The Quest (Psionic Pentalogy Book 4)

by Adrian Howell

  Telepathically breaking into my frustrated thoughts, Alia asked me for more details about the Historian, so I described him to her. Hearing what he looked like, Alia was now dead set on seeing the 3000-year-old child for herself.

  My sister found it hilarious that the Historian had accepted “one Adrian Howell” as payment for our information, but she wasn’t as curious as I was regarding what the Historian wanted from my history. Alia’s main concern was, like mine, much more personal. “Do you really think he can find Cindy for us?” she asked.

  “Let’s just say that I’m optimistic,” I replied cautiously. It wouldn’t do to get Alia’s hopes up again only to hear from the Historian that Cindy’s current location was a cemetery.

  Alia looked at me hesitantly. “Addy? Do you think the Historian would know who my parents are?”

  Her question threw me for a moment. Then I gasped. “I can’t believe I didn’t negotiate that into our deal. Oh, Alia, I’m so sorry! I wasn’t thinking at all!”

  “It’s okay, Addy,” Alia said lightly, shaking her head. “I was just wondering, that’s all. Cindy first, right?”

  My sister rarely mentioned her birth parents so I didn’t know how she really felt about them. To say that she was indifferent might be going too far, but I guessed that my sister, like me, cared more about the people who were an actual part of our lives. Of course that didn’t excuse my oversight, but what was done was done.

  “I’m really sorry,” I said. “I don’t know if the Historian will answer, but you can still try asking when you meet him.”

  Alia shrugged. “I might. I’m not sure I really want to.”

  Ed Regis and James eventually retired to their rooms, citing exhaustion. According to the three grandfather clocks, it was only about 9pm, but our bodies hadn’t yet readjusted to a normal life.

  Catching me yawning, Terry said, “I guess we should turn in, too.”

  As we stood, I gave my sister a reassuring smile and said, “It’s alright, Ali. You can bunk with me if you want. Just go get your pajamas from your room.”

  To my utter surprise, however, Alia shook her head, saying, “You only have one bed in your room, Addy.”

  I shrugged. “That’s never stopped you before.”

  Alia smiled up at me. “Thanks, but I think I’ll sleep in my own room tonight.”

  I wondered if I had heard her right. “Are you sure you’ll be okay, Alia?”

  “I’m eleven years old, Addy,” she said, giving me a resolute look. “Like you said, I can’t be afraid of the dark forever.”

  I looked long and hard at her, and then nodded and whispered, “Good girl.”

  “I want to take a bath before bed,” said Alia, and then laughed, adding, “A really, really long one.” She gave me a quick hug and then disappeared into her room.

  As I watched her go, Terry said teasingly, “You’re actually disappointed, aren’t you?”

  “Of course I’m not!” I replied forcefully, but not entirely truthfully.

  On the one hand, I was exceptionally relieved to see my sister finally acting her age. It put to rest some of my fears regarding the psychological trauma she still carried from her past, including the berserker and everything else that happened since the fall of New Haven. But I couldn’t deny that I would miss her stubborn attachment to me.

  Noticing my mixed-up expression, Terry giggled and said, “Well, she couldn’t be your little girl forever, Addy-daddy.”

  “Please don’t make fun, Terry,” I said quietly. “I am happy for her.”

  Alia’s nighttime murmuring would probably still carry through the walls, but someday she would grow out of that too. Terry occasionally joked that I was more Alia’s father than her brother, but perhaps she had a point. I wondered if this was how my own parents had felt when they were watching Cat and me grow up.

  Terry smirked. “You might want to keep your door unlocked tonight, just in case.”

  “Goodnight, Terry,” I said, retreating into my room.

  “Aren’t you at least going to tuck her in?”

  “No,” I said flatly, closing the door in Terry’s face.

  Chapter 18: Answers and Stories

  I woke early the next morning.

  Half expecting Alia to come sneaking into my bed in the middle of the night, I had taken Terry’s advice and kept my room unlocked, but she hadn’t come. After changing and splashing some water onto my face, I stepped out into the common room where I found my sister sitting alone on a bright green sofa. The grandfather clocks showed a little past 6am.

  “Did you have a good night?” I asked hesitantly as I sat next to her on the sofa. Alia was still in her nightclothes, and I wondered how long she had been sitting here. “No bad dreams?”

  “Just one,” Alia admitted quietly. “But I’m okay now.”

  I gave her shoulders a quick squeeze. “I’m really proud of you, Alia.”

  “Thanks.”

  Alia’s tone and slightly unfocused eyes told me that she wanted a little silent time, so I obliged her and we sat together listening to the tick-tocks of the three clocks until they all struck seven.

  Suddenly returning to normal, Alia smiled and said, “I haven’t slept in a room all by myself for so long. It felt so strange.”

  “It’s got to be better than the kind of places we’ve been sleeping for the last few weeks, though,” I said. “You’ll get used to it soon enough.”

  Alia nodded. Then she gave me a slightly embarrassed look as she said, “I’ll sleep in that room while we’re staying here, Addy, but if we ever get back home, can I please share a room with you again?”

  “When we get back home,” I corrected. “And yes, as long as you really want to, we can share a room. But you have to sleep in your own bed, okay?”

  Alia gave me a toothy smile. “Deal!”

  “Now go on and get dressed.”

  Alia skipped into her room and reappeared a moment later wearing a plain, dark green dress. In sharp contrast to our colorful rooms, all our clothes were basic in design and of quiet shades. I was certain now that they had been specifically tailored for us by the servants of the house who didn’t share the Historian’s eccentric style.

  Havel arrived to announce breakfast at precisely 8am, by which time Terry and the others had been up for half an hour. Alia seemed happy that no one made a big fuss over her finally being able to pass the night on her own.

  Breakfast wasn’t an insane feast like last night, but there was plenty of ham and eggs and surprisingly fresh milk. In addition to my telekinetic power, which had already been fully recharged, I felt my physical strength well on its way to making a full recovery.

  The servants seemed hell-bent on seeing to our every need, constantly watching over our table to make sure nothing was lacking. Alia still found it amusing how everyone insisted on calling her “Mistress Gifford.” I didn’t particularly care for the fancy titles, but after months of playing househusband at Walnut Lane, it felt wonderful to be waited on for a change.

  Delivering us back to the common room, Havel announced that the Historian would probably meet with us again in a few days or possibly a few weeks, but in the meantime we were free to go and do as we pleased.

  “Weeks, Havel?” I asked in dismay. “How many?”

  Havel merely smiled. “The Historian does not mean to be rude, Master Howell. He merely operates in his own time.”

  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.
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  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 hav
e,” 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.”