Live and Let Psi Page 2

  “No. He’s protected by remorse. You changed him that day with your Memory Lash. Remorse is a very powerful force.”

  “That rhymes, but the beat is off.”

  “So is your sense of who’s in charge. Turn up your enhancers. Mason has a strong pulse and steady breathing. If you zoom in on his eyes, he looks annoyed. Which I will also become if you don’t follow orders.”

  I hit a button on my mask, and Mason’s breathing came in loud and clear. He sounded like a dragon through my mask’s enhancers. And his eyes, bitter, enraged… Mason was far beyond annoyed.

  Nicolaitan threw his hands in the air and his violin evaporated.

  “Psionic fiddle,” Andy said with a moan. “Now I’ve seen everything.”

  “I hope you enjoyed my little song,” Nicolaitan said to Mason. “I thought it appropriate, given the classical significance of your situation. You see, my good Mr. Draudimon, the danse macabre is symbolic. It’s an epic where Death invites his victims to dance with him from midnight until he takes them at the crowing of the dawn rooster, which, by the way”—he pointed to the eastern horizon—“is very soon. I thought your rescuers would be here by now, because the clue I gave them was ridiculously simple. As usual, they disappoint me.”

  “Life is just full of disappointments,” Mason said, jutting his chin toward his left arm. It was still encased in a cast from his fight with Egon.

  “Battle injury,” Nicolaitan said, clapping his hands. “That, my boy, is a badge of honor, not a disappointment.”

  “You misunderstand. It’s a disappointment that I can’t get up and beat you over the head with it.”

  “A man after my own heart,” Nicolaitan said quietly.

  “Didn’t know you had one,” Mason said. “The day you murdered my mother you told me you’d be back for me. Untie me, and see if I’m as easy to kill as a deranged woman.”

  Nicolaitan’s mask was too real. Rips in the decaying flesh of his face revealed stark white jawbone. He shook his rotting head and his exposed teeth clacked together. “Murder? My good man, I simply beat her over the head with a shovel. Multiple times, I admit, but that’s hardly artistic enough to be called murder. Your mother wasn’t deranged. She was an experiment. Like you. I had such hopes for you. So much promise. So much anger. With a little guidance, you could have been just like me. Still could. I believe in second chances.”

  Mason jerked against his bonds. “I’ll never be like you.”

  “Let’s not be hasty,” Nicolaitan said. “Emotions make the man, and you, my boy, have become one fabulously angry young man. I can work with that. Join me.”

  Mason’s mouth twisted, his fists clenched, and his eyes filled with fire. “I said I’ll never be like you!”

  “Final answer?” Nicolaitan asked, twirling his hands like a game show host.

  “Never!”

  “Then die.” Nicolaitan said it as though it were the most natural thing to say, and then he cackled like a jackal. A ghostly hand erupted from his outstretched palm and fastened on Mason’s chest. Handless Death, the deadliest Psi Weapon of the Walpurgis Knights. The weapon Nicolaitan had used to murder my parents ten years ago.

  “Let’s move,” Andy said.

  I started forward, prepared to fight the most lethal human alive to save Mason, when Andy’s next words stopped me short.

  “Never mind,” he said. “I was right. He’s protected.”

  “You weren’t sure?” I snapped.

  “I was pretty sure.”

  Nicolaitan struggled, pushing the misty hand, unable to force it through Mason’s chest. The hand frothed and fizzled, rolling across Mason’s supine body like a morning fog. Nicolaitan straightened up and pulled his gauntleted hand back, tiny red eyes gazing from skull-like eye sockets, staring at the palm. He glanced back at Mason, leaned forward, and slammed both hands onto Mason’s chest. Mist shot across his body like high-pressure steam, and Mason lurched like he had been hit by twin pile drivers.

  I jumped toward Mason, but Andy caught me by the shoulder again.

  “Stop it,” Andy said quietly. “I told you he’s safe.”

  “Hmph.” He didn’t look safe.

  “Is that supposed to scare me?” Mason lifted his head from the sarcophagus and glared at Nicolaitan.

  Nicolaitan lifted his hands from Mason’s chest, put them behind his back, and began to circle the sarcophagus like he was out for a Sunday stroll. “Why won’t you die?” he asked, as if the question was totally perplexing. He stopped and latched his hands onto Mason’s face.

  I could see he was doing a scan.

  “You’ve been changed. Protected by remorse. Why can’t I see a face in your mind? Is it possible you don’t know who did this to you?”

  “Told ya,” Andy said.

  I elbowed him.

  Nicolaitan sprang back from Mason. The psionic fiddle reappeared in his hands, and he began playing the Wicked Witch song from The Wizard of Oz, dancing like a madman. Then he stopped and the fiddle vaporized with a loud hiss. He slowly turned to face Mason, rubbing his bare jawbone as if in deep thought. Then he dipped his rotting face so close to Mason’s that their foreheads touched.

  “I seem unable to murder you by civilized means,” Nicolaitan said. “Since I can’t take your useless life, I suppose the least I can do is give it new meaning. Do you remember the first time you saw me?”

  “Every detail.” Mason’s eyes narrowed.

  “You see, that’s the problem with today’s society. People are so ungrateful. I saved your life that day, Mason. Your mother was trying to kill you. Not of her own free will, of course. I was in the midst of developing a brilliant—if I may say so myself—mind control drug, and she was my first guinea pig. Truth be told, Psychedone testing on animals should be outlawed. It destroyed her mind. Your mother is useless to me now. I must say, though, the experiment itself was a smashing success. Ten years later, I have Psychedone 10, a peerlessly powerful prescription. I control an army. If you join me, I’ll let you have your own army.” Nicolaitan cupped his hand to his mouth and leaned toward Mason. “And as a bonus, I’ll tell you where your momma is.”

  “Do you think I actually want to see her grave?” Mason tugged against the chains. “I would have found it by now if I wanted to. She’s buried in Livermore.”

  “You miss my meaning. Your mother is quite alive.”

  What? I gripped Andy’s arm, fighting to contain my shock.

  “Liar!” Mason yelled, and he struggled to pull himself upright. “I watched you murder her! My father buried her.”

  “You saw what I wanted you to see. He didn’t bury her; he hid her at Old Torrents and covered the whole episode up. I was there, Mason. I took her home with me. She walks the streets of Camelot as we speak.”

  Mason’s eyes softened and closed. His body slumped as though the fight had slowly left him. “I don’t believe you,” he whispered.

  “Yes, you do.” Nicolaitan brought his rotting face inches from Mason’s. “The only way to know if I’m lying, my boy, is to find her grave in the Livermore Burial Grounds. But you won’t. She’s insane, wild as a feral cat, but quite alive.”

  “What’s Camelot?” I whispered to Andy.

  “That’s what he calls his hidden training grounds. You know, King Arthur, the Round Table…Knights.”

  “He’s lost his mind,” I said. “Let’s move.”

  “Not yet—”

  I ignored Andy and stepped soundlessly across the cemetery lawn, stopping only feet from Mason. I felt Andy behind me.

  Nicolaitan looked up slowly, as though he sensed someone was near. “Come out, come out, wherever you are.”

  I came out of Shimmer.

  “Greetings, Psi Blighter,” Nicolaitan said, bowing low. “I don’t want to seem rude, but I was expecting someone taller. I should have known the Kilodan is too cowardly to face me. Or was my riddle too difficult for his small mind? Would a phone call be better next time?”

  Then Andy
came out of Shimmer. “There won’t be a next time,” he said, his electronically altered voice rumbling like thunder.

  “Two against one? I call penalty. I thought you people didn’t like bullies.”

  “Not as spry as you once were,” Andy said. “I couldn’t help but notice that you weren’t able to kill him.”

  “I know,” Nicolaitan said, cupping both rotting cheeks in gauntleted hands. “Imagine my surprise! It appears that the boy is protected by remorse. That means he has had an unfortunate encounter with one of you meddling Psi morons.” He cocked his head sideways and stared right at Andy. “Hey, that mask looks familiar. Didn’t I kill you once?”

  Andy nodded. “You tried, but I’m not the cooperative type. Would you like to go for round two?”

  Nicolaitan shook his head. “I don’t see the point. How can I say this without seeming impolite? In the big picture, you’re a worm. You’re not worth scraping off my shoe.” He pointed to me. “But she is.”

  See, that’s the problem with the Psi Fighter armor. It’s form fitting. Even though I’m skinny and totally underdeveloped for sixteen (in my professional opinion), I still look like a girl, even in a mask and armor.

  “I’m looking for someone,” Nicolaitan said. “I thought she was long gone, but then an old friend was attacked in the park by a masked girl wielding a Psi Weapon. The mask in his memory resembled the one you wear now, but to tell the truth, you all look alike to me. You aren’t by any chance the Morgan girl, are you? She has a special place in my heart.”

  Chills shot through me.

  Nicolaitan was referring to the six-year-old girl he kidnapped ten years ago. That was me. With the exception of my adopted parents and a few of the Psi Fighters, nobody knows that I am the Morgan girl. Nicolaitan remembered her as the only Psi Fighter who ever escaped him. Back then, my name was Lynn Morgan. But the truth is I didn’t escape. I was rescued. My parents fought to save me, but Nicolaitan killed them. Then Andy showed up and nearly died before driving Nicolaitan away. Nicolaitan is a heartless killer, and as much as I wanted to avenge my parents’ death, being targeted by him was terrifying.

  If I panicked, he would know he had found me, and he’d attack us. I couldn’t risk it. So I forced back my sudden urge to run like a frightened girl—which I definitely was—and did what I hoped was the last thing Nicolaitan expected.

  “You caught me.” I threw my hands in the air. “I’ll come peaceably, cowboy.”

  To my relief, it worked. Nicolaitan stomped his feet, clapped his hands, and cut loose with a bone-chilling laugh. “You liar! You beautiful, wonderful liar. I’d ask you to join me, but how can I trust you? You claim to be someone you can’t possibly be—the real Morgan girl is much too intelligent to show her face to me. But you can give her a message, if you’d be so kind. Tell her I have an offer she can’t refuse. Literally.”

  I had no idea what he meant, but, oh, that was freaky.

  Andy stepped in front of me. “Let me give you a message. I sent Lynn Morgan away ten years ago. You’ll never see her again.”

  “Oh, but I will.” Nicolaitan did a finger wag. “Be careful, Psi Fighter. Killing you again would be a bother to me. Like swatting a gnat buzzing around my head while I’m watching the fruits of my labor on the six o’clock news. I want the Morgan girl, and I’m willing to be reasonable.”

  “That word has never been in your vocabulary,” Andy said.

  “Wrong again. I just used it.” Nicolaitan tilted his head at an impossible angle, and said to me, “Is he always this dense? Okay, I’ll tell you what. Give her to me and I will end my lifelong battle against the Psi Fighters. We’ll be best buds. You’ll be a hero. Look at that—the very thought makes me giddy. I’m not even in a killing mood anymore.”

  A shudder ran down my spine when Andy quietly said, “I am.”

  Psychic energy surged from Andy, anger and dangerous calmness flowed from him like a nuclear warhead about to be released. The trees above the cemetery shivered as though a tornado were coming. Andy lunged toward Nicolaitan—who simply disappeared into thin air.

  Andy slammed his gauntleted fist into his palm and turned to me. “Free Mason. I’m going after Bonehead.” Then he vanished into Shimmer mode.

  Mason stared in my direction but didn’t say anything. I turned to undo his bonds when the shadows from the tombstones surrounding the sarcophagus began to move. One by one, dark figures rose up like phantoms from behind the grave markers.

  That’s when I realized we had walked into a trap. I was surrounded by Walpurgis Knights.

  Totally annoying.

  Chapter Three

  Scallion’s Return

  A very tall Knight emerged from behind the center tombstone. The others stepped out in unison, two on each side of him. He spread his hands wide and motioned with his fingertips for them to ring me in.

  This was not good. I had trained for ten years to prepare for situations like this. Fighting multiple opponents was an advanced skill that Andy had personally taught me. But being outnumbered five to one in an actual battle felt way scarier than it did in practice. I lowered my hand to my belt, then rested it on the barrel of my Amplifier like a gunslinger from the wild west. As frightened as I was, I had to make them think I was in control.

  Like the Psi Fighters, the Knights are highly skilled in the Mental Arts. Mental Artists kick and punch and do all that ninja-art-of-invisibility stuff, but we also create psionic weapons from thought and emotion using a device called the Amplifier. Andy invented it. I don’t know whether the Knights stole the technology from us, or invented their own version, but they use Amplifiers, too. As I put myself between Mason and the Knights, Mason glanced up at me. His eyes were angry. I put a finger to my masked lips then turned to face the Knights.

  I studied them one by one, taking in the details of their clothing, their masks, the way they moved. They wore dark cloaks similar to Nicolaitan’s, but each mask was unique. The first had the face of a condor. The second wore a billowing hood that made his mask impossible to see. The third wore a mask with the teeth and eyes of a blue demon. The Knight next to him had the face of a newly dead corpse. The first four were fearsome, but the tall Knight scared me more than all the others combined. There was something different about him—his demeanor, his poise, the way he held his head cocked arrogantly to one side—he was definitely the most powerful of the five. But there was something else. His mask was shockingly familiar—a bone-white skull, one that I had recently encountered.

  “Cowardly of your friend to leave you to face us alone,” the tall Knight said.

  I forced myself to laugh. “He only did that so it would look like we fell for an ambush that was so obvious it was ridiculous. You might as well give up. I have you surrounded.”

  “I don’t think so. The Master will be pleased when I bring him your head.”

  “That’s not how we do this,” I said, putting my hands on my hips. “Don’t you watch crime dramas? You’re supposed to capture me alive and torture me by making me listen to a long, boring monologue about your evil plan.”

  The Knight laughed. “My plan is to kill all Psi Fighters on sight.”

  “Hey, Skeletor!” Mason yelled. “Untie me and see how tough you and your goons are.”

  “One annoyance at a time,” the Knight said. “Ladies first.”

  “What if I really am that Morgan person he’s looking for? I don’t think Nicolaitan wants her dead.”

  “The Morgan girl is legendary. And she is not you.” He snapped his fingers and pointed at me. The other four Knights moved into attack formation.

  Legendary? Cool. I dropped into my fighting stance. “I don’t suppose I could fight you one at time?”

  The Knight laughed. “You could always challenge me to single combat. Our code requires us to accept, or we would be looked down on as cowards by the other Knights. But trust me, you would fare much better fighting all of them than one of me. At least with them, you might live.”


  I totally believed him, so I decided to try something to buy time. “Before you murder me, I have to tell you that someone has a mask just like yours, Mr. Scallion.”

  The tall Knight’s body stiffened. He snapped his fingers again, and the others stopped in their tracks. “Have we met?” he asked quietly.

  “No,” I said. “It’s just that we Psi Fighters are very well-informed. The last time I saw that mask, it was worn by a boy, Egon Demiurge, who claimed to be Nicolaitan’s Number One.”

  Scallion snorted in disgust. “Egon was fortunate that the Psi Fighters caught him before I did. The brat stole my mask. I am Nicolaitan’s true Number One.”

  “Oh, I don’t know,” I said coyly. “I think he’s treating you like Number Two.”

  “Egon was Nicolaitan’s apprentice. An egotistical diversion. He served his purpose.”

  “Bitter, are we?” I said.

  “Perhaps,” the Knight said. “But, payback, as they say…”

  “Do I detect dissension among the ranks?”

  “You are not as all-knowing as you believe, Psi Fighter,” Scallion continued. “If you were, you would know that you are about to become part of a very important experiment.”

  “Do tell.”

  “Allow me to introduce my Proletariat.” He pointed to the four Knights surrounding him.

  “Proletariat?” I asked. “Do they do tricks?”

  “They are the start of an army that I am personally building to defeat the Psi Fighters, beginning with you.”

  “That would be a trick.” Me getting out of this alive would also be a trick.

  Scallion laughed. “You won’t be so cocky when you learn the nature of my Proletariat. Psi Fighters pride themselves on their holier-than-thou morals.”

  “It’s a gift. But I don’t see what it has to do with your Proletariat.”

  “They are children, and the only way to stop them is to kill them. Are you okay with that?”

  “Tall children,” I said. “Where did you find them? Brobdingnag?”

  Scallion flourished his hands. “High school. I have a recruitment program underway. A very successful one, if I do say so myself. It’s amazing how many students at that school don’t care where they find themselves when they come down from their high.”