Live and Let Psi Read online

  Andy’s eyes opened wide. “You like him, don’t you?”

  “Who?”

  “Mason.”

  “No!” My face got very hot. “I— No, I don’t. Maybe. I don’t know. No.”

  “It’s okay to like a boy.”

  “My record isn’t so good there.”

  “Egon wasn’t a boy,” Andy said. “He was a snake.”

  I turned to the Kilodan. “Anyway, if Mason’s mother really is alive, she might know how to find Nicolaitan. I think you should assign someone to look into it.”

  The Kilodan’s emotionless mask turned from Andy to the Megadan and back. They were all silent for the longest time. Then the Megadan spoke. “Nicolaitan has a knack for using a small bit of truth to make a big lie seem real. This time, however, we believe he is using an unusually large truth, one that flies in the face of known facts, in order to make a small lie seem true.”

  “One, it really creeps me out when you do that,” I said, open-mouthed. “And two, I have no idea what you just said.”

  The Kilodan faced me. “We believe Ruth Draudimon is alive. If she was Nicolaitan’s test victim in the development of Psychedone 10, she will have knowledge of Camelot.”

  “Nicolaitan will stop at nothing to find you,” the Megadan said. “I do not enjoy being a victim of his game. Rather than being lured into the open by his riddles, I would prefer to pursue him.”

  “Then we’re agreed,” the Kilodan said. “If we find Ruth Draudimon, we find Camelot, the Knights’ training grounds.”

  “Yes,” the Megadan said. “Rinnie will begin her search in the Livermore Burial Grounds tomorrow.”

  “When I said you should assign someone, I meant someone else,” I said.

  “Whom would we send?” the Kilodan asked. “A masked Psi Fighter Mason has never met? No. He trusts you. We need you on this one. Distracting or not. These two missions, infiltrating the Proletariat and finding Ruth Draudimon, could give us the edge we’ve never had.”

  Okay, two can play at this game. I smiled slyly. “Let’s make this easy. You said you’re tired of playing by Nicolaitan’s rules. So let’s scrap both missions and end this war once and for all. We can give Nicolaitan a taste of his own medicine.”

  Andy grunted.

  “What?”

  “I already told you no,” he said, crossing his arms.

  “Why not?” I said, turning back to the Kilodan. “Nicolaitan said he would end his battle against us. Let’s use me as bait to lure him out so the Four can take him down.”

  The Kilodan put his hands behind his back and stared down at me. His emotionless mask cackled like the Scarecrow of Romney Marsh, and he walked away, followed by a wordless Megadan.

  Andy chuckled. “That is one argument you will never win, for reasons you can’t even begin to imagine.”

  “Well, I might do it anyway,” I said. “I mean, it would be quicker than beating the information out of Scallion, or searching for a woman who’s been hidden for ten years. I would be totally safe if the Four were in the background.”

  Andy turned on me, and I felt anger radiating from him like heat from a volcano. “You will not. Your habit of ignoring orders is going to get us all killed. Those two love you, and so do I, and I am not about to let you put their lives on the line because you think you know it all. You listen to me, young lady, and listen well. You will do what you’re told, or I will personally pull you from anything that even resembles a mission. Do you understand me?”

  I was about to fold my arms and ask Andy who he thought he was, but I decided maybe that wasn’t such a good idea. So, I pulled out my cell.

  “What are you doing with that?” Andy snapped.

  “Texting Mason,” I said quietly. “I’ll see if he wants to go to the Livermore Burial Grounds after class tomorrow.”

  Chapter Nine

  The Livermore Burial Grounds

  “Penny for your thoughts,” Mason said as we rode along in his old midnight blue Toyota Celica. “You’re quiet.”

  I’d been lost in thought over Andy’s hissy fit. Was I really going to get us all killed? I didn’t think I was acting impulsively. But I couldn’t discuss it with Mason. “This is the twenty-first century. Are you telling me that thoughts haven’t suffered the same inflation rate as the rest of the world?”

  “No, I’m telling you I’m really into clichés.”

  “I’m into potato puns, myself.”

  “They don’t a-peel to me, but to each his own.”

  “So, I should quit raining on your parade?”

  “Rain away. I’m just happy you’re here. Thanks for helping me with this.”

  I probably should have told Mason I had no choice, but that would be raining. I knew he would be a distraction, and I was right. It’s not just the way he looks at me, or how his hair curls away from his face like an eagle’s wings. And it’s not his happy blue eyes. Well, it is all those things, but the thing that’s really distracting about Mason is that, in spite of the nasty things in his life that have left deep emotional scars, he still sees the good in everything. I wish I could, too. But Psi Fighters are so sensitive to the bad. We see it everywhere. I see it everywhere. And it frightens me.

  “You got quiet again,” Mason said, staring out the windshield. “It’s the Spider-Man thing, isn’t it?”

  “Spider-Man?”

  “Yeah, telling me you don’t have any feelings for me just to protect me. Because if that’s your plan, it will be just as lame as it was in the movie. The audience will wonder why you’d use such a cheesy excuse, and so will I.”

  “What audience? Mason, you’ve been hanging around Kathryn too long.”

  “Kathryn’s been a good influence on me. See, here’s the thing. If you—hypothetically speaking—were to fall madly in love with me but couldn’t tell me because you have a secret identity, and if I, hypothetically speaking, knew everything about you and wanted to spend more time with you anyway, which would put me in mortal danger from the Walpurgis Knights, well… I would be totally okay with that. Hypothetically speaking.”

  I laughed, thinking back to the first time Mason saw me in action unmasked. “Mason, there are things about me you can never know. I do things and go places I can’t talk about. You only know what you know by accident.”

  Mason turned and looked straight into my eyes. “That day in Sinclair Park was no accident. You saved Bobby’s life. You kept me from being a murderer.”

  I placed my finger on his chin and gently pushed his face toward the windshield. “Eyes back on the road, mister. The only kind of relationship I’m qualified to have is one where I disappear unexpectedly, cancel dates without notice, and come to school most mornings grumpy from lack of sleep. I’m totally unreliable.”

  “Heaven on Earth,” Mason said. “I’m in!”

  “I thought you wanted me to help find your mother. Or was that just a ruse to lure me into some courting ritual?” This was not going well. The Spider-Man thing was real, whether Mason bought it or not. But the truth was I still hurt because of Egon. Badly. I knew I was being irrational, because Egon was a total swine, but I didn’t want to go through that again.

  “I don’t do ruses, but I like the courting idea,” Mason said. “Okay, let’s say, hypothetically speaking—”

  “Hypothetically speaking, what exactly are we looking for when we get to the cemetery?”

  “Probably a way out.” Mason slowed down and we turned onto Livermore Road. “This place is really spooky.”

  It definitely looked spooky. Livermore Road went through the middle of a massive cornfield. Off in the distance, a broken-down barn and a dilapidated farmhouse were the only signs that life may have existed at one time. The pavement gave way to gravel. The cornfield became woods. The woods, which had started out green and lush, grew brown and withered as we drove on. Dead grass replaced the gravel road, but a sign in the shape of a crooked arrow pointed ahead. It read Burial Grounds This Way. We continued on what might have
once been a logging road, until it dead-ended a quarter mile later, covered with moss and crumbling leaves. Mason parked and turned the car off.

  “Did you know that Livermore is haunted?” Mason asked quietly. “It is supposed to be one of the Seven Gates of Hades.”

  “Speak to me.” And try not to be so adorable when you’re trying to be scary. I told Andy this was a bad idea.

  “There used to be a town down by the river. A woman called the Blue Lady was accused of being a witch. The townspeople tried her and found her guilty. She and her dogs were drowned in the river, and buried in a shallow grave in the Livermore cemetery. Legend has it that she cursed the town with her dying breath. One night, some townspeople reported strange noises coming from the cemetery. When they came to check, they were killed by a pack of demon dogs. The very next year, on the anniversary of the Blue Lady’s execution, the whole town was wiped out by a flood.”

  “Are you trying to scare me? We’ve both seen Nicolaitan’s face. I doubt Livermore could be creepier than that.”

  “Let’s go find out,” Mason said. He got out and came around the car to open my door.

  “You’re being a gentleman,” I said as he helped me out of the car.

  “It’s a dying art.”

  “Cheesy line to use when we’re in a cemetery.”

  “I have more.”

  I followed Mason up a foot path that led into the woods, torn between wanting to be distracted and wanting to stay focused on the mission. We didn’t get far before the path was barred by a gate. A sign hung from it.

  Keep Out. This Means You!

  “Somebody wants to scare us,” I said.

  “Is it working?”

  “Not yet. I suppose this road leads through the haunted forest to the witch’s castle.”

  “Lions and tigers and obscure references to great movies, oh my!” Mason led the way to the gate and helped me over it.

  Even though the sun was high in the sky, the path was dark. The canopy of trees blocked out most of the sunlight. We followed the path up the wooded hill. Soon it became wider and brighter. As we crested the hill, tombstones filled the sunny skyline. The cemetery was a massive field surrounded on all side by woods.

  “Any idea how many people are dead in this place?” I asked.

  “All of them,” Mason said.

  “Very funny. This isn’t so scary.”

  “Oh? What about that?” Mason said, pointing.

  A huge tractor tire lined with small American flags lay on the ground in the center of the path. “What’s so spooky about flags? Looks like some sort of military marker.”

  “Not that,” Mason said. He pointed to the right of the tractor tire. “That.”

  A lone grave marker stood at the head of a long, rectangular patch of new grass, a much lighter green than the rest of the lawn.

  “It’s a fresh grave. So what?”

  “Read it.”

  The stone was weather-worn. “Mason, it’s so faded I can barely make out anything.” I knelt beside the tombstone to get a better look and almost screamed. I fell back, landing on my butt, staring wide-eyed at the fresh grass and the old, worn out grave marker.

  “The date is 1790. And it says, ‘Ellen Blue. She is not dead, she is—’ Then it’s too faded to read.”

  “This is the witch’s grave.” Mason pointed at the light green grass. “The Blue Lady. They say the grass is always fresh because she refuses to stay dead. Her ghost haunts the graveyard. She walks this road.”

  An eerie, double-rutted road, like an old wagon trail, began at the grave and carved a path through the middle of the cemetery, disappearing into the woods beyond. Tombstones jutted out at uneven angles on both sides of the road, leaning inward as though they were guarding it. At the center of the cemetery, a circle of enormous pine trees towered above everything else in the field. To the left of the pines, a lone oak stood. Beyond that, nothing but tombstones the entire way to the woods.

  “See that big oak beside the pines?” Mason asked. “That’s the Hanging Tree.”

  “You mean like in the days of the Old West?”

  “That’s the legend. Most of these graves are filled with criminals who were hanged on that very tree.”

  “I guess that became fashionable when the drowning thing backfired,” I said. “Why do they call her the Blue Lady?”

  “Probably because her name was Ellen Blue,” Mason said solemnly. Then he got a sinister look in his eye. “Or maybe because she was blue when they pulled her out of the river, and she was still blue when they buried her.”

  “Quit trying to scare me!”

  “It’s just a legend,” Mason said, smiling. “I don’t believe any of it.”

  “I don’t like legends,” I said. A shudder ran through me.

  “Are you okay?” Mason asked. He put his arm around me and squeezed. “I’m sorry. I’ll be good.”

  “That’s okay.” I leaned into him. He was warm. “I mean, it is broad daylight. Nobody can be scared when the sun is out, right?”

  “Right. Anyway, we came to find my mom’s grave, not to discuss the pros and cons of urban legend. Let’s get done before the sun goes down. That’s when it gets really scary.”

  “Are you sure you want to do this?”

  “I’m not afraid of the boogie man.”

  “No, I mean are you sure you want to find your mother’s grave? I’ve never seen my parents’ graves.” I know where they’re buried, but I can’t be seen publicly grieving or someone may connect Rinnie Noelle to the Psi Fighters. That information could get me turned into a Knight.

  Mason nodded. “Nicolaitan said this is the only way to know if he’s telling the truth.”

  “What will we do if we find it?”

  Mason took a long, shuddering breath. He crossed his arms and stared silently at the ground. “Open it,” he said finally. “And hope it’s empty.”

  I put my hand on his shoulder. “This is a big place. It won’t be easy. Will her real name even be on the tombstone? I mean, your dad has the world convinced she’s alive and well in the Old Torrents Mental Facility.”

  “Maybe he’s telling the truth. I don’t know. I’ve thought it was a lie for so long. There’s no record of her in Old Torrents. Believe me, I’ve researched it.”

  “The Kilodan thinks your mom is alive.”

  The pain in Mason’s face made me want to hug him.

  He stared down at me. A glimmer of hope flashed in his eyes. “Do you believe him?”

  “He has an annoying way of always being right.” As soon as I said it, I wanted to take it back. What if he was wrong this time?

  Mason squeezed my hand but wouldn’t look at me. “Let’s start over there.” He pointed to the far corner of the graveyard by the edge of the woods.

  I followed him, reading the headstones as we walked. Most of the graves were from the 1800s or earlier. Some were too weatherworn to read. Others were newer and frighteningly clear. As we got closer to the enormous pine trees in the center of the cemetery, the hair on the back of my neck stood up. The pines formed a misshapen circle around a plot of tombstones that seemed to force themselves up between the tree roots like corpses struggling to rise. In the center of the plot, a rustic, weather-worn mausoleum hid in the shadow of the pines. The name etched into the stone above the door drove chills down my spine.

  Little Girls

  If the rumors about Livermore weren’t true, they definitely should have been.

  “Are you okay?” Mason asked.

  I shook my head. “This place has me creeped out.”

  “Do you want to leave?”

  Just as I was about to say yes, a movement over by the woods caught my eye.

  I turned to Mason. “I saw something.”

  Mason looked across the cemetery. “Where?”

  “Right over—” But when I turned back, I saw nothing but the tree line. “Okay, that was weird.”

  “This place will get to you if you let it.”


  We reached the farthest corner of the cemetery without being attacked by zombies, for which I was grateful. For some reason, my nerves had become unraveled. The cemetery in Sinclair Park gave me the willies, but Livermore was like nothing I had ever experienced. It had an evil feel to it that I couldn’t explain. Little Girls. Brrr.

  As we got closer to the woods, the grounds became subtly darker from the shadow of trees. We stopped at a small, fenced-in plot with a half dozen sarcophagi surrounding a mausoleum. The wrought iron fence was about six feet high, rusted from lack of care, and each spire was tipped with a fancy black spear point finial.

  “Inviting,” Mason said, rattling the corroded chain that locked the gate.

  “Nothing like a tetanus-infested barricade to say come on down.” I pointed at a foot path that disappeared into the trees. “What’s that?”

  “It’s called the Ghost Trail. They say the witch’s demon dogs run that path.”

  “Which witch?”

  “Not funny.”

  “Tension-breaker. I needed it.”

  Mason glanced at the trail, then back at me. “There are supposed to be more tombs along the trail.”

  “Yeah, and at the end, there’s probably a circle of pet graves. And nasty cat zombies that have dug their way out. And little kids who come back to murder the neighbors.”

  “You read too many books.”

  “I saw the movie, too. I couldn’t sleep for a week.”

  Just then, my Psi Fighter senses kicked in, and I knew we were being watched. I looked back across the cemetery but didn’t see anything.

  “What’s wrong?” Mason asked.

  “Somebody’s here,” I whispered, instantly wishing I had come alone, dressed in my Psi Fighter armor. If we were attacked, I couldn’t do anything without revealing myself.

  “You should leave,” a scratchy voice said from the trees. “They’re watching.”