ARC: Cracked (12 page)

“Do any of them not become demons?” The question comes out softer than I intended.

He pauses and turns around. I pretend to fight with a branch and lose. He comes back and snaps it off, setting me free. “What do you mean?”

“Are there any that aren’t evil?”

“I dunno.” He shrugs, turning forward again. “I only ever hear about the ones we have to fight. But I wouldn’t think so. Normal people have a hard enough time staying good. How could someone who’s already half-evil pull it off?”

Very good question. I certainly don’t have the answer.

I open my mouth to ask something else, but then hear Jo’s voice through the trees. They’re coming to meet us. Of course. Did I really picture Jo patiently waiting somewhere?

Dammit. I barely learnt anything and it appears my Emma cover is riskier than I first thought. I need to step it up and stop underestimating Jo. I need to go nuclear.

We meet up with the others and trek back to the gym while a blue-chalked Uri enthusiastically recounts how he fell victim, literally, to a botched surprise attack from above. Jo says nothing, but her limp is more pronounced – her version of stomping, I think. Zebedee already headed back, choosing not to wait when she was “killed”. We’re the last ones to reach the empty gym. Jo slams her weapons back into their spots. Losing the game, her role as the helpless victim, my disappearance and my reappearance draped all over Chi’s arm, all have her simmering. I just need to push her till she boils over. There are still a few hours before dinner, a few hours I want to take advantage of – with Chi.

No, not like that, though that would be fun too.

Like any clever spider, I weave my web and set my trap. I steal the idea from an MTV drama – the best place to brainstorm diabolical schemes. I wait until Jo is about to follow us out of the gym (when angry, she moves about as silently as a cyborg elephant), then I spring it. I grab Chi by the ears and lay one on him.

Villain that I am, it’s fitting that my first kiss is one I stole.

His lips are soft and salty (or maybe that’s chalk?), but slack – I hope it’s because of shock and not a testament to his kissing skills. Talk about a disappointment. Suddenly his brain catches up with his lips and he jumps as if electrified and just has time to put his hands on my waist – to kiss me more or push me away, who knows – when Jo walks into the hallway.

It’s almost as if someone planned it.

Chi shoves me away and we both turn to face Jo, frozen in the doorway. There are horrified looks all around, two of them real. Then a white-faced Jo (finally, finally!) stomps off. To my surprise, Chi is equally white-faced. His mouth hangs open and he just shakes his head at a loss. He turns to me, baffled.

“Just happy to be alive,” I say perkily and release him. He sputters and I try not to laugh. “Show me around?” I suggest.

“Gahh,” he says, eloquent as always, looking at the door Jo went out of. I pull away and give his hand a tug in the opposite direction.

“Soooo,” I start, letting my voice go all husky, “if you guys are outnumbered, shouldn’t you go out and, I don’t know, make some more?” I wiggle my eyebrows suggestively.

That startles Chi out of his confused daze and he laughs. “No, unfortunately, it doesn’t work like that. We’re not allowed to defeat evil through intentional and systematic sinning.”

“But you can lie and steal?”

He’s thoughtful for a minute. “I think it’s about how and who it hurts, and what’s the trade-off. It’s one thing to tell a tiny fib to save a Beacon, and another thing entirely to bring a bunch of innocent babies into the world with no family just so you can have more soldiers. Oh sure, there have been babies out of wedlock before. We’re human after all. But–”

I wink at him and he blushes. “I know, I know, it’s all about intent,” I say.

“You’re catching on. Must be the Beacon in you.”

I sincerely doubt it. It works as a nice segue, though. “So how are you going to test me to find out if I’m a Beacon?”

He looks at me, and his face has a decidedly Jo-look. Either the kiss made him suspicious, or the fallout with Jo irritated him enough to make him doubt me.

I let my voice tremble as I ask, “Will it hurt?”

He smiles and shakes his head. “No, it’s nothing we do to you really. It’s an artifact that functions as a map of Beacons.” His chest puffs a little. “Our chapter has the most powerful Beacon Map in the world. Most only cover regions, but we can track them all over the world.” This doesn’t really have anything to do with me, but he seems proud of it, so I let him continue. “Anyway, you’ll show up on the map as light.”

Unlikely.

“Where’s the map now?” Somewhere easily accessible? Perhaps next to a conveniently located incinerator?

“We’ve loaned it out to another chapter.” Even better, it’s not here. “Because North America became a demon-Templar battlefield so late in the game, we don’t have a lot of artifacts that originate here. Our Beacon Map, since it’s the only one that shows the entire world, is the only one that works in North America. We loan it out occasionally to other chapters when they lose their Beacons or are trying to pinpoint the location of a new one. We can’t test you till they bring it back, but they never keep it long.”

Oh. “How long, typically?”

He shrugs, but he has that Jo-look again. I change the subject. “So, how was your chapter chosen to keep the Beacon Map?” I realize a hair too late that that question could be interpreted as insulting, but Chi doesn’t look miffed. Instead he smirks.

“The Northern Chapter lost it.” He sends me a sideways look. “They’re the original North American chapter – from back when New York was the demon headquarters – and they used to be our parent chapter.” He snorts. “They think they still are. Anyway, at the turn of the century, they lost the Beacon Map and the demons got hold of it.” His smug smile dies. “The result was that almost an entire generation of Beacons was lost. Without them… well, there were two world wars, the Holocaust, the Nanking Massacre, the Cold War, Stalin, the Spanish Influenza…” he trails off, shaking his head. “It was the bloodiest period in the history of the world. They call it the Hemoclysm – the blood flood.” He exhales. “Anyway, our founder rescued the Beacon Map from the demons. It was a huge deal, he basically saved the world.” Chi’s back to bragging. “So when he asked to be in charge of the Beacon Map and run an independent chapter, they allowed it.” He smiles and swings out his arms. “So here we are.”

“Interesting,” I say. And it is, even if it’s not particularly helpful. “So, what’s it like to be a Templar?”

“Great.” He grins.

“What do you like best?”

“Killing bad guys.”

A great answer. I meet his roguish smile, his eyes twinkling between the hair that has fallen in his face and feel an unexpected squirm in the place where I once thought there might be a heart. I look away.

“What else?”

“Well, the powers are pretty cool.”

I give him an interested look but he hesitates.

“You probably shouldn’t tell me about those,” I say. “Jo told you not to.”
But no one is the boss of you…

His jaw tightens and he spills. “Once a Templar accepts the Inheritance he or she gains super-strength and speed, rapid healing and the ability to purify demons. Some get lucky and have extra gifts, but they manifest erratically.” He grins and wiggles his fingers in front of him like he’s doing a magic trick. “Zeke can blast demon-killing light out of his fingertips. It was pretty exciting when he figured that out.”

I bet. I’ll keep an eye out for Zeke. I make an interested noise for him to continue.

“Most of our magic comes from grimoires – our anti-demon spell books. But we’re not allowed to play with those till we graduate,” he says and I give him an incredulous look. He hasn’t given me any reason to believe he’s a rule-follower. He catches my look and grins mischievously. “Oh, I’ve tried to sneak a peek before, but they’re all written in ancient languages and I’m not advanced enough to read them. Now, artifacts, on the other hand, are rarer, but can be used by anyone with the Inheritance.” He pulls out something from his pocket to show me. It looks like a small incense burner on a chain. “This heats up when I’m near a demon.” I subtly inch away, just in case, even though Jo had said it doesn’t work on half-demons. Chi slides it back into his pocket.

Up until now I’d thought we’d been strolling aimlessly, but then he leads me down a flight of stairs, then two more until we are deep underground. By the time we approach a high-tech security door, I’m antsy with curiosity.

“Where are we?” I ask.

That delightfully naughty grin crosses his face again. “Top secret.” He doesn’t bother to cover the security sensor as he puts in the “code”. Probably because it’s his own blood pricked from his finger. “Templar blood,” he explains. Unlike a PIN, I guess he figures I can’t steal that.

Fool.

The door opens with a click and a hiss. Chi pulls it the rest of the way and I see that it’s nearly a foot thick and made of solid steel, like you’d expect on a bank vault. Inside is not what I expected – although I am not sure what I
did
expect. My experience with secret demon-fighting societies is limited.

It’s a museum, long and narrow, filled with locked bookcases and glass display cases. The floors are polished wood and the walls are painted in muted greys and rusty oranges. By far the nicest place I’ve seen in this ratty school. Chi points out the library of grimoires, a dozen or so ancient-looking books of varying shapes and sizes. A larger collection of books concerning Templar history fill several other bookcases.

The glass cases display artifacts labeled with small plaques stating things like “Splinter of the Cross” and “Scrap of the Shroud”, along with a shorthand list of uses, like “Creating Holy Blades”, “Blessing Water”, “Expel Demons (poss.)”.

Chi nods to one of the many empty cases. “Beacon Map.”

I read the plaque. “St Christopher’s Skull?”

“Yeah, it’s pretty cool. It works kind of like an iPad permanently set to Google Earth.”

“Except it’s a skull.”

“Well, yeah.”

I have a sudden idea. “Steve Jobs, Larry Page and Sergey Brin are Beacons?” The founders of Apple and Google. Chi just smiles.

We stroll, looking at the other relics. There have to be over two dozen cases, though many of them are empty but for the plaques. I can only guess that the relics are in use somewhere. Chi stops at one that contains a few incense burners and about two dozen spots where more should be. The lock is already undone and Chi slides the artifact from his pocket and into the case before locking it again. “Incense Burners, San Giovanni”, the sign says, then in smaller print “Senses Demons”.

“Borrowed it last night,” he explains.

Another case has nothing but a tiny test tube. “Demon-Blight”, it states. I don’t know what that is, but I skirt it.

A room just filled with all sorts of tools for finding and killing demons. Seems to me like the kind of place that could use a good fire – clear out the riff-raff. I spot sprinkler heads on the ceiling.

Maybe an explosion, then.

Closed doors, plain and unmarked, leave this room in all directions. But there is one set different from all the others – huge, wooden and intricately carved.

“Where do those go?” I ask and Chi loses his lightness. I didn’t know his face could do solemn. He doesn’t answer but pushes them open.

They lead to a long dark hallway, lit only by unnaturally silver candlelight. The hallway stretches forever, the candles placed seemingly at random. It’s like looking down a tunnel decorated with a slice of the night sky, unending inky blackness dotted with silvery twinkles.

Once my eyes adjust, I see that each candle rests on a shelf at the base of a display. Mounted above each candle is a large picture of a person with a silver plaque containing a name and dates. I put the pieces together.

I stand in a shrine to the Templar dead.

Surrounding each large photograph is a collection of smaller photographs, of weddings and babies, picnics and dances. Snapshots capturing their most perfect moments. There are also letters, some elegant, some in a childish scrawl. There are medals and teddy bears and child-drawn art. Any beloved piece of the life the departed left behind. Some have dying flowers, while others have very recently placed fresh ones. A patchwork of memories stretching forever.

When I die, there will be nothing to mark my passing. Do they still sell unclaimed bodies to science? It’s ironic, but not entirely surprising, that I could do more good for the world dead than alive.

Chi is silent as we walk the hallway, our tapping footsteps echoing in the silence. The parade of dead we pass seems to never end. We reach one display and Chi stops, crossing himself and bowing his head in prayer. The shelf is strewn with flowers in various stages of wilty-ness and a happy couple smiles from the photo. I recognize them as Jo’s parents.

I didn’t know them and only like their daughter involuntarily, so I don’t feel the urge to show respect. I certainly don’t pray. God and I are giving each other the silent treatment. Instead I idly examine the shrines nearby. There’s a young man on a motorcycle who looks to be in his twenties and an old woman who made it to sixty – judging from the other pictures, that’s probably considered an accomplishment for a Templar. Chi’s still praying, so I scuff my borrowed sneakers and wander a little further away. As if to prove my hypothesis, the next one down is another young person, a woman this time, in her late teens. I step closer and, to my deep and unending surprise, I realize I recognize her.

My mother.

EIGHT

When I was eleven, I fell off the second-storey landing outside our apartment and landed on concrete. Mom was struggling to unlock the door with her arms full of groceries and arguing with me all at the same time. Our argument was pretty typical tween–parent stuff – I didn’t appreciate the restrictions she put on me: no school, no friends, no R-rated movies, no indiscriminate homicide.

You know, the usual.

She was tooth-grindingly calm and rational, which made my argument (basically a long-winded version of “But, I wanna!”) somehow seem childish in comparison. Backed into a corner, I went nuclear. I slammed down my groceries, shattering the glass bottles with a satisfying crash, then kicked a hole in the wall, spun and shoved the second-storey banister.