Black Knight (21 page)

Kendor switches to the spear, knowing it’s the most handy weapon available on the island. At first he has me throw it at various targets. Then I become the target—he throws the spears at me, forcing me to knock them away. His throws grow faster, more fierce. He aims for my heart and if I were to miss blocking the stick I’d die. Pain isn’t the only tool he uses to teach. It’s clear he feels fear works even faster.

All the while he asks me what I know about Nordra, Viper, the ghosts. He’s curious why time seemed to slow down when I fought Nordra. He assumes it’s a sign my time gene is becoming active, although he agrees that is very unusual.

But I don’t think the time change had anything to do with my gene. I suspect it had to do with the fact that Nordra cracked the stone in my wrist bracelet an instant before everything went into slow-mo. It couldn’t have been a coincidence.

Yet why should a rock change the flow of time?

Kendor also seems particularly interested in how Viper was able to move the lava with her mind. “You can use that same power,” he says suddenly.

“Telekinesis? I’ve never shown any sign of having that ability. None whatsoever.”

I see a gleam in his eyes as I reply to his remark.

In an instant I know what he has in mind.

“No!” I shout at him. “Don’t do it. Don’t try throwing any of your spears any faster at me.”

“Why not?” he asks casually.

I shake my head. “I know what you’re thinking. That if I’m not fast enough to physically block a spear, then my telekinesis will magically kick in and I’ll be able to swat it away with my mind. Don’t try it, it’s too risky.”

“You should trust me to know your limits.”

“I do trust you. It’s just, right now, I’m too exhausted.”

“All right,” Kendor seems to give in. “Tell me what you know about this power you and Viper share.”

“Not much. By definition, ‘telekinesis’ means having the ability to move something with your mind.”

“The ability is greater than that. Telekinesis controls all forms of movement. Whether a person moves an object or his body—it is all the same thing, it is just a question of degree. When fully developed, this gene allows any witch who has it to teleport himself to any place on the planet.”

“Can Syn do that?” I ask, stunned.

“Ask her.”

“Maybe I will.” I gesture to his assortment of weapons. “Are we finished for the day?”

“Almost. I want to show you something special. A place I have discovered in your time.” He turns for the house. “We will need to take that vehicle you call a car.”

I chase after him. “Do you know where you want to go?”

“Up the coast.”

Together we drive north through Malibu and beyond to a cliff that attracts him for some strange reason. The setting sun glares in our eyes as we climb out of the car. The cliff doesn’t frighten me. I figure if worse comes to worst, he’ll throw me off the side and I’ll be forced to land on the rocky shore on my own two feet.

Yet the instant we near the ledge, he suddenly attacks me. He stuns me with a blow to the head and before I can recover he pulls out a rope and ties my ankles and wrists together. It takes him seconds to immobilize me and that is not the end of his abuse. Yanking me by my hair, he drags me to the edge of the cliff. A ragged glance warns me I’m looking at a fall of over two hundred feet onto jagged rocks and crashing waves. Wherever he got the rope, it wasn’t at Home Depot. Try as I might, I can’t break free.

“I cannot teach you how to survive the Field unless your faith in me is complete,” he says, holding me as I teeter at the edge of the cliff.

“Kendor, please!” I cry. “You’re making a mistake. You’ve got me—I can’t break free. I won’t be able to control my fall.” I feel him pushing me forward. “Don’t! If I hit my head, I’ll die! Kendor!”

“Then you will die,” he says, and shoves me off the cliff.

I fall and time fails to rescue me. It refuses to slow down and I fall fast, the jagged edge of a large boulder waiting to crack open my skull. My terror is absolute, equal in every way to when I lay frozen and helpless on that morgue table in Las Vegas, in my first night in witch world, while Syn and her assistant prepared to slice me open as part of an autopsy. Now, as then, I know I am going to die.

I
am
going to die.

The black blade of the rock rushes toward my face. My forehead will hit first and after it cracks, the cartilage of my nose will shatter and pieces of bone along the ridges of my eyes will splinter and be rammed into the gray matter of my brain. Then I will die.

I
am
dying.

The boulder is twelve feet away when I feel a bolt of electricity rush up my back. It’s as if lightning has struck the base of my spine and sent a current capable of electrocuting me. The bolt is blindingly fast. From a dozen feet above the boulder till six feet above it the charge manages to rise from my tailbone to my brain.

Whether it fries or opens every channel in my nervous system along the way, I’m not sure. All I know is that I suddenly
know
—with the kind of absolute faith Kendor just mentioned—that I have the power to stop myself from falling. It doesn’t matter that it probably takes years to activate the first stage of the telekinetic witch gene.

Kendor obviously knows a shortcut.

The exploding power in my spine bursts out the top of my head and surrounds me like an invisible cocoon and I stop falling. I halt a mere six inches above the brutal edge of the boulder. Hanging there, too stunned to breathe, I feel a wave rear up and wash over me, rinsing out a large portion of my blood stains. Yet the wave fails to move me, to even shake me. I have the power, I’m in control.

To a degree.

I’m able to use the same energy to burst free of the ropes but I’m not so confident in my ability that I try levitating back to the top of the cliff. After all, it’s supposed to take centuries to learn to fly. Instead, I hike up like your normal rock climber and find Kendor waiting for me by the car. I look at him and shake my head.

“You bastard,” I say.

He laughs. “I assume that word has a different meaning in your time than in mine.”

I want to kill him but hug him instead. “Yeah. In our world it means I love you.”

* * *

When I get home, and Jimmy sees the condition of my clothes, he wants to know what happened. I beg off and tell him I have to shower and change first. Then we can talk, I promise. But when I’m clean and wearing fresh clothes, I notice the time. Marc will be at the theater, working, but he’s probably going to get off any second. Since I’m going to be playing the part of a reporter, I figure I’d better catch Marc at work, not at his apartment.

Rushing out the front door, I call over my shoulder to Jimmy that I’ll explain everything as soon as I get back. I know I’m being rude but I’ve got a lot on my mind. I figure I can make it up to him later.

I arrive at Grauman’s Chinese Theatre none too soon. Parking in the adjacent mall, I rush onto Hollywood Boulevard in time to see Marc pull up in a black Lexus and hand the keys to a waiting couple, who give him a generous tip. He watches them drive off and approaches his boss, Mr. Green, and points to his watch. Obviously he’s asking if he can punch out for the night. I don’t hesitate; I hurry to the valet station, hoping Mr. Green will introduce me to the witch-world version of Marc Simona.

“Mr. Green, remember me, Alexis?” I call as I flash my most winning smile, brush aside my troublesome maroon hair, and try to sound older than I am. Unfortunately, when I climbed out of the shower at home, I didn’t know I was headed back out and have on a frumpy pair of blue jeans and a red sweater my mother knitted for me last Christmas. I look more like a struggling college student than an
LA Times
reporter.

Mr. Green is happy to see me. “Of course! Marc, this is that reporter I told you about. She’s writing an article on what it’s like to mingle with the beautiful people. I wanted to tell her how most of them are not so beautiful on the inside but decided you were the one she should talk to, since you’re the only one the actresses flirt with.”

Marc snickers, although I can tell he’s checking me out. “Get off it, boss. You afraid to say what you really think ’cause you know it’s going to cost you your job?”

It’s a friendly jab and Mr. Green laughs.

“Hey. You don’t have a wife and a child to support.” Green pauses. “Marc, meet Alexis. Alexis, Marc here is the only valet who works here who’s got even a remote chance of making it to the big screen.”

“Really?” I say. “So you’re an actor?”

Marc shakes his head. “He’s jerking your chain. I couldn’t act to save myself. And I’ve got nothing to tell you about being a valet to the stars. I park their cars, I pick up their cars. The nice ones tip me, the jerks don’t, that’s it. That’s all I know.” He turns away. “Nice meeting you, Alexis. Sorry I couldn’t be more helpful.”

“I heard Silvia Summer asked for your number,” I call.

Marc stops, turns, looks at Mr. Green. “You told her that?”

His boss is a picture of innocence, and in reality I am exaggerating. “I didn’t say a word,” he replies.
“Let me buy you coffee,” I offer quickly. “I know a place not far from here that makes the best apple pie in the world.”

Marc checks me out again, debating. “Where?”

“Come with me and I’ll show you.”

“Why don’t I follow you in my own car?” Marc asks.

“Didn’t you walk to work?” I say.

Marc frowns. “Not today. But how did you know . . . ?”

“She knew Dina is expecting,” Mr. Green interrupts.

What’s passing between the two—it’s a conversation that would only happen in witch world. The average person in this world knows nothing about witches. But people in important positions, and those on the other end of the spectrum, people close to “the streets”—they know that certain people are “connected,” and that those are people you’ve got to treat carefully. Right now, Mr. Green’s suggesting it would be a mistake to say no to me because I might be one of them. The two keep glancing at my eyes, trying to pick up a vibe. These two have definitely heard about witches, even if they don’t call them that, or know exactly what we can do.

Marc nods. “All right, coffee it is. But you’re paying.”

I smile. “It will be my pleasure.”

I take him to Jerry’s Famous Deli in West Hollywood, a favorite of mine. It’s always open in witch world—never mind that it’s closed in the real world—and has the best sandwiches and desserts in all of LA. Syn and Kendor had invited me to stay for dinner, but because it was already late I left their place without eating.

Now I realize how starved I am and order a turkey sandwich on rye with lettuce, tomatoes, cheese, and a touch of mayo. The sandwich comes with a four-inch stack of turkey and half a plate of awesome fries. I dig in like a ravenous animal, Marc watching me closely, wary but not scared.

“You’re not really a reporter, are you, Alexis?” he says not long after the food arrives. He has coffee and pie but only because I ordered it.

“Nope. And call me Jessica, that’s my real name.” I take another bite of my glorious sandwich. “Hand me the malt vinegar, would ya? It’s a thing I picked up from my dad when I was a kid. He’s from England and you know how they like their fish and chips. Always malt vinegar, never ketchup on fries.”

“What’s your father do?”

“He’s a doctor, among other things. A famous heart surgeon.”

“Maybe I’ve heard of him. What’s his name?”

“Oh, we don’t share the same last name.”

“I’d think being a famous doctor would be enough,” Marc says, probing, not reacting to my evasiveness. He’s heard the drill before:
Don’t anger the connected.

“Not for my father. But I don’t want to talk about him. I want to talk about you.”

Marc shrugs. “What’s there to talk about? I told you being a valet to the stars is nothing special.”

I catch his eye. “And you know by now I don’t give a shit about what you do for a living, although your side work interests me. How much do you think you’re going to get for that rock you lifted off Silvia Summer?”

My goal is to shake him up, blow his mind, so when I get to what counts he’ll be ready to listen. My question stuns him but he hides it well.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he says.

“Don’t worry, I’m not a cop. I’m just curious is all.”

He has guts in both worlds. He stares me down.

“What do you want?” he demands.

I take my time answering. “Do you know who I am?”

“No. Maybe. Who are you?”

“I move in a certain circle, one you’ve heard of. Don’t act puzzled, you know what I’m talking about. Just be straight with me and you’ll have nothing to worry about.” I pause. “Agreed?”

He shakes his head. “I didn’t steal no rock from Silvia.”

“You’re lying. Stop. Or you’ll piss me off.”

He has remarkable control. He sips his coffee. “Tell me what you want,” he says.

I soften my tone. “This might surprise you, but I’m here to help you.”

“Why?”

“Let me ask a few questions. When was the last time you got sick?”

“Huh?”

“The last time you had a cold or flu?”

“I can’t remember.”

“Do you ever get sick?”

“Sure. It’s just been a while.”

“How long is a while? Back when you were a kid bouncing from one orphanage to another?”

I’m hitting hard and fast but he remains cool. “I haven’t caught a cold or flu in years,” he says flatly.

“When you cut yourself, do you heal fast?”

“What kind of question is that?”

“Answer it.”

“Yeah. I’m a fast healer.”

“You’re fast, period, aren’t you? You’re a thief. You have to get in and out of a house quickly. Have you ever been caught? Have you ever had to fight your way out of a nasty situation?”

“You’re talking bullshit.”

“Have you ever lost a fight in your life?”

“No!”

Smiling, I sit back and take another bite of my sandwich, chewing slowly, enjoying the food. I casually throw out my next question.

“How would you like to be connected?”