by Bryn Donovan
“What? You’re kidding.”
She didn’t hold a grudge against Jonathan, but she did enjoy Michael’s astonishment. “He yelled at me and everything.”
“I’m going to have go kick his ass now, huh?”
“No! He was just worried about Cassie going on the mission.”
“Can’t blame him there,” he muttered.
“Yeah. She wasn’t like you guys, getting trained your whole lives.”
He perked up. “So what were your lessons like, in Florida?” A ghost of a smile played at his lips. “When I was sitting in class, sometimes I’d wonder what you were doing.”
“It was a few hours every day…usually on the balcony. You remember the house, right? That yellow one, up in Fernandina Beach?”
“Of course I remember it.” Manus Sancti had owned the house for a few decades. Her bedroom had been painted pink, and she’d had a canopy bed filled with stuffed animals. The balcony had overlooked a grassy marsh and beyond that, the sea, with a long wooden boardwalk leading to the beach. She’d loved that house.
“It was too big for a small family. But we were almost never alone. Visitors from other guarídas were always staying there.” Sometimes their guests were Knights, Mages, or Diviners, in Saint Augustine for a few weeks to help on a mission or a project. More often, people stayed there when attending a wedding or funeral at Anantara.
“Mellie said Bashira and Katharine are supposed to move in there this summer. Do you know them? They just got married.”
“Katharine’s a Diviner, right?” Val had talked to her once on the phone regarding the details of a mission that had resulted in the destruction of a yacht. Val had done the debriefing.
“Yeah, and Bashira’s pregnant. They’re going to have a girl. Trajan Ranganathan was the donor.”
“Oh, that’s so nice!” She knew of the Ranganathans, who lived in Kuala Lumpur and Jakarta. The women were Air Elementals who could harness the wind for magic. Trajan himself didn’t have the gift—he was a Scholar, if she recalled correctly—but it presented itself more often in women, so he might’ve passed it on to Katharine and Bashira’s child.
It must be wonderful, being in love and looking forward to having a baby. Her heart ached a little at the thought of it.
“When we lived there, my lessons were more about being an empath,” she said. “Understanding that other people’s feelings were separate from mine, even though I could sense them.” That had been confusing for her as a child. “And learning not to get too angry. Every morning after breakfast, Mamá would get me dressed and fix my hair—I always loved that. And then we’d get started.”
“You wore those fancy dresses every day. You looked like a little doll.”
Val shifted in her chair. No wonder he’d backed away from her, when he had such clear memories of her as a little girl.
“And you still wear fancy dresses,” he added. A hint of lust, like perfume on the night air. Good. But what did it matter, when he refused to do anything about it? “Why do you like to dress up so much?”
“Same reason as I did then, I guess,” she said lightly. “It makes me feel pretty. And loved.”
He opened his mouth to speak and then didn’t. The intensity of his desire and resistance pained her as much as him. She hadn’t been trying to make it worse for either of them. Finally he said, “You know how much you are loved, right?” What was he saying? “At El Dédalo,” he added, confusing her further…and disappointing her.
“We’re all there for each other—”
“No.” His exasperation sharpened his voice. “You debrief every Knight there. Right after missions, when they’re exhausted or freaked out…and you don’t judge them for the weird stuff in their psyches, and you’re nice to them and give them tea. You’re, like, both their little sister and their queen.”
“Queen?” Now he wasn’t making sense.
“If anyone hurt you, they’d want to murder them. And you’re like the daughter Capitán couldn’t have—”
“Don’t talk about that.” Her heart rate kicked into a higher gear. Capitán’s particular injury was too tragic and private to discuss.
“You know I don’t mean any disrespect,” Michael said. “He saved my father’s life. And what happened to him—that’s, like, my worst nightmare.” He shook his head. “All I’m saying is he cares about you more than anyone.”
“That’s not true.” She didn’t want it to be true. She’d feel too guilty. “Why are you being like this?”
He sighed. “I’m just saying you mean a lot. To everyone.”
“So do you.” It was true.
The silence stretched taut between them. His longing amplified her own, but his was mingled with fear and dread. He stared out over the surface of the pool and said quietly, “It must be nice knowing how everyone’s feeling all the time.”
Her throat tightened. “Sometimes it’s terrible.”
“I know,” he said immediately. He scrubbed a hand over his face. “Back then, when you had lessons…I was always so jealous of you and Jonathan. I used to imagine that maybe I had some kind of gift that hadn’t showed up yet.” He smiled, mocking himself, but her heart went out to the boy he’d been. “After I didn’t turn out to have any, I tried really hard to be the best fighter I could.”
She wanted to get up and hug him. How had she never made that connection—between Michael’s tireless training and his lack of psychic gifts? But he joked around so much. Most people would’ve described him as downright cocky. “Jonathan says you’re a better fighter than he is.”
He shrugged. “If we were fighting, I don’t know if I’d bet against him.”
“Well, I hope you never fight!”
“I’d never fight him.”
The warmth behind the words radiated into her soul. The brothers’ love for each other had always done that. It was one of the reasons why, even as a child, she’d loved being around them. They shared some of that closeness with Nic too, though she hadn’t spent as much time with them and Nic. It made her worry about disappointing the man, now that he was her mission runner. “Was Nic a good fighter?” she asked. “When he was a Knight?”
“Jonathan says he was. But he told Jonathan he never wanted to have a gun in his hand again.”
“He did at Anantara.” The image of him came to Val again—standing in the courtyard, looking wildly around him for more Tribunal to shoot.
A shadow passed across Michael’s face. “That’s right. It must’ve been the first time in years.” A breeze fluttered the fronds of the palm trees overhead.
“Your parents should’ve told you it was okay,” she said. “That you didn’t have psychic gifts.”
“My mom did.” His wistfulness was plain in his quiet voice.
“But not your dad.”
He shrugged. “He was harder on Jonathan, who did have them. He’s gotten way better, though. After we lost Mom, I think he was messed up for years.”
“I know,” Val said. But it wasn’t an excuse for making one’s sons feel bad. If anything, their mother’s death should’ve made him kinder to them.
“Even as a kid, I thought all the time about Knights and mission Mages getting killed. The coup was one of my first memories.”
“You were old enough to remember that?” She’d only been a baby. The insurrection within the ranks of Manus Sancti had been quashed, but at the expense of several lives.
Michael nodded. “And then after what happened with Mom, and how Dad was so messed up… I thought it was better for a Knight not to get married. Or, uh, get into any serious relationships.”
Val’s heart felt sore. “I know you’re not the only one who thinks that.”
Michael frowned. “I’m talking too much.”
“No, you’re not. But I should probably get to bed.”
“Yeah, we both need to sleep.”
As they walked inside, Val was hyperaware of his body, so close to hers. She thought it would almost be a relief to
be away from him. But once he’d said goodnight and had closed the front door behind him, all she wanted was for him to come right back.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
On Wednesday, Val had a history class with Michael before the assembly. Michael was on edge, which might’ve explained his disjointed and not especially informative lecture. A Scholar prepped everything for him, but he clearly went rogue, talking about the invention of radar, the Egyptian pyramids, and war crimes during the Second Boer War—which, Val recalled, his great-great-grandfather had fought in briefly before defecting and joining Manus Sancti. They were supposed to be taking a test about World War Two.
The bell rang, and Val and her class joined the rest of the girls heading to the assembly. Britt called Val’s name, and Val joined her as they filed into the auditorium.
“Let’s sit up front,” Val suggested.
Britt’s whole body sagged. “Whyyy? We’re here early!”
They didn’t really need or want to be up close for a speaker warning them against drugs, alcohol, and vaping. She could see the reason for such a speech, but it didn’t seem like something a kid would be excited to hear. Val scrambled for a reason for her request. “I’m avoiding someone.”
“But that’s Mr. McClure’s section,” Britt complained. “He’s mean.” All the teachers had been assigned to watch over a section of the student body. Michael already sat at the end of the first row, on the right, wearing a lavender button-down shirt and khakis, hunched over his phone.
“Who are you avoiding?” Britt asked, whispering now. “Is it Sara? She’s such a bitch.”
Who was Sara? Val put a hint of a whine in her voice. “Please?”
Britt heaved a deep sigh. “Ugh! Fine.”
Once they found their seats, Britt chatted to Val about struggling to write an English paper, and Val sympathized. She herself didn’t have to worry about homework—a Scholar did it all for her, too, calibrating her work to a B level, with nothing to warrant any particular admiration or concern.
If she’d really had to write English papers, she thought she’d probably get A’s. Like her father, she loved to read, and her writing skills were excellent; they had to be, for her job.
In terms of sonámbulo academics, she was a mixed bag. She spoke English, Spanish, and Arabic, plus some Japanese. Like most in Manus Sancti, she had a good grasp of history. Her scientific knowledge was limited to psychology and human biology, including a fairly extensive knowledge of first aid—again, something they almost all learned as kids. Her math education had ended with learning long division and multiplication tables. The rest of her skills, the Tribunal would’ve called witchcraft.
One of the teachers walked up to the podium, mercifully interrupting their conversation. Val scanned her own memory for the teachers’ faces and names she’d studied. Marietta Boyd. “Good morning, students. We’ve got a very important speaker here for you today.”
Val peered down the row of students and teachers, then craned her neck to look behind her. Where was Padilla?
Marietta said, “I’m sorry to say Mr. Padilla is ill today, so I’ll be introducing him…”
Relief washed over Val, because she was scared of him—which immediately shamed her. She was here to do a job. Why wasn’t he here?
It was probably nothing. People got sick. She could still Read as many teachers as she could. It was too bad, after all, that she’d sat in the front row; she looked around, figuring out where they were. The closest was a middle-aged white man with brown hair and glasses, sitting directly behind her, four rows back. Kevin Fluke-something.
A sharp elbow jabbed her. “Stand up,” Britt whispered.
“Melody Cortina?” Marietta repeated.
Oh. Val was being introduced as the new girl. She stood, and the student body clapped. For Goddess’s sake. They were only trying to be welcoming, but she had no time for this. She sat down again, probably more quickly than she was supposed to.
“And Mike McClure, our new social studies teacher,” the woman added. Michael stood up with a tight-lipped, awkward smile she wasn’t sure she’d ever seen on him before, looking for all the world like an awkward American teacher. They all clapped again.
As the woman introduced the speaker, Val tried to pick up on her feelings. In such a crowded room, it was a challenge, like homing in on one conversation over the buzz at a party. All Val got from her was nervousness, which told her nothing. She might be close to Padilla, since she was speaking for him. Even if she weren’t Tribunal, she might know something.
The woman sat down in the middle of the first row, and the speaker took the stage, thanking her. Val stared up at the large clock on the wall. She waited thirty seconds to make sure everyone was either paying attention to the man or zoning out. Then, compressing the time as much as humanly possible, she drifted into Marietta’s psyche.
She was sitting next to Marietta on a porch swing, on the porch of a big old farmhouse overlooking a cherry orchard. Some of the trees were filled with pink blossoms; some were bearing impossible amounts of red, ripe fruit, in big clusters; and some were bare as if in the throes of winter. The sky was bright blue.
“I like it here,” Val said.
Marietta peered at her. “What are we doing here?”
“I won’t stay long,” Val promised. “Do you know anything about the Tribunal?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
After seeing the woman’s soulscape, Val would’ve been shocked if she’d said anything else. “What do you know about Luis Padilla? Is there anything strange about him?”
Marietta huffed. “I don’t know anything about that man. Kind of a jerk, but that’s about it.” She seemed very relaxed. Usually when Val Read someone for the first time, they were freaking out to various degrees.
“What makes you say that?”
“He’s very judgmental of the kids. And of people who aren’t Catholic.”
Well, she’d already known that. “Is he married? Does he have any friends?”
“No and no? I might be wrong, though. Like I said, I don’t know the man.”
Val asked a few more questions and then got out, erasing Marietta’s memory of her presence. She was sitting in her seat at the assembly again. The speaker was talking about the first time he’d gotten drunk.
Val shut her eyes again and Read more teachers. Cynthia Green. A high-end shopping area with glittering lights in the palm trees and a golden, fully clothed statue of herself at the center of the fountains. Ben Havanki. A rainforest. Lovely, except for the snakes. He guessed that Manus Sancti was a new Papal decree.
When Val got out, the speaker was still talking about his first drinking experience. Britt nudged her and whispered, “Are you okay?”
“Yes. Why?”
“You keep closing your eyes.”
“I have a headache.”
She tried Lilly Yoder next. A cemetery with no ground—the gravestones were floating, suspended in air. Rainbow colors sparkled in between. Was this evil or merely odd? Val abandoned her usual line of questioning. “Do you want to kill people?”
Lilly giggled. “Oh, my God, no. It’s just a weird dream.”
Then words emerged on the headstones—not names, but phrases, like Not Yet and Decades Away. An anti-death wish. She questioned Lilly briefly about the Tribunal and the stone, and wasn’t surprised to learn Lilly knew nothing.
By the time the speaker had concluded his talk and Marietta was making final remarks, Val had Read ten teachers. Two had mentioned an illegal fantasy league baseball team. None of them seemed to be involved in destroying Manus Sancti.
Did she have time to Read one more? She had maybe five seconds.
Kevin Flukedigger, or whatever his name was. Closing her eyes, she reached back, squeezed the timeframe for all it was worth and slipped in.
She stood facing him in vast flatland scattered with television sets and computer monitors of various eras and sizes. Most of the screens were blank;
a few played silent, violent porn—she looked away quickly. Among the monitors lay empty plastic soda bottles, fast food lids with straws attached, and little piles of snow.
“What the hell is this!” A deep, snoring sound rippled the air. Three wooly mammoths with curved tusks lumbered across the landscape, not far away, stomping on and smashing a few of the TVs.
Christos. This had to be the place.
She asked him, “What do you know about Tribunal?”
“What do you know about them?” Val’s heart kicked into high gear as he demanded, “What is this?”
“You’re one of them?”
“Yes!”
What should she ask first? She panicked. She had so little time. “Where’s the Equinox Stone?”
“What the fuck?”
Maybe he didn’t know the proper names of things. “A crystal. Dark on one side, light on the other.”
“It’s in the sacristy. In the vault.” He scowled.
“Who’s the leader?”
“Malleus.” The hammer. Val didn’t know much Latin, but everyone in Manus Sancti knew that one. The man stood straighter with pride. “The one who crushes the heart of the witch.”
“His real name! Not his nickname.”
On the outside, someone was pulling at her. She wiped his memory and slipped out.
All around her, students had gotten to their feet. Britt was bending over her, shaking her. “Val, wake up!”
She was going to cause a scene. Val jumped up—and almost collapsed, grabbing onto Britt’s shoulder for support. Her legs felt like water. She’d never Read that many people in quick succession before, and her stomach roiled, queasy from the evil of Kevin’s psyche. And now she knew Tribunal were here, and she didn’t know how many.
“I’m not surprised you fell asleep,” Britt murmured as they filed out. “That was kind of boring.”
Val got out her phone to text Michael, Nic, and Jacinto.
“Who are you texting?” Britt asked.
“My Uncle Jason.” She typed, Found one. Kevin F.
A few seconds. Then Nic texted, Talk tonight.