they wouldn’t have seen just a girl. They’d have seen an unmasked Psi Fighter. I couldn’t let that happen.”

  My face heated. Mason was looking out for me, just like Kathryn and Bobby. That was so sweet. “You risked your life to protect my secret? But you could have been killed.”

  “It’s the caveman in me,” Mason said. “Now let’s get out of here before those dogs change their minds about being scared.”

  Mason was quiet on the drive home. He had to be disappointed that we were no closer to finding his mother’s grave, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that we had learned something important.

 
; “You okay?” I asked, unsure whether breaking the silence was a good thing.

  “I’m good,” he said without conviction. “You?”

  “Still a little weirded out by the dogs. And the mausoleum for little girls. That put me over the edge.” I squirmed a little in my seat. “What did the Blue Lady mean about the demons coming from the gate? Did she mean one of the seven gates of Hades?”

  Mason chuckled. “Maybe she really was a witch. One thing for sure, she had some serious mental issues. I guess being drowned would do that to a person.” Then he got quiet. “I wish I knew what she meant by ‘Ruth is below.’”

  I thought about it for only a second. “She said they took her boy. I don’t know how much Kathryn told you about my past, but I was kidnapped ten years ago, along with a bunch of other children. This sounds like the work of the Knights. You saw them. They look like demons. Is it possible that she was one of the victims? Maybe Ruth is her child.”

  “No,” Mason said. “Ruth is my mother.”

  “There are no coincidences,” I said. “Nicolaitan sent you to find your mother’s grave for a reason. Knowing Nicolaitan, it wasn’t to improve your quality of life. He’s angry because he couldn’t kill you, so whatever is in your mother’s grave must be nastier than death.”

  “Rinnie, this might sound weird, but he gave me hope. If we find her grave and she’s not in it, I might get my mom back.”

  I thought about my birth parents, ripped from my life by Nicolaitan when I was six years old. I would do anything to have them back, but… “Nicolaitan doesn’t do hope. He loves despair and hatred and yuck. He asked you to join him, and you refused.”

  “I’ll never be like him,” Mason whispered.

  “That’s my point. Maybe there is something about your mother’s grave that he thinks will bring you over to the dark side. If he proves that your mother really is dead, maybe the despair will drive you to join him. He knows how angry you used to be.”

  “Still am,” Mason corrected. “If I find out my mom is really dead, it wouldn’t make me want to join him. It would make me want to hunt him down and kill him. When he was trying to read my mind, I saw things. He knows I want him punished for what he did to my mother. He knows that somebody changed me. I think he’s afraid of me, Rinnie.”

  “Then there is only one other reason he would send you to Livermore,” I said. “He was hoping that the Psi Fighter who changed your heart would come with you. It had nothing to do with the truth about your mom. It was a trap. And I fell right into it. Oh, Mason, this is awful.”

  Mason touched my arm. “There was no Psi Fighter in the cemetery with me today. Just a girl. All they saw was a girl. You’re safe.”

  “No. I’m not. You don’t get it. Now I know why that cemetery frightened me so much.”

  “Why?”

  “As soon as I walked into it, I felt hunted.”

  “Maybe you are,” Mason said quietly. “I didn’t want to tell you, but Nicolaitan was trying to find you in my head.”

  My mouth dropped open. “That’s kind of important, don’t you think?”

  Mason shrugged. “But I don’t know why.”

  “I do. Nicolaitan wants to turn me into a Knight. I have to find your mom. She can lead the Psi Fighters to him so they can capture him. That’s the only way I’ll ever be safe.”

  Chapter Eleven

  The Downward Spiral

  Phobos shrank under Nicolaitan’s oppressive touch. As a young Knight, he had trained under Nicolaitan for years, but still found the man unsettling.

  “Not to worry, my boy,” Nicolaitan said. “I have given you an impossible task. Those are the most worthwhile, don’t you agree? The Morgan girl is as unobvious as it is possible to be, and finding her has been a daunting ordeal. But Psi Fighters all have one weakness. Harm people, and they will run to you like rats to strychnine. Cause pain to your schoolmates, and she will show herself. You must simply hurt, watch, and wait. Your only reason for living—and I mean that in the most literal sense—is to find the identity of the Morgan girl. Scallion failed to bring her to me when he had the chance. But I have faith in you, my boy. I am hopeful that you won’t have to suffer the way he will.”

  Phobos nodded. He didn’t want to find the Morgan girl, especially if she was his classmate. One betrayal was enough. Maybe the tidbit of information he had gathered at school would be sufficient to change Nicolaitan’s mind. “In the meanwhile,” Phobos said, “you should know that the Whisperers tell of a Protector who will save the city from the robberies. Scallion’s little scheme is tarnishing our good name.”

  Nicolaitan laughed. “When the time comes, Scallion will be properly rewarded. Now, how is your work with my favorite test subject coming along?”

  “Art Rubric’s reliance on Psychedone 10 is complete.”

  “And your control over him?”

  “He is beginning to show resistance.”

  Nicolaitan pursed what little undecayed lip he had left. “I can only assume, then, that you plan to use extreme measures when the time comes. Until then, we must continue to set traps for the Morgan girl. Tell me, my boy, are you opposed to killing a teacher?”

  Down, down, down.

  The spiral had begun.

  Chapter Twelve

  Christmas Past

  Next morning at school, I was well-rested and in a very good mood. Kathryn and I were walking toward algebra, not normally my favorite class, but today I was ready for anything.

  “Tell me all about your trip to the graveyard last night,” Kathryn said as she skipped along beside me.

  “I just did,” I said. “What were you up to last night that you didn’t hear a word I said?”

  “Heard it all, want to hear it again. Especially the part about the Cujo wannabes. Mason went all chivalrous on you. Do I detect romance in the air?”

  “No, Kathryn, you do not. You know I’m not ready for a relationship. Not after Egon.”

  “Delusional girl. Egon was not a relationship. He was a wart. Mason is a relationship. I know you, Rinnie. You’re worried that Mason will pull an Egon on you. He’ll take his ball and go home if you don’t give him all your attention.”

  “Exactly.”

  “Except he won’t.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Because I do. Oh, oh, new janitor alert at twelve o’clock.”

  “New janitor?” I said, happy for the subject change. “What happened to the old one?”

  A large man with a mass of black hair slicked into a huge pompadour carried a broom down the middle of the hall.

  “It appears that Elvis is still in the building.” Kathryn giggled under her breath.

  I started to chuckle, but my eyes nearly popped out of my head when the new janitor got closer. It took all my self-control to keep from screaming. Underneath that ridiculous wig, behind those lightning bolt aviators, Andy was disguised and invading my school.

  He and his broom rocked toward us, quietly singing “Mean Woman Blues.” Our eyes met as we passed in the hall, but neither one of us said anything. He smiled at Kathryn then started singing “All Shook Up.” He was doing it to annoy me, and it worked. Boy, was he in for it later at practice.

  Ignoring Andy, I followed Kathryn into algebra class, the domain of Dr. Captious, an irritating little math teacher who had recently taken up the practice of making unsuspecting students get in front of his class to teach the lesson of the day. He said it would “enhance our study practices,” because we never knew when we might have to “spill our stuff.” Yeah, right.

  Not long ago, I learned that he had a side job as an undercover informant working with the police to stop drug trafficking. I also learned that his life was in danger because of it. He told me he had upset some very powerful people when he rescued a little girl from a kidnapper.

  Dr. Captious smiled slyly at me as we took our seats. I didn’t know what to say. Teachers aren’t supposed to have cool secrets. They’re supposed to be boring and mundane.r />
  Kathryn, on the other hand, wasn’t remotely at a loss for words. “Hey, Dr. C, beautiful day in the neighborhood!”

  “That it is, Miss Hollisburg,” Cappy replied. “Today is a day like no other. I have the most amazing pop quiz in store for you.”

  “We have a pop quiz every day, Doc,” Kathryn said.

  “But today,” Dr. Captious said, bouncing up and down on his toes, “I will present a quiz of a different color.”

  Dr. Captious seemed very relaxed for someone who thought he was a marked man. Kathryn, of course, knew all about Dr. Captious’s undercover exploits and the threat to his life, because we talked about everything. But Dr. Captious didn’t know that she knew. In fact, he knew nothing about either of our secret lives—mine as a Psi Fighter, or Kathryn’s as a newly appointed Whisperer.

  Just as the late bell rang, Mason entered the classroom. He strolled to the front of the room, did a fist-bump with Dr. Captious, and walked past me to his seat at the back. On his way by, he smiled and gave me a gentle noogie. His way of being annoyingly sweet.

  “Class, prepare to open your minds,” Dr. Captious said as he went to the board and wrote.

  Roses misled,

  Violence withdrawn.

  His mentor’s dead,

  The Danse will go on.

  Kathryn and I glanced quickly at each other but said nothing. Then Kathryn’s hand shot into the air.

  “Miss Hollisburg?” Dr. Captious said.

  “Two questions. First, this would be more appropriate for a poetry class. Second, dance is spelled with a C.”

  Dr. Captious spread his arms wide then brought his fingertips slowly together. “Neither of those was a question. However this riddle poses one. Who sees it?”

  “What does ‘Roses misled’ mean?” Mason asked.

  Dr. Captious immediately produced a long-stemmed rose from his desk. He brought it close to his nose, inhaled deeply, and sneezed, filling the air with petals. “Excellent question, Mr. Draudimon. One can only suppose, since this rose showed up with the riddle attached, that it must be for the purpose of misleading me. Next question?”