Guardian Angel (12 page)

I delicately suggested he not use Terry as a point of reference.

James had made remarkable progress in combat technique ever since Terry started training him back in Walnut Lane, but he was always wanting more. James’s parents were both Guardian Knights, and James had scores to settle with the Angels for what happened that night in New Haven. I understood that part, and though I didn’t share his dedication to the Guardian cause, I sympathized with his impatience. James, who was finally nearing the common age range for developing psionic powers, had been itching for his first all summer long. He believed that he would become a pyroid like his father, hopefully before his twentieth birthday, and more hopefully before the next sunset. Unfortunately, psionic powers develop at their own pace with no regard to people’s needs or desires. It wasn’t all that uncommon for people to come into their powers well into middle age.

With little else to do, we all ended up training longer than we usually did on our days on the road. As evening crept upon us, Rachael popped in to say hello, and later Walter and Daniel joined us for a short workout. Several other Wood-claw residents came too, including Ms. Isabel “Tigress” Ferris. As Head of Security, she was honor-bound to accept Terry’s offer for a few non-psionic rounds on the mat. I was impressed with Tigress’s moves, but Terry remained undefeated.

Alia and I returned to our apartment a little earlier than the others to wash up and start preparing dinner. I had invited Candace to eat with us that evening, but shortly before she was expected back at Wood-claw, I got a call from Mrs. Harding asking Terry and me to come up to her place for an “update,” as she put it. Leaving Alia in charge of the kitchen, I returned to the dojo and told Terry.

“That was quick,” remarked Terry. “Let’s go see what she has for us.”

“You go, Terry,” I said. “I want to–”

“–eat with Candace,” Terry finished for me nastily. “But Harding invited you, too, didn’t she?”

“Yeah,” I admitted with a sigh.

“Then you’re coming,” Terry informed me.

“Don’t worry, Adrian,” said Ed Regis, who had been listening in. “It’s only been one day, so whatever Mrs. Harding has to say to you, I’m sure it’ll be quick.”

“Not if my luck holds,” I muttered.

Dragging my feet a little, I accompanied Terry up the elevator.

Mrs. Harding’s apartment made up half of the seventh floor, where she lived with her extended family plus one addition: a Labrador retriever named Puff, as in the magic dragon, I guessed.

Puff was still a puppy, only six months old, but already heavy enough to make me stagger a little when he pounced on me in the living room. I gingerly patted his head as he slobbered onto my shirt, tail a blur. I liked dogs, but I preferred them smaller, and I was relieved when one of Mrs. Harding’s grandchildren took Puff into another room.

Then, just as I had feared, Mrs. Harding invited Terry and me to stay for dinner.

I answered for the both of us, saying with a smile, “We’d love to, Mrs. Harding.” It wasn’t like I could have refused her invitation, anyway.

Mrs. Harding’s daughter was still cooking, so while we waited, Terry and I sat with Mrs. Harding at her coffee table.

“I have been in contact with several faction leaders today,” Mrs. Harding informed us. “They are grateful for your information, and they will pass it along to the Guardian Council.”

Mrs. Harding wasn’t referring to the Council that once ruled the Guardians from New Haven – they were either dead or turned into Angels now. The new Guardian Council, formed after the fall of New Haven, commanded what remained of the unified Guardians. But very little remained, so the Guardians allied themselves with independent factions like Wood-claw as much as possible for trading information, gathering resources and occasionally carrying out joint operations.

“You didn’t talk to the Council yourself?” I asked.

“I don’t often speak with the Council,” explained Mrs. Harding. “We usually deal directly with the Resistance, since they are closer.”

“Then what of the Resistance?” asked Terry.

“Patience, Teresa dear,” said Mrs. Harding. “I have only initiated the contact process with them today. It could take several days to speak with one of their representatives. When it comes to secrecy, they are even more cautious than I am.”

Terry frowned. “You do remember my request?”

Mrs. Harding nodded. “I will pass it along at the appropriate time, dear.”

Mrs. Harding was called into the kitchen by her daughter, leaving us alone for a moment.

“What request?” I asked Terry.

“For us to join the Resistance in Lumina,” she replied. “I figured that it would be the fastest way to meet their leaders.”

“What makes you think they’d want us?”

Terry shrugged and said simply, “I’m Terry Henderson.”

I chuckled, realizing that Terry had a very good point there. My combat instructor was never one to brag about her skills, but she knew exactly what she was worth.

Terry mused, “The Resistance, like the rest of the Guardians, would have their sights on Randal Divine, not his daughter. If we can use Lumina as our base of operations… who knows where it’ll lead us.”

“Speaking of requests,” I said hesitantly, “have you thought at all about mine?”

Terry refused to look me in the eyes. “I’m still thinking.”

The request I was referring to was an awkward one that I had made to her just over a month ago, back when we were still road-bound, and we hadn’t talked about it since.

“Well, don’t take forever,” I said. “I was almost captured the other day. You weren’t there.”

“Like I said, Adrian, I’m still thinking,” Terry said stiffly. “I don’t want to talk about it now.”

“Ed Regis and James already agreed,” I reminded her.

“Well, I’m not them!” Terry shot back. “And you really should tell Alia, you know.”

I scoffed at the notion. “Tell her what?”

“Tell her the truth.”

“I don’t care how old you think she is, Terry. She’s not ready for the truth. Not this one, anyway.”

“She’ll never be ready for it. I’m not even sure I will.”

“Get over it,” I suggested.

“Quiet!” hissed Terry as Mrs. Harding returned to announce that dinner was served.

Mrs. Harding’s son-in-law was out, but the rest of the family ate together. Mrs. Harding didn’t like bringing the war to meals, so the table conversation was primarily about the three grandchildren’s school day. There was a point at which Mrs. Harding scolded one of the children for something that he said, but I don’t remember any details. More about that later.

After dessert, Mrs. Harding served us some tea as her grandchildren excused themselves to finish their homework. Mrs. Harding’s daughter made a phone call.

“I am so sorry, dears,” Mrs. Harding said to us. “He’ll be up in a moment.”

“It’s no problem,” I replied. “But can I ask you a personal question?”

“Certainly, dear.”

“What changed your mind, Mrs. Harding?” I asked.

Mrs. Harding looked surprised. “What changed my mind?”

“What put you back into this war?”

Mrs. Harding sipped her tea for a moment before answering slowly, “I suppose you did, Adrian. You and Teresa, and little Alia… I watched her training our young ones, and I saw how you all inspired Arthur, practically a lifelong non-combatant, to risk everything for our freedom.”

“We’re really sorry about Merlin, Mrs. Harding,” said Terry.

“I’m sorry too,” said Mrs. Harding. “I’m sorry I took so long to believe what he believed. I had thought for a long time that the Guardians were a lost cause. I thought our only chance of survival was in concealment. I taught my people to think that way. But Scott and the rest of your trainees showed us that the Guardians still have some fight left in them. And at the mountain camp, when we watched Dr. Land leave us, taking Patrick to live in Lumina, we all saw the consequence of our inaction.”

I asked hopefully, “Are you thinking of rejoining the Guardians, then?”

“Unfortunately, no,” replied Mrs. Harding. “Wood-claw will remain an independent faction. We will support the Resistance and the rest of the Guardians under the new Council to the best of our ability, but we will not take orders from them. As always, I must consider my own people first.”

The doorbell rang, and a moment later Mrs. Harding’s daughter ushered Mr. Beryl into the living room.

Glancing at Terry and me, Wood-claw’s official mind-writer asked in an amused tone, “Trouble already?”

“Some loose lips over dinner,” explained Mrs. Harding. “My grandson.”

“Very well,” said Mr. Beryl.

I felt a little apprehensive as he approached me and placed his hands on my head. The last time someone tampered with my memory, I had spent almost a year in frustrating confusion.

“Please do not try to block me,” said Mr. Beryl. “You are still young so we must be careful. Close your eyes and let your mind go blank.”

I did, and a minute later, I heard Mr. Beryl say, “Done. Terry next.”

And that is why I can’t remember what Mrs. Harding’s grandson said over dinner, though I’m sure it must have been a street name or something of that nature.

My fears over memory alteration notwithstanding, Mr. Beryl’s work left no scars. Mr. Beryl didn’t implant false information or erase my memory of him performing the procedure. This ultimately made all the difference in psychologically coping with the memory loss because I knew that I was a willing participant.

Once Mr. Beryl finished with Terry, we bid Mrs. Harding goodnight.

At the door, Terry pressed Mrs. Harding one last time to make sure that the Guardian Resistance knew of our request to join them in Lumina.

“You have my promise,” Mrs. Harding said with a touch of exasperation in her tone. “But it takes a long time to communicate anything with them. Assuming that they accept your offer, realistically speaking, you will probably still have to wait several weeks here before transport can be arranged.”

“As long as it takes,” Terry said in a forced calm. “Meanwhile, we’ll do what we can for Wood-claw.”

“Thank you, Teresa dear,” said Mrs. Harding.

Once Terry and I were alone in the hall, I couldn’t help smiling as I said to myself, “Weeks…”

Terry scowled at me. “Happy now?”

“Absolutely.”

Terry shook her head, saying, “Adrian, are you sure you want to get involved with Candace? It’s not like you’re going to get very far with her.”

“Do you enjoy reminding me of that?” I asked wearily. “Alia said the same damn thing to me yesterday.”

“Sorry,” mumbled Terry. “I guess it’s none of my business.”

We got into the elevator.

While we descended, I considered pressing Terry once more for an answer to the request I had made of her, but decided against it. On most issues, Terry was either quick to decide or already decided, so if she needed more time to think, I would have to give it to her.

Back on the second floor, Terry and I parted in the corridor.

Entering my apartment, I found Ed Regis, Alia and Candace in the living room. They had finished the dinner Alia and I had prepared, and now Ed Regis was dazedly watching the news on TV while Alia and Candace were sitting on the floor, faced off over a deck of cards. James wasn’t there so I guessed that he had already returned to his apartment.

“How was dinner at Harding’s?” asked Candace.

“I don’t know,” I replied. “They erased my memory of it. But I did find out that we’re going to be here for a few weeks.”

Candace smiled broadly. “Care to join us? We’re playing Concentration.”

“Sure,” I said, sitting down with them. I suspected that Alia hadn’t had a chance to talk girl stuff with Candace yet, but there was no rush anymore.

As Candace dealt the cards facedown on the floor, I asked her, “How was dinner here?”

“Great,” said Candace. “You’re still the best cook I know.”

“I think Alia did most of the work this time,” I said.

“Candace brought us presents,” Alia informed me, gesturing toward two cardboard boxes set against the wall.

In addition to the deck of cards, Candace had brought us some board games and an assortment of books and magazines to help us pass the time we would spend trapped indoors at Wood-claw. There was also a paper bag filled with more secondhand clothes for Alia, as well as…

“A unicorn?” I asked, spotting the palm-size fluffy white creature lying at Alia’s side.

“A pony,” Candace corrected apologetically. “I couldn’t find a unicorn.”

“Ah,” I said, noticing the lack of horn.

“It’s still really cute,” said Alia, giving her new pet a light pat.

Actually, my sister was pretty much done with stuffed animals, unicorns included – she didn’t have any on the motorhome – but she still liked the horned beasts and wore her unicorn-shaped bloodstone pendant day and night. Perhaps Alia was just being polite to Candace, but a fluffy white pony wasn’t a bad unicorn substitute and Alia looked happy to have it. I thanked Candace for her consideration.

Using my telekinesis to flip the cards, I played two rounds of Concentration with the girls, but I discovered that my body was itching for a little more physical action. Like most cooks, I always enjoyed a meal more when it was prepared by others, and as such I had imprudently accepted seconds at Harding’s. Candace had to go home after the second game anyway, so I decided to head to the gym to burn off some of my excess energy.

The matted dojo was empty, but making my way to the weight room, I was surprised to find James practicing his moves on one of the large punching bags.

I chuckled and said, “I guess I’m not the only one who overate tonight.”

James didn’t reply, keeping his full attention on the punching bag. It was a tower bag – a heavy cylinder mounted on a weighted pedestal – and James should have been wearing gloves to protect his knuckles, but I noticed that he was using just his bare fists.

Standing behind the bag, I steadied it a little for him, asking uncertainly, “You okay, James?”

“I’m fine,” replied James, giving the bag one last pounding before stepping away. “Just want to stay in shape. What did Harding have to say to you?”