“Behold our sanctuary, young Master Freeman. It is good and pleasant for brethren to dwell together in unity, is it not?”
“Yes, sir,” the boy said.
“It is freedom,” the other men chanted.
“Freedom, yes.” The Grand Master went to the altar, picked up a pipe, and lit it. He took a long puff and held it in for a moment as he walked forward and handed the pipe to the nearest man on his right. Then he exhaled a plume of smoke. The one now holding the pipe took a drag and passed it down the line.
“In the beginning God created the heavens and earth,” the Grand Master said. “Darkness was upon the face of the deep. But God said let there be light. And there was light.”
“Light is freedom,” the men chanted.
The Grand Master walked back to the altar and picked up a thin white candle. He carried it to the boy and held it above his head. “My brother, I present to you this candle as an emblem of but one source of light, a representation of all you have within you, and a distinguished badge of a Daysman. Guard it well.”
“It is the light,” the men chanted.
The Grand Master handed the candle to the boy.
“The Daysman have four levels of consciousness. The first is called Sleep. One sleeps in a bed, vulnerable, innocent. One might dream. And the Daysman has been known to visit the Sleeper there. Some dreams are forgotten, but some are remembered. Watch for the Daysman in your dreams.”
“Sleep is the light,” the men said.
“The second level of consciousness is called Sleepwalking. One appears to be awake, walks around, goes to school or work, does chores, sings, entertains. Yet one is merely in a walking sleep, ignorant of the spirit world around him. The Daysman can visit the Sleepwalker, as can a follower, for this is how Sleepwalkers become enlightened.”
“Sleepwalking is the light,” the men said.
“The third state of consciousness is called Seeing. One partakes of connection and is granted sight.”
I perked up at the word “connection.”
On screen, the man was still talking. “He sees himself as he truly is: a prisoner in a mortal shell. The experience of Seeing often gives one the opportunity to see and speak with Osbert Leofdaeg, the first Daysman. Only a Seer can pass on to the fourth, and highest, level of consciousness.”
“Seeing is the light,” the men said.
“The fourth level of consciousness is Understanding. When one asks the Daysman to unleash the power within, one is set free from his mortal shell. One sees all creatures as they truly are, some free, some still trapped in their mortal shells. Thanks be to Osbert Leofdaeg, the first Daysman, who will give to any who ask, the power within, the power to be free, to be an Understander.”
“Understanding is the light,” the men said.
The phrase “power within” made me shiver. What was it with these movies and the Bratva stuff in Moscow, anyway? Creepy.
The last of the seated men puffed on the pipe and returned it to the Grand Master who handed it to the boy. “Will you partake of connection?”
Now see? See? That sounded just like Bratva. I still hadn’t heard back anything on the reports I’d written last summer about the Light Goddess movies and their similarities to the Bratva cult. Maybe I’d just have to investigate this myself.
The boy took the pipe. “I will.” He put it in his mouth and sucked in a long breath. He coughed and hacked. Hands shaking, he handed the pipe back to the Grand Master.
“This is the Dawning of a new day. From this day forward, you will know a freedom unlike any other.”
“Freedom is light,” the men chanted.
“O Daysman, master of the light,” the Grand Master said, “we present to you a new follower. Come into this Sleeper’s life and unleash for him that which he seeks: the power within!”
“The power is light!” the men yelled.
“Repeat after me. ‘Sleeper of Light, I pledge my service to you.’ ”
The boy repeated the line.
“To the Daysman!” the men shouted.
“‘Light, stream to my mind,’ ” the Grand Master said.
The boy repeated the line, and this time the men joined in.
“‘Descend down to earth, give power to my heart, and give my life worth.’ ”
The boy repeated the line along with the men. His vision was starting to blur.
I wondered what was in that pipe.
“ ‘Light, guide my will. Daysman, show the way, to harness power and live the Daysman way.’ ”
Light flashed near the ceiling of the room. Wind blew, whipping the men’s clothing back. A man appeared, standing between the Grand Master and the kneeling boy. The man wore scarlet and gold robes, like some Roman Emperor. He was white, with short, curly white hair and a beard.
The boy cowered at the man’s feet, eyes wild through the holes in his mask.
Then the apparition spoke. “Welcome, Degory Freeman. You are the creator of your life. You are the father of your destiny. You have unleashed the Light. All power comes from within you.”
“The power is in you!” the men yelled over the crackling of the wind.
The boy screamed. Then light shot out from the boy’s mouth, eyes, fingers, toes, and formed the title credits on the screen: Jolt IV: Daystorm.
The audience cheered, which made me jump. I’d been so into the scene I’d forgotten I was at the premiere.
The screen went black. The words “Present Day” flashed in white text.
The camera settled on a close up of Brittany Holmes’s face. The audience cheered and whooped. This time, I did too.
“Let’s go!” Brittany said. She looked over her shoulder. Valeria sprinted toward her, some ugly thugs on her heels.
“Faster!” Brittany yelled.
Valeria pulled a grenade from her utility belt and threw it behind her. It exploded in a shock of orange flame and black smoke. Thugs’ bodies went flying.
The audience cheered again.
The Light Goddess rolled her eyes. “That works too.”
The girls had just defeated a powerful demon and stolen his talisman, which held great dark power. Brittany needed to dispose of it fast.
They made it back to The Sanctuary, where Brittany got an email from her European counterpart, Véronique, who said a storm was coming, hence the movie’s title: Daystorm.
And so Brittany and company had to jet off to France to join forces with Véronique’s squad and take on a storm of evil.
Pretty wild stuff. And the best movie yet.
When the credits started to roll, we all went upstairs to the after party. The room was about half the size of a gymnasium and shrouded in pale pink light. Low, square benches made of fuchsia leather and as big as full-size mattresses were scattered around the room. People could sit on all four sides. Even lower white square tables sat around them, covered in candles and trays of munchies. And every so often there was a fat recliner-like throne make of red fur.
Happy Valentine’s Day.
Windows covered the far wall, and I could see the round Capital Records building in the distance.
Kip and I stayed with MacCormack, who introduced us to all the stars—so cool. And everyone was super nice to us, probably because we were with the director and they were sucking up to the boss, but whatever.
Eventually MacCormack and Diane wandered off to talk to someone else. Kip grabbed another glass of champagne. I wanted to punch him, but Valeria was standing two feet away.
“How many is that?” I asked and Valeria looked at me, then Kip.
“I’m not drunk, Spencer, though I might be intoxicated by Valeria’s beauty.” He said this loud enough for her to hear.
She stepped toward us. “Kip, someone as charming as you must have a girlfriend.”
“Naw, but I do know a girl who’d be mad at me for saying that.”
She chuckled. “Oh, you are a handful, aren’t you?” She propped her hand on one hip and slouched, striking an alluring pose.
> “Careful, precious,” Kip said, “so many curves and me with no brakes.”
I rolled my eyes and hobbled over to a red fur throne chair that was within reach of a tray of goodies. Looked like some kind of toast with soft cheese and tomatoes, but I was starving, so I ate two at once and fell into the chair, which was tall enough to lean my head against the back. I sat there by myself for way too long, trying not to glare at Kip and Valeria. I didn’t see Brittany.
Would things be different if I wasn’t hurt? Probably not. I couldn’t do what Kip did. Words got stuck in my throat whenever girls were around. It took me a while to work up to saying anything worthwhile.
I heard my name from somewhere behind my chair and strained to listen.
“The basketball kid?” Brittany’s voice. No way!
“That’s right.” MacCormack answered. He was talking to Brittany about me!
“And what’s my goal?” Brittany asked.
“Make him fall in love with you.”
Wait, what?
She chuckled. “I’ve already accomplished that much. He couldn’t even speak to me. Tongue-tied in my presence.”
Yeah, but I hadn’t been prepared.
“You know what I mean, Brit. I need you to own this kid. Do whatever it takes to make it happen. To make him happy.”
“Not a problem. Where is he?”
Holy figs!
“I don’t see him,” MacCormack said. “That’s his friend there with Valeria. He’s probably in the bathroom.”
“Then I’ll wander that way and see if I can bump into my new boy toy.”
“Thank you, my dear.”
“Anything for you, Ving.”
I sat there in shock, replaying what I’d heard. Brittany drifted past my throne, and I watched her walk toward the far wall.
Boy toy?
I felt betrayed. And I didn’t exactly know why. Was this another way MacCormack was sucking up to me? From his tone, I didn’t think so. He had ordered her to own me. Own me. What was that?
I fumbled for my crutches and stood. I didn’t want to be sitting there when she came back.
I hobbled toward Kip and Valeria. Across the room, Brittany disappeared into a hallway that must lead to the bathrooms.
“Kip.” I swallowed and raised my voice. “Kip, can I talk to you a second?”
He looked at me—glared was more like it. “Dude, there’s nothing you could possibly offer me that’s half as attractive as what I’m already looking at.”
Valeria giggled and swatted his arm.
“Now. Please?”
“Can’t it wait?”
“Twenty seconds.”
Valeria leaned close to Kip. “I’ve got to talk to Dan, anyway. Come find me later.”
“I’ll miss you.”
She chuckled and walked away, Kip’s eyes following her as she went.
I held my crutch under my arm and punched his shoulder. “I just overheard MacCormack tell Brittany Holmes to do what it takes to make me happy.”
That got his attention. “Shut up.”
“Dude, I am so not lying. MacCormack thought I was in the bathroom and sent her over there to find me.” Just then Brittany stepped back into the party. Her head turned slowly as she panned the room. Her eyes locked onto mine, and she walked toward me. “Oh, man. Here she comes. What do I do?” I hobbled to the nearest mattress bench and sat down.
Kip sat beside me, but his eyes were on Brittany. He looked back to me, brow furrowed. “Whatever she wants, fool. Why are you even asking?”
“But I don’t understand. Why would he do that? And why would she?”
“Who cares? Spencer, if you screw this up, I’ll hate you forever.”
“Oh, real helpful.”
Brittany sidled up then. “Hey, boys.” She beamed like she was in a lipstick commercial. “Mind if I join you?”
I stared at her so hard my eyes started to water. Ten minutes ago I would have done anything for this woman. I would have eaten cockroaches and walked through fire, been buried alive and dog paddled through a pool of maggots.
But now?
She may as well have been one of Anya’s minions.
Which meant my dad was a bad guy.
Duh?
I slipped my fingers under my necktie and felt through my shirt. The tender wound on my chest that was still healing.
The mark of my faith?
“We were hoping you would,” Kip said, patting the seat beside him.
I couldn’t remember what she’d even asked. But Brittany sat next to me, so close that her right arm went around my back and her side pressed up against my arm. She smelled like fire and flowers all at once. And the neckline of her dress was gaping so much that I could see, well, lots.
“Life is so unfair,” Kip mumbled.
Tell me about it.
“You want to get out of here, Spencer?” Brittany asked.
My gaze lifted to her eyes then fell down to those red lips. If I leaned toward her, would she kiss me? Right here? Because MacCormack had told her to make me happy?
“MacCormack tell you to say that?” I asked.
Her eyes widened, then she grinned and bumped her shoulder against mine. “Okay, how did you know that?”
“Spencer’s psychic,” Kip said.
“Oh yeah?” Brittany reached across her lap with her other hand and set it on my thigh. “What am I thinking right now?”
I fought back a whimper. “That you have to do whatever it takes to make me love you.” Figs and jam. Why had I said that? I sounded like a pompous jerk.
This time she frowned. “You heard us talking.”
“Do you always do whatever he tells you?”
“Spencer, shut up,” Kip whispered.
Brittany sighed, like she was so bored, then looked up at me, blinked her über thick lashes a couple times. “He’s my boss.”
“Yeah, but what you described is more like a pimp.” Oh no. Had I really just said that? Really?
She clicked her tongue and stood. The air conditioning chilled my leg where she’d been touching me. She spun around and glared down. Her silky orange skirt fluttered around my knees. “I make people happy, little boy. You don’t want to be happy, fine.”
Oh no. Brittany Holmes was mad at me. What had I done?
Kip stood up. “I want to be happy.”
But she walked away. Stormed was more like it, her shoes clack, clack, clacking over the hard floor.
Kip swore. “I can’t believe you.”
I grabbed my crutches and stood up. “Let’s get out of here.”
“Um, no way, José,” Kip said. “I am not leaving until this party is over.”
I sucked in a short breath. “Then I’ll take a cab.”
Kip and I stared at each other, long and hard. He broke eye contact first. “Have a nice ride.” And then he walked away too.
So I headed for the exit. What else was I supposed to do? I’d ruined everything with my big mouth.
This was why it was better not to speak.
On my way out of the party room, my left crutch got stuck in the glass door. I was fighting with it when Brittany Holmes came and rescued me.
“Look, Spencer. Sorry I lost my temper. How about I text you sometime and maybe we can go for coffee. Does that sound okay?”
She was babying me. I’d basically called her a hooker and she was offering to get together. What kind of power did MacCormack have over this girl?
But I nodded. I mean, I was so thankful that she’d thrown me a second bone. I hated that I’d insulted her. I wanted to beat myself up. Why couldn’t I be like Kip? What was the matter with me, anyway?
“Okay, give me a hug.” She slid her arm around my waist and bobbed up on her tiptoes and kissed my cheek. It was like pressing up against fire that couldn’t burn. She fell back to her heels and grinned up at me. “Goodnight, Spencer. Until next time.”
“G’dnut,” I croaked, then cleared my throat and tried again. “Goodni
ght.” I stood there for a good ten seconds before I remembered that I was the one leaving. Right.
I turned on my crutches and vaulted myself toward the elevator, two yards at a time.
I’d just made it inside when Kip ran up and stopped the doors from closing. “Dude, you’re really going to turn her down?”
“Yeah,” I said, acting like I rejected hot movie stars every day.
“You’re an idiot.”
He was right. I felt stupid and small and passed over, though I’d been the one doing the insulting. “So you say.”
“Well, if you don’t want her, you don’t care if I go for her, do you?”
Really? “You have a girlfriend.”
“So? Stop bringing it up. She’s not your sister.”
“It’s wrong.”
“It’s none of your business.”
“You should respect her, that’s all.”
“Respect her? What does that even mean?”
For Kip? I had no idea. For me? I guess I was just starting to figure it out. “Just . . . break up with Megan if you want to go after Brittany or Valeria or whoever.”
“Like I’d take advice from a guy whose longest relationship lasted six days.”
“Whatever,” I said. “You staying?”
“Yeah. You leaving?”
“Yeah.”
And Kip let the elevator doors close. It took me a while to find my way outside. It was dark and all the red carpet stuff had been taken down. I crossed the street and sat on a bench outside the El Capitan. I pulled out My Precious II and called Gabe. Kimball was likely somewhere nearby since Kip and I hadn’t bothered trying to ditch him tonight, but I didn’t want to answer his twenty questions.
“Hey, what’s up?” Gabe said.
“I need a ride. I’m sitting outside the El Capitan.”
“What are you doing down there?”
“Does it matter?”
“Maybe.”
“Gabe, come on. It’s your fault I’m here. An actress wanted to take me out, but all I could think was your flipping three Rs. So get down here and tow my crippled butt home where I can cry in privacy.”
“I’m on my way.”
So I sat there, watching an Asian Captain Jack Sparrow, a female Michael Jackson, and a creepy-looking Mickey Mouse try and get tourists to pay to pose for pictures.
Then it hit me. Holy figs! What did I just do? If I went back right now, maybe Brittany would still take me out. I could tell her I was embarrassed or something. Intimidated. Yeah, that should work. A girl like her probably liked having guys groveling at her feet.
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