Live and Let Psi Page 16

  “We have,” Andy said. “That’s why we don’t wear them. Now, as I was saying—”

  “A single fighter can move more quickly than a team.”

  Andy gave me a shut-him-up-before-I-kill-him look, then said, “Attack!”

  Immediately, six senior students surrounded us. Andy and I stood back to back, not moving. Three of them attacked me at once, while three more attacked Andy. Instantly, my Amplifier was in my hand.

  Bewilder, I thought, and my Amplifier flared like a starburst. My attackers zoomed past me as if I wasn’t there. I grabbed one by the arm as he sailed by and spun him backward into one of Andy’s attackers. They bounced off each other like marbles and smashed into a third. Three down, three to go.

  Andy moved between two of them, and they immediately grabbed his arms, holding him between them while the third attacked. I extinguished my Amplifier and side-kicked the third attacker, knocking him against the wall. Andy jerked sharply on the two students holding his arms, and they bounced off each other like Clacker balls.

  The rest of the students cheered as Andy and I helped the six attackers to their feet. Drake stared open-mouthed, apparently speechless.

  “Well done,” the Kilodan said. “Andor, please explain.”

  Andy placed his arms behind his back and stood like he was about to recite poetry. “The element of surprise is your friend when you are badly outnumbered. Granted, Rinnie and I only took on six, so we weren’t technically outnumbered, but the principle applies. Rinnie, if you would be so kind as to explain the Mental Weapon you used.”

  I nodded. “The Chaos Burst disrupts the connection between your opponent’s eyes and his brain. You know how when somebody’s taking your picture and you don’t know the flash is on until it’s too late, and you walk around seeing spots? Well, the Chaos Burst is like that, except it doesn’t affect your opponent’s eyes. It’s like his brain sees spots. His eyes work perfectly fine, but his brain can’t connect properly to the images. It gives you time to maneuver and take your opponents out one by one.”

  The Kilodan stepped forward. “Andor’s technique left two opponents unarmed and open to attack. He simply allowed them to capture him. While each of them held one of his arms, they could neither attack nor defend themselves. They relied on the third to do the dirty work. Lynn immobilized him, then Andor took out the others.”

  Andy said, “With amazing panache, I might add.”

  “So you can see,” the Kilodan said, “how fighting as a team makes you immensely more powerful than doing battle separately. Now I would like to ask our newest student to lead the class in some light exercise. Five hundred of your favorite three kicks, if you would, Mr. Reynolds.”

  Drake’s eyes grew wide. “That’s fifteen hundred kicks.”

  “On each leg,” the Kilodan said, then turned to leave. “Lynn, Andor, come with me, please.”

  As he passed me, his expressionless mask turned my way, and if I didn’t know better, I would have sworn he was laughing. “You have a jail to break out of.”

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  To Hold a Knight

  I followed Andy and the Kilodan into Andy’s tech room, the high-tech laboratory where he builds all of our gadgets. The first thing I noticed was a large cage bolted to the floor.

  “It’s really just a prototype,” Andy said. “I was pressed for time, so I made it boring and square. The final design will be much more aesthetically pleasing.”

  “Is this for a new pet?” I asked.

  “No, it’s for an old, annoying one,” Andy said. He opened the cage door. “Get in.”

  “Darn,” I said, shaking my head. “I had someone in mind.”

  “Please keep your mind off Mason.”

  “Mason who?”

  Andy just grunted at me.

  “Walpurgis Knights are too powerful for jails to hold them.” The Kilodan placed his hand on my shoulder, guiding me inside the cage. “We believe that Andor has solved that problem.”

  “And we’d like you to prove me wrong,” Andy said. “Something that is unlikely to happen in my lifetime.”

  I reached out and felt the bars. “It’s just steel. My Thought Saber will slice right through it. This won’t hold a Knight.”

  “Do your worst,” Andy said, and closed the cage door.

  Immediately, my mind grew unfocused. “What’s this thing doing? I feel funny.”

  “High frequency impulses that your ears can’t pick up,” Andy said. “But your brain can. I built a Mental Imaging Generator. It creates random mental images that capture your attention.”

  “But I don’t feel like it’s capturing my attention. I feel like it’s distracting me from staying focused on anything.”

  “Exactly,” Andy said. “Like when a dog sees a squirrel.”

  “And people think you waste time watching movies.”

  “If the world only knew,” Andy said. “Here’s the idea. It takes an enormous amount of concentration to create a Mental Weapon. If a Knight can’t concentrate, he can’t use the Mental Arts to escape prison. So, I thought to myself—”

  “Who else would you think to?” I asked.

  Andy gave me the single raised eyebrow look. “So, I thought to myself, if dogs are so easily distracted by annoying little creatures, why couldn’t the same principle be applied to keeping a Knight in a cage?”

  “And you concluded that with the right combination of brains, technology, and a deep, masculine voice, it should work.”

  “Do I have a deep masculine voice? I do sound like James Earl Jones, don’t I?”

  “More like SpongeBob.”

  Andy banged on the cage door. “Escape if you dare.”

  I drew my Amplifier.

  “Won’t help,” Andy said.

  “We’ll see.” I imagined a longsword and felt mental sparks jump from my fingers to the Amplifier. Then the image changed to a Batman TV episode and the sparks fizzled.

  I glared at Andy and shook my head. I relaxed and took a deep breath. My mind calmed, and the image of a rapier became crystal clear but was immediately replaced by Moe smacking Curly with a crowbar.

  “What is this thing doing to me?” I asked.

  “Squirrel!” Andy said. “You can’t hold an image long enough to form a Thought Saber, can you?”

  “No,” I said. “This thing really works. I don’t think I can form any weapon at all with my Amplifier.”

  “Success!” Andy started doing the Curly Shuffle across the laboratory floor. “Now you can think about Mason again.”

  “Why? So I can lose more sleep from being ignored by that total jerkface butthead?”

  “Don’t sugarcoat it, Rin, tell me how you really feel.”

  “You want to know? He’s treating me like the south end of a dung beetle. That’s how I really feel.” I slammed both palms against the steel bars of the cage door and fired off a Mental Blast without even trying. The door burst from its hinges with a sonic boom and flew across the room.

  “Impressive.” Andy shook his head slowly. “I think I’ve been going about this all wrong.”

  “The squirrel approach must have distracted you,” I said, staring at the destruction I had accidentally created.

  “It did, but your boyfriend problems solved my cage problems. I don’t have to disturb concentration. I have to eliminate emotion.”

  “I hope you can teach me how to do that.”

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Let There Be Death

  “I placed the rose on his desk as you commanded, master.” Phobos frowned behind his mask. Though he was still shaken by the news of his teacher’s death, he kept his emotions tightly controlled.

  “And the riddle?” Nicolaitan asked.

  “Dr. Captious turned it into an assignment. He asked everyone in class what it meant.”

  “Even you?” Nicolaitan whispered.

  Phobos hesitated, his nerves on end. “I think he suspected.” A memory of that day flashed through his min
d.

  Dr. Captious faced the class. Did any of you see a person, place, or thing, a noun of any sort, enter my classroom? Yes or no. He asked person after person. They all said no. But when he asked me, he gazed into my eyes as though he knew I was the one, and smiled subtly. You. Yes or no?

  “Captious was an extremely intelligent man.” Nicolaitan laughed.

  Phobos shook his head. “He’s dead. They said he had a heart attack.”

  Nicolaitan clapped his hands. “They’ll soon know the truth. Rohiene poison is easily detectable, if you know what to look for. Any expert in rare, exotic poisons will know that the man has been murdered. The police will get my message. The Psi morons already have it.”

  “You poisoned him?”

  “Certainly not,” Nicolaitan said. “You did.”

  “I…?” Phobos felt his chest tighten. He fought nausea for an instant but kept it together. “No one reacted unusually to the death of Dr. Captious. The Morgan girl is still hidden.”

  “Of course she is,” Nicolaitan said. “Come here.”

  Phobos shuddered, but did as he was told. Nicolaitan reached out and placed a gauntleted hand on his shoulder. His mind was filled with a scene of death.

  Two unmasked Psi Fighters lay murdered at Nicolaitan’s feet. A child lay next to them, unconscious. She had fought more fiercely than her parents. What a fine Knight she could be, Nicolaitan murmured, then bent to take her, when from the corner of his eye, a third Psi Fighter, much larger than the dead ones, lunged through the air at Nicolaitan, appearing out of nowhere.

  He released Phobos. “Do you know her?”

  Yes. Phobos held his hands wide. “There are no girls that age at the high school. I will search the elementary school.”

  “Idiot!” Nicolaitan barked, then chuckled as Phobos cringed like a mouse facing a python. “My boy, you really have to take life less seriously. My bite is far worse than my bark, and you know by now that I never bark before I bite. That memory is ten years old. The girl you are looking for is now your age.”

  Phobos nodded. “She is a blonde. I know three.”

  “You know nothing. It would be more accurate to say that she was blond. Women change their hair like we change our socks. There are other traits. She is powerful for her age. She is loyal beyond reason. Those attributes are rare, difficult for Psi Fighters to conceal. Watch for them. We need to give her reason to show herself. We haven’t found her soft spot yet. Tell me, my good Phobos, how shall we write the next riddle? I’d really like you to kill another teacher.”

  Phobos bowed, fighting to keep the terror he felt from showing.

  Things had gone too far.

  He had to get out.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Whatsisface Fades

  “Only a muffin?” Kathryn asked. “I thought you had to fuel that machine?”

  Whatsisface smiled weakly. “It’s all I can keep down.”

  Kathryn and I sat in the cafeteria with the Dweeb League, sans Mason. Whatsisface was pale, even for him. I noticed his arms were shaking. “Are you okay?”

  Tish took his hand and squeezed.

  “It’s that jerk, Art Rubric,” she snapped. “He won’t leave Whatsisface alone.”

  “How did you get that name, anyway?” I asked.

  Whatsisface shrugged. “Nobody can pronounce Hieronymus.”

  “But we could call you Hi, or—”

  “Hieronymus is Latin for Jerome,” Pickles said. “That was Curly’s real name. You could be one of the Three Stooges.”

  “That’s why he picked Whatsisface,” Tish said. “He can stay a nobody, and nobody can make jokes about him, because they won’t notice him.”

  “I just meant that the Three Stooges are famous,” Pickles said.

  “I don’t need another role model’s expectations to fall short of,” Whatsisface mumbled.

  Tish hugged him. “You’re my role model.”

  That was so sweet. Whatsisface and Tish, two of the most awkward people I knew, were awesome together. But I could see that Whatsisface was struggling with something. He stared at the table as Tish hugged him. His lips were moving but nothing came out.

  “You leave Rubric to me,” Pickles said fiercely. “I got your back.” He popped into the air and threw a flying kick. Bobby ducked.

  “No!” Whatsisface said, and he buried his face in his hands. His body shook like he was freezing.

  “What’s going on?” I said.

  Whatsisface slowly calmed down, but didn’t say anything. Then he raised his shirt. He had a second, nastier bruise next to the one he had shown us the other day.

  “I don’t think I can hang out with the Dweeb League anymore,” he said. “Art says you’re bad for me.”

  “That coward catches Whatsisface when none of us is around,” Bobby said, slamming his fist on the table. Whatsisface flinched.

  “Like a stalker,” Tish said. “I told him we should go to the police.”

  Whatsisface shook his head and stared at his muffin. “It’s okay. It doesn’t matter.”

  “Stop saying that,” Tish said softly. “You matter.”

  “I don’t,” Whatsisface said. Just then, the bell rang.

  “Let’s stick together,” Bobby said as we all headed toward Language Arts.

  “I’ll meet you there,” Whatsisface said. “I have to take care of something first.”

  “No, we shouldn’t get separated,” Pickles said.

  “He’s been running to the bathroom a lot,” Tish said. “Nerves.”

  “I’ll go with you,” Pickles said. “Just in case.”

  Whatsisface smiled. “I’d sort of prefer a bit of privacy, Picks.”

  Pickles got an uncomfortable grin. “Oh. Yeah, right. Okay, but don’t be long.”

  As we went our separate ways, a funny feeling came over me. “I’ll catch up,” I said, and took off after Whatsisface.

  As I rounded the hall, the bell rang, and kids scattered to get into their classrooms. Whatsisface was nowhere to be seen. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed the door to the boiler room slowly close. I had no idea what Whatsisface could be taking care of in the boiler room, but I had a feeling it had something to do with Art. If he was in there with Whatsisface, even if I had to risk my secret identity, Art was going down.

  I walked quietly toward the closed door and eased it open. Inside, I heard whispering coming from behind the boiler pipes. My fists clenched.

  “I wish he was dead. I wish I could kill him. I wish I was dead.”

  Then confusing silence. I stepped carefully toward the boiler pipes and saw Whatsisface kneeling on the floor. Art was nowhere.

  “I’m sorry, Tish,” he said quietly. “You deserve better.”

  Something flashed in the dim light. Whatsisface held a long knife against his wrist. Then I realized how far Art had pushed him.

  “Please, don’t,” I said softly.

  Whatsisface jumped and looked up at me. “Rinnie?”

  “We need you, Whatsisface. You’re one of us.”

  “No.” He pulled himself awkwardly to his feet, never moving the knife away from his wrist. He shook his head, staring at the floor. Tears glistened on his pale cheeks. “I’m a mistake. I shouldn’t have happened.”

  “You’re just scared,” I said. “Put down the knife and we’ll talk.”

  “I’m not scared,” Whatsisface said. “I’m not…anything. I’m tired.”

  “We’ll stop Art,” I said. “We did it once. Let’s go right now to Mrs. Bagley. She’ll know what to do. She’ll make sure Art never touches you or anyone else ever again. She’ll send him to jail.”

  Whatsisface looked straight into my eyes. “You don’t get it. It’s not just Art. It’s…everything.”

  “They torture me, too,” I said. “They all call me Peroxide. Tammy sprayed garbage in my mouth. Art shoved me into a locker. There were plenty of times when I just wanted to give up and disappear. Do you know why I didn’t?”

&nbs
p; “It doesn’t matter, Rinnie. I’m not as strong as you.”

  “Yes. You are. You are the reason I made it through all that. You stood up for me.”

  “I can’t do this anymore.”

  “You pulled us together. You should feel good about that.”

  “Feel good?” Whatsisface looked like he was about to cry. “I’ve practiced feeling numb for the last month so I didn’t have to feel sick. I just want it to be over. I’m making a statement to the world, Rinnie. People shouldn’t treat each other this way. They’re all hypocrites. I hope they learn.” His body tensed, and he pressed the knife hard against his wrist.

  I took a step closer. “Whatsisf— No, I’m not calling you that anymore. Hieronymus. Hi. Your name is Hi.”

  He looked up at me. “That’s what Mom and Dad call me.”

  “They don’t want this,” I said, taking his hand. “Nobody wants this. We want you. We need you, Hi. Forget the hypocrites.”

  “Nobody needs me.”

  “I do. That time in the hall. You risked getting beat up to protect me from Art.”

  Whatsisface—Hi—slowly shook his head. “Nobody ever risked anything to save me.”

  “Most of us aren’t as brave as you. But we all need you. Tish needs you. For Pete’s sake, Pickles needs you. You always have our backs. You’re one of us. You make it cool to be in the Dweeb League.”

  He loosened his grip on the knife, and I held my hand out. “Please. If you die, Art Rubric wins. All the hypocrites win. But if you live, they lose. We can beat them, Hi.”

  The knife dropped to the floor, and he threw his arms around me. That name sounded so weird. Hi. I’d never thought of him as anything but Whatsisface. Then it occurred to me—that was how he thought of himself, too. A whatsisface. A nobody.

  Hi squeezed me, and his body shook with silent sobs. I hugged back tightly, and we cried together for a long time.

  Chapter Thirty

  Dweeb is the New Super

  “When did it come in?” I asked.

  Andy stood with his arms folded, staring at the riddle. “Just this morning. It was written on the whiteboard in Dr. Captious’s classroom. Nicolaitan likes limericks, it seems.”