Persistent bitch.
Javier and Nicole walked up and put their hands on the head of the strange Grade One Supported woman. She stopped in place as Javier and Nicole invaded her mind and undid Worcester’s control.
To everyone’s surprise, the now uncontrolled woman immediately recovered, yanked herself out of Javier and Nicole’s hands, sprinted out the door and down the hall after Worcester, barreled into the God, took her down and then proceeded to bitch slap her with one hand and punch her with the other. War instinctively protected the freed woman from anything Worcester could do, hoping the protections would hold. Worcester fought back with willpower, but not as War would have.
“Lydia, stop this,” Worcester said, a willpower-backed order. Worcester’s attempted control never reached Lydia’s mind. War smiled. At least her mental protection worked according to plan.
Mary ran up and grabbed Lydia, who tried to cuff Mary once or twice before realizing she was overmatched. Only then did Lydia attempt to use her Supported tricks. Mary, the target, flashed in purple light twice but didn’t let go of Lydia. No big surprise. Lydia didn’t have the skill to penetrate Portland’s willpower protections.
“Fuck!” Lydia said, and relaxed in Mary’s arms.
“Back. The fuck. Off,” Mary said, hissing.
Worcester stumbled to her feet. “You freed her,” she said. “That was amazingly stupid. This young woman is a hazard. I controlled her for the public good.” Worcester looked pissed and she bled silver from two facial scratches. That brought a smile to War’s little girl face. The Gods’ makers had made them vulnerable to normal mortals. Not that the vulnerability did normal mortals a bit of good without the proper backing.
“This fucking bitch kidnapped me right out of my high school,” Lydia said. “My ‘rents must think I’m dead or something. I’m going to the FBI!”
Youth. War hadn’t realized this Supported woman was so adolescent.
“We’ll take responsibility for her,” Alt said to Worcester. “She’s one of us weirdoes.” Mary hustled the young woman off down the back stairs into the kitchen. The rest of them followed. Worcester closed her eyes, and War could practically hear her pray that the day wouldn’t get any worse. In the kitchen, Alt pointed. “Phil, you’re in charge of the catering.”
The doorbell of Worcester’s estate rang, announcing Montreal, Akron and Orlando’s arrival.
Worcester’s day had just gotten worse. War doubted Worcester’s loyalty to Dubuque would last much longer, or her alliance with the scumbag Suits.
Mary sat Lydia down in a far corner of the kitchen and sat down beside her. Phil quietly gave catering instructions to Leo, Pat and Vicki, who tried to avoid tripping over the Telepaths as they set up the food, improvising as they went along. None of them knew anything about catering. “We don’t mean you any harm at all,” Mary said to Lydia, a big smile on her face. Mary, a hard case in her own youth, appreciated Lydia’s attitude. “Bitch-slapping Gods, however, is a good way to die or end up back under their mental control. My friends here can’t protect you if you do stupid shit like that.”
“Sorry,” Lydia said. She put her head in her hands. “It’s just that Worcester’s so angrifying. She had me dressed in a maid’s outfit! I could just puke!” Lydia looked around and squeaked a scream before covering her face in embarrassment. “That little girl just stepped into that old woman.”
War stuck her projection’s head back out of Nicole. “Sorry. I just did this to keep out of the way.”
Lydia screamed again, and then took several deep breaths to get a better grip on her panties. “That little girl’s a God-projection, isn’t she?”
Alt sat down on the other side of Lydia. “Uh huh. Goes by the name of War. Can’t say she’s harmless, but she is on our side.” He paused and failed to keep a grin off his face. “Lydia, we need to sort out what’s happened to you, and quickly.”
“Why?”
“You’re an anomaly.”
“Huh? Me? You’ve gotta be kidding. The bitch” Worcester “has four others just like me. She’s been hunting us down all across the US and Canada.”
Okay, so Worcester’s not completely a one trick pony, War amended. Worcester’s just radically different than the other Territorials.
The psychic ether filled with a dozen variations of the ‘what is going on?’ theme.
“Why don’t you tell us how you came to be a Supported?” Alt asked. “My name’s Alt, by the way.”
“The Recruiter? Jesus Mary and Joseph!” Lydia looked like she was about to die from embarrassment. “I didn’t recognize you in that outfit. Sir.”
“The Recruiter’s what they call me. You don’t need to call me ‘sir’.”
Alt wasn’t a telepathy specialist, but he did have enough of the projective telepathy trick to calm Lydia down a little.
“Okay.”
“So, what’s your story, Lydia?” Alt said, trying again.
“Uh, well, you know, it’s sort of embarrassing,” Lydia said. This time she relaxed as ordered, with her back against a kitchen cabinet, and looked languidly up at Alt. “The mess all started when I got hooked on Akron’s TV show.” Akron, domestic goddess extraordinaire, was the first of the Gods to get a cable gig. War had watched the show once and found it to be a distasteful mix of Martha Stewart and Dr. Phil. She hadn’t bothered with twice. “I decided that since she was a God, I’d worship her. That lasted only a few fucking hours; Akron downloaded into my mind, penguin slapped me into imbecility and said that I should worship God Almighty or Jesus, not her. Or elsies. Sick, that, but she hinted I could URL her name to aid in my prayers to God. Well, that sorta pissed me off, you know, and, um, well then I decided that instead of just licking her, the ungrateful wretch, I’d invoke all the 99 Gods when I prayed. When I did, something changed in me. It was like, yah know, I had grown a third eye and could see a new world. If I furrowed my brow and pushed, reality obeyed me. Weh-ell, that fucking freaked me out. There I was, flaming dumbass that I am, and I realized the only thing that stopped me from doing whatever jumped into my head was my own loser conscience and the limits of my will. Anyway, you know, I got embarrassed by this third eye nonsense. Scared. Believing if I did anything with the trick it would be wrong. So I didn’t. Not a thing. I refused. Well, that’s ‘not a thing’ after I scared the crap out of myself with a few hours of initial experimentation. But nothing afterwards.
“Then that bitch Worcester kidnapped me, heisted me back here and taught me how to be a proper, ahem, ‘Grade One Supported’, ahem.” Lydia frowned. “Every time I think about what that bitch makes me wear I want to rip her a new one. I’m no goddamned preppy. Even the damned make-up she makes me wear is all wrong. Her damned crap makes me look ten years older!”
Nicole, trying unsuccessfully to squat in front of Lydia on bad knees, giggled and patted Lydia’s leg. “Don’t worry, if you want to go back to the purple eyeliner and black lipstick, we’ll let you.”
Lydia glared at Nicole. “How’d… Who the fuck are you people, anyway? I know the Recruit… Alt, that is… has dozens of his recruited groups out causing trouble. You can’t be Telepaths, there’s Gods among you.”
Alt shook his head. “Blame the idiot media for trying to hype what’s going on as ‘Telepaths versus Gods’. The media gets into contests more than politics and philosophies. Lydia, this isn’t just some randomly recruited group of mine. We are the ‘Telepaths’, and, yes, we have Gods among us.”
Lydia looked at the group clustered around her, examining all of them. She frowned, but Alt continued before Lydia could make the obvious comment. “Nessa and Ken are off working on another project.” Lydia nodded. “We have one God and one God-projection working with us, one hidden inside me and as you saw, one hidden inside Nicole.”
“Ok
ay, so that’s what’s so perv about you,” Lydia said. “I was like gonna ask.” Sarcastic bitch. War liked her.
“We’re also well supported by Portland and Boise,” Alt said.
“Whatever.”
The rest of the Telepaths concurred, save War. None of them had ever heard about spontaneous Supported before. Lydia violated every rule they thought they knew about Supported. War wasn’t sure there was any reason at all to tell Lorenzi a damned thing.
War’s refined society-woman projection arrived at Worcester’s brownstone, along with the projections of Portland, Boise, Inventor, and Lawyer. Supported guards ushered them into the sitting room, all elegantly appointed in upper-class WASP, where Montreal introduced the Gods to Worcester. Phil and the Mindbound served the projections ambrosia, Boise’s improved version, deviously altered so even a projection could imbibe the stuff.
Had to observe the social niceties. However, with three of her now in the same compound, the real danger lay in War’s own mind. Three projections in the same place strained her suspension of disbelief.
“I just don’t see what’s wrong with having people worship us,” Worcester said, mid conversation. “If the Supported aren’t evil, then I don’t see what’s so evil about worship. They’re all the same to me. And if you care, I do follow Dubuque’s ‘veneration’ technique to keep things in line, but at least I’m willing to admit ‘veneration’ is still a form of worship.”
War decided to let the others handle this mess. Worcester was a worship addict. Even with all those divine eyeballs glaring at her she bet Worcester wouldn’t be able to kick the habit, even if they got her to switch alliances. Worcester was nothing but another Dubuque, only without the megalomania. Or, considering her alliance with the Seven Suits, with less megalomania. Or perhaps just a different version of megalomania, one associated with class and money. War focused her attention back into her little girl projection, and back on Lydia.
“So, what’re you so-called people going to do with me?” Lydia said. “I want to go back to my crib, dammit.”
“I don’t think going home will be safe for you,” Alt said. “Although Worcester might be grabbing others like you, you’re the first of your kind that we’ve ever met or heard of. The other Gods don’t know Supported like you exist. When they learn, they’re all going to want you under their thumb or dead. None of the 99 appreciates independent power bases. That’s why they’re hunting John Lorenzi and his magicians, and it’s why they forced us out into the open. No, what we’re going to do is go talk to your parents. My hope is that we can convince them, and you, that the safest course is to stay with us.”
“Join up with you?”
Alt nodded. “After some training.”
War frowned.
“For real?” Lydia’s eyes opened wide. Alt nodded. “Well, I’ll have to think about it. I’m not sure.”
Uh huh. Right. Lydia Gibson’s desire was transparent. She wanted to join with Alt so bad War didn’t even bother double-checking with her telepathy.
Damn but Alt was dangerous.
And, double and triple damn, this was perfectly analogous to the Dana recruitment. WTF was going on, anyway?
“I need to talk to you alone, War,” Persona said. She had walked out of Alt’s body when Lydia turned her back and had taken on the appearance of a non-descript white man in his thirties. In a catering uniform.
Crap. “Feel free.”
Persona led War’s projection outside of Worcester’s brownstone, piling up anti-snooping willpower tricks as they walked. The sun shone, the birds chirped, and even the smell of auto exhaust faded into the distance on this beautiful early March day.
“What is it?” War said, leaning against a brownstone wall and suspecting the worst.
“You flinched when we figured out that Lydia was an anomaly,” Persona said. “Either you’ve seen Supported like Lydia before, or you just got one of those annoying déjà vu flashes we all get when we’re around powerful Telepaths.”
“So?”
“I strongly suspect the latter. I even know the corresponding event, a little dust-up with the Seven Suits.”
War groaned, inside. Persona might be a ditz for a God, probably only low-end genius-level intellect as mortals measured things, but she specialized in personalities. Since her shift from the Practical God named Celebrity into the Ideological God named Persona, she had only gotten better. War had feared Persona would out her ever since her masquerade began. “What do you want?”
“As in you think I’m trying to blackmail you? You’ve got to be kidding. Me? You?” Persona said. War opened herself up telepathically and picked up Persona’s excitement. Persona liked her, of all things. “This is more an offer of help. If there’s anything I can do to help, I will.”
“Can you bury this in your mind so the Telepaths can’t dig it out of you?” If War could pick up Persona’s mental excitement, so could any of the Telepaths.
Persona nodded. “No problem. I learned a lot of tricks from Nessa.” She leaned over and grabbed War’s projected arm. “I’m so glad you made it through that mess. Damn!” Persona smiled. “So tell ol’ auntie Persona here your problems.”
War didn’t see much choice in the matter. “The flinch? You’re right, I’ve noticed I’ve got a little problem with Telepath-induced coincidences. Multiple identities don’t come natural to me and the problem gets worse when something unexpected happens,” War said.
“You shouldn’t have a projection hanging around with the Telepaths, then.”
“That’s not an option, not with plan five in operation. If they’ll have me, I’m needed, if only to protect Alt,” War said.
“Well, then, perhaps I can teach you some of my persona tricks,” Persona said.
“What sort?”
“When you’re inhabiting a role, or at least when I’m inhabiting a role, I am the person. Memories interfere, so I arrange it so my other persona memories aren’t available.”
“You’ve compartmentalized your mind, like Worcester,” War said. “That would be a useful trick to learn.”
“Let’s start,” Persona said. “Alt’s safe in there.”
“I’d prefer one of our big guns there, but Orlando’s coming on strong and he’ll do for now,” War said. Persona’s concern for Alt’s safety meant War’s other secret, the fact that Leo was War’s real body, remained a secret.
“Then we agree,” Persona said. “Let’s try something on the easy side of things: how about you become someone white.”
War suspected this would be a difficult lesson.
And after that the Head of Days repented and said: ‘In vain have I destroyed all who dwell on the earth.’ And He sware by His great name: ‘Henceforth I will not do so to all who dwell on the earth, and I will set a sign in the heaven: and this shall be a pledge of good faith between Me and them forever, so long as heaven is above the earth. And this is in accordance with My command.
When I have desired to take hold of them by the hand of the angels on the day of tribulation and pain because of this, I will cause My chastisement and My wrath to abide upon them, saith God, the Lord of Spirits. Ye mighty kings who dwell on the earth, ye shall have to behold Mine Elect One, how he sits on the throne of glory and judges Azâzêl, and all his associates, and all his hosts in the name of the Lord of Spirits.’
-- The Book of Enoch 55, 1:4
“Dancing opens up my mind and sets all the little radishes in my head back in their proper bungee-holies.”
10. (Nessa)
Twitch.
Two dogs sniffed around the edges of John’s rental place. Security breach! Nessa shooed them away, giving them the mental location of the nearest garbag
e can with food.
Someone still talked. Not her. Nessa shrugged and went back to the dogs.
Twitch.
The cuckoo clock on the mantle dinged for 10:15. Although Lorenzi had gone for austere this time, a cabin in the woods rather than an exurban mansion, the place was a cabin on a lake. Time for the fish to jump! Nessa got into their minds and had all the surface-near fish in the lake jump out of the water. Synchronized. Splash! Wheee!
Ken nudged her.
Nessa jumped.
Nessa opened her eyes and found Lorenzi closing his leather folder-thingie, ready to stand. Had he finished? Already? “Wait,” Nessa said, searching through her mind until she found some reality. “What’s Nairobi known for, anywho?”
John frowned. He had dark bags under his eyes and appeared old today. Sick, perhaps. “…anything I said, did you, Nessa?”
“Huh?” At least Lorenzi would talk to them, unlike everyone else. Just because they had listened to what Satan said? That poor misunderstood ancient crone. What a strange Telepath, if she was indeed a Telepath. That poor old lady never got any respect. People treated her like a disease because of Lorenzi’s scurrilous tales. Lorenzi, the bastard, saw no problem talking to them. “Oh, John,” Nessa said. “Two of your magicians are getting in each other’s faces, and if you don’t do something quick, they’re going to start fighting.”
Lorenzi said something curt to Ken and bounded off. Ken gently took Nessa’s shoulder and helped her stand.
“I don’t need any help standing,” Nessa said. “Flying perhaps, but not standing. Oh, there they go. Bang! Whoomph!” The fire the uglier magician cast at the less ugly one was 99.92% illusory, but still… Fighting was bad! Nessa gave the uglier magician a 99.92% illusory debilitating migraine. He fell like a rock just before Lorenzi tore him a new one.
Twitch.
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