"Okay. The one I'm thinking about… his name begins with R, am I right?"
The Oculus nodded. "It's safer to call him 'the Adversary.'"
"Where's the Sentinel while all this is happening?"
Jack had been told, but he wanted to see if these folks knew.
The Oculus gave his head a sad shake. "No one knows. He hasn't been heard from for almost half a millennium. No one has an explanation."
Jack had been told that someone named Glaeken used to be the Defender, or Sentinel as these folks called him, but he was just a man now—an old man with no powers. But Rasalom didn't know that. And Jack hoped he never found out, because he guessed that being the Heir meant he'd have to step into Glaeken's shoes should the need arise.
The Oculus said, "But how do you know of the Adversary?"
"We've met."
Jack heard sharp intakes of breath from the Oculus and Davis.
Miller said, "He's shitting us. Or if he isn't, it proves he's not the Heir. The Adversary would never let the Heir live."
Jack shook his head. "He says killing me would be doing me a favor… would spare me some misery to come."
Jack's stomach clenched and unclenched in the ensuing silence. He remembered Rasalom's words. How could he forget? They'd been branded on his memory.
Physical pain is mere sustenance. But a strong man slowly battered into despair and hopelessness… that is a delicacy. In your case, it might even approach ecstasy. I don't want to deprive myself of that.
He'd lost the last two surviving members of his family in the past month. Was that what Rasalom had meant by "slowly battered into despair and hopelessness"? Jack had been depressed afterward. But hopeless? Despairing? Not even close.
Jack didn't know how, but he was convinced that Rasalom had been behind those deaths. Maybe not directly responsible, but involved. The result was unrelenting rage—at Rasalom, and at the Otherness.
"What's he like?" Davis said.
"Just a guy. He doesn't wear a cape or have a vulture sitting on his shoulder. Pass him on the street and you'd never give him a second thought. Just an ordinary, everyday guy… until you look in his eyes and he lets you see what's going on in—"
"Daddy?"
Jack glanced to his right and saw a chunky preteen girl standing in the doorway. She had blond hair, blue eyes, a pimple on her chin, and an open book in her hands.
""What is it, Diana?"
"Can you please help me with this algebra problem?"
The Oculus smiled. "What were you told about interrupting meetings?"
She looked down. "Sorry. But I'm just not getting it."
"It's hard at first, 1 know. Keep trying. I'll be in as soon as I finish here."
She smiled.'"Kay."
When she was gone the Oculus turned back to Jack.
"My daughter. I took her out of school when the Adversary began killing off the Oculi. Now I homeschool her." He smiled ruefully and shook his head. Jack couldn't read those eyes, but he sensed the man's love for his daughter. "I never realized what an awesome responsibility it was."
"What about her mother?"
"Dead. A fire in a Midwest Home. The Oculus there and her son—our son—were killed. I had taken Diana to raise, so she was spared. But our boy…" His mouth twitched. "He would have taken his mother's place had he lived, just as Diana will take mine, but…"
Jack wondered about that. Diana had normal blue human eyes. Would she develop her father's black eyes as she got older?
Whatever. Jack had had enough of this for now. His scars still itched but had stopped burning. He still had questions, but he felt too much like a prisoner here. He needed to walk free, get back to the real world, feel New York City pavement beneath his feet.
He stood.
"Okay, you help your daughter while I—"
The Oculus shot to his feet. "You're not leaving!"
"That's the plan."
"But there's so much I wish to know! About the Sentinel—"
"Wouldn't know him if I tripped over him." He turned toward the door. "Bye."
Miller stepped in front of him.
"Not so fast. You'll go when he says you can go."
Jack turned to the Oculus, checking Davis's position as he moved. Close enough for Jack to land a side kick to his knee hard enough to bring him down if it came to that. Miller wouldn't be so easy. Miller wouldn't be easy at all.
And of course, they were armed and he wasn't.
Better be cool.
"Am I a prisoner?"
"No, of course not, but—"
"Then I'd like to go."
"But you were led here for a purpose—to join us."
Right. He'd get on the sign-up line right behind Godot.
"I'm not much of a joiner."
"But there's so much we need to discuss."
"We'll make a play date. Now, can 1 leave peacefully or do things have to get ugly?"
The Oculus sighed. "Very well. But please come back."
Jack wanted a repeat too, but more on his terms. Not as a captive audience.
"We'll work something out."
He turned back toward the door but Miller still blocked it. He glared past Jack at the Oculus.
"Are you out of your mind? He knows all about us now. We can't let him go!"
"We can," the Oculus said. "And we will."
"This guy's a fake. He's not the Heir."
"But he is."
"What have you been smoking? The Heir will come from the yeniceri."
And then Jack got it. If anyone was going to be designated the Heir, Miller had expected to be him.
"Hey, Miller," Davis said. "Cool it."
Miller pointed at the Oculus. "I signed on to protect him. That doesn't mean I have to kiss his ass. This is a bad move and I take no responsibility for any damage this guy winds up doing."
He turned and stomped out of the room.
Jack turned to Davis. "You have some things of mine, I believe."
Davis nodded. He looked embarrassed. "Yeah. Come on. I'll get them for you."
9
Jack walked a circuitous route from the warehouse, stopping every half block to check for bird-dog action. He didn't spot anyone and was eventually satisfied that he was on his own.
Not necessarily a good sign. They'd bugged him once. Why not again?
A direct route to the car would have run two blocks at most. Jack stretched it to six. When he reached the Crown Vic he stopped long enough to retrieve the TD-17 from the glove compartment, then resumed his walk.
As he moved he turned on the detector and immediately got a positive for an RF signal. But that could be coming from anywhere around him. He turned down the sensitivity until it stopped, then wanded himself with the little gizmo. No response. He notched up the sensitivity and tried again. Still nothing. He kept pushing it up until he found a signal, but it didn't seem to be coming from him. Most likely RF pollution.
Okay. Maybe he was clean. The only way to be sure was to run a check in the car.
He trotted back, hopped in the front seat, and watched the indicator light as he shut the door. It went dark. He opened the door again and it lit. Just pollution. He started the car and avoided the area around the warehouse as he headed back to the BQE.
Not a bad morning's work. He'd come to Red Hook to learn a little more about the yenigeri and wound up learning a lot. He'd also wound up with a bruised scalp and a sprained neck. Small price.
Still had a lot of questions though.
Like who had started the yenigeri. He had a feeling being a yenigeri was both a day job and a night job. So who funded their training and paid their expenses?
But a bigger question—the biggest—was about this Heir thing. He'd heard from more than one source that he'd been drafted into this war. He'd hated the notion then and liked it even less now that he was being called the Heir. Heir to the Sentinel's job? What did that entail? How did you defend against a cosmic force like the Otherness? It all seemed so crazy.