Lesser Gods Read online

  Terry was an exceptionally practical person with no interest in fashion or decoration, and she already had pretty much everything she needed.

  “But I’ll go look for something later today,” I added. I needed to leave the penthouse alone today, and here was a ready-made excuse.

  “We’ll all go,” said Cindy. “Alia can pick out the birthday cards, and I can pick up some sunscreen for Terry.”

  Oops.

  “I’d rather go alone,” I said with a slight stammer. “Besides, Terry will probably buy sunscreen on her way home anyway.”

  Cindy smiled. “So you are hiding something. Hope it’s nothing serious.”

  “It’s not!” I said defensively. “I mean, I’m not! I’m not hiding anything.”

  Cindy’s smile only broadened. “If you say so...”

  Cindy said no more about it and, as was usual for a school day, tutored Alia and me during the morning and early afternoon. Alia was finishing up her third-grade studies, and though I was trailing a bit behind the home-study curriculum guide in my eight-grade stuff, I was in no serious danger of missing summer vacation this year. While Alia studied at her desk in our bedroom, I spread my text books over the dining-room table, and Cindy moved back and forth between us. If Cindy noticed that I was sloppily double-timing it through my math and history so I could finish early, she didn’t comment.

  With just under thirty minutes left to 3pm, I excused myself to “go shopping.”

  Returning to my room, I pulled a large Band-Aid out from the top drawer of my desk where I always kept a few. My T-shirt’s sleeve just barely hid my P-47 tattoo, but it looked a bit windy outside so I wanted to cover up my mark properly just in case.

  Seeing me applying the Band-Aid, Alia said, “Are you going out, Addy? I want to go too.”

  “Not today, Alia,” I said.

  “But where are you going?”

  “Can’t tell you.”

  “Addy!”

  I should have made something up. My sister always got upset when she didn’t know where I was.

  “I’m just going shopping,” I said.

  “Liar.”

  “I am not!”

  “Then why can’t I come?!” demanded Alia, clearly not buying it.

  “You just can’t. Don’t worry. I’ll be back soon.”

  “Please, Addy.”

  “I said no!”

  I fitted my headband over my ears and left the penthouse before Alia could argue further. I had a 3pm appointment today that I couldn’t afford to miss. Cindy kindly didn’t ask which store I was going to.

  I took the elevator down to the building’s lobby and jogged out the front exit. Technically, I was never supposed to leave New Haven One without my bodyguard, Terry, but the Guardian security guards in the lobby took no notice.

  My bicycle, parked in the basement, had a flat rear tire that, had I any sense, I would have had mended so that I could ride today. Instead, I half-jogged, half-walked down the street. Glancing at my watch, which I wore on my right wrist, I saw that I was going to make it with a few minutes to spare.

  As I slowed to a normal walk, I realized that I had somehow acquired a bit of a knack for getting myself into messes. Perhaps I could blame this one on Alia, since she was the one who crashed the kite, but then again, I was the one teaching her how to fly it.

  It all started about a week ago on a windy Thursday morning. Cindy, who would usually have been tutoring us, was called to an all-day meeting with Mr. Baker and the Council which governed New Haven. Terry had bought Alia a red and blue diamond-shaped kite a few days prior, and Alia had been pestering me to take her kite-flying ever since.

  There was a large park near NH-1. It was well within Cindy’s hiding bubble over New Haven, and Alia had learned to ride a bicycle there last year. We cycled out to the park with the kite tied to my back by its string.

  This being a weekday and a school day, the park was mostly empty. A senior citizen here, a young mother pushing a baby-stroller there, but that was about it, so we had little trouble finding an empty clearing out of sight from prying eyes.

  The last time I had flown a kite was years ago, and my father had put it in the air for me. After some trial and error, and with some help from my telekinesis, I managed to get the kite up, and then handed the string to my sister. She tugged, and the kite promptly did a spectacular nosedive into a tall fir tree.

  The string was tangled in the branches and I could tell that pulling on it would only break the kite. I didn’t want to try telekinetically removing the kite either since it was caught near the highest branch. At this distance, I couldn’t focus my power on the kite well enough to not risk damaging it.

  Now, I am not a complete idiot. I looked around very carefully before doing what I did next. Thick rows of trees hid the clearing from the walking paths, and there was absolutely no one in sight. I quickly levitated myself up to disentangle the kite for Alia, who was itching to try again. Human levitation took a lot of concentration, and I couldn’t stay airborne for long, but I got the kite down safely and without being seen.

  We tried again, and Alia managed to keep the kite in the air this time for nearly ten minutes before crashing it again – into the same tree! Once again, I flew up and retrieved the kite for her. She didn’t crash it a third time.

  And that was all there was to it, except that the next day, I found my bicycle’s rear tire had gone flat, probably due to a piece of glass or something that I hadn’t noticed in the grass. Then, yesterday, as I was out jogging before my afternoon CQC training with Terry, I discovered that the flat tire was the least of my problems.

  Terry and I usually started our jogs together, but I still couldn’t keep up with her insanely fast pace for long. Our route, just over five miles long, took us in a half-arc around the edge of New Haven and returned through the park to NH-1. In the past, Terry matched her speed to mine. These days, wanting to train herself at the same time, she no longer waited, which meant that I always finished alone.

  It was in the last mile, as my exhaustion had finally forced me into a brisk walk through the park, that I heard an overly sweet female voice call from behind me, “Hello there.”

  I spun around, instantly on high alert. It was a young woman, not unlike the baby-stroller-pushing mothers I often saw walking in the park. She was dressed casually, and she was alone. Was this an Angel spy? Was she a peacemaker, or some other kind of psionic controller?

  “Is it okay if I talk with you for a few minutes?” she asked.

  “Sorry, but I don’t speak with strangers,” I said, turning to go.

  “Then how can you ever meet anyone?”

  “What makes you think I want to?” I said gruffly as I started walking toward the park’s exit.

  The woman followed me, matching my pace. I didn’t want to run, just in case she really was a dangerous Angel, but I wanted to keep going. As soon as I was in a more populated location, it wouldn’t be easy for her to use her psionic powers, whatever they were.

  “My name’s Lindsey Taylor,” she said, keeping in step with me and extending her hand. I didn’t shake it.

  I continued to ignore her, and we were almost at the exit when she said, “Listen, I just want to be your friend.”

  “Start by leaving me alone!” I snapped.

  “I can’t,” she said. “You’re my story. The boy who can fly.”

  I froze on the spot and stared at her. A reporter. That wasn’t as bad as an Angel, but it didn’t make her presence any less uncomfortable.

  “What do you want?” I demanded.

  “For starters,” said Lindsey, smiling, “how about a civil tone from you?”

  Sorry, but no. “What do you want that you think you have a chance at getting?”

  “I want to know what’s going on around here,” she replied casually. “There’s something strange about this part of town. People keep to themselves. There have been strange sightings. Wild rumors about aliens or that this park is haunted
, things like that. I don’t believe in ghosts or aliens, and I want to know what’s behind it.”

  “Talk to the city government,” I suggested. “You’re more likely to get a civil response from them.”

  “Okay, you leave me no choice, then,” Lindsey said with a sigh, pulling out a large paper envelope from her shoulder bag and offering it to me. “Enjoy.”

  Cautiously taking the envelope, I opened it and pulled out five photos of myself levitating next to a fir tree, busily working on Alia’s red and blue kite. Several seconds passed before I noticed that my mouth was hanging open. I hastily shut it, pursing my lips as I glared at the pictures.

  Lindsey said calmly, “Those you can keep. There are other copies, of course. Give me a story and you can have the originals.”

  This was bad with a capital B. A reporter with photographic evidence. I’d have to tell Mr. Baker so that he could arrange to have Lindsey’s memory modified. But for me, it wasn’t that easy. It was still too soon after my police car episode for me to feel comfortable admitting to Mr. Baker that I was caught on camera doing something impossible. True, Terry and I had been made Honorary Guardian Knights for what that had (mostly by chance) led to, but I was sure that I didn’t want to let Mr. Baker or anyone else know that less than two months later, I had once again broken Guardian law by using my psionic power in public.

  Lindsey, probably mistaking my uncomfortable expression as a sign of weakness to her threat, said in a soothing tone, “Now, I know that you are only the tip of a very large iceberg here, but I want to start with what I’ve seen. And believe me, young man, I’ve never, ever, lost a story before.”

  I growled at her, “You keep this up and you’ll lose more than a story, lady!”

  “Give me something to work with or all I can do is publish the photographs.”

  “Ha!” I snorted. “I’ve seen more convincing images on tabloid humor columns. Go ahead and publish them. What do I care?”

  Lindsey smirked. “I think you care, Adrian.”

  “How the hell do you know my name?!” I demanded furiously.

  Ignoring my tone, Lindsey asked evenly, “Are we about to have a civil conversation?”

  I was tempted to blast her unconscious then and there, but I realized that I would lose the original photos.

  Lindsey spoke as if she was reading a report: “You are Adrian Howell, son of Richard and Judy Howell. You have a younger sister named Catherine, who also went missing the day your parents were killed. Your father’s elder brother, William Howell, went missing last year.”

  I stared at her. “My uncle?”

  “You didn’t know?”

  “No...” I said quietly. “I didn’t.”

  “I’m sorry to be the one to tell you,” said Lindsey. Then she smiled, saying, “You’re looking pretty healthy for a runaway, Adrian. Is your sister with you too?”

  I almost answered “no,” but checked myself and instead said, “You pulled all that off of police reports. You know nothing about me or this place.”

  Lindsey’s smile broadened. “I know you can fly.”

  “Like I said,” I repeated firmly, “you know nothing. Lindsey Taylor, is it?”

  “That’s right,” she said, the smile beginning to fade from her lips.

  I fixed her with the most threatening look I could manage and said icily, “What if I were to tell you, Lindsey Taylor, that you are right? What if there is something going on here? What if I am just the tip of a very large iceberg? You haven’t seen anything yet, Lindsey Taylor.” I was on a roll now. “There are people here who can set fire to you. There are people who can control your thoughts, and make you cheerfully jump off a bridge or slit your own throat. You are surrounded by forces you can’t begin to comprehend, and yet you think you can just walk in here and publish photos about us? Where’s your sense of self-preservation?”

  Lindsey took an uneasy step back. “Um... well...”

  I kept my voice as deep and menacing as possible. “Here’s what you’re going to do, Lindsey Taylor. You’re going to deliver all of your so-called evidence to me tomorrow. Then, within the week, you are going to pack your things, buy a plane ticket, and move out of this country. You are going to start a new life, and you’re going to forget about what you think you might have seen here.”

  “But – I mean – you can’t honestly expect me to–”

  “Lindsey!” I sternly cut across her sputtering. “In life, sometimes you don’t get a second chance. Believe me, I know.”

  Lindsey Taylor didn’t speak again.

  “You will meet me here at 3pm tomorrow,” I told her, “by the tree that you mistakenly thought I was hovering near, when, in reality, I was merely climbing it. You will bring everything you have gathered about your paranoid delusions and hand them to me as a symbol of your willingness to give up this fool’s quest. Do I make myself clear?”

  We stared at each other for at least ten heartbeats, and then Lindsey nodded slowly, her face pale and expressionless.

  “Good,” I said crisply, “because I would hate for some clueless journalist to be found dead in the river tomorrow. Remember, three o’clock sharp!”

  I turned and walked away, leaving poor Lindsey Taylor to her thoughts. I used to be a nicer guy. I didn’t care if the reporter didn’t actually move to another country, so long as she never set foot in New Haven again. Given the choice, I would still rather have been her than me. At least she could leave.

  As I jogged back to New Haven One, already extra late for Terry’s CQC lesson, even though I was raised as an agnostic, I nevertheless said a quiet prayer for Uncle Bill, who had taken me to church with him on a number of Sundays, many years ago.

  That was yesterday. I didn’t tell Terry in the dojo, or Cindy or even Alia. This, I decided, was between me and Ms. Taylor.

  Now, as I approached the park for our three o’clock meeting, I wondered if my threat had worked. The reporter would have had a night to calm down a bit, and there was no telling what she might try. If she didn’t show up, I would have no choice but to confess to Mr. Baker what had happened and ask for his help.

  Crossing the street to the park’s entrance, I caught my left foot on the edge of the curb and cursed loudly as I fell onto my hands and knees. Owing to nearly a year of Terry’s CQC lessons, I was usually much more coordinated than that, but I guess my mind was elsewhere at the time. I had scraped my left knee pretty badly, and I felt my telekinetic power fade away as blood soaked into the fabric of my sweatpants.

  Another capital BAD.

  Metal drained all psionic powers. That’s why I usually wore sweatpants instead of jeans which had metal zippers and buttons. A little metal near the skin wasn’t such a big deal, but less was always better. The irony was that, had I been wearing jeans, I might not have bloodied my knee when I fell. Even a little metal touching the skin can negate a psionic’s power completely. Even the iron in my own blood, once out of my body, could drain me, as was the case now.

  I didn’t have enough time to return to the penthouse and get Alia to heal me, but if I went to see Lindsey Taylor like this, I would not have the telekinetic strength to knock her down if the need arose.

  And being psionically drained also caused physical weakness. Over the last year, I had learned to overcome this compounded effect to some degree by “balancing” my power, but being drained still made me dizzy and light-headed, and I certainly couldn’t run. What if Lindsey had decided to bring along a few of her friends today? What if the Wolves or the Angels had gotten to her already, and I was walking into a trap? Suddenly I wasn’t at all sure I wanted to enter the park alone.

  I checked my watch: two minutes left. I took a deep breath and, as calmly as I could, walked forward, trying not to wince as pain shot through my left knee with every step I took. I couldn’t be seen limping if I was going to control the conversation.

  From the edge of the clearing, I spotted Lindsey Taylor leaning against the fir tree, calmly waiting for me. I
looked around the clearing once, but couldn’t see anyone else. One more deep breath, and then I walked up to her.

  “Did you bring your originals?” I demanded harshly, but I could already see that she wasn’t carrying any bags or envelopes.

  Lindsey Taylor merely smiled. “Clearly, you can see that I haven’t.”

  “You’ll regret it for the rest of your short, painful life,” I said quietly.

  “You’re bluffing, Adrian,” she said, and I could tell by her eyes that she no longer feared me. I had been afraid of that.

  “So what now, Lindsey Taylor?”

  “Your photos are with a friend,” she informed me. “If I go missing, my friend will publish them, along with your name and this location. I believe the police are still looking for you.”

  I frowned. “If you dragged your friend into this, you are not being a very good friend.”

  “Nevertheless,” replied Lindsey, “you will give me my story. You will tell me about this place and the people who live here.”

  I remained silent.

  Lindsey Taylor chuckled. “What do you care, Adrian? According to you, no one would believe me anyway, right?”

  “Right...” I said slowly. “Alright, I guess you leave me no choice. You can have my story, but we’ll talk here and now. Did you at least bring a notebook?”

  “I’m a journalist, Adrian. I’d bring my notebook even if I forgot my pants.”

  As Lindsey Taylor reached into her pocket and pulled out a small notebook and pen, I slowly placed my right thumb on the black tracer band wrapped around my left wrist. The tracer band was a miniature transmitter that I was required to wear for my own security. There was a single button on the surface of what, at first glance, appeared to be a wristwatch, and keeping the button pressed for three seconds activated the locator. Guardian Knights would be here in moments to take Lindsey Taylor in for memory modification. I sighed. I had really hoped to resolve this without Guardian help.

  Lindsey had seen me activate the tracer. “What’s that, Adrian?” she asked.

  “My watch,” I lied.

  Lindsey grinned. “Your watch is on your right wrist, Mr. Howell.”