Black Knight (8 page)

I want to protest but suddenly recall something that struck me as odd. “The ice cream!” I cry. “They dug into it like it was the greatest thing in the world. Like they’d never tasted anything so wonderful.”

Cleo nods. “Because the Syn and Kendor you saw
had
never tasted ice cream before. They didn’t even know what it was.”

I hesitate. “This is still crazy.”

My father speaks. “I’ve confirmed through DNA testing that Syn and Kendor are still in their graves. And I doubt anyone here believes that the Alchemist has the power to bring the dead back to life.”

“May I ask a personal question?” I ask Cleo.

“You want to know if I possess this gene. I don’t.” Cleo pauses. “But you do, and so does Lara.”

“How do you know?” I ask.

Cleo stares at me. She doesn’t need to speak to tell me that she just knows.

“I assume the ability takes time to emerge,” I tease her. The pun is intended. Yet Cleo replies seriously.

“I only heard rumors of the power when I was young,” Cleo says. “My mentor told me it could take thousands of years before the ability came to fruition.”

“A pity,” I say. “I would have liked to have gone back in time and welcomed Columbus to America.”

“He landed in the West Indies,” my father corrects me.

“I was joking,” I say.

“Who knows,” Cleo remarks. “You might see Columbus sooner than you think.”

“Huh?”

Cleo ignores me. “The Alchemist said you were unprepared. He repeated that remark twice. Then, when you asked about Syn and Kendor, he said they were there to prepare you.”

“I think he was just messing with me,” I say.

“The man’s older than history. He doesn’t waste words. If I were you, I’d take what he said at face value.”

Cleo’s words hang in the air and I’m not sure what they mean. Or perhaps I don’t want to admit what she’s trying to tell me. I reply in a quiet but defiant tone.

“I don’t give a damn what he said. I’ve had enough of the Lapras, and I’ve got my own life to live. Like I told you, let the Lapras kill each other, it’s not my problem.”

“That might not be for you to decide,” Cleo says gently.

I snort. “That’s the sort of line you tried to feed me in Las Vegas. And we all saw how that turned out.”

“Yes, we did see,” Cleo replies. “You got Lara back alive, and you escaped with your life.”

I shake my head. “Whatever you’re suggesting, I’m not interested.”

Cleo reaches over and touches my arm. “You’re a strong-willed young woman, Jessica. The courage you showed in Las Vegas last month was remarkable. You’re clever and fearless and that makes you a formidable opponent for anyone seeking to take over the Lapras. But you lack humility, wisdom—you don’t know when to stop and listen.” She pauses. “If you’re not careful, it may be the death of you and your daughter.”

I feel a flash of anger and again want to snap at her. But I stop and struggle to calm myself. Because I have the genetic gift of intuition, and can hear the truth in her words.

“Speak. I’m listening,” I say softly.

Cleo nods. “If what the Alchemist says is true then it means Syn and Kendor are here to prepare you, which can only mean they are here to help you fight off others who wish to take control of the Lapras.”

“But I’ve already told you—and I’ll be happy to tell them—I don’t want to take control of the Lapras! And I can’t believe that fact doesn’t matter to them! For chrissakes! I’m about to start college at UCLA and look at the classes I’m signed up to take. Inorganic and organic chemistry. Biology and microbiology. Physics and calculus. My schedule’s solid premed. I want to be a doctor like my dad and help save lives, not practice how better to kill people. So when it comes to preparing to be the next Wicked Witch of the West—shit, I’ll tell the Alchemist myself the next time I see him that someone else can have the job.”

The room falls silent for a long time. Hatsu lowers his head while Cleo stares out the window at the dark watery bay and the lights illuminating the magnificent Golden Gate Bridge. My father stands and steps behind my chair, putting his hands on my shoulders. It’s a casual gesture but it means a lot to me just to feel his touch. All the years he wasn’t in my life, I missed his touch.

“Jessica,” he says gently. “I’m afraid what Cleo’s trying to tell you is that you probably don’t have a choice in the matter.”

My throat feels thick. “Why not?” I whisper.

Cleo squeezes my arm and answers. “We know little of the Alchemist—when and where he was born, what his abilities are, whether he’s on our side or the side of the Lapras. You assume, from what Kendor told you, that he’s a monster, and perhaps he is, I don’t know. Yet he took Syn and Kendor to the mall today on purpose, that much is clear, and he says they’re here to prepare you. We have to assume they’re here to prepare you for a trial of some kind. And since the man can travel through time, we have to accept he already knows that this trial is going to take place, whether you want it to or not.”

My father continues to rub my shoulders. Yet I feel as if a heavy weight from far above has descended over me. It was only a month ago in Las Vegas that my whole world was turned upside down and I was almost killed. I had been hoping for a period of peace: to raise my daughter; to love Jimmy; to go to school like a normal girl. Now I find myself struggling just to breathe, to shake off a feeling of impending doom.

“What you just said—it’s quite a mouthful,” I tell Cleo.

“I know.”

“It’s not fair,” I say.

“Life seldom is,” Cleo replies, before adding. “I should have warned you earlier. I knew when you had Syn killed that the majority of the Lapras would see you as a viable candidate to rule their organization. It’s in their blood.”

“They believe in survival of the fittest,” Hatsu says.

“Promotion through assassination,” I mutter, although technically it was Whip who had killed her.

“They’re a brutal race,” Cleo agrees.

“It still makes no sense,” I complain. “Why nominate me—a recent high-school graduate who felt bad about dissecting a frog in biology class—to rule over a violent organization bent on world domination? Wouldn’t they prefer someone with more blood on her hands?”

Cleo speaks. “I’ve already answered that question. To the Lapras what matters most is that you defeated Syn. That proves to them how powerful you are. And as far as your youth is concerned—they might see that as an advantage.” Cleo suddenly stops. “Or
he
might.”

“The Alchemist?” I ask.

Cleo nods. “Since you’re only eighteen, he might see you as someone he can mold as he pleases. You recall that he was Syn’s mentor before she took over the Lapras.”

“I didn’t know Kendor confided that in you,” I say.

“I figured it out on my own,” Cleo says.

I sigh, or groan—it’s hard to separate the two sounds and feelings in my head. “I’m still confused. On one hand you keep talking about what the Lapras want. On the other hand you act like the Alchemist is in control. Tell me clearly—who’s calling the shots?”

Cleo considers. “It’s true the Alchemist hasn’t chosen the Lapras’ leader recently. However, in the distant past, long before any of you were born, there were good and bad witches just as there are good and bad witches today. And in those days, the Alchemist did have a say on who ruled the evil witches.”

“What about who ruled the good witches?” my father asks, as curious as the rest of us. This is obviously new information to everyone except Cleo. She shakes her head.

“He never came near us,” she says.

“Just my luck he’s decided to get politically active again,” I mutter.

My father acts as if inspiration’s struck. “Is it possible Lara’s the reason the Alchemist is interested in elevating Jessica to head of the Lapras? Let’s not forget how obsessed Syn was with the child’s ten witch genes. Could the Alchemist be trying to get to Lara through Jessica? We know Syn tried a similar approach.”

“That sounds logical,” Hatsu says.

“Yes,” Cleo says. “But I don’t think he’s interested in Lara. Not at this point.”

“How can you be sure?” I ask.

“If the Alchemist wanted Lara, he would have taken her,” Cleo replies. “It’s as simple as that.”

“And you wouldn’t have been able to stop him?” I ask, not happy we’re even discussing this possibility. Cleo gives me no comfort.

“Doubtful,” she says.

“Do you know the nature of the trial I’ll have to go through
if
I decide to take over the Lapras?” I ask; and I’m sure no one in the room misses my emphasis on the IF word. Cleo takes a long time to answer my question.

“We’ll just have to wait and see,” she says.

For perhaps the first time since I met her, I feel she is lying to me. The thought disturbs me deeply. Plus it’s hard to sit so near her powerful gaze. Once again I stand and pace around the living room. Cleo’s made a convincing argument for why I must obey her, but I still feel far from satisfied with her explanations and the control she wants to take over my life.

“One thing makes no sense to me,” I say. “Why would the Alchemist bring Syn and Kendor from the past to help prepare me to fight to take over the Lapras? He must know I’d never listen to a word that witch-bitch has to say.”

“The Syn you knew was a bitch,” Cleo says. “The person Kendor met and married was a lovely woman. And a powerful witch.”

“My God, I didn’t think of that,” I say. It takes a moment for the implications of what Cleo is suggesting to sink in; and when they do they are so staggering, I fear even to speak them aloud. There’s no need, though—I know Hatsu and my father grasp them the same instant I do.

Nevertheless, Hatsu does give voice to what we all fear.

“If the Alchemist has managed to transport an earlier version of Syn from the past, then she’ll have no idea the monster she’s going to change into during this time,” Hatsu says.

“What a disturbing thought,” my father says quietly.

Cleo sighs softly. “Who knows? It might be a blessing in disguise.”

Our meeting ends on that note—almost. Cleo orders me to return to the Alchemist and accept his help and I agree. Well, sort of; I nod my head without meeting her eyes.

My father gives me a ride back to the airport instead of Hatsu. We drive for a while without speaking—my dad isn’t the most talkative man. The anger I felt toward him earlier has evaporated. It’s soothing being in his company.

Almost, I tell him about the dream I’ve been having every night about Marc Simona. Something holds me back and I feel it must be my intuitive witch gene because I want to share the puzzle with him. But I feel if I do I’ll regret it later.

“Have you recovered any new memories about Jessica?” my father asks when we’re near the airport.

“A few. I pick up glimpses of me and Russ hanging out together. I never knew the two of us were so close.”

“You were friends. He was a great guy.”

“Yeah.” The sorrow comes quick. “And I had to be the one who killed him.”

“You know it wasn’t that way. He sacrificed his life for you and Lara.” My fathers adds, “Any other memories?”

“A few, nothing important.”

“There’s no hurry. I took a long time to recapture my witch-world memories. It must run in the family.”

I smile. “You’re just saying that to make me feel better.”

“How’s James doing?”

“Fine. But now the role’s reversed from when he couldn’t get into witch world. Now he can’t get out, and it drives him nuts that he can’t see his son.”

My father hesitates. “You haven’t told him about Huck?”

Minutes before I killed Kari—Huck’s mother and Jimmy’s ex-girlfriend—she bragged to me that she’d had lots of lovers and that it was possible Huck didn’t even belong to Jimmy.

At first, when I had returned from Las Vegas with Huck and Whip—in the real world—I’d been certain that Huck was Jimmy’s son. Indeed, I used my budding intuition gene and felt it verified that he was.

But what I didn’t know was how delicate an ability intuition could be. I
wanted
the infant to belong to Jimmy—largely because I knew it would break Jimmy’s heart to discover he wasn’t Huck’s father. Thus, my emotional involvement made my intuition all but useless.

It takes only a few weeks for a baby to grow enough to take on the features of his parents. Unfortunately, for the life of me, I couldn’t detect a single trait of Jimmy’s face in Huck’s face. So last week I took a swab of the tissue from inside the child’s cheek, and gathered together hairs belonging to Kari and Jimmy, and sent the whole lot off to my father to be DNA tested.

The test verified my worst fears.

Huck belonged to Kari but not to Jimmy.

“No,” I reply to my dad. “It would kill him.”

My father replies with a firmness he must have picked up in medical school.
No wonder people so often complain that doctors act like God,
I think.

“You’re making a mistake,” he says. “Jimmy hardly saw the boy. Knowing the truth will free him up. For one thing he’ll be able to focus on Lara better.”

“On the surface I’d agree. Huck belongs with Kari’s parents—they’re the ones who should be raising him. And they would be raising him if they had a clue he was still alive. But you’ve got to understand Jimmy. He spent only three or four days with the kid but somehow he developed an incredible bond with him. Huck literally became the center of his universe. And then, when Huck was rescued—the same night Jimmy was permanently cut off from his son—well, it became this big heroic thing in his brain. He feels like he sacrificed his life, the life he knew, to save his son’s life.”

“But it’s not his son,” my dad says.

“He doesn’t know that and I swear I don’t know if he’s going to care. He’s always asking about Huck. What we do together in the real world. Has he got his shots. Am I taking him to the park every day. How long is he sleeping each night. Does he have colic.” I pause and wipe at my burning eyes. “It’s because he suspects I don’t love the boy. And to tell you the truth, Dad, I don’t think I loved Huck even before I found out he didn’t belong to Jimmy.”

“A part of you knew the truth.”