The Tower (29 page)

On New Year’s Eve, we were all invited to a countdown party for the Guardian Council. The Council, I learned, was the core of New Haven’s newly formed government. It was made up of the former leaders of the largest Guardian breakaway factions that had joined the New Haven Project. Mr. Baker was no longer the single leader of the Guardians here, but rather the head of this council.

The party was held in the subbasement, in one of the larger meeting rooms, and the party organizers had done their best to decorate the drab concrete room with colorful ribbons and flowers. There might have been sixty or more people attending – mostly Council members and their families. After the opening speeches by Mr. Baker and a few of the prominent guests, everyone mingled freely, waiting for the countdown.

For much of the party, Mr. Baker was busy chatting with other adults. But when I had a brief chance to speak with him, I asked, “So, are the Guardians a democracy now?”

“Not entirely,” admitted Mr. Baker, “but we are much more democratic than we were when we had a queen.” He laughed as he added, “These days, I have to watch myself and keep the Council happy. Otherwise, they can pass a vote of no-confidence and replace me.”

Cindy wasn’t a Council member but, like at the last party, had been invited as the guest of honor. There were no other children here aside from Terry, Alia, and me. That was a slight disappointment, but at least the party attendees didn’t treat us like the black plague. Many of them introduced themselves and shook our hands, and I had my first glass of champagne with everyone else right after the clock struck midnight. Having learned my lesson from last summer’s Welcome to New Haven party, however, I drank regular grape juice with Alia for the rest of the party. Terry was vocally unimpressed, but at least I didn’t have her headache on New Year’s morning.

Once Terry went back to school in early January, things returned to a normal routine... or at least as normal as it ever got in New Haven.

“How is your combat training coming?” asked Cindy one morning during the last week of January.

The question threw me for a moment. Cindy never asked me about my dojo time. She didn’t like to dwell on the fact that the Guardians were training me to be a soldier.

I answered jokingly, “Well, I can pin Alia pretty easily.” Cindy gave me a withering look, and I shrugged, adding, “I don’t know, Cindy. Terry is so completely out of my league. I can only beat her when she lets me, which she hardly ever does, so it’s hard to tell how I’d fare against someone less skilled.”

These days, Terry often had me face off with whoever was down in the dojo at the time. There were no novices in the dojo aside from me, so needless to say, I lost every match.

“Why do you ask?” I said.

“I’m just wondering if all of the bruises you keep coming back with are worth it.”

“You’d prefer I lived in peace.”

“Yes,” said Cindy. “I’d prefer we all did.”

“Well, that makes two of us,” I told her. “But recently, I think Terry has a point too. We have to be ready.”

Cindy just smiled sadly.

Cindy still felt, just as I did, very conflicted about my learning combat. However, there were certain undeniable benefits to my dojo time. The most noticeable was that I was clearly much more physically fit than I had ever been in my life. Despite my still incomplete power balance, I had enough control over my psionic power to keep it from interfering too much during my weight training, and as a result, my arm and leg muscles were much firmer. I wasn’t about to win any arm wrestling tournaments yet, but I found that I could almost keep up with Terry’s insanely fast-paced jogs. I also had much better physical balance, which meant I didn’t trip very often, and my reflexes were noticeably faster too. Once, having woken up hovering, I even managed to land on my feet.

In addition to the physical side of my training, I also found that I had greater control over my telekinetic focus. Things no longer fell off of the shelves unless I consciously made it happen. I hardly ever broke anything by accident, even when I was upset or angry. I had extended my flight time as well, managing to stay in the air for nearly eight minutes as long as I stayed relatively still. I decided that all in all, Terry’s combat training was well worth the pain and injuries. Terry herself was a much better teacher these days too, having finally gotten it through her head that I was a learner and not an opponent.

I wasn’t the only one making progress, however.

In recent weeks, I had noticed that my sister’s mouth-speaking was finally starting to improve. For the most part, she still talked like her mouth was stuffed with marshmallows, but just occasionally she would make a proper D, K, or T sound. She even managed to say “Addy” aloud a few times. The frequency of her successes still suggested that they were almost entirely accidental, but nevertheless we praised her a lot. Alia had altogether stopped trying to hide her mistakes by whispering, so although her sentences were still borderline gibberish, she spoke in a clearly audible volume. Terry insisted that Alia continue wearing her silver draining ring until she could speak full sentences and be understood, but Alia no longer seemed to mind in the least. My sister had finally found her door and was enjoying the challenge of opening it.

Mid-February. I glanced at the calendar pinned over my desk and realized that it was Cat’s twelfth birthday. Twelve years old... That’s how old I had been when I turned psionic. Technically, I had been halfway to thirteen, but still it felt strange thinking of Cat as my age. I hadn’t seen her in a year and a half.

Drawn to our house on the scent of a wild-born telekinetic, the Angels had kidnapped my first sister when they failed to get me. Cat wasn’t psionic, but the Angels were betting on the possibility that someday she might be.

And it was very possible indeed.

Cindy had once explained to me that when a dormant psionic bloodline was reactivated by the right combination of parents, it was fairly common for the siblings of wild-borns to become psionic too. Judging by the strength of my power, Cindy believed that both of my parents had come from dormant psionic bloodlines, and that meant there was a very good chance that my sister would also someday turn psionic.

What would her powers be like? Would she be a telekinetic like me, or were there other skills in our blood? What would the Angels make her do when she finally became psionic? Would she be forced to join their Seraphim? Would she be forced to fight the Guardians?

Neither Cindy nor anyone else here knew that today was Cat’s birthday. I hadn’t told them last year and I wasn’t going to tell them this year either. It wasn’t as if I could send my sister a card. But as was often the case when I tried to hide something from Cindy, it didn’t work.

“A little out of focus today, are we?” Cindy said playfully to me over lunch when I telekinetically knocked over the lemonade pitcher by accident.

Helping her towel off the table, I replied, “I guess I’m just a little tired.”

“More bad dreams?”

I shrugged. “Just your average, everyday nightmares, Cindy. I’m fine. Really!”

“Is that why you were playing with your pendant all morning?”

I scowled at her. I might have been absentmindedly fingering Cat’s amethyst more than usual that day, but Cindy didn’t have to spy on me.

“Come on, Adrian,” said Cindy, peering into my eyes, “what’s bugging you?”

“You are!” I said, annoyed. “Do you really have to know every little detail of my life?”

Cindy gave me a wounded look. “No, but I’d like to.”

“Well, this one is none of your business,” I said stubbornly.

And that was where we left it until dinner that evening. Near the end of the meal, Cindy announced, “I have a special surprise for you today, Adrian.”

Terry and Alia looked up from their plates. I raised my eyebrows.

Cindy added hesitantly, “But you have to promise you won’t get angry.”

I usually hated it when Cindy said that, but this time I already knew what her surprise was. Smiling broadly, I asked, “Now what makes you think I’d get all upset over a chocolate cake, Cindy?”

Cindy looked stunned. “How did you know?”

“Easy!” I laughed. “Alia is a world-class blabbermouth.”

I had been in my bedroom studying while Alia was helping Cindy bake the cake, and Alia couldn’t resist taking off her silver ring and telepathically spilling Cindy’s secret through the walls.

“Snitch!” said Cindy, giving Alia a gentle poke in her stomach. “I should have known.”

Alia giggled and said aloud, “Sorry, Cinney.”

Still smiling, I shook my head and said resignedly, “Trust you to bake a birthday cake for a missing person, Cindy.”

“I wasn’t sure you’d be happy,” said Cindy, carefully studying my face, “but it felt like the right thing to do.”

“It’s fine,” I assured her, and it was. Cindy had probably been nervous because of how I reacted back when she had bought Alia her bloodstone pendant, but this was different. In fact, I was no longer even sure why I had been so thorny during lunch today. Cindy Gifford was simply incapable of not caring, and that was what I loved about her.

As Cindy brought the cake in from the kitchen, I asked her, “But how did you know that it was Cat’s birthday? Not even Alia knew that.”

Cindy replied slyly, “I read it off your police record.”

Terry looked at me, asking in an impressed tone, “You have a
police
record
, Adrian? What did you do?”

I laughed. “I’m missing, remember?”

“Oh, that kind of police record,” Terry said disappointedly. “Boring.”

“I like boring,” I said, smiling. “Boring is fun.”

Alia laughed as Terry rolled her eyes.

Cindy wanted to light candles and sing the happy birthday song for Cat, but I stopped her. “Come on, Cindy! That’s just plain silly! Cat’s not even here.”

“Someday, we’ll get her back, Adrian,” promised Cindy. “Someday, we’ll celebrate for real.”

Cindy was talking about months, if not years, in the future, but I still touched Cat’s amethyst and quietly agreed, “Someday.”

As Cindy passed out slices, I felt a little guilty about having Cat’s birthday cake without her. After all, who knew what kind of horrible life my sister was suffering in Angel captivity? Did they even celebrate their slaves’ birthdays over there?

But not eating the cake wouldn’t help Cat in the least. If our places had been reversed and I was the Angel slave, I would definitely want Cat to be having a good time. Besides, I knew that Cindy hadn’t really baked the cake for my lost sister. She had baked it to cheer me up, and I was happy that we were celebrating Cat’s birthday like this. The cake was delicious.

We had one more celebration that month, this one for my second sister.

One early morning near the end of February, I had been slowly dragging myself out of bed when Alia, who had already changed and left for the dining room, came bursting back into our room. She tugged hard on my arm and said aloud, “Hurry up, Addy. Cindy says brea’fast is ready. You can change la’er.”

I stared at her. I never imagined she would get this good. True, Alia was speaking slowly and deliberately, and her intonation was quite off, making her sound like she had severe brain damage, but nevertheless it was obvious that anyone who heard her speak would be able to understand her.

“See?” Alia said carefully, showing me the ring on her finger, “I’m wearing it.”

Even if I tried, I would never have been able to stop the ridiculously wide smile that crept over my face as I said, “Well, take it off, then, Ali. You don’t need it anymore.”

Tearing the ring off her finger, Alia jumped into my arms as I cried, “You did it, Ali! You really did it!”

“I did!”
she said jubilantly into my head, and then out loud, “I dee! I dee! I dee!”

We danced around the room laughing so loudly that both Cindy and Terry barged in a moment later, but two more minutes had to pass before Alia and I were calm enough to explain what we were celebrating.

Cindy said to Alia, “I knew it was just a matter of time now. Really, if Terry hadn’t stopped me, I would have suggested that you stop wearing that ring weeks ago.”

“You owe Terry a big thank-you, Alia,” I said.

Alia knew that well enough without being told, and jumped on Terry next, hugging her tightly as she said, “T’ank you, Terry! T’ank you! T’ank you!”