I freeze, staring at him in surprise. I’m surprised by his sad voice, by his angry eyes, but most importantly I’m surprised that it’s all for me.
“It did?” I whisper.
“Of course. You are my bellatrix.”
“Like in Harry Potter?” Ryan mumbles.
I kick him under the table.
“What does that mean, Cren?”
He laughs, squeezing my hand before mercifully releasing it. “Your Latin is atrocious! It is a woman warrior. You are a Valkyrie, Athena. Defeating the devils that have escaped Hell’s gates.”
“I’m not exactly doing it alone,” I chuckle nervously, feeling both of their eyes on me.
“No, you’re right. You have Helios to help you. I must say that this,” Crenshaw gestures between Ryan and I, “is right. It is as it should be. You’ve fought valiantly, my dear, but there’s no shame in accepting help. And Helios, he can help you.”
I glance quickly at Ryan, feeling my checks burn with that irritating flush of embarrassment. He smiles smugly at me.
“I know that,” I grumble, feeling my ASP against my thigh and the press of the splint on my injured arm, both of which wouldn’t be there if it weren’t for him. I might not be here if it weren’t for him and Trent. I’m starting to owe a lot to a lot of people and I’m thinking that debt is another thing I lived without before all of this started. It’s also something I have to sink deeper into.
I level my gaze on Crenshaw, stowing my doubts, my girly blushes, and getting down to business.
“I’ll need more help than just Helios here,” I tell him, jutting my thumb at Ryan. “I’ve considered going to The Hive, but—“
Crenshaw leaps from his chair, his staff tossed aside carelessly. I have no idea where he got it from, maybe he conjured it from air and rage, but there’s a long gleaming dagger suddenly in his hand.
It’s pointed at my face.
“You will not,” he says, his voice sounding cavernous and strange, “talk about The Hive in my house.”
Chapter Seven
Ryan and I are on our feet immediately, instinct kicking in. We’re whipping out our weapons before we can even think. Crenshaw pauses, looking from one weapon to the other, his breathing erratic.
“Master Crenshaw,” Ryan says calmly, as though he’s not holding the Punch of Death pointed at the guy, “we have no quarrel with you. We never have. We want no violence. Can we all be calm? May we stow our weapons and sit again as friends?”
It’s nice to know it’s not only me. That I’m not the only one who has to slip into character like I’m reading from King Arthur’s diary in order to talk to this guy. He watches Ryan for several long, tense moments before nodding his head and taking his seat.
“Please, sit. I apologize for my outburst. My tempers, they flare at the mention of the Zealots but they burn with fire eternal when I’m forced to think of… the others.” Crenshaw takes a deep breath as we sit down again, both of us a little further back from the table than we were before. “You mustn’t go to them. Promise me.”
Ryan and I glance at each other, unsure. I have no desire to break a promise to Crenshaw but if all else fails, I made a promise to the people in the Colony as well. If I’m not careful, I’ll end up betraying someone’s trust.
“Why, Cren?” I ask him gently. “What are you so against us going to The Hive?”
He closes his eyes, takes a deep breath. “Can you not speak that name in this building? It is my home. My sanctuary.” When he opens his eyes to look at me they’re tired and sad. “They have taken so much already. I do not care for them to ruin this as well.”
“Of course, yeah,” I agree, not understanding entirely. But I understand enough. I understand having a home and defending it at all costs. I understand having it taken. Invaded.
“We don’t want to go to them,” Ryan tells Crenshaw. His eyes are still watching the old man closely. His weapon is still in place on his hand. “We were hoping you could advise us on how to gather people together. To get more help. We could try to rally the gangs, but they don’t play well together. Not in a fight.”
Crenshaw nods sagely. “Each would wonder what was in it for them.”
“Exactly. There’d be so much fighting with each other, we’d never get around to fighting the Colonies. It’s why we wanted to go to the largest of the gangs, because they’re already united, but,” Ryan glances at me quickly, his face unreadable, “we’re pretty sure we wouldn’t want to pay their price.”
“Indeed you would not,” he agrees softly. He looks at Ryan with eerily sharp eyes. Eyes that remind me of Trent. That feel too lucid to be my Gandalf the Gray. “Never take her to them. Never let them see her. Women in The H—“ He sighs forcefully. “It’s no place for women. Especially women like her.”
I frown, annoyed that I’m obviously being discussed as though I’m not sitting right here.
“What do you mean, ‘women like her’?” I demand.
“You lost someone to them,” Ryan says sadly.
Crenshaw nods.
“To who?” I ask. “To The—to them?”
They ignore me again. I’ve gone full Casper.
Crenshaw nods. “She was her age. Just as bright. Just as beautiful.” He grins faintly. “Just as rough around the edges.”
Ryan smiles. “It’s part of the beauty.”
“The greatest part.”
“I’m sorry about your daughter.” Ryan says, obviously gleaning more from this conversation than I am. What daughter?
“Don’t be sorry for me. Just do a better job protecting her than I did.”
“I swear it.”
“Good lad.”
“What the hell?” I mutter, looking back and forth between them.
They wouldn’t hear me with Ouija board.
Crenshaw rises from the table slowly. It’s as though his outburst has drained him of everything he had. He’s hunched slightly, his movements labored. I have to remind myself that as spry, lively and crazy as he seems, he is an old man. He’s got a lot of life under his belt and it’s not just bones that get tired.
He goes to a wooden box about the size of a toolbox sitting at the foot of his bed. After digging around silently, he pulls out a large piece of worn, white paper. I’m waiting anxiously to see what this is. It could be anything. A spell book. A nude drawing of Tom Hanks. A cheat sheet to the 2009 SATs. Or something far more disturbing like a nude drawing of himself or a detailed chart monitoring his bowel movements. One never knows.
What he actually does lay out on the table both startles and amazes me.
It’s a map of Neverland. A hand-drawn, near perfection, detailed map of the Seattle area. Not as it was, because who cares? This is a map of what the city is today. Instead of zip codes, the city is broken up by gang territories. The stadiums are labeled as what they really are – Colonies. I eagerly search the outer edges to the south, looking to see if Cren knows exactly where the third Colony lies, but there’s nothing. Just a drawing of the shoreline with a topless mermaid out in the water, waving at me.
“Whoa,” Ryan breathes, stowing his spike hand under the table and leaning forward over the map.
Crenshaw smiles at him happily, his mood shifting dramatically. He’s proud and pleased to see Ryan so into his work. Excitement is written all over both of their faces.
“It is incomplete,” Crenshaw warns. He spreads it flat with gentle, soothing hands. “I shouldn’t be showing it to you, Helios. Other gangs, other tribes, would be angry to know I’d shown you where their hideouts lie. But I have faith in you. I trust in your trueness.”