Black Knight (7 page)

I’ve spoken to my father about the problem, and he had some interesting insights.

“Deep down inside, it must be that you really don’t want to recall another version of yourself. In other words, you don’t want to be both Jessie and Jessica together in the same body. You just want to be you, Jessie from the real world, even when you’re in Jessica’s body in witch world.”

I asked my father if such total denial was common, and he assured me that it was. Still, I wonder if I’m a rare case, or a nut job. Jimmy, for example, is having no trouble recalling his life as James. New stuff comes back to him every day—whole chunks of his other life. For example, he can recall everything that happened the night Lara was born.

Which makes me wonder if that’s why he’s a better father than I am a mother.

Hatsu notes my hesitation and I try to overcompensate by speaking quickly. “I shouldn’t complain. Jimmy’s super great about getting up at night to feed her and change her diaper and walk her until she falls back asleep. And my mother’s always around. And Whip—that kid’s amazing. He’s the only one who can get Lara to stop crying no matter what time of day it is. We don’t know how he does it. He just has to rock her and whisper softly in her ear and she quiets right down. He calls her his little sister and he means it. It’s so sweet.”

Hatsu nods, pleased at what I’m saying. Yet I can tell he knows I’m putting on a front. He may be a loving and easygoing soul but not much escapes him.

“And some days you pray to God you’d never gone to Las Vegas that weekend,” he says, summoning up my most common point of view in a single line. I can’t help but laugh out loud.

“Ain’t that the truth!” I say.

Hatsu lets me change into my new outfit in the restroom before we leave the airport. In the car on the way to the house where the Council is meeting, I give him a detailed account of what happened at the Century City Mall and outside the house in Pacific Palisades. He listens without speaking but I can feel his growing astonishment. When I finish, he pats my leg.

“You were brave to follow them back to the house.”

“Was I a coward not to go into the house?”

He frowns. “From what I’ve heard about the Alchemist from Cleo and Kendor, I think you did the right thing.”

“I didn’t know Cleo had run into him.”

Hatsu waves his hand. “It was long ago, during the first or second Egyptian dynasty. I don’t know all the details, only that he tried to kill her and she him.”

“Lovely. I’m so glad he invited me back to his house.”

“Don’t go alone.”

“Hatsu, what I saw, Syn and Kendor—it’s not possible, is it? No one who’s died in witch world has ever come back to life in either world, have they?”

“No. But what you said about their dazed state might be important. The Kendor I knew would never walk around like an obedient puppy. Somehow the Alchemist must have cloned their bodies.”

“How would he have access to such advanced technology? I mean, scientists have cloned sheep and goats but never human beings.”

Hatsu is thoughtful. “Cleo might know. She’s spoken to us of a time before the Egyptian and Sumerian civilizations, before even she was born, when there were supposedly two advanced races on earth.”

“She only heard rumors of these races, she never actually saw them?”

“That’s my understanding,” Hatsu replies.

We arrive at the house two hours late and the meeting of the Council is already finished. Except for Cleo and my father—and Hatsu, of course—the others have left. My father hugs me but I can tell he’s angry. Hatsu comes to my defense by saying I was late for an extraordinary reason.

“Listen to what your daughter has to say,” Hatsu orders my father, perhaps reminding him that he’s only just been appointed to the Council, and is its youngest member. Hatsu is over three thousand years old, compared to my father’s modest five hundred years of age.

Once more, I repeat everything I saw, this time rehashing every word the Alchemist said. My memory’s always been sharp—I give an accurate account. My father interrupts with a couple of questions but Cleo listens without speaking.

When I finish, all eyes fix on Cleo. Physically, she’s changed from our time together in Las Vegas. Her red hair is shorter than before, a boy’s length, and neatly combed. A petite woman by nature, she appears to have lost a few pounds in the past four weeks, making her youthful cheeks slightly sunken.

At the same time her dark eyes are as powerful as ever. When she stares at me, I feel the familiar magnetism sweep across my forehead. She surprises me by giving a smile and nodding her approval.

“The Alchemist tested you by letting you follow him,” she says. “Now, at least, we know where he’s located and have some idea of what he’s up to.”

“We do?” Hatsu asks bluntly.

“Our meeting tonight was about the Lapras and who’s going to rule them now that Syn’s been killed,” Cleo replies. “It appears there’s already a power struggle going on in the Order for the top spot. Several of the oldest Lapras have turned up dead. The feud has even spilled over into DC. Two U.S. senators have died and one Supreme Court justice.”

“I thought they died as a result of natural causes,” I say. The people Cleo refers to have perished in witch world, which means they’ll soon die in the real world since the worlds so closely mirror each other.

“It was made to look that way so the public wouldn’t panic,” Cleo replies. “The Lapras have people at the top in all the major governments. Indeed, one of the U.S. senators who died was a Lapra witch.”

“Fine with me,” I mutter. “Let the bastards kill each other.”

“That’s dangerous,” my father warns. “Syn’s death left a massive void and it’s got to be filled. Until it is, thousands of Lapras are no longer answerable to a single authority. It might sound like a positive development, but what if they break into three or four ruthless factions? If that happens they’ll keep fighting until the public—in the real world and witch world—becomes aware of their existence, and ours.”

“Then there will be real panic,” Cleo adds. “Plus there are more Lapras than Tar—we’re outnumbered ten to one. If mankind learns that there’s not only witches walking the streets but that the majority of them are evil, then the whole planet could be plunged into chaos.” Cleo pauses when she sees the look on my face. “It seems you disagree.”

I frown. “I’m confused. I understand the danger of the Lapras’ internal power struggle and the fact that our existence might become exposed. At the same time, this seems like a great opportunity to destroy the Lapras once and for all. They’ve lost Syn, the one witch who held them together. Now, finally, they’re vulnerable. Shouldn’t we take this chance to go after them?”

“We should and we will,” Cleo says softly. “But we have to move very carefully.”

I nod. “Go on.”

“The Lapras have an old tradition. It’s barbaric, childish even, but it’s a tradition that’s governed many societies since man first came down from the trees. To sum it up—‘He who kills the king is first in line to be the new king.’” Cleo pauses. “Since you were responsible for Syn’s death, that would be you.”

“Whip killed her, not me,” I quip.

“You were responsible for her death,” Cleo says.

I laugh nervously. “You’re kidding about this king/queen business, right?”

“We’re not. It’s why we called you here,” my father says.

I feel so much nervous energy I have to stand. “Gimme a break! The Lapras would never accept me as a leader. I’m Tar—I’m a good witch, not a bad witch. These legions of Lapras you talk about must be looking for some super-evil witch or bitch to emerge and take control. I hardly see how I fit the bill.”

My father smiles. “Who knows? Once they see how stubborn you can be, they might be dying to make you their new queen.”

“Very funny,” I snap. “What about what I saw today? We don’t even know if Syn and Kendor are really dead. Hatsu and I are assuming the two I saw must be some kind of clones. They didn’t look like they could get around without help from the Alchemist. But that’s just speculation. For all we know, they’re still alive.”

“They’re dead,” Cleo says. “They died in witch world and it was in witch world that we buried their bodies. I know because I had their remains exhumed last week.”

I stop, stunned. “Why did you do that? I only saw them this afternoon.”

“I’ve been aware of their presence for ten days,” Cleo says.

“How?”

Cleo looks up at me. “I took the note you were sent after your trip to Las Vegas seriously. The Alchemist sent you that note and he’s not known for playing pranks. I had you followed in case he was following you.”

I feel annoyed. “Without my permission?”

“For your protection,” my father replies for Cleo.

I remember that note, every word. It had read:

Dear Jessie,

I pray this note finds you well.

You put on a wonderful show in the desert.

One day soon we’ll have to meet.

Yours, the Alchemist

P.S. Syn sends her greetings.

I feel suddenly overwhelmed and have to sit back down. “Someone help me out. I’m lost. Syn and Kendor are definitely dead but they’ve been walking around for over a week since they died. How exactly does that work?”

“Perhaps I can help clear up this mystery,” Cleo says. “But first let me ask a couple of questions. I know you and Kendor spoke alone and at length. Did he ever mention the times he met the Alchemist?”

“Kendor told me about two encounters. One was the night he became a witch. It was thousands of years ago in England. He was fishing on a frozen lake in the middle of winter, trying to feed his family, when he accidentally fell through the ice. He came close to drowning but the Alchemist pulled him out of the water. Actually, Kendor believed he did drown and the Alchemist yanked him out only after he’d been dead for a few minutes. That’s when Kendor became aware he was a witch.”

“What was the other time?” Cleo asked.

“Fifty-two BC—when he was fighting with Julius Caesar and the Roman army against the Gallic tribes in the Battle of Alesia. The Romans were heavily outnumbered and about to be overrun when the Alchemist suddenly showed up with the secret of gunpowder. He taught Kendor how to make tons of the stuff.” I pause. “But when the battle was won, he demanded the heads of a hundred thousand captives. Caesar told the Alchemist to go to hell and Kendor tried to kill the bastard.”

“Kendor swore he did kill him,” Cleo says.

“He swore the same thing to me. But I could hear the doubt in his voice.” I shake my head. “After this afternoon, I don’t think there’s much doubt the guy got away.”

Cleo leans closer to me. “Did Kendor mention any other time he saw the Alchemist?”

I hesitate. “He was only sure of the two times. But he did say something odd when we spoke in the sewers beneath Vegas. When he was with Syn, the two of them used to dream about the Alchemist at the same time. The dreams were vivid, like the guy was actually in the room. They were also weird. Kendor spoke of seeing bright lights, objects in the sky, and hearing loud noises. But everything he saw was new to him—he recognized none of it.”

“Go on,” Cleo says.

“He said the strangest thing was that whenever they had these dreams, he and Syn seemed to lose time. Days, weeks—he wasn’t sure.” I stop. “Wait a second. I just remembered. He told me he told you about this.”

Cleo nods. “He did, once. It was long ago.”

“Were the dreams important?” Hatsu asks.

“They might very well hold the answer to this riddle,” Cleo says. “There are ten witch genes that we know of. Each bestows a specific power, although the powers often vary in the manner in which they manifest—or in how they combine with other witch genes that a person has. The rarest of all these genes is called the alpha-omega gene.”

“Never heard of it. What does it control?” I ask.

“Time,” Cleo says.

“Time? How can someone control time?” I ask.

Cleo considers. “It’s been said that when the gene begins to develop, the witch who has it can accelerate and slow down time. It’s rumored that one who’s fully mastered the gene can even cause time to flow forward and backward—at will.”

I gasp. “You’re talking about time travel!”

“Essentially,” Cleo agrees.

It takes a moment for the full implication of her words to hit me. “Wait a second! Are you saying that the Syn and Kendor I saw this afternoon are from the past?” I ask.

Cleo nods. “For a long time I suspected the Alchemist had this ability. Examine closely how Kendor described his dreams. He spoke of seeing bright lights and hearing loud noises. Just two hundred and fifty years ago, before the Industrial Revolution, the only way to illuminate a room at night was to build a fire or light a candle. Also, the early years of mankind were extraordinarily quiet. Imagine a time when there were no cars, no TVs, no stereos. All of us here, except you, Jessica, remember when the world was virtually silent. To us it was natural. Now imagine how loud today’s world would appear to a person who was suddenly plucked from the Middle Ages. He’d jump every time someone slammed a door or hit their car brakes and caused their wheels to squeal.”

“What about the objects Kendor saw in the sky?” I ask.

“Those must have been planes,” Cleo says.

I hold up a hand. “Slow down, would ya? Are you saying that every time Syn and Kendor dreamed of the Alchemist and lost track of what day it was, they were transported to this time?”

“Transported in time,” Cleo says. “But not necessarily to this time.”

“That’s crazy!” I cry.

Cleo nods slowly. “Perhaps. But isn’t it more crazy to say Syn and Kendor are not dead when you saw them die?”

I shake my head. “I don’t know. This idea of time travel—it’s too weird.”

Cleo presses the point. “You were the one who stressed how dazed they were. Consider: If they’d only been here in our time for a few days, can you imagine how new—and yes, frightening—everything would appear to them? Especially in a crowded mall? It makes sense they’d behave like children.”