Fierce Lessons (Ghosts & Demons Series Book 3) (2 page)

“Oh, look! A sign!” Manny said.

 
I peered out at my friend through the rip. “Do I have to go right away?”

“The Keep awaits and I believe in you,” Manhattan said. “Stop being little Tamara from Medicament. Start being Iowa again. After you have a shower.”

Lesson 155: There are things you cherish. These are the truths you want to believe. Wanting to believe does not make it so.

I got out of bed. My fiercest lessons began.

2

W
e left for the Keep before dawn to avoid Normies. Victor sent one of his limousines for us. Our driver was a spear singer named Hamilton. I should have known what was coming when he caught sight of me. His eyes widened. I could smell his fear. His apprehension grew as I took the seat behind him. His eyes kept flicking to the rearview mirror.

“Eyes on the road, Alto,” Manny said. “Or she
will
eat you.”

I smiled. I think I did so wanly. Wan is the old word for shit eating grin, I think.

“When will you start writing your next book?” Manny asked.

“Why?”

“More books mean more recruits for the Choir. You’ve done a lot of good for the Choir. We can’t make do without you.”

I knew what Manhattan was doing. She wasn’t talking to me. She was reminding Hamilton that I was still a Scion of the Choir Invisible and an all round good girl hero-type.

“Did you read
The Haunting Lessons
, Hamilton?” Manny asked.

He nodded.

“What did you think?” I asked.

He dipped his head and shrugged.

“Thanks, Hamilton,” I said. “Your casual indifference means a lot.”

“What are you going to call the next one?” Manny asked.

“
The End of the World As I Know It.
”

“Isn’t that a song?” Hamilton asked.

I looked out the window. “Almost. It’s also my life.”

Manny patted my shoulder and whispered, “Remember our talk? Self-pity isn’t as sexy as you might think, sweetie.”

Something else had changed since I became…whatever it is I am. A misty wistful walking down the sidewalk stopped to stare at me. She wasn’t dressed for the weather, so she was easy to spot at a distance.

Apparently, tinted glass is no impediment to ghosts or demons. Good to know: if there’s a misty wistful in your house, they can stare at you in the shower, right through smoked glass.

I only saw this ghost as long as it took to pass her in the car. When she’d been alive, she was a slight woman with a cherubic face. She had good posture. I notice a lot of the older ghosts have better posture than those of more modern vintages. Judging from the cut of her summer dress, I guessed that she was one of New York’s dead from the forties. She looked thin. A lot of people living in New York back then were in decent shape. They didn’t have all our crappy food. They walked everywhere, ate less and sat less. Her life hadn’t been entirely healthy, though. At least, not at the end. Her neck still bore the ligature marks from the rope that ended her life.
 

The ghost wore a hat that sported a long red feather. As our eyes locked, she hastened to take her hat off, bowed her head and curtsied. No misty wistful had ever done that before that I knew of. Not to a human, anyway. I didn’t know if the wandering dead considered demon kind royalty or if it was just a courtesy to fellow travelers on the bridges between dimensions.
 

Just before the limo turned a corner, the ghost stood tall and resumed her haunt of Church Avenue. I pictured that curtsy again and again. It seemed an oddly reverent gesture I found disturbing.

As dawn crawled over Brooklyn, we arrived at the facade of the sprawling warehouses that hid the Keep. A few turns down a tight alley and we slipped underground again, far from civilians’ prying eyes. Entering the Choir’s fortress had always been a thrill for me. The complex is hidden in plain sight, though Victor makes sure that, unless one of our helicopters is needed, the Keep is in Brooklyn’s no-fly zone.

The underground garage was filled with many more armored vehicles than I remembered. We’d used a Guardian personnel carrier mounted with heavy guns back in Medicament. Now we had Leopards, more Guardians and M1 Abrams tanks.

“How the hell did Victor sneak the tanks down here?”

Manny smiled. “Wilmington told me. They stocked up on armor during the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade. Some bulky looking floats came to town. They didn’t make it to Manhattan for the parade. They ended up down here.”

I couldn’t help but smile at that. Victor was the most clever and resourceful man I’d ever met. That’s probably why he was also the wealthiest man you’ve never heard of. If any conductor could lead the Choir Invisible to victory, I was sure he could.

Hamilton parked the limo in a freight elevator.

“This is my stop,” Manny opened her door.

I reached out in a flash to grab Manny’s arm. “Do you have to go?”

She winced. “Ow.”

“Sorry.” I loosened my grip.

“I do have to go,” she said. “Orders. If you plan to rip off my arm, I guess I could leave the forearm behind as long as you promise to give it back.”

I let go immediately and I could see my friend was close to tears. She rubbed her arm.

“I’m so sorry! I — ”

“You don’t know your own strength. I know. It’s okay, butch. I’m used to bruises.” Manhattan leaned back into the car and brushed my cheek with a quick kiss, undoubtedly leaving a smear of bright red lipstick.

“I’ll see you later. Your mom’s up there and you need some family time.”

“You’re family,” I said.

“Gee, I hope you like me more than that. I’ll catch you later. We’re back to bunking on the third floor.”

“Not back to Church Avenue?”

Manny gave me a serious look. I didn’t know she was capable of that kind of look, actually. “Tam, war and time wait for no woman.”

“Or whatever I am.”

“We need Iowa, now. Can you be her? I believe it, but do you?”

I took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Yeah. Someone once told me that self-pity isn’t sexy.”

“Whoever told you that was a damn genius.” Manny slammed the door and disappeared into the gloom of the parking garage.

Soon a motor fired up and the freight elevator rose to the Keep’s ground level. We came back into the light and Hamilton drove the limo out to the edge of the archery courtyard.

Victor and Mama waited for me. He wore a tuxedo and tails that reminded me of the little guy with the top hat on the
Monopoly
box. Mama wore light silver armor with bracelets decorated with golden dragons. I’d never seen Mama in armor. I would have been less surprised if she stood waiting there in green hair and clown makeup.

As I got out of the car, I pasted on a smile no one believed, including me. “I don’t know which of you looks more…um…what’s the word?”

“Natty?” Victor suggested.

“Formidable?” Mama asked.

“Ridiculous,” I said. “I mean…very natty, sir. And very
Game of Thrones
, Mama.”

They both had the grace to laugh. Mama gave me a hug and stared in my eyes, studiously avoiding a single glance at the horns growing out of the top of my head.

Victor did the same as he explained he’d just returned from a diplomatic function in Washington.

“How’s the President?”

“Actually, I was speaking with the Nunciature.”

“The what now?”

“The nuncio. The papal representative to the United States.”

“Papal? As in the Vatican? The Pope?”

“The very one. Short man. Wears white and a big hat in front of large crowds so they know it’s him.”

“The Choir needs more priests to bless the holy ammo,” Mama said. “So? Aren’t you going to say anything nice about my new wardrobe? Victor gave it to me so act sincere.”

Mama held her arms out to her sides and turned slowly. Instead of a sword, a sawn off shotgun was slung across her back.

“Sir, if you’re going to give Mama a gun, I can see why you need more holy ammo. Are you a member of the Choir Invisible now, Mama? You can’t see ghosts.”

“When the Ra enter our dimension I can see demons fine,” Mama said. “I’ll wait until I see the gold of their eyes. Then it’s all bam-bam, bam-bam, wham-bam, thank you, Ma’am.”

“We need your mother’s talents in the pharmacy more than her skills with a shotgun,” Victor said. “I thought you’d like her armor. She’ll be safer in it than out of it, don’t you agree?”

“It’s safer and cozy against the winter wind, too,” Mama said. She smiled and leaned closer, as if Victor couldn’t hear her. “Though getting in and out of all this to go to the bathroom is a bit of a chore.”

“Mama!”

“No wonder knights of old had squires to get them in and out of all this gear.”

“We have altered the armor to streamline that process,” Victor said, “but yes, it’s a good idea not to wait for the last minute.”

“I do like your armor, Mama. Wear it a lot. We never know when the Ra will hit us again.”

“A new outfit and a loaded 12 gauge do ease my mind,” Mama said. “Good advice for any woman at any time, I think. When the war is over, I might keep the armor and the shotgun. I’d like to move back to Texas. I wouldn’t really raise many eyebrows walking into a CVS dressed like this back in Amarillo as long as I switched to Kevlar.”

“Have you been watching the news?” I asked.

“Medicament is already fading from CNN and FOX,” she said. “MSNBC is trying to keep the story alive with panic graphics. Still, the government is sweeping it under the rug quick. I already got my disaster relief check, believe it or not.”

My hometown was a pile of smoking rubble. I’d turned off the television, but then a podcast from Rachel Maddow came up on my phone and it was all bomb train this and bomb train that. Little do the Normies know, not all bomb trains are accidents.

Victor cleared his throat, obviously tired and ready to move on to Choir business. “Your father — ”

I bristled. “Peter Smythe. Call him Peter Smythe, please.”

Rich and powerful men in fancy tuxes aren’t used to being interrupted. Victor nodded and began again. “Peter had plans for you that didn’t work out. We don’t expect he’ll send Ra troops after you again.”

“Why not?”

“Even if he does come after us,” Mama said, “it won’t matter. Victor’s working on a plan to block the Ra and keep them in their dimension.”

“When we lost the Keep’s library, I’d lost hope that we could fortify the walls between dimensions,” Victor said. “I am working with the Magicals on a plan.”

My boss from Castille was on my mind and the memory was heavy with sadness and fear. The last time I saw Samantha Biggs, she was tied to a desk in the middle of an inferno. “If we’re going to brick up the bridges between dimensions, doesn’t that also mean Sam will be marooned in Ra? The demons could have killed her but they didn’t. If you plan to mount a rescue mission to get Sam back, I want in, sir.”

Mama looked worried. “You’re willing to chase her into another
dimension
?”

The thought terrified me but I didn’t want Mama to know. “I never got a chance to see Europe. Think of the rescue mission as a poor substitute for that band trip to England I missed out on because I got mono in 11
th
grade.”

Victor looked at his feet. “I’m working on a plan in that regard. Samantha was…very dear to me, as you know.”

A former lover.
That’s what I knew.

“I’m not keen on sending any members of the Choir across any rifts. Bridges work two ways and we’re very vulnerable if we open that possibility.”

“But if there’s a chance to get Sam back — ”

“Like I said, I’m working on a plan.”

“What is it?” I asked.

“It’s complicated.” Victor shrugged. “We’ll just have to see how that plot unfolds.”

The message was clear. His plan was top secret and I wasn’t on top.
 

“I’m back in training,” I said. “When you’re ready to tell me, I’ll be ready.”

“The plan might come together sooner than your readiness,” Victor said. “If this works, we’ll take the fight to the demons instead of playing defense. Train hard.”

Mama and I didn’t talk about my horns and Victor didn’t mention them, either.
 

 
Lesson 156: The stuff we don’t want to talk about is the stuff we should talk about. For instance, make your will now. Estate planning is so important for old people and young warriors.

3

A
s I walked into the Keep’s mess for breakfast, the Choir Invisible stopped. Every singer turned to me and went quiet. They stared at my horns as if I had walked in wearing a hat made of dead babies. Then the whispers hit. They thought I couldn’t hear them. Idiots.

“There she is.”

“I thought they’d be like antlers, like the others.”

“Daughter of a demon.”

“Daughter of a traitor.”

“Which side is she on now?”

I can’t blame them. We’d been trained to hate demons. We’d only thought we knew what demons were about.
 

Okay, I
could
blame them. I
did
blame them. The singers thought of themselves as badass protectors of Earth, but now at least some of them were turning on me because of one similarity with the enemy.
 

Some of them sounded angry. I wondered how many more demons I’d have to kill before they accepted me as one of them again.

Lesson 157: Righteous anger doesn’t make you turn on your own kind. It only
looks
like anger. It’s fear that changes people. I know because I could smell the terror wafting off them, especially the ones that made the most angry noises.

They weren’t all questioning my loyalty, but enough were that I wanted to do something bad to them. If they were going to condemn me anyway, I wanted to justify those suspicions with a little relaxing violence. (“Relaxing violence.” That was my demon half talking. Maybe the Choir should have been afraid of me.)

But I’d fought an invasion alongside many of these people. I’d fought
for
these people. Add a couple of devil horns and people lose their minds. Actually, I’d been losing my mind over it a little bit, too. That didn’t make their easy betrayal any easier to stomach. I hated them a little bit for all those stony stares.