Authors: Adrian Howell
So now I’m a human bomb,
I thought to myself.
A suicide bomber just like the crazies in the news sometimes. But this time it’s me.
And strangely, or perhaps predictably, I felt perfectly normal with that now.
I even found it funny (in a sick sort of way) to think that I was most likely the world’s first agnostic suicide bomber. Just about anyone crazy enough to do something like this had to also be crazy enough to believe that they were following the will of some angry god. But not me. I was just following my own will. I wasn’t looking for any heavenly rewards. Far from it. If there was a heaven and hell, I was certain that I would end up in the latter. My only consolation was in the poetic justice that I would die first, if only a microsecond before my sister.
In the middle of the night, Ed Regis and I were once again blindfolded and taken out of the Slayer house. Again we rode in silence as we were taken across town to a parking lot where the Slayers had brought our sedan. When our blindfolds were removed, I discovered that Father Stanton himself had come with us to bid us farewell.
“Don’t expect me to thank you, Father,” I said to him. “You wanted this as much as I did.”
Father Stanton nodded.
Ed Regis opened the car door for me, helped me in, closed my door and then walked around to the driver’s side.
Once Ed Regis started the engine, I rolled down my window and looked up at Father Stanton, forcing a smile. “But thank you anyway, Father.”
Father Stanton shook his head and sighed. Then he said hesitantly, “If you don’t mind my asking, young demon, how do you really feel about what you are doing?”
“I feel nothing,” I told him.
“I see,” he said, shaking his head again. “Well then, may the Lord and the Devil be with you, son.”
I gave Father Stanton a wry smile. “I’m sure at least one of them will.”
Ed Regis put the car in gear and slowly backed out of the parking space. I looked at Father Stanton one last time through the windshield, catching the triumphant look on his face. Perhaps we had far more in common than either of us was willing to admit. I didn’t like that idea very much, but at least I got what I had come for.
The last step of my journey was pretty straightforward. I needed an audience with Queen Cat, and I had to make it look like I was caught as opposed to simply turning myself in. I had given up on the Royal Gate. While waiting in Father Stanton’s basement, Ed Regis and I had weighed several other options. We could return to Lumina and get caught trying to kidnap Cindy. We could return to Wood-claw to take revenge for Terry. We could even attack a random Angel settlement. Ed Regis overruled them all as being too risky. Even though the Angels were still trying to take me alive at all costs, all of these plans could wind up getting me shot and killed by accident.
Thus it was that after two uncomfortably long days on the road, Ed Regis pulled our sedan up onto the curb of a narrow, slummy road at the edge of a small coastal city. The dashboard clock showed that it was still only 7pm, but the dark, graffiti-covered walls and flickering neon lights made it feel much later.
“This is where I leave you, Adrian,” said Ed Regis. “Go down to the end of this block, turn left, two blocks, turn right, two blocks. You’ll see the sign at the corner. You can’t miss it.”
“Thanks for being there,” I said, shaking his hand.
“It was my pleasure,” he replied solemnly.
I was glad Ed Regis had stopped trying to talk me out of doing this. I didn’t want to imagine the pain of having my bomb removed.
“Keep an eye on Candace for me,” I said quietly. “Make sure she keeps her promise. Help her if she needs it.”
“I will,” said Ed Regis.
I opened the door and stepped out of the car.
“Be careful you don’t start any fights you can’t finish in there,” was Ed Regis’s last warning.
Then he drove away.
I stood on the street for a moment, steeling myself for what I had to do.
Out of sheer habit, I gave Alia’s pendant a light tap, and remembered the little note from Candace still folded neatly in my jacket pocket: “Don’t forget to believe in miracles, Addy.”
It’ll be a miracle if I can pull this off,
I thought to myself.
The cut on my left side was still a little red and swollen, but I could walk without too much pain. Soon I saw the double doors on the street corner, and the red and blue neon sign above them: The Dog’s Gate.
Self-conscious about my height and the fact that nothing about my appearance properly fit into a bar setting, I warily approached the entrance, expecting at any moment to be stopped by someone. Two tall men in black leather jackets eyed me curiously, but let me pass unhindered.
Inside was surprisingly clean and orderly. It looked more like a restaurant than a bar, though there was a long counter at the far end. Only about half of the tables were occupied, but it would probably get more crowded later. I saw two pool tables to my right, and for a second I pictured myself there with Terry, just having fun together like we used to in our old penthouse. Though she was horrible at it, Alia had liked playing pool too.
“Hey, kid!” called one of three men standing around the pool tables. “Where’s your mommy?”
The other two laughed, but I ignored them and headed toward the counter.
The whole bar was under a psionic hiding field, but as I passed by the tables, I could sense a few destroyer powers of the people drinking and chatting away. Some of them looked up at me, but I wasn’t sure if they recognized me or if they were simply wondering how old I was.
The barman was a burly redhead with eyes that looked like they had seen it all. He took little notice of me as I sat on a stool at the counter.
I telekinetically tugged a little on his right sleeve.
“What do you want, kid?” he asked gruffly.
“A beer,” I replied as casually as I could. “And I was hoping you could point me toward someone I could talk to about the Royal Gate.”
“Listen,” he said in an annoyed tone, “I don’t point people here. They come in and they talk. As for this Royal Gate, whatever it is, I can only tell you that you’re at the wrong gate.” He filled up a beer mug with tap water and smacked it down in front of me. “This one’s on the house. Drink it and get the hell out.”
“I thought I ordered a beer,” I said evenly, telekinetically sliding the mug of water back toward him.
The barman grabbed it before it slid off the counter. “Don’t do that in here, kid,” he said warningly under his breath. “Normal folk sometimes come in for a drink too.”
“If you’re not going to point anyone out for me, then maybe you can help,” I said.
“I told you already,” said the barman, “I don’t know nothing about no Royal Gate.”
“Okay. Then how about you tell me where I can find Randal Divine?”
“Excuse me?”
“I said I want to find Randal Divine,” I repeated loudly. “You’ve heard of him, haven’t you?”
A hush fell over the bar. I didn’t turn around, but I could almost count the number of eyes that were on my back. Even the pool players had stopped their game.
The barman chuckled. “I’m afraid I haven’t, kid. Randal Divine? Sorry. Never heard of him.”
Standing up from my stool, I gave the barman a smile and a nod. Then I telekinetically grabbed him by his hair and slammed his face down onto the counter. I released him, and he staggered back upright, holding his bleeding face.
“You broke my nose!” he yelled through the blood.
“Another cute word and I’ll break your neck!” I snapped.
I rounded on the crowd behind me and said furiously, “Has anybody else here not heard of Randal Divine?!”
Nobody moved. They just stared at me. If anything, they looked like they were amused by my performance.
Ed Regis had warned me not to start a large fight, and I wasn’t planning to. The basic rule of neutral ground at the Dog’s Gate was this: Anyone who struck anyone first would risk the wrath of the one and only true god among psionics. No one here was going to cross the Historian over me. Only the barman had the right to strike back, and if he did, I was prepared to lose.
But he didn’t strike back. When I turned to him again, he was carefully wiping his face with a wet paper towel. His nose was still bleeding but clearly not broken.
He said irately, “You’re heading into a world of trouble, you know that?”
I shrugged. “Believe me, sir, I’m already there.”
The barman narrowed his eyes. “Who the hell are you, kid?”
I looked at him in surprise. Did he honestly not know? I had assumed that a man like him would recognize me on sight.
“I’m Adrian Howell,” I told him.
“Yeah, and I’m Teresa Henderson,” the barman sneered.
I couldn’t help laughing at that. “You are nowhere near man enough to be Terry.”
Finally the barman seemed to notice my disparately colored eyes. “You’re really him?!”
I nodded. “Unfortunately, yes.”
“There’s a bounty on your head, Adrian Howell.”
“So claim it,” I challenged icily. “Claim it or help me. Take your pick.”
The barman finished wiping the blood off of his face.
“Okay,” he said, stepping closer to the counter, “I’ll claim it.”
I felt his power instantly grab hold of my limbs, immobilizing me.
“No! Don’t do this!” I shouted desperately. “Please! You have to help me kill Randal Divine! You can’t let him have the world!”
The barman, I discovered, was a fairly powerful puppeteer, but I could have blocked him if I wanted to. I did make a decent show of struggling, but I let him march my body through a rear door as many of the patrons laughed, cheered and applauded.
The barman led me down a narrow corridor and into a rectangular meeting room where he forced me to remove my jacket and then sat me down into an armchair.
“Thought you could just come in here and do whatever you wanted, did you?” he said mockingly. “Now the joke’s on you, Adrian Howell, and I will be well rewarded for my service. You’re a stupid kid.”
I shot him a furious look, but inside, I was elated at my success. This stupid man would hand me over to the Seraphim, and they would take me straight on to the Royal Gate and finally to the secret home of Randal Divine and my first sister. I hoped that they would use another Wolf plane. Then perhaps this could all be finished by tomorrow.
The barman opened a desk drawer and produced a pair of thin gloves.
“You’ll understand, of course,” he said as he pulled them on, “that I don’t give a rat’s ass why King Divine wants you or what he plans to do with the world. The Dog’s Gate is under the protection of the Historian. You and King Divine are not.”
The barman reached into the drawer again and brought out two pairs of steel handcuffs and a black cloth bag. He locked my wrists behind my back with one pair of handcuffs, and then put the other on my ankles.
“Whatever your game was, kid,” he said as he pulled the cloth bag over my head, “it’s over now.”
About an hour later, I heard several pairs of footsteps enter the room.
Someone lifted up my left shirtsleeve to expose my P-47 tattoo.
“It’s him,” said a female voice. “Let’s go.”
I felt a prick on my arm as a hypodermic needle injected something that instantly made me feel extremely dizzy.
I had suspected that the Seraphim would render me unconscious for the trip. That was why I had to be caught instead of surrendering. If I had surrendered, they would have suspected a trap. They still might suspect a trap, but my chances were far better this way.
As my consciousness faded away, I did hope for a miracle. Just one small miracle.
Chapter 18: The Queen’s Reason
I woke on a soft bed, but that was the only comfortable part of it. My muscles ached all over. My eyes were taking their time focusing, and my head was throbbing like a particularly nasty hangover. I felt terribly drained.
Slowly bringing my right hand to my forehead, I found that I wasn’t being physically restrained. But I was wearing a pair of psionic control bands on my wrists. Their metal rods were extended, touching my skin and keeping me from regaining my full strength.
Once my vision had cleared enough, I looked over at the empty bed across from mine. I recognized the bed, and I gasped as my eyes fell upon the giant fluffy white unicorn doll standing next to it.
I was in my old bedroom in Cindy’s penthouse!
Why was I here? I looked around in panic. I saw my white cane propped up against the side of my wooden desk. I saw the chairs beside the window where Alia and I used to sit when we couldn’t sleep. Everything was just the way we had left it when we fled New Haven. But why had I been brought here, and not to Randal and Cat’s home? This was all wrong!
I was alone in the room so I quickly checked myself over. Someone had removed my old clothes as I slept and dressed me in a dark green sweatshirt and matching sweatpants, but I discovered that I was still wearing Alia’s unicorn pendant around my neck. Giving it a little pat, I tucked it under my sweatshirt.
Next, I examined the cut across my lower left side. The swelling was gone, as were the stitches, and I realized with a touch of horror that I had received the attentions of a psionic healer, possibly en route. Holding my breath, I gingerly pressed my fingertips into my lower abdomen, searching for the all-important package. I let out a long sigh of relief as I felt the little metal bomb still inside my body. The healer, whoever he was, had simply finished healing the wound for me.
But I still couldn’t understand what I was doing in my room. My bedside clock had stopped, but by the light outside the window, I guessed that it was early afternoon.
I got up from the bed and made my way to the door. Opening it, I cautiously stepped into the hallway.
A man was standing there.
He was dressed in a black suit typical of the Angel Seraphim I had watched from Nonus’s surveillance room. I looked at him questioningly. He just smiled and gestured toward the living room down the hall.
Giving him a little nod, I made my way toward the living room, keeping a steadying hand on one wall as I walked. I still felt a little queasy, and being drained by the control bands wasn’t helping at all. The Seraph remained standing guard by my bedroom door.