Fierce Lessons (Ghosts & Demons Series Book 3) (11 page)

“You don’t like the way I tell the truth?”

“How do I know it’s the truth?”

“You could ask her. I just asked by looking.”

I looked back at Manny for a moment. It did seem to me that anyone as invested as she was in looking and acting cool at all times was jumping into the deep end of infatuation very quickly. Or maybe it was true love.

Looking back now, I hope it wasn’t true love. I hope it was Manny’s fear that made her cling to Wil so. If it was true love, that would make what happened later even more tragic. Microscopically more tragic, but we take whatever solace we can find in the face of horror. That’s Lesson 170.

14

N
obody got off the plane when we refueled in Utah and I woke up at Moffett Federal Airfield. It was only the airport, but Manny was humming,
Do you know the way to San Jose?
and wouldn’t stop.

Wil chose to find Manhattan’s obsession with the song cute. I had a headache. Or maybe the ache came from the horns growing again.

I thought of them as
the
horns, not
my
horns. They were easier to abide that way, as if they were on some ambushed animal, hunted, shot, stuffed and mounted on some guy’s wall.

The junior sword singers busied themselves with unloading the plane. Four vans with heavily tinted glass were parked on the tarmac when we arrived. There were no drivers and the keys were under the seats. No one watched from the terminal’s big glass windows. There wasn’t even a tech on the airfield anywhere near us. Victor Fuentes had apparently made a call to the Pentagon and our way past security was cleared.

Beyond the gate, however, I expected a lot of prying eyes and long stares. My left hand went to the left horn. Its surface was smooth to the touch and cool as polished stone.
 

“I suggest you own it,” Psymon said. Apparently, Psymon was rested and back to being Psymon, Psymon.

“Own it?”

“You know, like when a guy is starting to go bald? The answer is not to buy a wig. The answer is to shave it and strut, tall and proud.”

“I’m not particularly tall and I’m not feeling very proud.”

Wil and Manny appeared behind me. “Actually, we have a plan,” Wil said. “You know, about the, er…”

“Trees sprouting from my head?” I suggested.

“They aren’t that bad,” Manny said.

I waved her away. “My plan is to only go out at night and hide in a blacked out van. What’s your idea?”

“It was actually sort of my daughter’s idea,” Psymon said.

“Well, if Fawn came up with it, I’m sure it’s great. Somebody please tell me the damn idea but, fair warning, if somebody says the words
paper bag
, I’m cutting off somebody’s pinky finger.”

“Cosplay,” Psymon said. “Fawn was thinking My Little Pony, but basically we’re suggesting that you hide in plain sight where possible. With the horns and armor — ”

“Dude! I look like an escapee from a Renaissance fair.”

“I was going to say comics convention,” Psymon said.

Wil pulled something from behind her back and held it so close to my face, all I saw was black felt. Manny put it on my head and tapped it down over my horns.

I took it off immediately. “A top hat? I’ll look like Abraham Lincoln.”

“A stove pipe hat,” Psymon said. “From my days on stage touring Europe in elegance. I met my wife wearing that hat in Prague. Well, ex-wife, but still — ”

“You got a date wearing
this
?” I said.

He shrugged. “Well, I didn’t wear it all the time and I was a bit thinner then.”

“Your ex is very deep,” I said. “I’m not wearing a top hat.”

“A
stove pipe
hat,” Psymon said.

“Lincoln was one of our most respected presidents,” Wil added. “Freed my people. Wrestled. Might have been gay, we’re not sure. It was all pretty cool except for the part about getting assassinated while sitting in a rocking chair at a play.”

“Do you expect me to tail the big bad professor wearing this? This is the opposite of under the radar. Why don’t we just alert the media and tell the world we’re a covert military force defending our dimension from hungry monsters?”
 

“Relax,” Manny said. “Let us, your humble underlings take care of the covert grunt work. You can still direct the Choir from the van. We just thought…you’ve never been to California, right?”

I hadn’t and said so.

“There are palm trees,” Manny said. “It’s nice and warm. We want you to be able to get outside, see the campus and go to a waffle house.”

“We’re here to fight evil and kidnap a demon mage,” I said. “We aren’t gonna have time to do the roller coasters at Disney.”

A man cleared his throat behind me. I turned. It was Devin Anguloora. The big Samoan was frowning. “Too bad about the roller coasters. They are pretty rad.” It might have been the most human and personal thing I’d ever heard him say.

I stared at him for a moment. Malta stood behind him, smiling and looking smug.

“Have we mastered teleportation, sir?” I said finally. “I didn’t know you were aboard.”

“Aside from archery, I fly.”

“Planes?” I asked.

“I am not wearing a cape,” he said. “I’m a pilot. There are many archers but few as good as me. Fewer still who are certified to fly a Challenger. I’m sure that’s what got me the job.”

“Any other hidden talents, sir?”

“I won a cha-cha contest in high school and I make a mean tuna casserole, but only on special occasions. That’s about it.”

Malta giggled. “She is
so
not ready to take command of a mission.”

Anguloora whirled and smacked Malta at the base of her throat with the web of his hand. Everyone stopped what they were doing to watch as Malta hit the floor. She grabbed at her neck uselessly, choking and gasping for breath.

Anguloora looked back to me, ignoring Malta writhing on the cabin floor. “Never tolerate sedition in the ranks. Troops without discipline who don’t know when to shut up will fail you when the pressure is on. And don’t call me, ‘sir.’”

“So, you’re on my team?” I asked.

“The command is yours. I’m here to observe and I’ll be your backup in case things go awry. You do your thing and I’ll hang back unless you need fire support. Or maybe an airstrike.” He gave me a tight smile.

I looked to Malta. She was beginning to get her breath back. I told Manny and Wil to help her into a seat.
 

“Malta,” I said. “On me. You drive.”

Anguloora’s eyebrows went up. “Keeping your friends close and your enemies closer, Iowa?”

I shook my head. “Malta is one of our best, trained by the very best. We need her on this more than ever.”

Malta rubbed her throat and nodded. It wasn’t a thank you but it would do. It had humiliated her to be taken down so quickly and easily in front of everyone.

Lesson 171: After someone fails and falls from grace give them a chance to redeem themselves. They’ll try even harder to rise ever higher. I knew something about that.

When Malta got her breath back, she stood and her gaze met mine. When she spoke, it was with a rasp. “What are your orders, Iowa?”

I considered the stupid hat in my hands. “First, a team building exercise. Then on to Palo Alto where we will break up into recon squads to probe for weaknesses in Chronos’s defenses.”

“Team building exercise?” Manny looked skeptical. “Um, Iowa? I don’t want to get punched in the throat, but may I ask, respectfully, is this going to turn into some weird corporate retreat where we get blindfolded and play a game of pass the lemon without using our hands?”
 

I stuffed the hat down tighter over the horns. “We can do that if you want, but I was thinking we race to see who can get their van loaded fastest. Before we get to Stanford, the winners get a minute to stand under a palm tree to pose for an Instagram. That’s about all we have time for.”

Everyone but Devin Anguloora smiled but it was Psymon who got my attention. He stayed behind the big Samoan staring at the back of his head. The mind reader’s face looked like he was reading a book filled with pictures of burned bodies.

That was my amateur cold reading. I had no idea then how accurate I was. Whatever was in Anguloora’s head, I figured it was none of my business. I tell myself that, even if I’d known the truth then, it still wouldn’t have made any difference to what happened later.

Lesson 172: Some comfortable lies are convenient and help us get past the pain of our mistakes.

That was annoyingly vague, wasn’t it? Let me be more clear: one of us was about to become a martyr and the thought of it brings tears to my eyes as I type this.

Lesson 173: Martyrdom is overrated.
 

15

A
fter New York’s snow and ice, the dazzling California sunshine was paradise. Our little convoy inched through bumper-to-bumper traffic as the heat beat down.

Rory is the oldest ghost I know but I did see some old ghosts in California. An old guy walked down the side of the highway. With his long beard and the pants he wore — I’m sure he would have called them ‘britches’ — he looked like an old prospector looking for his mule.

I rolled down the window a bit to get a little air and to take a closer look at the old man as we passed. He spotted me immediately, took off his hat and bowed.

The dead travel some of the same astral bridges as demons do. Maybe that’s why the ghosts bowed and curtsied to me. Professional courtesy, maybe.

Farther up the road, I saw three forlorn misty wistfuls sitting around a small circle of rocks. They were Native Americans, I’m sure, maybe the dead of the Ohlone tribe. That seemed to fit. Ohlone. Alone. It was too perfect not to be right.

It has always stuck with me that the clothes we die in are the clothes we’re stuck with as long as we are ghosts. Manny dressed fashionably at all times and sometimes I wondered if she was so style conscious because she didn’t want to become condemned to wearing something ugly for a long stretch of afterlife.
 

What we wear is so much a part of our identity, we don’t even think about it. Our clothing choices are as personal as a second skin, even if (maybe especially if) we say we don’t care about clothes.

We don’t all become ghosts, of course. If we’re fortunate enough to move on to Elsewhere, maybe we get a chance at a new wardrobe. That fate seemed far more preferable to becoming a wandering ghost.

Those misty wistfuls sitting in a circle might have been waiting for someone to start a campfire. Or maybe, in death, they were reliving the memories of hundreds of campfires, oblivious to the traffic growling and chugging by.

As the flow of cars started forward and stopped, water mirages shimmered in the heat. I wondered what happy memories I’d look back on if I died on this mission. I thought of Manhattan’s warning that we could all die tomorrow so we better grab the happy now.

What if I died and got trapped between this earthly existence and Elsewhere as Brad had? There was no time for Disneyland. I’d never have that. This might be my only visit to California ever.

“We should make time for waffles,” I said aloud.

Malta looked over at me. “What?”

I told her to go into Santa Clara. Wilmington radioed the others to follow us. A few minutes later, we pulled off the highway and into a restaurant parking lot.

“I’ll stay in the van, guys,” I said. “Leave me the keys so I can turn on the air conditioning once in a while. And bring me something to eat. I don’t care what, but if there are waffles…y’know.”

Wilmington put a hand on my shoulder. “We aren’t at Stanford. Nobody’s watching. C’mon.”

I sighed. “Alright. Gimme the hat. I’ll look ridiculous. If anybody doesn’t want to sit at my table, I’ll understand. Or I’ll get thrown out and I’ll understand.”

Manny smiled. “Say that in a lower voice, you could be Eeyore. Can I score you an antidepressant, fearless leader?”

As I stepped out of the van, I had to laugh. The whole team greeted me in full armor. No trench coats. Covering up would have been far too hot, anyway. Our gauntlets shone in the sun and our breastplates — some of which were updated antiques — were works of art.

Everyone, even Devin Anguloora, carried sword canes. Our regular swords would spook the locals and the police would be called. However, we didn’t look remotely dangerous. Dressed in our armor, we looked like refugees from a Renaissance fair crossed with Star Wars fans. Ridiculous.

Manny stepped close and, with a soft clank, gave me a hug. I thought she was just being nice but, as she stepped away, she snatched the stovepipe hat off my head and tossed it into the open door of my van. My horns were exposed to the world. We were weird before. Now, we were a spectacle and I was a freak on display.

I started back toward the van but Psymon sat in the van’s doorway. “No, no. I told you. Own it.”

Even Devin Anguloora surprised me. “I’ll guard the vans. Go eat.”

Beaming smiles, Manny and Wilmington each took an arm and ushered me toward the restaurant. As soon as we stepped out from behind our vehicles, I no longer felt like I was carrying seventy pounds of armor. I felt naked.

Across the parking lot, a family of four was getting into their car. They stopped and stared. The boy was about fifteen. As soon as he spotted Manny, I thought he might drool on his shirt. I don’t think he even saw my horns.

The mom and dad stared our way, too, giving a little head shake and looking again as if looking twice would change the view.

Their daughter was a cute little blonde girl. She pointed at us and jumped up and down. “Mommy! Look!”

“Ryder!” the mother said sharply. “
Sh!
They’ll hear you!”

Of course, with demon senses, I didn’t miss a word even though they spoke in whispers. The girl cupped her hand to her mother’s ear but, to me, she may as well have been speaking from across a table.

“Mommy! Do you
see
them? That girl has
horns!
”

“Yes.”

“Can I have horns? I want horns! Like a baby
deer
, Mommy!”

The mom looked my way uneasily. “No, Ryder, I don’t think you want horns. It’s almost Christmas. That’s just not right.”