The Tower (2 page)

“This is where we’re going to live?” I asked, looking around at the parking lot and wondering if there was some secret entrance to a hidden underground residential area. I knew that psionic gatherings were usually held underground, and when Mr. Baker used the word “stronghold,” I assumed that I was about to spend a lot more time out of the sun. For someone who had spent the entire spring locked up in an underground research facility, it wasn’t at all an encouraging thought.

“Well, not in the parking lot,” said Mr. Baker as I pulled Alia, still half-asleep, to her feet. “You two will live with Cindy in the penthouse.”

I nearly dropped Alia in surprise. “The penthouse?!”

“Of course,” said Mr. Baker. “Cindy is our beacon of hope. And it should be easier for her to cast her hiding bubble from the top of the building.”

A few seconds passed before I realized that my mouth was hanging open.

Mr. Baker laughed and said, “My place is one floor below. And while you were sleeping, I had a chat with Malcolm and Janice, who have both agreed to join us, so they will live here too. And within a few days, we will be joined by a large number of breakaway Guardian groups. We are about to reform our alliance under one flag.”

“How many are coming?” I asked.

“More than this building can house, I assure you,” replied Mr. Baker. “But not to worry, we own the ones around us too.”

“You own this whole building?”

“We own several whole buildings,” said Mr. Baker, grinning. “Welcome to Psionic Land.”

I smiled too. For the first time in months, life was looking up.

I helped Alia carry her big unicorn to the elevator. Alia didn’t know it, but this unicorn wasn’t the same one she had back at Cindy’s old house. Knowing Alia’s love for the horned beasts, Cindy had bought an identical one for her just before our rescue. I didn’t have any baggage of my own – just the clothes on my back and Cat’s amethyst on a leather cord around my neck.

As the elevator came to a stop on the fortieth floor and the doors opened, we found Cindy waiting right outside.

“Finally awake, huh, sleepyhead?” Cindy said to Alia as we stepped out of the elevator car.

Looking around, I found myself in a small rectangular space with two other exits. One led to a stairway opposite the elevator, and the other was the front door to the penthouse.

Cindy unlocked the penthouse door for us and said, “You two go on inside. I want to have a quick chat with Mr. Baker.”

Cindy got into the elevator, but as the elevator doors began to slide shut, Alia jumped back in with her. Alone, I opened the door to our new home and stepped inside.

“Wow,” I whispered softly to myself as I looked around the spacious and lavishly furnished living room. There were three couches around a low oval coffee table, a few potted plants and a monstrous wall-mounted TV. After dropping Alia’s unicorn off on the living-room floor, I walked through the penthouse, opening doors and closets, exploring every nook and cranny.

The couch-infested living room was just the tip of the iceberg. There were three large bedrooms, and one of them appeared to have been furnished with Alia in mind. There was a child-size bed, lacy pink curtains, and an assortment of girls’ toys and stuffed animal dolls. Nearly a third of the dolls were unicorns (though none as big or fluffy as Alia’s main one) and there was even a giant unicorn poster on the wall above the bed. I smiled to myself. This was unquestionably Alia’s room. I wondered who had taken the time to prepare all of this before we had even been rescued.

The kitchen was ultra-modern, complete with a high-tech electric stove and fully automated dishwasher. The dining room was similar to the one at Cindy’s old house, with a heavy oak table and somewhat antiquated chairs.

And then I stepped into a room that made me blink twice before I believed my eyes. There was a pool table in the middle, and a row of cue sticks rested on a rack against one wall. I didn’t touch them, knowing nothing about playing pool, but there was also a dartboard hanging on another wall. Picking up the darts, I telekinetically threw a few bull’s-eyes. The darts were a bit hard to levitate since they had metal tips, but still well within my power.

Further exploration brought me to a mini-library, which was a room nearly as large as the living room, but lined with tall shelves containing everything from mystery novels to reference books on mechanical engineering.

There was another door at the far end of the library, and stepping through it, I found myself standing in a terrace greenhouse. Protected from the windy outdoors by giant glass panels, most of the flowers here were in full bloom. There was a white marble table set in the center of the garden, and though I wasn’t one to really appreciate the beauty of flowers, I decided that this wouldn’t be a bad place to sit and relax from time to time.

I stepped closer to the glass. The morning light shone brightly through the large windowpanes, and through them I could see much of the city below. A wide, slow-moving river flowed through the edge of the city and curved around the area Mr. Baker had dubbed New Haven, and I could see boats and barges of all sizes chugging along it. Looking toward the horizon, I gazed at the long and jagged mountain range, the peaks of which would probably be snowcapped during the winter.

Going back through the library, I took a peek in the bathroom and found something that Alia, who couldn’t swim but nevertheless loved water, would go nuts over. It was a humongous Jacuzzi bathtub, almost large enough for Alia to practice dog paddling in.

Returning to the living room, I plopped myself down onto one of the couches and looked up at the fancy wooden ceiling fan.

Yes
, I thought to myself contentedly,
things are definitely looking up.

The front door opened, and Cindy and Alia stepped into the living room. I stood up from the couch.

Cindy was holding a brown paper bag, but before I could even wonder what was in it, Alia jumped into my arms as Cindy asked me, “Finished exploring your new home?”

“This place is amazing!” I said, giving Alia a quick hug before setting her back down onto the floor. “I didn’t know you played pool, Cindy.”

“I don’t,” Cindy replied with a smile. “That room and the library were left that way by the previous owner. Maybe someday we can learn together.”

“That’d be great,” I said. Then I pointed to the wall-mounted television, asking, “What’s with the TV? You didn’t have one at your old house. You said things like that interfered with your hiding bubble.”

Cindy laughed. “That was left there too. You know I don’t watch television. But it’s built into the wall, and to be honest, one TV hardly makes a difference in a concrete building surrounded by other concrete buildings.”

I laughed with her, and then asked, “What’s in the bag?”

“Breakfast stuff,” replied Cindy. “I emptied the refrigerator before we set out to rescue you, so I had to borrow some groceries from Mr. Baker’s place. Now I can cook us a proper breakfast.”

My stomach growled in reply. The last I had eaten was some takeout on the bus last night.

Cindy said seriously, “Adrian, Mr. Baker wants to talk to you now, before things get too busy for him.”

“What does he want to talk about?” I asked.

“About you joining the Guardians, of course. I told him I could explain the terms of your service to you, but he insisted on doing it himself.”

I raised my eyebrows. “Terms of my service?”

“You agreed to join, Adrian. There are certain rules and expectations that come with membership. But don’t worry. It’s not like they’re going to convert you. These days, you’re only with the Guardians if you choose to be.”

“Right...” I said slowly.

Cindy looked at me carefully. “Adrian, are you sure about this? You don’t have to officially join the Guardians to stay here, you know.”

“What about Alia?” I asked.

“Alia’s not joining the Guardians either,” answered Cindy. “Not until she’s ready to make the decision herself. If you join, it has to be your choice. It’s not too late to refuse.”

“I owe them, Cindy. I wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for them.”

Cindy countered a bit sharply, “You don’t owe them anything, Adrian! You’re thirteen years old. You may think you’re an adult, but you’re not.”

I frowned at her, and she said in a gentler tone, “I know you don’t like to hear that, Adrian, but you really don’t owe them anything.”

“But you do,” I mumbled. “You had to join because of me.”

“I
chose
to join,” said Cindy. “And I’m not against you joining either. I just want you to be sure that this is what you really want.”

“The Guardians may lead me to Cat, Cindy,” I said quietly. “Yes, this is what I want.”

“Okay.” Cindy smiled peacefully. “Down one floor, door number 3901.”

Exiting the penthouse, I discovered that the elevator cars were nowhere near the upper floors, so I took the stairs down one floor and knocked on 3901. Mr. Baker soon answered it and invited me in. Compared to the penthouse, his was a pretty regular condo, but still quite roomy and generously furnished.

Mr. Baker said, “My wife is out at the moment, so I can’t offer you any real cooking, but I’ve made some tea.”

“That’ll be great. Thanks,” I replied.

Mr. Baker handed me a steaming cup as we sat facing each other over a low table in his living room.

“Sugar?” asked Mr. Baker, offering me the jar.

“No thanks,” I replied.

Actually, I did want a cube, but the stirring spoon was silver, and I was afraid to touch it.

Metal weakened all psionic powers. Being near a little metal was not that bad, but direct contact with something metallic could drain a psionic’s power completely. That in itself wasn’t a major problem. It’s not like I’d need to levitate something while stirring my tea. But in my case, touching metal not only drained my telekinetic power, but nearly all of my physical strength as well. Cindy had told me last year that this was because my power was taking over my physical body. She had warned that if I didn’t learn to “balance” my power, I might someday be consumed by it. Until my capture four months ago, I had been regularly meditating with Cindy in an attempt to attain this balance, but with little to no result.

“You look a little nervous, Adrian,” said Mr. Baker.

“I’m fine,” I lied. “It’s just that Cindy said you were going to explain to me the terms of my service as a Guardian.”

“Terms of your service?” repeated Mr. Baker, raising his eyebrows. “Is that what she said?”

“Yes,” I replied carefully, not sure what Mr. Baker was surprised about.

“She actually used those words?” Mr. Baker asked incredulously. “Terms of service?”

“Yes.”

Suddenly Mr. Baker threw his head back and laughed aloud. I relaxed a bit and smiled too.

Still chuckling, Mr. Baker said, “Cindy is old school, Adrian. She remembers how things used to be. But she has been with us for months now, and I would have thought she knew the Guardians had changed.”

“I think she does,” I said, remembering our conversation from the day before.

“Well, then perhaps she is just a bit overprotective when it comes to her son.”

“I’m not really her son,” I said quickly.

“I know you’re not,” said Mr. Baker, smiling. “But she treats you like it.”

I looked away, embarrassed, and Mr. Baker laughed again, saying, “Well, okay, then. Let me explain to you the, um... terms of your service.”

I looked back at him. “I’m all ears.”

Mr. Baker began, “Here’s how it is, Adrian. If you were an adult, you would either be expected to contribute a small percentage of your working salary to our cause, much like paying taxes, or to join the faction as a full-time agent, in which case you would, in turn, be paid a salary. In your case, since you are a destroyer, you would be expected to join the Knights.”

I hated it when people called me a “destroyer.” In psionic terms, a destroyer was simply someone who had combat-oriented powers. These included pyroids, who could create fire, sparks, who could control electricity, and telekinetics like me who could use their power to blast things from a distance. As a telekinetic, I was much happier with my ability to levitate objects, including myself, than I was with being able to shoot destructive energy from my fingertips. And I really didn’t care for the label “destroyer.”