The Quest (42 page)

Terry had her own theory. “He’s punishing you for insulting him, Half-head. I told you to be careful. Now we’re stuck here thanks to your bad manners.”

“Who’s paying the bills, Five-fingers?” I retorted nastily. “So bite me!”

Even so, I did regret not being more polite. Whatever the Historian’s real reason for the delay, our days spent waiting for his answers passed painfully slowly for me. We were granted access to an extensive library as well as a small movie theater in the Historian’s home, but restless for news about Cindy, I wasn’t in the mood for entertainment.

Our guest house was also equipped with a training room, complete with mats and various exercise machines, and I wondered when Terry would suggest that we resume our combat training. We would need to keep our skills razor-sharp if we hoped to get back through the Angel-infested mountain range alive.

“Rest first,” said Terry, uncharacteristically relaxed.

“We have been resting for almost a week, Terry,” I said grumpily.

“And you seem much more human for it.”

Terry had a point there. At least I had lost the vampire look, and the rest of the team looked much healthier too.

I was also relieved to see that my sister wasn’t spending too much time in her silent moods since arriving at the Historian’s mansion. She still hung around me a lot during the daytime, but she continued to sleep in her own room and looked like she was finally developing some notion of personal space.

“It’s about time,” remarked Terry, and I agreed wholeheartedly.

I only gave it a fifty-fifty chance that Alia would really want to share a room with me again when we returned to civilization. Cindy’s “give her time” tactic had finally paid off. I doubted Alia would ever be completely free of her many scars, but even so, despite the fact that we were living in a demented mansion deep inside a mountain in a lost part of the world, my sister was finally acting like a normal kid.

Now all I had to do was get her safely back to Cindy.

While waiting in the common room to be called to breakfast on our ninth day in the mountain, Terry finally suggested that we resume our training.

“Who knows how much longer we’ll be allowed to stay here,” she said. “And the Angels won’t easily let us leave.”

“We have no supplies and no hider,” I reminded her. “How are we going to get out of these mountains alive? The Historian isn’t about to help us in that department, is he?”

“No, but the servants will if we ask nicely. I’m sure they’ll give us some equipment and maybe even some hiding protection too. It’ll wear off, but at least we’ll have a head start.”

James said sarcastically, “I can’t wait to get shot at again.”

“I can,” I said darkly. “But we can’t hide here forever.”

“Masters and mistresses,” called Havel, who had quietly entered the common room. “Breakfast is served.”

“Breakfast is fine, Havel,” I said grumpily, “but when can we meet the Historian?”

“Master Howell…” Havel began patiently.

I cut him off, saying sharply, “It’s been more than a week, Havel! Might I remind you that we have already paid the Historian for his services?”

“And the Historian is quite grateful, Master Howell,” Havel replied with infinite politeness. “I was going to wait until after breakfast, but I see young master will be happier to know now that the Historian wishes to meet with you today. I am to escort you to his office after your meal.”

“Oh,” I said, taken aback. “I’m sorry.”

“Not at all, Master Howell. I do hope you are satisfied with the Historian’s information.”

“I’m sure I will be,” I said. “But is it just me or all of us this time?”

“The Historian did not specify, young master.”

“Then we will all go together,” I said curtly.

“Very well.”

We ate a rather subdued breakfast, each of us lost in our own thoughts.

For Terry, this was probably all pretty straightforward. Find Randal. Kill Randal. Rid the Angels of their king, and their kingdom would fall apart, restoring the balance of power between the Guardians and the Angels. And it wouldn’t hurt to kill a few more Angels along the way.

For James, this might have felt more like the eve of a personal victory. Of the Guardian children we had rescued from New Haven, he alone had made it this far. James clearly took after his parents, who were both Guardian Knights. If this led to the destruction of the Angels, James Turner would be honored by Guardians for generations to come.

Ed Regis would be the first Wolf to ever meet the Historian. What he learned today might very well be his ticket back to his former life. He could go back to hunting psionics and pretending that he was making the world a safer place for everyone. After all he had done for us, I couldn’t deny him that.

For Alia and me, this was the deep breath before the plunge. Either Cindy was alive or she was dead. If alive, either she was converted or she was free. As with all hard truths, knowing might hurt at first, but it would ultimately be better than living in ignorance. We had been in limbo far too long. One way or another, I wanted to move on with my life. I think Alia felt the same way.

Once it was clear that we weren’t about to finish all of our breakfast, Havel quietly led us to the Historian’s office. Even from the dining room, the Historian’s energy flow had felt strange to me. His power wasn’t particularly happy or angry or excited in any way, but nor was it at peace.

“Remember your manners,” whispered Terry as we entered the waiting room.

She didn’t have to remind me. I was going to be a good boy this time.

Havel opened the double doors and ushered us inside. The Historian was waiting for us, seated on a tall chair at his desk. Silently bowing once to the Historian, Havel left us, closing the doors behind him.

Levitating up from his chair, the Historian glided over to us, smiling broadly. With all that had happened during our first meeting, I hadn’t noticed it then, but the great and wise Historian was missing his two front teeth.

Still levitating, the Historian shook hands with James, Ed Regis and Alia in turn. “Welcome to my mountain,” he said. “I hope your stay here has been a pleasant one so far.”

“Thank you for seeing us, Mr. Historian,” I said humbly. “I want to apologize again for how I acted before.”

The Historian shook his head. “Did you have a good rest?”

“A very good rest. Thank you.” I managed to say it without a trace of sarcasm, but of course the Historian could read my thoughts.

“It was not as punishment that I made you wait, young Adrian,” he said, touching down onto the floor. “There was certain information I wished to verify, and I wanted you properly rested before I gave you the news that it is my unfortunate duty to share.”

“I’m in pretty good shape now,” I said evenly.

“That is good. But I feel compelled to suggest that you will not want an audience for what I am about to tell you.”

I glanced around at the four standing beside me.

“We can leave,” suggested Ed Regis, but Alia shook her head.

“No,” I said, turning back to the Historian. “Thank you for your concern, Mr. Historian, but they all have a right to be here.” If Alia was going to hear that Cindy is already dead, she might as well hear it now, directly from the Historian himself.

“As you are the one who paid for this information, that is your decision. I hope you do not regret it.” The Historian gestured to the sofas around the rectangular coffee table. “Won’t you please be seated?”

“No disrespect, Mr. Historian, but I prefer to stand,” I replied.

“Do sit down anyway,” said the Historian, gently puppeteering me down onto a sofa. He gestured to the rest of my team, and soon I found myself sandwiched between Terry on my left and Alia on my right. James and Ed Regis sat on the other sofa across from us, and the Historian hopped up onto the armchair at the end of the table.

Releasing my limbs from his psionic control, the Historian said, “Now that we are comfortable, would you like your answer first, and the story behind it later, or would you prefer the story first, and allow it to lead you to your answer? My personal preference is always to tell the story first, as I am very fond of stories. However, you are the client, so you may decide.”

“The answer first please, Mr. Historian,” I said. I didn’t care about the story. I wanted to know the ending, and we had waited long enough.

“Indeed you have,” said the Historian, again reading my thoughts. “But you will not like what I am about to tell you.”

Alia was holding my right hand. I gave her a comforting smile and then said to the Historian, “I think we can handle it.”

“Very well. Your answer first,” said the Historian. “As you have already guessed, your Cynthia Gifford is currently converted and bound to the service of Randal Divine, self-proclaimed king of the Angels.”

I felt Alia’s grip tighten on my hand. I squeezed back a little.

“Where is she?” I asked.

The Historian replied, “She currently lives in your old penthouse at the top of the building formally known as New Haven One.”

“In Lumina…” I breathed. “She hides Lumina?” But that didn’t make sense. Merlin had insisted that Lumina wasn’t being hidden by a single hiding bubble.

“Merlin’s information is a little outdated,” explained the Historian. “Cindy moved back into her penthouse three weeks ago. She had traveled with Randal Divine as his personal hider for a few months following her capture, but now she is in charge of the Angel city.”

“How did she get captured?”

“The story?” asked the Historian.

I nodded.

“Very well. The Guardian Council’s plane, after a botched hijacking attempt by the Angels, crashed into the ocean, killing about half of the passengers. The survivors, including your Cindy Gifford, tried to return to shore on inflatable rafts, but were rounded up by the Seraphim before they could make it.”

The Historian paused, allowing us to take this in.

Cindy’s capture could hardly count as good news, but it was still better that she was alive and in Angel captivity rather than dead and irretrievable.

Perhaps after reading my consciousness to make sure that I was ready for the rest of the story, the Historian continued, “Even after being converted, Cindy searched for you and Alia. She was hoping to bring you into the Angels with her, but Randal Divine kept her busy with other work. I am not entirely certain, but she may have later been told that you and Alia are dead.”

“Cindy would never believe that,” I said.

“She may have been psionically forced to,” the Historian suggested delicately.

Alia’s hand was trembling slightly, but my sister wasn’t crying or defocused. We had both known and accepted this as the most probable explanation for Cindy’s disappearance. The Historian wasn’t telling us much that we hadn’t already suspected. Cindy was bound to the Angels. As a male master controller, Randal’s conversions would be permanent even on adults, but there was still one way to break the connection.

Destroy the master.

“Looks like this war just got very personal for you, Adrian,” Terry said grimly.

“Very,” I agreed quietly, turning to her. “I know I said Cindy first, Terry, but I guess there’s no way around it. Getting Cindy back will just have to be our reward for saving the world from Randal Divine. Whatever it takes, I’ll help you kill him.”

“You’re sure?” asked Terry.

I nodded. “It’s probably better this way. At least now I know what I’m fighting for.”

I turned back to the Historian, who was sitting calmly in his armchair, his hands folded neatly in his lap. “Thank you for telling us about Cindy, Mr. Historian,” I said. “Now could you please tell us where to find the Angel king?”

The Historian shook his head. “Alas, I cannot.”

“You don’t know?” I asked, trying not to make it sound like a challenge.

“Answer first or story first?” asked the Historian.

“Answer,” I replied without hesitation. I wasn’t interested in Randal’s story. All I wanted to do was kill him, now more than ever, and if the Historian really didn’t know where the Angel king was, then at least he owed us whatever information he did have.

“I really think you should hear the story first this time, Adrian,” the Historian said warningly.

“Answer,” I insisted, sensing Terry’s impatience as strongly as my own. “Please, Mr. Historian. We need to know.”

The Historian sighed. “Very well. The answer is simple: There is no such thing as a psionic king, and therefore I cannot tell you where to find one. There is not now, nor ever was, a male master controller. The few cases in our recorded history were actually women posing as men. Reports of their powers surpassing those of other queens are merely decoration added by the men who passed the history on. Men simply wanted to believe that a man’s power was greater than any woman’s. But it is all just decoration. I was there in person so you will believe me when I tell you that psionic kings are nothing more than a hopeful myth.”

I stared at him, gaping. We probably all did.

Terry blurted out, “But Randal–”

“Randal Divine,” the Historian cut across her in a slightly annoyed tone, “is a mind-writer, Teresa. A powerful one, no doubt, but merely a mind-writer. While it is true that most of the recently converted Angels are bound to his service, he is not the one doing the converting.”

“Then who?!” I asked.

“But you already know who, Adrian,” the Historian said matter-of-factly. “You have known all your life.”

I blinked back at him, shaking my head.

“Your sister,” said the Historian. “Young Catherine Divine is the current queen of the Angels.”

For a frozen moment of eternity, I wondered if what the Historian had just said could actually be true. Then I leapt up from the sofa, shouting furiously, “You lie!”

The Historian telekinetically slammed me back into my seat, his voice suddenly deep and menacing as he growled, “Now you wish you heard the story first!”

I struggled against the Historian’s telekinetic field pinning me to the sofa. Alia was saying something in my head but I couldn’t make it out. My head was spinning so horribly that I felt like throwing up. “You lie!” I shouted again. “It’s not possible!”