Black Knight (19 page)

I’m a pitiful leader.

I must have closed my eyes without realizing. Marc shakes me and I reopen them. “Do something!” he shouts.

“What do you want me to do?”

“You told Ora this afternoon you can heal. Heal her!”

I glance behind where Ora stands pinned. “But Ora . . . We have to get him free.” I start to stand. “We have to pull out the spear.”

Marc yanks me down. “Pull out that spear and he’ll bleed like a stuck pig. We have to be prepared when we take it out. But right now you have to save Shira.”

“Shira,” I whisper. I realize then I’ll never be a doctor. I can hardly bear to look at her wounds. The lava has burned through to her rib cage. I see charred bones poking through black crusty skin. The stumps of veins that have been cauterized by heat. Open veins that bleed freely; the sticky blood trickling over her scorched belly and soaking the top of her pants. A wave of nausea sweeps over me and I fear I’ll vomit.

“I can’t,” I moan.

Marc takes my hands in his. “Look at me, Jessie.”

I do as he says and suddenly I realize how grateful I am that he’s not hurt. That’s something, I tell myself. Yet the thought also fills me with shame.

“I can’t,” I repeat.

Marc squeezes my hands. “I know what’s been driving me crazy since I met you. You have magic. Even before you told us you were a witch, I knew you were special, maybe even more special than you realize. You can heal her, Jessie, I know you can. So does Ora. After that bitch attacked us, and Shira was crying and I was freaking out and Ora was stuck to the tree, Ora told us it would be all right. He said, ‘Jessie will come back. Jessie will save us.’” Marc pauses. “You can do it.”

“Was it Viper?” I ask as if the name has meaning to me, and it does in some primal way. It’s as if I’ve been dreaming about her along with Marc, only when it came to Viper they were nightmares that I blocked out and forgot about. Until now.

“That’s what she called herself,” Marc says. “She could have killed all of us but she didn’t. She said she wanted to wait until you were here so you could watch us die.”

“She’s evil,” Ora says solemnly. “But you’re a good person, a great person. What Marc says is true—I have faith in you, we all do. Help Shira. If you can’t save her, at least stop her pain. Don’t worry about me. I can wait.”

“I’ll do what I can,” I say, turning back to Shira, instinctively placing a hand on her forehead and another on the center of her chest. Closing my eyes, I feel as if the moon suddenly swells in size and brilliance before I realize I’m seeing it all inside—some kind of mysterious light. It’s not hot or cold but it moves and is alive and I sense it carries life within it. In the midst of my despair my intuition is finally able to speak clearly. The light has come to us because I’ve dropped my badass attitude, because I’ve been humbled, and most of all because I only care about helping Shira.

Beneath my hands I feel her body relax and know her pain is receding. I open my eyes the same instant she does. Looking up at me, her face calm, she smiles. She has a nice smile.

“Thank you,” she whispers.

I lean over and speak in her ear. “In another world I’ll find you. I’ll call and introduce myself. You won’t know me at first but I’ll know you, and maybe we’ll have a chance to be friends.”

Her eyes fall shut. “Be sure to call, Jessie.”

I kiss her cheek and feel unshed tears burn my eyes.

“I promise, Shira,” I say.

She dies. She dies to the real world.

CHAPTER SIX

WHEN I WAKE UP IT'S
noon, in witch world, and the house is empty. That’s okay, I’m back home, the nightmare’s over. I can’t believe how much relief I feel! It’s like I want to run around the house and scream how great it is to be alive!

A pity I’ll be back in the Field come tomorrow.

There’s a note from Jimmy. He’s taken Lara and my mother to Griffith Park Observatory.

I use the bathroom, shower, don’t bother with makeup. A lot fewer people use makeup in witch world than in the real world, I don’t know why. For breakfast I have scrambled eggs, bacon, and toast, and thank God it’s not fish. I drink three cups of strong coffee with plenty of sugar but only a pinch of milk. Finally, with hot food in my belly and caffeine fortifying my blood, I feel ready to tackle the day.

It’s unusual for Jimmy to leave without saying good-bye. I must have been sleeping deeply. I never stay in bed until noon. Then again, in the real world, in the Field, I didn’t get to lie down until near dawn. I barely made it back to the cave to make what I like to call the “soul switch.” It’s during the two and a half minutes when the sun is rising that a witch’s mind moves from one dimension to the other. If you’re not in bed asleep during that narrow span of time, you black out where you’re standing.

I call Cleo after I finish my breakfast. I’ve had her private number since Las Vegas but have never called before. I sit on the living room couch with a pad and pen nearby in case I need to take notes. The woman doesn’t waste words, I remind myself.

My heart pounds as I dial the number. Cleo answers after one ring and cuts straight to the chase. “Jessica. I’ve been waiting for your call. I’ve heard you’re in the Field.”

“How did you find out?”

“Your competition’s been calling their contacts and asking about you. Specifically, they want to know how many genes you have and what powers you’ve developed.”

“Nordra and Viper?”

“Yes.”

“Anyone else?”

“If there is anyone else, they’re being discreet.” Cleo pauses. “How’s it going?”

“I lost one of my team. Shira Attali from Tel Aviv.”

“A pity. Are you all right?”

“Physically I’m fine, but I’ve had a few close calls. Nordra and Viper are not nice people.”

“Tell me,” Cleo says.

I relate everything that’s happened since I woke up in the transport cell with my gang. As usual Cleo listens without interrupting. I try to give as much detail as possible, but toward the end I feel I’ve talked too long and rush through my battle with Nordra and Shira’s death.

When I finish Cleo asks, “Why didn’t you call yesterday when you were first taken?”

“I didn’t feel I had enough to report,” I say.

“Nordra and Viper contacted their people right away. They were better prepared than you.” Cleo pauses. “Still, you have done well so far.”

“All I’ve done is stay alive.”

“That’s the main point of the exercise.”

“Looks to me like it’s the only point.” When Cleo doesn’t respond, I ask, “What can you tell me about Nordra and Viper?”

“They have at least six witch genes each. To be taken to the Field you must have at least that number. As to their strengths, you have already met Nordra. You know he’s fast and strong and heals quickly. To kill him you’ll have to strike a single fatal blow.”

“Have you scanned his DNA?” I ask. My own DNA has been scanned but I’ve never been “formally” told by the Council which witch genes I possess, although I’m aware of five of them.

I have healing—which can involve the healing of others or myself; intuition—which can manifest as insight, intelligence, or wisdom; speed/strength; cloaking—which means I can assume the appearance of other people; and the time gene—which I only heard about from Cleo the other night.

The other two are a mystery to me, and my lack of knowledge of them frustrates the hell out of me, particularly at a time like this when I need every edge I can get.

Unfortunately, the Tar’s Council usually withholds the details of a witch’s genetic makeup because they have a strict rule that a witch should develop his abilities naturally, over time. They feel that if a person knows he has a latent ability, there’s a good chance he’ll focus on developing it prematurely. In other words, the Council feels even good witches can be seduced by the desire for more power.

Yet my father gave me plenty of hints about my abilities in Las Vegas, and Cleo did tell me about my ability to alter time when I saw her in San Francisco. Given the fact that I’m fighting for my life in the Field, I’m hoping that Cleo will ignore their protocol altogether and tell me everything she knows about me, along with any secret information she might have on Nordra and Viper.

“The Council has not had a chance to scan Nordra’s DNA,” Cleo replies. “But we know he has heightened hearing and vision—far beyond what most witches possess. He also has the intuitive gene, which in him manifests as cleverness. He came right at you when you fought but watch out for his tricks. He can be clever.”

“Why is his self-healing ability so phenomenal?”

“It runs in his family. Long ago I fought an ancestor of his. She’d recover from the most severe wound in a matter of seconds.”

“Where did you fight her?”

Cleo hesitates. “In the Field.”

“So you—”

“Focus on the task at hand,” Cleo interrupts.

I feel a flash of annoyance, which I often do around Cleo. I love the woman, and my respect for her is immense, but I dislike having to answer to her. I’ve never made a choice to be beholden to the Council, but my father has told me that as a good witch—one who’s not a Lapra—I’m automatically Tar and required to obey the Council. And since Cleo leads the Council, she’s technically my boss.

“What about Viper?” I ask. “Like I said, I didn’t meet her face-to-face but Marc and Ora—two of my people—told me her gang struck with spears while Viper sprayed Shira with molten lava without warning. Marc says she just waved her hand and the lava flew through the air.”

Cleo speaks seriously. “Viper’s a psychopath. She enjoys inflicting pain and she has the tools to do so. The depth of her cruelty’s impossible to overexaggerate. We think it’s a result of being connected at the age of six. No other witch in our history has ever been awakened so young. She grew up wild on the streets of Tokyo, closely connected to Yakuza, the Japanese mafia. She’s strong and fast and heals quickly. Her telekinesis is extremely potent. There’s any number of ways she could have used it to burn Shira with the lava.”

“She must have had a container of lava nearby,” I say.

“Perhaps. But there’s plenty of lava on that island. Avoid confronting her near a hot spring. Also, we’ve heard numerous reports out of Japan concerning her cloaking gene.”

“I have that one.”

“You can alter your appearance and you’ve made a good start at using the gene. But Viper’s ability is highly developed. She can make herself invisible.”

“Shit!” I gasp.

“It’s a problem. But keep in mind she’s young—all the contestants in the Field are young, fifteen to twenty-one. Viper’s only sixteen and to be able to turn invisible at her age is unheard of. I’m sure it requires all her strength to disappear, and I doubt she can keep it up for long. Also, even when she’s invisible, you should be able to see an outline of her in the moonlight. Plus, in the bright sunlight, you should see a faint shadow on the ground. For that reason, it’s best to catch her out in the open beneath the moon or sun. Otherwise, you’ve got to hear her coming.”

“What if she’s carrying a knife or machete? Will they be invisible too?”

“If they’re touching her skin,” Cleo says.

“She sounds like a nightmare. But Nordra’s got to be a psychopath as well. Most of his victims were dismembered.”

Cleo speaks firmly. “That’s not his style. Viper probably did that to his victims after they’d been killed to send a message to all the other witches in the Field that she’s coming for them.”

“To scare us?” I ask.

“If you like, yes.”

“Lovely,” I mutter. “I told you about the ones we call the ‘ghosts.’ What’s their story?”

“The fact they’re fighting in the Field is a surprise. I haven’t seen a ‘ghost’—the Council calls them by the same name—since Ancient Egypt. Kendor told me that he and Syn spotted a few of them outside Rome not long after the death of Caesar. The ghosts have only been seen in groups, never alone. They’re extremely telepathic, even when young. It was the belief of the ancient Tar that they somehow function together as a hive mind.”

“You mean they don’t see themselves as individuals?”

“We’re not sure. Our knowledge of them is sketchy. I’ve heard rumors of them being seen in odd places—high in the Andes and the Himalayas. There was one report they had been spotted in Antarctica. But that was back in the eighteenth century.”

“But who are they? What are they?”

“They’re human beings, like you and I, witches. My mentor told me they were highly respected during the Atlantean era, although reclusive. It was my understanding they never socialized with normal people. Perhaps their appearance kept them apart or the fact that they don’t speak.”

“They’re mute?”

“Their telepathic gifts are apparently so great they have no need to speak. I wouldn’t be surprised if their vocal cords have atrophied due to lack of use.”

“They sure can run. I got the impression they were trying to lead me to Nordra so he could kill me.”

“That’s probably their wisest strategy—to hope the rest of you wipe each other out. Whatever you do, don’t underestimate them just because they appear physically weak. To have survived for so long, and stayed hidden, means they must be intelligent.”

“Do you know anything about the other two witches on the island?”

“No. Try to discover their names and I’ll find out what I can.” Cleo adds, “For all we know, Nordra or Viper might have already killed them.”

A silence settles between us. For my part, Cleo’s hit me with a ton of information, most of it unpleasant, and it’s taking me time to absorb. But what Cleo’s thinking I have no idea.

“I need to understand more about the Field,” I say finally. “I can understand why a group of witches would be put on a secluded island to battle for superiority. But why have we been assigned the others?”

“The Field exists to test your leadership qualities as well as your power. The majority of people in the world are not witches. A true leader has to be able to command both—witches and humans.”

“Hold on. Surely the Tar don’t use the Field to pick who’s going to be next in line? I mean, you didn’t become the head of the Council by fighting in the Field?”