The White List

by Nina D'Aleo

Rocco jolted.

  “Omen wants us,” he said softly. “We have to go.”

  “Awesome,” I murmured. “Can’t wait.”

  I thought I saw a faint smile form on his lips.

  I dragged myself up and shuffled after Rocco into the dining room. All the Shaman were gathered around the table where Omen was standing in front of his laptop. His expression was its usual mocking sneer, but with an added twist of bemusement. I didn’t like it.

  “Agent Silver,” he said. “I’d like you to see something.”

  “Where’s my partner?” I demanded. “I’ve done everything you’ve asked, now I want to know.”

  Omen completely ignored my question. Instead he turned his laptop toward me and gestured.

  “Have a read,” he said.

  I approached the computer and saw a database file with lists of names—the White List. I glanced up at him and he gestured again. Reluctantly I started to read the names on the screen. At first I had no idea where he was going with it—it was just a bunch of names that meant nothing to me—and then I saw it, on the list of Shaman: my grandfather’s name—my mother’s name—my brother’s name, my name—the due date of my brother’s unborn baby and the scheduled date of its capping. The room spun around me and I had to hold the table to steady myself.

  “Is this a joke?” I asked Omen. He narrowed his eyes, studying me closely.

  “I didn’t see it,” he said. “Which means you’re above me in the Order—and the fact you haven’t broken-thru yet means you were capped by the Horseman himself.”

  I heard his words, but they didn’t quite sink in. My thoughts were speeding through time, through my life, looking for signs that it could be true—that we were Shaman. Right then one thing stuck out in my thoughts—my grandfather—the lunatic. My mother said he’d once made their entire family home shake by summoning the devil. I’d always dismissed the notion of it. Mom had been very young at the time and I’d never believed in supernatural power like that, but with this information in front of me I saw it must have been his own unstable strengths bordering on a break-thru. I held my pounding head.

  “Does it hurt?” Omen asked.

  I raised my eyes to his, the pain obvious in my stare.

  “It’s your mind trying to wake up, but it can’t. The Horseman has capped you. He’s too powerful. You’ll only wake if he lifts it,” Omen told me. “How does it feel?” he asked. “Being one of us?”

  His bemusement was gone, all the mocking gone—it was a straight question to which he wanted an answer. How does it feel?

  All the lights in the house suddenly blinked out.

  Omen’s voice came out of the darkness. “They’ve found us.”

  33

  All the windows in the house simultaneously imploded in a shrieking, shattering fall-out of glass. The whole place shook violently, bringing plates smashing off shelves and cabinets toppling.

  “Scatter!” Omen yelled and there was a stampede of boots crunching on glass as everyone fled the quaking house through windows and doors. Rocco held my arm tightly and guided me through the chaos to the back. We pushed through with a group of others onto the porch. The Horseman’s soldiers immediately attacked. Their forms, surrounding the house, were visible silhouettes in the gray light of dawn. As the rebels fought back, the sounds of war rose loud through the silence of the early morning—the sharp retort of gunfire, the smashing of projectiles, the ripping, rending, screaming, yelling. Ordinary suburbia had become a battlefield. If the neighbors weren’t cowering under their beds, they were calling the police. And if they had any sense at all they were running away as fast as they could go.

  “Stay low—get clear and run!” Rocco shouted and shoved me to the ground. He and Omen pushed to the front of the rebels to face the soldiers head on. I slithered on my stomach toward a nearby row of hedges. A boot came down on my arm, another kicked me in the face, but I managed to make it to the bushes. I pushed my way through to the fence and saw a similar anarchy at the front of the house—rebels battling soldiers, mind against mind, using every strength they had, but we were outnumbered at least four to one. As I watched, another huge military truck full of the Horseman’s people rumbled up the street and stopped to let a mass of soldiers out, making it more like six to one.

  A terrible dread seized my throat and squeezed. I leaped over the fence and ran for the cover of a tree trunk. I had to get the resistance some help, but from who? This was a war of supernatural powers: any human would be as good as dead. Even our deadliest weapons wouldn’t stand against the Shaman. Then I saw headlights and glimpsed a familiar car driving up the road. My heart froze. It was the General’s Cadillac, his personal vehicle. He was heading unknowingly right into the war zone, and it was my fault. As he neared, I took a chance and stepped out onto the street, waving him down frantically. I could see him squinting through the windscreen. He spotted me and shrieked the brakes to a stop. I darted to the driver’s side window and crouched low.

  “Sir, you have to get out of here!” I told him.

  There was a massive booming explosion as someone threw a car into the rebels’ house.

  The General’s face glowed with the reflected flames. He took out his gun and pushed open the door. I tried to shove it back closed and make him stay inside, but he was too strong.

  “You don’t understand,” I tried to tell him. “You’ll get killed.”

  He forced his way out and crouched down beside me, behind the idling car. Gas fumes filled the air. The General peered over the hood toward the house.

  “They’ve all broken-thru,” he said, watching the two Shaman groups fighting in the brightening light of the morning and the blaze of flames consuming the house.

  “Did you know this was possible? Did you know what was happening—that there was someone controlling everything from inside the agency?” I asked him.

  “Silvia, I’ve known for a very long time,” he said. “The Chapter has been trying to dig the Horseman out for as long as I’ve been an agent.”

  “Do you know who he is?” I asked.

  He gave a grave nod. “I know him well.”

  “Who is it?” I uttered. If he had been an agent at the same time the General had joined C11 then he had to be one of the senior bosses.

  Another car came flying through the air, hurtling from the direction of the house, and crashed down onto the road, skidding toward us on its roof, stopping just before it hit the Cadillac.

  “You need to get out of here,” the General said to me. “Take my car. I’ll stay and call in my team.”

  “I can’t leave,” I told him. “I need to help the rebels.”

  “You don’t have to. They can’t hurt you now. I know that Dark is clear—they’re not watching him any more.”

  Relief surged through my body, but my mind went to Rocco. “Their boss, Omen—he’s messed-up, but the others—they just want to save people. I believe in their cause. We have to stop the Horseman. We can’t let him hurt anyone else.”

  The General looked down at me and I saw sadness in his eyes. He shook his head. “There’s that heart again, Silvia,” he said. “It’s been your downfall since day one. You’re a prisoner to your emotions.”

  “Sir, what do you mean?” I asked him.

  “I’ve been waiting—waiting to see that change in you, that shift to indicate you were ready and I would have woken you up to join us. But it never came—the strength is there, it always has been, but your heart is weak.”

  “What are you talking about?” I demanded again. “What change? What shift?”

  “You said their leader, Omen, is messed-up. He’s not, he’s evolving, coming into his true power, becoming enlightened, as I was—divorced from the emotions that keep humans crawling through the primordial sludge. With your strength, I thought you would evolve too—I was so sure.” He shook his head. “But you kept hanging onto this?” He tapped his chest over his heart.

  I stared at him, shocked, the words gradually
sinking in.

  “It’s you!” I hissed and scuttled backward along the tarmac road. “You’re the Blood Horseman.”

  The General’s steady blue stare didn’t falter for a second.

  “You sent Annrais Pope to kill me,” I said in disbelief.

  “You weren’t changing, but you were starting to question. You were linked to me and bringing attention to yourself,” he said. “So I had to speed up my plan against the rebels. I did send Pope after you, but I didn’t think she would succeed. I thought if you suddenly came under threat then Omen would step in.”

  “I can’t believe this,” I said and the General continued.

  “After I dug him out of the agency, I found out he’d been watching you for quite some time. But after he ran, his cloaks were still so strong even I couldn’t find him. And so I thought of you, and please don’t be offended, as my Trojan horse. And here we are, through the gates, thanks indeed to you, my dear.’

  I felt the betrayal sharp like a knife cutting inside me. I’d worshiped this man. His words were like gospel to me. He’d put everyone I loved in danger to use me for his purposes.

  “I’ll never join you—ever,” I told him, my eyes locked with his.

  “I believe you, Silvia,” he said, and pointed his gun at my head. “And believe me when I say you’re like a daughter to me. I love you like family, but I am a man of purpose and if my own hand got in the way of that purpose I would chop it off. You’re too strong. I can’t have you joining them.” He cocked the trigger of his gun.

  “First tell me why you’re doing this?” I demanded, looking down the barrel and trying to stall him. “Why are you trying to kill humans?”

  “Because,” the General said, “this world is full of nothings, full of wastes of space and air and life—going to work, coming home, going back—doing nothing, going nowhere. I have a dream about a different world, a new kingdom, with all the dead branches cut away.”

  “With you as the king, right?” I said bitterly.

  “I’m at the top of our Order. Who else could lead like I?” he said.

  “What about your family? Your grandchildren?”

  “Well they’re precisely the reason for my actions—I’m preparing a world fit for them to live in.”

  “They’re Shaman,” I realized.

  I stared at him, searching for the monster I now knew he was, but all I could see was him—the same unfashionable dresser, the same sharp but sparkling blue eyes, the same gentle question in his expression. There was no monster hiding behind the man—the man was the monster—with all its sides and shades, its abilities to love and show concern, then turn and stab you in the heart if you don’t fit into its scheme—all the while saying he loves you. My head was pounding so badly my vision blurred out. I struggled to blink back to focus.

  “You capped me,” I said to him.

  “Yes,” he said. “I held you as a newborn baby, when you were only this big.” He measured it with his hands, sounding so fond and grandfatherly. “And I thought, One day this girl will be a force to be reckoned with.” He shook his head. “There’s still time,” he said. “You can still join me.” His finger tensed on the trigger.

  “You’re the reason I am who I am,” I said, my voice like ice.

  “Well I did try to guide you—”

  “No,” I cut him off. “That’s not what I meant. I meant that you are the monster I wanted to kill. You’re the time I wanted to turn back. You’re the wrong in everything and everyone that I swore I’d make right. You’re telling me that I have too much heart but there’s no such thing. A heart can love, but it can also hate and I hate you and everything you are!” By the end of my speech I was shouting, screaming, and as the echo of my voice faded to silence, the pain in my head peaked and then exploded into blinding white lights behind my eyes. The streetlights all around us blew out. I gasped, staggered and fell to my knees, alien sensations running through my body. The pain trickled away to nothing and I looked up at a changed world.

  “Yes—well done!” the General said with genuine excitement. “You’ve woken yourself up. Outstanding! I think there’s still hope for you, my girl, if you could break through a cap of my making. You’re confused now, but I’ll help you understand my vision, I promise. Come with me.” He held out one hand while keeping the gun still trained on my head.

  I stared toward him, but his image kept jumping from one side to the other, from far to very near. Time and space distorted around me. I couldn’t see anything clearly: everything was rocking, colors running together like wet paint. My body felt completely disconnected, as if my head was floating in the sky and my legs and arms were somewhere far below. I couldn’t control the feelings, but I did understand one thing. If I was going to strike, it had to be now. And I wanted to strike—more than anything I’d ever wanted.

  I gathered my rage and lurched to my feet. I tried to rush the General, but I found I was stuck to the spot and everything around me was rushing toward him instead. The force hit him hard and knocked the gun from his hand. His expression registered some shock. He looked back at me and the sadness came back into his eyes.

  “Shall I take that as a final no?” he asked.

  I gave a very animal growl and sent my powers at him again, but this time he blocked it and threw it back at me. His movements were effortless, a minimal brush of his hand, but the force he sent was nuclear. My tiny attempt was like a butterfly’s breath in the hurricane of his power. His psychokinetic force hit me and I flew—for yards—until I struck the fence of the besieged rebel house and crashed to the ground.

  I managed to raise my head and saw the General moving toward me. His steps were unhurried as always, but purposeful. I struggled up, one arm holding my chest, and leaped back over the fence. I broke through the hedge into the backyard. Here, the fight was continuing. There was no sign of Rocco, but Omen still stood in the center of the grassy square laying waste to every soldier who came at him. I spotted Eric charging at him. With a flick of his hand, Omen snapped my former supervisor in half. Sensing the General closing in behind me, I stumbled out into the fight, running the gauntlet of flying objects and crashing powers toward the rebel leader. It felt like I was running on a lurching ship. I couldn’t regulate my speed or even judge the distance. I ended up smashing hard into someone’s back and the two of us rolled across the ground, lunging up at the same time face to face. I stared at Feng.

  “Tell me you’re not one of his?” I said.

  “I told you I was seeing one of the big bosses,” she said.

  “Feng, no,” I whispered. “What about Jovic?”

  The hard stare of her eyes faltered and she said, “You should get out of here—you’re going to get yourself killed.”

  She jumped up and tried to run past me but I grabbed onto her, hugging her against me. She tolerated it for a moment then pulled away.

  “I was wrong,” she said. “You can’t learn how to care.”

  “But you do care,” I told her. “Don’t let the General convince you that you don’t.”

  She looked into my eyes and said, “Goodbye, Silver.”

  Feng pushed past me. She ran across the yard and, using her Shaman skills, uprooted a tree and hurled it at a group of rebels.

  Feeling an ache in my chest, I hauled myself up and ran to Omen, almost colliding with him as well. He spun around super-fast and grabbed me around the neck, then saw it was me and loosened his grip, fractionally.

  “It’s him. It’s the Horseman,” I managed to say. I pointed back toward the fence as the General appeared through the row of hedges.

  Omen stared at him, confusion in his eyes. He knew the General the way I did. Then the lines of his face smoothed out and he breathed, “It’s him.”

  A snarl set onto his face. All along his arms and up his body, tattoos appeared of roses thick with thorns. They grew thick around his neck and he gasped as though they were choking him.

  He dropped me to the ground and I was rock
ed by a rush of air as he literally flew at his nemesis.

  The two superpowers met with a collision that ripped through the yard, throwing everything and everyone in all directions. I landed back out on the sidewalk with a crash that knocked the air out of my lungs. Rebel corpses lay everywhere, there were a few still standing, fighting. I struggled up, searching the knots of people for Rocco or Marco or Willow, but I could barely see anything. My vision was blurring then focusing in on the minutest detail. My body was sending me a thousand conflicting messages—run, stop, attack, cry, lie down, jump up …

  Without warning something struck my shoulder with staggering force. I stumbled back and was hit again in the stomach. The impact knocked me onto my back. I grasped at the pain and my hand came back red and wet with blood. I’d been shot. I raised my eyes and saw Annrais Pope standing across the road, holding a rifle. This psycho just never gave up. She was like a freaking Terminator.

  A smile crept across her lips and she came toward me. She seemed completely oblivious to the chaos around her—her tunnel vision was extraordinary. I tried to scramble back, but my coordination was worsening. I was just sliding around on the spot. She stepped onto the curb on my side of the road and closed in, wanting to be as close as possible for the death shot. I heard a car speeding up the street. Pope stood over me. She took aim at my head. Tires screeched so close. Pope lifted her head, distracted. I managed with supreme effort to land a savage kick to her leg. She stumbled backward. At the same time, a car mounted the curb with a massive crash, and slammed into her. I didn’t see her flying, but I heard the dull thud a few seconds later.

  The car door flew open and a figure jumped out. The person ran through the haze of smoke billowing from the car’s hood. I stared up into sharp green eyes—Dark. I started crying, probably hysterically. I couldn’t control anything. My partner, still battered and bruised, wearing casts and struggling to move fast, closed the distance between us. He fell down to his knees beside me and I hugged onto him so tightly. Scents of leather and peppermint chewing gum filled my senses. The familiarity helped me gain some focus. He was my anchor in the storm.