A man once messed up my solution,
By adding a bit of pollution,
The man’s a big fake,
and you can’t trust his cake,
Oh, how much I enjoy retribution.
The rose on his home is a bullseye,
Exactly what time will the man die?
We’ll take him tonight,
And like the false Knight,
Send him to that Big Lab in the Sky.
“How do you interpret that?” Andy asked.
“Home invasion this afternoon, five fifty-nine,” I said. “Dr. Miliron’s house is the target.”
Andy nodded. “Dr. Miliron was obvious. He contaminated the class project that Nicolaitan counted on to produce Psychedone 10. He was also a police informant, along with the recently deceased Dr. Captious. This is a follow-up to the rose riddle.”
“It is,” I said. “Nicolaitan is making it look like a robbery, but he plans to kill Miliron. The time wasn’t so obvious, though, until you look at the limerick’s pattern—the first two lines have nine syllables, the next two, five, and the fifth has nine again. Then it repeats. He’s giving us the time after he asks, ‘Exactly what time will the man die?’ Five fifty-nine in the afternoon. Does this mean I get out of school early?”
“No.”
“Andy, the last riddle was impossible to solve until it was too late. Why did Nicolaitan make this one so easy?”
Andy made a tent with his fingertips. “It’s a setup. We’ll have to be careful.”
“What’s with the cake?”
“I guess we’ll find out.”
…
Old mansions covered Academy Hill, massive and built so close together that the sun barely reached their perfectly manicured lawns. Easy to sneak through unseen, if you happened to be planning a home invasion.
Dr. Miliron’s home was a two-and-a-half story Victorian that looked like a dollhouse—gingerbread trim, bright colors—a perfect match for his personality. He had a gorgeous wraparound porch with ornamental spindles and even a bell tower. Dr. Miliron, high school mad scientist, was a man fluent in chemistry but challenged in anything non-scientific. He was famous for spewing long, chemically-overflowing descriptions that nobody without the benefit of a Ph.D. could decipher. As mad scientists went, though, he had extremely good taste in homes.
“Almost six o’clock,” I said into my mask’s com. “Let the festivities begin.”
“Are you in a hurry to get home?” Andy’s voice came back.
“We masked crime fighters need our beauty sleep.”
“Some of us more than others,” Andy said. “Look. Over in the neighbor’s yard.”
“I see them.” In the shadows of the next-door mansion, four figures moved quietly toward us. As they got closer, I drew my Amplifier. “Should we take them before they get to the house?”
“No,” Andy said. “I want to see how they get in.”
So far, the police hadn’t found any signs of forced entry, not even the scratch of a lock pick. Andy suspected that the Knights used some form of telepathy to enter. Telepathy wasn’t my thing. Tried it, couldn’t do it. I guess I’ll never be a Jedi.
“Are they lost?” Andy asked.
The figures moved aimlessly between houses, doubling back several times. As they stepped out from the shadows, one of them appeared to be checking a compass.
“What are they wearing? Oh, please don’t tell me…” I elbowed Andy. “I don’t think those four are Knights.”
Andy buried his masked face in his gauntleted hands. “This isn’t happening.”
Four odd-looking figures moved in single file. The tallest one glanced down at his compass, tripped, and then caught himself. He wore bright yellow tights with little spikes sticking out all over his back, an orange belt with several pouches hanging from it, and a World War I flying ace leather hat with matching goggles. I immediately recognized the oddly shaped body and Big Bird posture.
Hi had become a superhero. We’d gone straight to Mrs. Bagley after his suicide attempt, and she’d told me she would take care of everything. Looks like it worked.
Behind him, a girl who had to be Tish looked more the part. She wore an all-black dance leotard with black leggings, red knee-high Supergirl boots, and a red Mardi Gras feather mask. Next in line, a skinny boy was clad in dark grey sweats, a Robin mask, and kickboxing chest protector. Two escrima sticks hung from his side. Had to be Bobby. He didn’t look too happy.
Bringing up the rear was a short, pudgy kid wearing green Bunny Foo Foo jammies with tighty-whities on the outside. His face was covered by a Green Lantern mask. He carried a broomstick, bristles still attached. My deepest fear had come to life. The Dweeb League had let Pickles tag along.
“What are they doing here?” Andy growled.
“Let me handle this,” I said.
Andy’s smiling mask snapped in my direction, shoulders raised and palms up in a huh? I disappeared into Shimmer mode and made a silent beeline for the Dweeb League. Placing myself right in Hi’s path, I popped out of Shimmer.
“Wa-ah!” he squeaked, almost leaping out of his tights.
I hit a button on my mask, and a low voltage current tightened my vocal cords. My electronically altered voice sounded like Obi Wan Kenobi. “I sense that your powers have grown strong,” I said. “The Protectors are pleased.”
Pickles approached me, chest puffed out, arms stiffly at his side, broomstick in one hand. He gave me a two-fingered salute and said, “Here to serve, citizen.”
I pointed toward Sinclair Park. “There are innocents in the park. Protect them. Go to the amphitheater and wait for one hour. If the villains go that way, delay them. Then return to your homes.”
Pickles’s eyes grew wide behind his mask. “Sir, yes, sir!” He snapped to attention. “You can count on us, sir.” Then he turned and ran toward the park, hollering, “Sweeper awa-ay!”
Robin-Bobby looked at me, shrugged, and said, “Umm, he’s the Sweeper.” Then he took Tish and Hi by their arms and pulled them in the direction Pickles had headed.
When they were gone, Andy appeared out of Shimmer, and said, “The Sweeper?”
“Why are we just Psi Fighters? Why don’t we have cool superhero names?”
“Because you would be Bad Karma Girl.”
Before I could come up with a witty retort, a shadow crossed the first floor window of Dr. Miliron’s house. “The Knights beat us here.”
“No, they didn’t.” Andy said. “We were distracted by your Dweeb League, and I missed seeing how the Knights broke in. Drat. Let’s go.”
“Shimmer?”
Andy shook his head. “Stealth. I want them to see us when we take them down.”
“You want to show off.”
“I do. Let’s go.”
Chapter Thirty-One
In the Miliron Mansion
Andy sprinted toward the house, not making a sound. If we had been running on the beach with Andy in that mood, he would barely have left footprints. He was that good. He hadn’t invented the art of stealth, but he’d certainly mastered it better than anyone I knew. I mean, I was pretty good. I could get close to people without them ever knowing I was there. But Andy was like their shadow. Silent and totally unseen.
We stepped onto the wraparound porch, and Andy examined the doorknob. He glanced quickly back at me. “No lock pick scratches. They must have used a key.”
“Or their minds,” I said.
Andy pushed the door open to reveal a split entry. “You go low, I’ll go high,” he said, then disappeared up the stairs to the second floor.
The foyer was wide and bright. Sunset shone through the high, arched windows above the door. I slipped down the stairs into the slightly darker first floor and moved through the living room. Someone had recently been there. Foot-shaped impressions trailed across the carpet toward a large armoire. I noticed the glass door was open slightly, so I moved closer. Expensive antique glassware filled the shelves. Nothing seemed t
o be missing. Beyond the armoire, a long mirrored hallway split into wings and alcoves in all directions, like a carnival maze.
A soft noise coming from one of the alcoves caught my attention, and I crept toward it. A Knight sneaked slowly out and started down the hall, unaware that I was only feet behind him. I moved in quickly and struck a pressure point on his neck. He collapsed, and I lowered him quietly to the floor. Instead of the menacing mask I had expected, his head was covered in a black stocking. I pulled it off and recognized him as a senior from my school. I didn’t know his name, but I knew his face.
A quick glance at the mirrored hallway showed me that it was empty. I heard quiet whistling coming from the other end of the hall—the Star Wars theme song. That could only mean one thing.
Dr. Miliron was home.
I stole toward the sound and found the good doctor in his kitchen, whistling away. I presumed he was synthesizing an Illudium Q-36 Explosive Space Modulator or something, but was shocked to find that he wasn’t. He was making a cake. Just as the riddle had said. How did they know?
In place of a lab coat, he wore a flowered apron and Lord of the Rings pajamas. Instead of a test tube of glutonium petrowhatsis, he had a box of Duncan Hines Signature Red Velvet Buttery Cake mix. I had never seen Dr. Miliron outside of his natural habitat. Who knew he had a life beyond the high school chem lab? I slunk in behind him and slipped into a pantry.
He tore open the box of cake mix and measured it out meticulously in what looked like laboratory glassware. That was more like it. The man had a set of beakers in his kitchen. He also had an industrial mixer. He dumped the beaker of cake mix carefully into the mixing bowl, apparently forgetting that he had already turned on the mixer. A huge cloud of red velvet dust poofed into the air, covering Dr. Miliron with dark pink powder.
A movement caught my eye in the mirrored hallway. I saw the reflection of another Knight—this one much larger than the first—creeping up on Dr. Miliron. As he entered the kitchen, I saw with horror that he carried a gun. This had to be another student under the influence of Psychedone 10. Real Knights don’t use guns.
I crept from my hiding place into the hall, surprising the Knight as Dr. Miliron wiped the cake mix from his eyes, still whistling happily away. I popped the gun out of the Knight’s hand and slammed my fist into his jaw before he could react. He dropped, and I caught him. This one was heavy. Slowly, quietly, I dragged his limp body to the alcove.
“Need a hand?” Andy’s voice came over my mask. He came up behind me, carrying an unconscious Knight over each shoulder.
“Taking out the trash?” I asked.
“Yeah. Let’s move.”
“What do I do with these two?”
“Watch them,” Andy said as he walked away with the Knights still on his shoulder. “I’ll be right back.”
A small sound caught my attention. Out of the corner of my eye, a subtle movement. Another Knight appeared in the hallway. He moved toward me as if he was going to attack, then stopped cold.
“Lost?” I asked quietly, and shot my hand out to strike a pressure point.
The Knight surprised me by parrying the attack. This was no Proletariat. I fired a side kick into his ribs, but he sidestepped. I let my momentum carry me past him, tore off his mask on my way by, and turned to face him. I was shocked to see reddish-brown hair and a familiar face.
Drake Reynolds.
I punched him in the shoulder and then tossed him his mask. “Get out of here!”
Drake pulled his mask on and slipped silently down the hall. I noticed red powder on his gauntlets.
“Moron,” I said as Andy returned.
“What did I do now?”
“I’ll tell you in a second. Let’s get the others outside.”
Once we moved the four unconscious Knights outside to a secluded place with the others, we tied them up and took off their masks. “All seniors,” I told Andy.
“What about this one?” he said as he removed the mask of the Knight who had carried the gun. I gasped when I saw his face.
“That’s Art Rubric. This is bad. Worse yet, Drake was with them.”
Andy’s body stiffened. “Really?”
I nodded.
“Can’t wait to hear his story.”
“Why would he do this without telling us?”
“Hit your call button,” Andy said, shaking his head. “We need to let Dalrymple know to send in a cleanup squad.”
“We’re missing one,” I said as I summoned the police with an encrypted message.
Andy shook his head. “There’s nobody left in the house but Betty Crockpot.”
“These Proletariat are high on Psychedone 10. Scallion has to be nearby controlling them.”
“If he was, he’s long gone. And we need to be, too.”
Just as I turned to leave, Art Rubric moaned. He was in a semi-comatose state, obviously under the influence of Psychedone 10. He looked up at me and began mumbling something, but I couldn’t make it out. I hit a button on my mask, and his voice came over loud and clear. “Help me. Please. I want out. He won’t let me.”
“What’s up with that?” I asked Andy.
“He’s fighting control,” Andy said back. “Psychedone 10 has a weakness. And so did this mission. We’re missing something here.”
“What do you mean?”
“The riddle was too easy to solve.”
“Yeah, because it was a setup,” I said. “We knew that coming in.”
“But we didn’t walk into a trap. Just some stupid teenagers trying to get themselves killed.”
“Are you talking about the Dweeb League, or the Proletariat?”
“Both. But no trap. And no Dickens story connection. You will be haunted by three spirits.”
I stopped walking. “This was supposed to be Christmas present.”
“Exactly,” Andy said. “The present is still coming. This could get very bad.”
Chapter Thirty-Two
One Knight With You
“The mission was a success,” Phobos said through his mask. He hadn’t done what Nicolaitan asked, so he had to appear overly confident. He was prepared.
“Hardly,” Nicolaitan whispered. “Martin Miliron is alive. You failed.”
“Your assumption is not backed by facts, if I may be so bold. The facts are simple. Fact Number One: my mission is to find the Morgan girl. Which I did. Killing Dr. Miliron was simply a means to an end.”
“Continue,” Nicolaitan said, apparently pleased with his cool reasoning.
“Fact Number Two: she was there. I know the shape of her mask, the subtleties of her skill, the contours of her body language. She moves with precision. She attacks with certainty and unprecedented power.”
Nicolaitan folded his gauntleted hands together. “Making her easy to recognize in school.”
Phobos smiled. “Precisely. Fact Number Three: Scallion failed, not I.”
Nicolaitan nodded, looking as though he was more impressed with Phobos’s efforts at every encounter—his nuances, his choice of wording. His cunning. He might just become Nicolaitan’s Number Two.
“Show me her face.”
Phobos reached out and tentatively touched Nicolaitan’s arm. He remembered her mask, innocent, childlike, joyous.
Instantly, Nicolaitan burst into hyena-like laughter. “This is too much. Too many sightings to be a coincidence. She was in Sinclair Park. She was in Norman LaReau’s dead-and-buried mind. She haunts my dreams. I may change my mind about the Morgan girl. My boy, you have made me proud.”
“Master, do you mean to say that she is not the Morgan girl?”
“Not at all. She undoubtedly is.” Nicolaitan clasped his hands behind his back. “I mean to say that I may not make her my slave. I may change her in some other way. I must know her name. I must see her face. You have done well, my boy. The only remaining task is to unmask her.”
“I will unmask this Psi Fighter for you.”
“You will not,” Nicolaitan whisp
ered. “You will track her. You will lure her. You will deliver her to my doorstep. But it is I who retain sole right to unmask her. I claim this Psi Fighter for my very own.”
Chapter Thirty-Three
Christmas Present
The auditorium was filled to capacity and everyone was in costume. It looked like a Star Wars convention had come to our school. Today was the big day when we got to watch Star Wars at assembly instead of being in class. Every school kid’s dream come true.
“Help me, Obi Wan,” Kathryn said. She was now a brunette, and her hair had been curled and tugged into a gorgeous Princess Leia do.
“I can’t believe you dyed your hair just to watch Star Wars,” I said.
“I didn’t,” Kathryn said. “I felt like a blond Princess Leia would shatter a legend. I’m thoughtful like that.”
“And I felt like a blond Jar Jar Binks would be an improvement,” I said, lifting my ponytails-slash-Jar Jar ears. “Me-sa have more fun!”
Kathryn pointed across the auditorium. “Drake’s dressed as a sinister slimeball.”
Drake was surrounded by Art and the Red Team. Tammy and Boot had dressed as Sith lords. Art was a very convincing Jabba the Hutt.
“Drake’s a Storm trooper. Definitely sinister.”
“Mrs. Simmons told me that Art’s dad went all lawyer and sprung Art from the hoosegow,” Kathryn said. “Says he was set up.”
“Hoosegow?” I said. “Mrs. Simmons said hoosegow?”
Kathryn smiled and shook her head. “Nope, she said prison. I’m trying to help her expand her vocabulary, but librarians are kind of set in their ways. You know, proper grammar, words that are actually English, blah, blah, blah.”
Then she got all serious and pointed to Storm Trooper Drake.
“Rogue Psi Fighter,” Kathryn whispered. “Do you think it’s true?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “I haven’t seen him since the robbery at Dr. Miliron’s house.”
“It’s official, then.”
“It’s been official. He can’t be trusted.”
“Oh, look in the front row!” Kathryn squealed. “Bobby and Mason all alone. Let’s go.” She grabbed me by the hand and tugged me full speed ahead toward them.
Live and Let Psi Page 17