Exodus, page 23
“People are out to kill me now!” his stepfather roared. “And they want to kill me because I’ve been struggling to make ends meet for the two of you. Your bloody mother just spent whatever she could get her hands on, and you…you just kept eating and growing and going through clothes like there was no tomorrow!”
That old fear coiled inside Warren again, twisting like a wild animal trying to escape a trap. He felt sweat break out over his brow. Then the burn scabbing and white skin over his left arm and back began to itch furiously.
“But I’ll stop that!” Martin declared.
Vaguely, Warren heard Kelli begging Tulane to stop the recording, but Tulane ignored her. He focused on Warren.
The gunshot pealed within the room, and Warren felt the bullet strike him again. The fear was out of control. He remembered how he’d felt, how he’d never wanted to be hurt again.
Then a child’s voice, which had been pleading for the stepfather to stop, suddenly sounded hot and angry. “I wish you were dead!”
The words were small in the context of things. They shouldn’t have mattered at all.
But Martin DeYoung had stopped cursing and screaming and had blinked at Warren lying on the ground before him. Then he’d put the pistol to his temple and started pleading for his life.
“No! Don’t make me do this! No! Stop! Please!” Martin had started crying then, shaking with effort to take the pistol away from his temple. But he hadn’t been able to. “Nooooooooooo—”
The sharp gunshot ended the scream. Even the conversation between the neighbor and police officer had ended in shocked silence.
Warren’s skin itched even more. He was angry at Tulane for dredging up all those old memories, but he didn’t know how to react. Warren knew he might as well have been a prisoner.
The vid vanished.
“When the police arrived,” Tulane said softly, “they searched the premises, thinking they’d find a third party there. A neighbor or a friend of your mother’s. Someone who had overpowered your stepfather, put the pistol to his head, and pulled the trigger. But that isn’t what happened, is it?”
Warren hesitated, weighing his options. “No.”
“You wished he was dead,” Tulane said.
“Yes. But I had for years.”
“But never so fiercely as that night.”
“No.”
“And then what happened?”
“Martin…killed himself.”
Tulane stared at Warren. “Because you told him to.”
“Yes.”
Shaking his head in amazement, Tulane said, “Eight years old. And before the Hellgates opened.”
Warren didn’t know what to say to that.
“Have you ever used your power since then?” Tulane asked.
Warren thought about lying, but he felt certain Tulane would know he was lying. Since he wasn’t sure what would happen to him if he was caught in a lie, he told the truth. “Yes.”
“How?”
“To influence people.”
“The way you influenced the demon to leave you when Edith found you?”
Warren nodded. The itching along his arm and back grew even more powerful.
“And you survived the demon’s attack a few days ago.”
Warren nodded again.
“Has anything like that ever happened before? Accidents that should have hurt you didn’t do much damage?”
“No.” Warren scratched his arm under his coat sleeve. His stomach lurched as he realized something was coming away on his hand. When he looked, he saw that it was white and membranous.
Skin!
The thought terrified Warren. Believing he’d ripped his wound open, he slid out of his coat and pulled his shirt off.
Instead of pink and bloody flesh, though, Warren saw greenish-tinted black scales covering his arm. Where he’d torn the white skin away, the itching had stopped. Unable to stop himself, he raked at his back. More skin peeled away. Beneath it, where he could see along his ribs and side, greenish scales gleamed instead of skin, white or black. Not only that, but the whiteness had spread beyond the burn areas, claiming more of his body.
Twenty-Seven
W hat is it?” Leah asked.
She was referring to the nine-foot-long lizard-
looking demon inside the glass display case inside the House of Rorke’s museum/teaching center. The creature stood poised on all four heavily padded claws. Teeth filled the wicked-looking snout that was longer than a crocodile’s. The tail was thick, corded muscle. Greenish scales covered the demon. Long scars marked it. If it hadn’t been so evil-looking, the demon might have looked beautiful.
Even now, years later and him fully gown, Simon still remembered how scared and awed he’d felt when he’d first seen the exhibit. Back then, the demon had seemed even larger, but no less fierce. Even after the fight in the tube tunnel, gazing on the demon—seeing it poised to strike—was unsettling.
“They named it the Ravager,” Simon said.
“This is a demon?”
“Yes.”
“How long has it been here?”
“The Templar have had it in their possession for hundreds of years.”
“Why wasn’t this shown to anyone?” Leah asked.
“It was.” Simon stared at the creature. That fear from long ago revisited him even though he was clad in his armor. “No one believed it was real.”
“No one?”
“No.”
“Even with the proof before them?”
“No one. It might have been more convincing if the Templar had found more. But this was the only one. It was so torn up when they found it that the artists had to rebuild sections of it.”
“You can’t tell.”
“I know. That’s another reason people found to disbelieve in the existence of demons.”
Unconsciously, Leah placed her hands on the glass before Simon could stop her. She immediately yanked her hands back and yelped in surprise.
“What did you feel?” Simon asked.
“Electricity.” Leah worked her hands. “Is that from a security system?”
Simon nodded. From the immediate primitive fear in her eyes he knew she’d feared—at least for a moment—that the demon within had had something to do with what she’d felt. “Some of the demons possess dark powers that cling to their bodies even after death. They can cause sickness or even fatality. Touching them, alive or dead, isn’t advisable.”
“If you knew the display case was electrified to discourage contact, why didn’t you tell me not to touch it?”
“I didn’t know you were going to touch it. I never wanted to. Most don’t. I certainly didn’t expect that you would want to.” Simon stared at the reptilian horror on the other side of the high-impact-resistant glass. “And not everyone perceives the dissuasion spell the same way.”
“Spell?”
“Arcane energy,” Simon said.
Leah smiled uncertainly at him. “Magic and demons. Surely you don’t believe in magic?”
“Arcane energy is real. I can let you talk to Templar who are strong in arcane energy. I know some spells, but that’s not where my strength lies.”
“What kind of spells?” Suspicion knitted Leah’s brows. “Good or evil?”
“You can’t classify arcane energy as good or evil. It’s not that simple.” Simon thought back to the classes he’d received. It was harder than he’d imagined to talk to someone who didn’t know and didn’t believe in those things. Even when that person was surrounded by it. “Arcane energy, the way I understand it, is a force. Elemental, like the wind or the tide or gravity. The way it’s used determines whether people call it good or evil.”
“That sounds too easy.”
“Define good and evil.”
Leah looked at him. “That’s simple.”
“Is it? Tell me, are a soldier’s actions killing enemy soldiers good or evil?”
Leah hesitated. “It depends on whether the soldier is fighting for you or against you.”
“Is science good or evil? The research that eradicates a plague is also the same research that enables scientists to modify and change that plague.”
“Eradicating a plague is a good thing.”
“Is it? When you’re destroying plague that can reduce a locust infestation that’s defoliating a forest?”
Leah didn’t say anything.
“And is it evil to manufacture a plague?” Simon asked.
After a brief hesitation while she thought about the ramifications of her answer, Leah said, “Yes.”
“Even if it’s a plague you intend to use to eliminate an enemy army?”
She sighed. “I guess it depends on the circumstances.”
“It does. Electricity can light a house and keep it warm in the winter, or it can be used to kill a man on death row in the United States.” Simon looked back at the display case. “Anyway, the case is protected by a spell.”
“Where did they get the Ravager?”
“I don’t know. We’d have to talk to Miller. He’s the caretaker of this place.” Simon turned and walked away. “Come on.”
The museum/teaching center was one of the largest rooms in the Underground. Every House had one. Every House even had demons on display behind glass. Altogether, there were fourteen demons, but only six different kinds.
None of those were real, as most of the Ravager was. Instead, their appearances had been gleaned from visions, nightmares, myths, and brief glimpses psychic voyagers had been able to initiate into the demon world. The other demons the Templar had constructed had been built to allow martial arts training and to learn as much as they could about them.
Books lined the shelves, but there were a number of computers on the tables as well. All of them were—or had been—hooked into a strong Internet connection.
“Who uses this place?” Leah asked.
“Everyone. The children are brought here for instruction.” Simon remembered all the long hours he’d spent inside the museum. The Templar had taught him everything they’d known about the demons. He’d been bored after a while because the information had become repetitive early on.
He’d gotten in trouble again and again for not paying attention to his lessons. There had been plenty of others who had gotten into trouble as well, but he could still remember the pained disappointment he’d seen in his father’s face.
Hurt slammed into Simon for a moment when he realized he’d never have the opportunity to apologize to his father.
Now it seemed that everything he’d learned was far too little.
“Why aren’t the children schooled in London?” Leah asked.
“Because the curriculum taught here is a lot different. And because the Templar don’t like their names on government documents. The Order was abolished in 1307 by Philip the Fair, partly because the Templar at that time insisted that the Ravager corpse they’d found be studied and the story spread. Philip claimed all the Templar gold and scattered them to the winds with death threats, claiming that they’d created the Ravager to blackmail the crown. Since that time, the Templar have kept to themselves, living off the grid.”
His voice echoed in the silence of the museum. This was the quietest he’d ever heard the place. When he was young, it had always been filled with noise. In fact, most of the Templar Underground had been noisy.
Sadness touched him, and he knew that was only the beginning of it.
As they walked back to the barracks, they passed two female Templar in full armor that were headed to the museum. They had five small children with them. Simon knew the Templar were taking the kids to the museum to train them.
“Hello, Simon,” one of the female Templar said.
Simon stood and looked at her, not recognizing the armor.
The Templar halted her charges for a moment, then her faceplate flared open. She was beautiful, with a heartshaped face and deep brown eyes. A few strands of cinnamon-colored hair showed and matched her eyebrows.
“Anne,” Simon said, recognizing her. Despite his dark mood and the fatigue he felt, he couldn’t help being happy to see her. When he’d left, Anne had still been working on her final armor.
The young woman stepped toward him and embraced him. The metal of their breastplates clanged slightly when they met.
“You’re looking good,” Simon said as they separated and stepped back.
“Thanks.” Anne smiled, more confident than Simon had remembered. When she’d been younger, she’d never appeared outgoing. She’d always been the quiet one of her family. “So are you.” She turned to her friend. “Keiko, this is Simon Cross. Simon, Keiko Nagamuchi.”
The other Templar’s faceplate flared open as well. Her features were Asian, which explained her slight and almost frail build even with the armor. Her almond eyes held a hint of distrust and displeasure.
Keiko nodded. “I’ve heard of you.”
Her voice was flat and uninflected. Her dislike was evident.
Simon tried not to let the female Templar’s rejection touch him. He hadn’t known Keiko Nagamuchi when he’d lived in the Underground. She’d been three or four years older, and their paths must never have crossed.
“You’re with Derek?” Anne asked.
“Yes.”
“The units are going to be reorganized soon. Since we trained together, maybe we’ll be put together.”
“Maybe.” After what he’d seen today, though, Simon didn’t think he wanted that to happen. Watching Anne die at the talons of some infernal demon wasn’t something he wanted to do. Then he checked his ego. He had no guarantees he would live through the next encounter.
“Graydon is still here,” Anne said.
“I saw him.”
The four children shifted uneasily. If times had been different they would have been protesting the inactivity. Templar children stayed hurried throughout the day.
But these kids looked pensive. They were already carrying the full weight of their heritage. For them, Simon knew, demons had always been real. They’d never had the chance to grow away from it. Now he wondered if they would ever know a time when demons weren’t in their world.
“I could drop by your barracks sometime,” Anne offered.
“I’d like that.” The words were out of Simon’s mouth even as he was thinking he didn’t want to try to renew old acquaintances with death staring them in the face. Losing fellow warriors was one thing, but losing friends was going to be even harder.
“We’re going to be late,” Keiko announced. Her faceplate closed with an abrupt ping that conveyed annoyance.
Anne looked embarrassed. “I guess I need to be going.”
“It was good to see you.”
She smiled at him and looked like the quiet girl he’d known while growing up. “I’ll be by sometime soon.”
“If you’re not, maybe I’ll look you up.”
The smile became a grin. “See that you do.”
Keiko snorted, and the noise sounded even more disparaging through the suit’s audio system.
Urging the children into motion, the two Templar headed for the museum. Anne glanced back at Simon again, then her faceplate closed.
“Old friend?” Leah asked.
“Yes.” Simon started forward again.
“I got the feeling there might be some history there.”
“What do you mean?” Simon asked, although he was pretty sure he knew what the young woman was getting at.
“I sensed a romantic tension.”
“No.”
“I’m not often wrong about things like that.”
Simon considered telling Leah no again, or not responding at all. But being here—with the circumstances being what they were, his father dead and not really a friend left to his name—he was surprised to find that he did want to talk about things a little.
“My father had started negotiations for me to have Anne’s hand in marriage,” Simon said.
“Marriage?”
“Yes.”
“You’re kidding. An arranged marriage?”
Simon looked at her and wondered how much of their conversation the tunnel security systems were picking up. “This isn’t the best place to talk about this. Nor the best time.”
“I’m not ready to go crawl back into bed. I feel like talking.”
Simon felt the same way. Seeing Anne had been a mixed blessing. Anne didn’t know about Saundra, and he’d never mentioned his life in London to Saundra.
He wasn’t ready to go back to the barracks, either. Maybe Derek had accepted him into the unit, and maybe he’d been blooded with them today, but there were a lot of warriors there who weren’t especially pleased to have him among them.
“All right,” Simon said.
Twenty-Eight
A t a small table in a corner of the almost-empty commissary over two steaming cups of hot tea, Simon said, “Not every marriage here is arranged. Some of the Templar still fall in love with each other, get married, and have kids.”
“But why do the Templar have arranged marriages?” Leah acted like the idea was reprehensible.
“It’s not as much of an anathema as you’re putting on,” Simon said.
“It’s positively barbaric. What if the woman doesn’t want to be married? What if she doesn’t want to be a mother?”
“She,” Simon said, “doesn’t have any more choice than the man does.”
“Oh.” Leah blinked. “Men don’t want to get married?”
“Sometimes less so than the women.”
“Then why get married?”
“To have children. The ranks of the Templar have to be maintained.”
Leah frowned. “Propagation of the species?”
Simon felt a hint of anger at her words. He considered only briefly ending the conversation. But the alternative would have meant going back to the barracks and sitting by himself. “We have a unique way of life. Not everyone is meant for it. Forming liaisons with women—or men—from outside the Templar world is problematic.”
“Problematic?”
“In the mid-nineteenth century, two Templar were put away in sanitariums.”
