15: Safe Foods

Jack caught up with me the next day on his lunch break. I don't know how he found me—I was outside an Animal high school that had an open campus lunch. Big money, there, even at the end of the ice-cream season like it was.

Jack came running up the street, waving a newspaper.

"Lory!" he yelled from half a block away. "Lory! You see this? Hey!"

He came up to the side of the counter, alongside a couple of young girls buying chocolate pops, and thrust the newspaper toward me.

"See this story?" he asked, pointing at a headline. "How crazy's that?"

"Did it ever occur to you that I might be busy?" I asked, gesturing at the line.

"Jack Dandy!" a boy a way back in said line yelled.

Jack stepped away from the counter to see who it was.

"Hey, Levi!" he yelled back. "How's your mama doin'? Tell her I owe her big for last night," he said, and then laughed raucously. A couple of the younger girls looked nervous.

"Jack," I hissed, taking money from another boy. "You're frightening my clientele. I don't want my superiors to hear that I've got loud obnoxious friends hanging around."

"If your boss didn't fire you for jumping out of the truck and trying to strangle a Seraphim, then you ain't gonna get fired."

"That's not how it happened."

"Jack!" the same boy yelled. "Will you buy beer for us?"

Jack laughed and turned to me. "You see? Your 'clientele' doesn't mind me being here." He turned back to the boys. "I don't have time right now, Levi. I'm just on lunch. Talk to me later!" He turned back to me. "You read that yet, Lory?"

"When have I had time, Jack?" I snapped. "Come around back, here."

He ducked under the counter and opened the truck's back doors.

"Jeez," he said. "You can see your breath in here. You got a space heater? Never mind, I see," he said, stumbling upon the flask that I had stashed in back. "Gotta keep yourself warm somehow." He unscrewed the top.

"It's empty."

"This early in the morning, Lory? I'm… what's the word?"

"Jealous?"

"Oh, good Heavens, no." He feigned shock. "I'm disgusted. You being around impressionable children and all. Not to mention driving." He laughed. "It'd be damned funny if you hit a tree or something, though. Can you see the headlines? You'd be called 'the melted ice cream man.' Oh, speaking of headlines, when are you going to read that newspaper article?"

I could no longer be nice.

"Will you sit down and shut up?" I asked, teeth gritted together.

"Whoa, okay, don't get so riled up. The Good Humor man you aren't."

He sat down on an empty, overturned bucket and stayed quiet until the school bell rang and the kids scattered. I pulled the metal panel that went over the window down.

"What was in here?" Jack asked, waving the flask at me.

"There hasn't been anything in there for a week," I said. "And I'm freezing. Let's get in the cab."

He grabbed the newspaper and followed me out of the back of the truck. I took it from him once we were safely up front with the heat cranked high.

"6 Dead, 8 Injured in Bus Stop Blow-Out," the headline read. I scanned the article. Four of the eight injured were in critical condition. The area is in terror… Bus lines have been temporarily shut down… Thought to be the work of the 'Hungry Ghosts,' or a copycat group…

"Hmm," I said. "So it's either us, or someone who operates exactly like us."

"Keep reading," Jack instructed.

A woman who wishes to remain unidentified was in the area around the time of the bombing, and believes she may have seen the culprit. I froze.

"Are you kidding?" I muttered to the paper.

"Keep reading," Jack said.

'He was skulking around in the area for at least an hour before the explosion. I saw him reading the bulletins posted outside the bus stop.'

"I did no such thing," I muttered

"Keep reading," Jack repeated.

'I just thought that he was some poor homeless fellow. I wasn't going to say anything to him or anything. Then, when it happened, I thought it was a little bit suspicious.' The suspect is described as being about 5'6'' with brown hair, a large nose, and was last seen wearing a brown pea coat. Please report any possible sightings—

I stopped reading there, tipped my head back, and sighed in relief. Jack exploded into hysterical laughter.

"Why did you scare me like that?" I asked.

"You think it didn't scare me? I nearly shit my pants, reading that. Then I saw 'five-foot-six-inches' and thought to myself, 'That ain't Lory.'"

I allowed myself a low chuckled.

"Yes. I'm only about eight inches taller than that, after all."

Jack wiped tears of mirth from his eyes.

"Yeah," he said. "Five-six? That's even shorter than me."

"You're not short," I replied, starting the truck and pulling out of the school lot.

"Man, I feel like it, sometimes, between you and Sid."

"So don't stand between me and Sidney."

He laughed again.

"You know what I mean." And then suddenly he was serious. Jack Business. The transition, before you get to know him, is unnerving. One minute he's laughing, cracking rude jokes, and the next things you know he's straight-faced, planning something.

"We need to hit 'em hard a couple of times, real fast," he said. "They'll be off the trail after this homeless guy for a while. We'll wanna get 'em good, now. I was thinking about what that Ambrose kid said—"

"No," I interrupted. "Absolutely not. I have major qualms about blowing up a bunch of Animals—even if they are little Deva finger-puppets. Sometimes people can't get any other jobs."

"Hear me out," Jack said. "I don't mean the post office. Not specifically. But why not other government buildings? Why not hit 'em where it hurts?"

"Like where?"

"I dunno. But let's sink our teeth in deeper. Let's do more than just bus stops and shopping malls and water parks and shit like that."

"So… Like… The Library?"

"The Devas'. Would that be any good, you think?"

I considered it.

"Maybe if we managed to plant a whole bunch at once—"

"Could Sidney maybe set them on a timer?"

"Something like that. I'd want to be out of the immediate vicinity when it happened."

"Hey, you remember when Sid called the emergency number from the pay phone right before he detonated? That really freaked them out. We should do it again."

"Too bad we can't just get inside the Seraphim Center," I grumbled.

"That'd be nice," Jack admitted. "Hey, you ever think about the fact that we're mass-murderers?"

"No."

"Well, we are… We just need to kill a few more little kids—then we'd really have first-class tickets to Hell."

"No," I said fiercely. "What we're doing is good for the world. We're—"

"—Restoring natural order and balance. I know. I was only kidding." He thought for a moment, staring pensively out the window. Suddenly, he slammed his fist on the dash. "Lory," he said, turning to me with an unholy gleam in his eyes. He'd come up with something big, I could tell. "What if we did kill more little kids? What if we went so far as to kill babies?"

"Babies?"

"What if… Oh, God, Lory," he suddenly laughed. "What if we blow up The Deva Reproduction Clinic?"

My eyes widened at the thought. I pulled out of traffic, onto the side of the road. The car behind me honked as he passed, but I didn't care.

"The Reproduction Clinic?" I asked.

"Yeah… Why? You think it's a bad—"

"Jack, that's… that's glorious. That's the best idea you've ever had!"

He beamed.

"I thought it was pretty good."

"Oh," I said, head reeling with possibilities, "That'd take a lot of doing. Most of the explosives we've got, probably. And how would we get in, anyhow? We'd have to have a damn good cover to be in the Reproduction Clinic at all. Say, maybe we could get one of the Newly Dead hired as a janitor over there, or else maybe as a clerk of some sort, or—"

"Lory, Lory, slow down! Jeez, I don't think I've ever seen you so excited about anything."

"But don't you see, Jack?" I asked. I was so worked up about it that I was shaking. "This is exactly what we need to do. It's the best place to make the statement we need to make to the world—that everything that Devas are is wrong, and unnatural, and an abomination in the face of everything that any Creator could have wanted for humanity! They're so synthetic that they have to have a… a factory to produce children! We'll burn it to the ground! We'll make them see!"

"Lory! Calm," Jack said. "Find your center. You freaking scare me when you work yourself all up like that. Anyway, try not to hit any trees in this thing, like I said before. Make it home in one piece, and then we talk it over with Sid and Maggie, and then with the Newly Dead—but for now, let me out. I still gotta get lunch and get back to work."

"Right. Get out, then."

"Good, Lory. There you go. Back to being succinct. See you," he said, jumping out of the truck.

"Wait a second, Jack," I said, remembering something.

He turned around.

"Yes?"

"I was just thinking—wondering—how much do you think we can trust the Newly Dead?"

He cocked an eyebrow at me.

"As a whole?" he wondered.

"No. I mean… specific individuals. Especially when they first come to us."

"Who are you talking about, and what happened to make you question them?"

"Nothing in particular. Just—that new kid. And his sister. He wants to blow up the post office, and she… She's just strange. I'm not sure about them, Jack."

He laughed.

"Is that all?" he asked.

"Well… Yes. It is."

"Don't worry about it," he laughed. "They're just new. Go back to work, Lory."

He disappeared down the street. After a second of watching him I pulled away, back into traffic. At three o'clock I stopped at another school, and then it was back to the house—the 'Hungry House'.

It was slightly after five when I got there. Sidney sat at the table, smoking. Magdalena was slumped across from him.

"So, is Jack here yet?" I asked, dropping my coat over the back of a chair and sitting down.

"No. But he called ahead and told us to be ready for him," Sidney said. "But…"

"But?"

"It's Maggie's night to cook."

"I won't cook," she said stubbornly.

"Why not?" I asked.

"Last time I made my mother's meatloaf, and all those little brats wouldn't eat it, and Jack said he'd be gagging it up all evening. I won't cook. I won't. Not for a bunch of ungrateful bastards."

"Like us," Sidney said.

"Like you," she agreed.

"Why didn't you start something, then, Sidney?"

"'Cause you know he loves her cooking. It was just that meatloaf."

"See?" she shrieked at me, standing up and pointing at Sidney. "This is the thanks I get!"

I also stood and crossed the room to the pantry.

"I'll make something," I volunteered.

"Lory, don't," Sidney said, not turning in his seat. "Jack'll be pissed. Jack likes his system."

"Screw Jack!" Magdalena said emphatically.

"So, is that all you ever think about, Mags?" Sidney asked casually, and then turned to look at me. "Let them fight this out," he said. "Don't bring yourself into it."

"He'll be angrier," I pointed out, reaching for the last four boxes of macaroni and cheese on the top shelf, "if there's not food here." I stepped out of the pantry. "Macaroni is safe. …Did you see the paper today?"

"No," they said together.

"It's on the dash," I said, digging my keys out of my pocket and tossing them to Sidney. He rose, and left the room silently.

"So what's Mr. High and Mighty got planned?" Magdalena asked.

"I'll let him tell you," I replied. "Where are the Newly Dead?"

"I gave them a pack of cigarettes and sent 'em to the barn. Jack sounded so fired up I thought it'd better be quiet."

I thought to myself that Yes, it would be really quiet if they burned the barn down. I put two of the boxes of macaroni back in the pantry—the new recruits could get their own dinner later.

While I started the water to boiling, Magdalena remained stubbornly slumped in her chair.

"Sometimes," she said, "I hate all you men. Why can't we have more women in the group?"

I reminded her that several of the Newly Dead were female.

"That doesn't count! They're all just kids. I get lonely."

"You could go into town."

"In what? You got your sedan, Jack's got the van, Sid's got that beat up truck. What's that leave me?"

"Mink's motor-bike."

"I wouldn't ride that thing. Don't you think that's unlucky? That thing practically delivered him to his death! …Maybe I could, one day, get Jack to take it and give me the van for a while," she said, mostly to herself.

Sidney came banging back in the front door, paper in hand.

"He's here," he shouted, "He just pulled up in the driveway!" He ran into the kitchen in stocking feet. "Jack Dandy is home."

"Whoopee," Magdalena deadpanned. "That Master of the House and resident fat-head."

"Present and accounted for," said a voice from the door. We all jumped. No one had heard him come in.

"Now, now, Maggie," he said, striding inside, flopping down at the table and leaning forward to cup her chin in one hand. "What's eating you?"

She glared.

"I haven't got time today for bad moods," he said in a honeyed tone, now pinching her lips together in an almost comical way with his thumb and forefinger. "So you're gonna smile and play happy, even if you hate my guts and I tell you that the world is gonna end. Got it?"

She nodded. He released her face.

"So," he said, leaning back in his chair. "What's for dinner?"

"Macaroni," I said.

Jack's eyebrows shot up.

"Oh? Thought it was Maggie's night."

"We switched."

He smiled. "I'll be looking forward to Sunday, then," he said, putting a hand on Magdalena's knee. She jerked away, and he frowned and put the hand, instead, on the table.

"So," Sidney said slowly, testing the waters. "What's this new idea of yours?"

A smile once again spread across Jack's face.

"First," he said, "tell me this—What do Devas cherish above all else?"

"Uh…" Sidney muttered. "Peace? Love? Unity? Respect? Wait, that's the ravers' thing." Sidney grinned. "One of my girlfriends, see, she— never mind."

"Life," Magdalena supplied.

"Ah, yes," Jack said. "The sanctity of life. Good call, my dear."

Magdalena crossed her arms and turned away from him.

Jack scowled, but continued.

"Taking away a life is, of course, the biggest crime to them. You know, they say that they can feel it, when someone close dies. Through the Shekinah. But, in the past, when we've killed people, they've consoled themselves by saying, 'That person lived a good life.' But… how much more would it hurt them if the person hadn't lived a good life? If the person had barely lived at all?"

I dumped the macaroni into the pot, and watched the water hiss.

"What if," Jack continued, "the person had only just been created? What if they had yet to even be born?"

"I apologize," Sidney confessed. "I'm just not following this. Can you just tell us…?"

Jack sighed, and tipped back until his chair was on two legs.

"We're going to blow up the Reproduction Clinic."

"What?" Magdalena yelled, standing quickly and pushing her chair back with a horrible grating noise. "You're going to destroy the place where they make children?"

"We are, yes."

"But… But why?" she asked, wrapping her arms around herself.

"Well," Jack asked, "Do you wanna know the practical reason or the poignant one? Prose, or poetry? Your pick, Maggie."

"Prose, Jack. I want to know what you thinks justifies killing innocent babies!"

"You asked for prose, you get the truth—the babies are mainly just going to be unlucky. They're there, they get fried just like the equipment and the doctors do. The reasoning is this: If the facilities and the doctors are destroyed, no more babies. We find a way to get rid of this reproduction clinic and knock off the one up north, too—bam. No more babies. No more babies, no more Devas."

"They'll just rebuild them," Magdalena said sullenly.

"But it will take years. And they'll never forget what we've done. Even if they catch us. They'll never forget. We'll be in the history books."

"You're disgusting!" Magdalena shouted, and turned to go. But Jack was quick, and caught her by the wrist and yanked her back, into his lap. He chuckled as she squirmed, and strangely, so did Sidney. I stirred the macaroni.

"Don't leave us so quickly, Maggie," he said. "Hear me out. You've gotten the prose, now what about the poetry?"

"What about it?" she growled.

"That's Lory's cue," Jack replied.

"What?" I asked, turning away from the stove to face them. I hadn't planned on being brought into it.

"Your cue, Lory." Jack gave me a searching look. "You said it so pretty this afternoon, I thought you might want to repeat it."

I shook my head.

"I don't remember what I said, Jack." I turned back to the stove.

"Oh? I do. Good thing, eh? That's how we'd show the world what we really mean, you said. By reminding them that Devas are so synthetic that they have to have a child factory. That no God would want that of his creations. Remember now?"

"Yes." I didn't want to turn around. I didn’t like to see him treat Magdalena that way.

"Jack. I want you to let go of me right now! I'm not going to sit here and listen to you talk about killing babies!"

"I'm not talking about killing babies—I'm talking about killing doctors. The babies'll be… coincidental. The difference is distinct."

"I don't care! You disgust me!"

There was, behind me, a small scuffle, and the sound of hurried footsteps. I did not turn. Instead, I took the macaroni from the stove and drained the water off. Behind me, Jack laughed.

"She'll come around," he said, and then there was the sound of a chair being pushed back.

"Come on, Sid," Jack said. "Let's go into town, get fast food. I'm not in a macaroni mood."

I turned, and found myself looking at Jack's back, headed off down the hallway.

Sidney shrugged.

"Sorry," he mouthed, and then followed Jack.

No mistake about it, I was being punished for disloyalty. I hated to see him treat her like that. That was all. When push came to shove, I would stick by Jack Dandy.

I stirred the cheese-packet into the macaroni, and took it, in its pot, into the living room, so that I could eat and watch the news on TV.

Before I had quite finished half, Magdalena came creeping down the staircase. She threw herself down on the couch. Her face was tearstained. She'd wiped off most of her makeup.

"I hate him," she said thickly, taking the pot of macaroni off of where I'd had it balanced on my thigh, and digging into it.

"I hate him," she repeated. "Killing poor, defenseless children. How can he do that? Doesn't that make you angry?"

I shrugged.

"I think it does," she said, setting the pot on the coffee table and burrowing into my side. She wrapped one arm around my chest.

I changed the channel, and found a nature show—a lion ripping a zebra apart.

"Ick," Magdalena said, and took the remote out of my hand. She channel-surfed to an old, old movie—black and white and grainy. For a moment she sat up straighter, watching, and I thought maybe she'd leave me alone. But then she sunk back against me, closer than before, so that I could feel her heat. She encircled me once again in her arms.

"Doesn't it bother you when he goes someplace with Sid like this?"

"No." He knows I'd die for this cause. Nothing else matters.

"Oh?" She pressed against me again, but with different anatomical features. "You're so brave, Lory. Those things just bounce off of you, don't they?" Her hand moved up, danced along the ridge of my collarbone, the base of my throat, and then lower. I ignored her, or tried to, until, with a quick movement she was straddling my lap. She placed one hand over my heart, and the other against my cheek.

"But don't you ever get mad at him?" she whispered huskily. "Don't you ever want to stand up to him, and tell him he's wrong? Or hurt him… some other way?"

I responded by looking away from what she'd put in front of my face, and up, to meet her eyes.

The sexy smile that had formed on her lips melted. She slid off of me, and back onto the couch beside me. She picked up the by-now-cold macaroni.

"You've perfected the art of being absolutely alone, even in the company of others," she said.

"He's not always nice, or right," I said, "But I follow him. I chose to."

She pulled her knees up to her chest.

I took the remote back from the space between us and changed the channel.

"Hey," she said. "I was watching that."

The next morning it snowed, ending my ice cream season for the winter. While Sidney and the Newly Dead made snowballs and angels, and Magdalena made breakfast, I scanned the paper for part-time jobs I could hold down for the winter.

"I'm telling you, Lory," Jack said, watching me. "Get a job in Animal-Deva relations. You'll have a ball." In typical Jack Dandy manner, he had forgiven but not forgotten the previous evening.

"Fast-food service," Magdalena, who had never worked anywhere for more than a week at a time, said. She was making herself scrambled eggs at the stove. She and Jack were still acting chilly toward one another.

"Fast food-service," I repeated. I had visions of searing myself with hot oil, wearing a hairnet, working among pimply, ill-fortuned Animal teenagers and their bored, arrogant Deva counterparts. "No," I finished.

"You could be a waiter again," Jack said. "You had some luck with that last year."

"They fired me."

Jack shrugged, but with an amused grin on his face.

"So you dumped a bowl of steaming hot tomato bisque in some fat old Deva's lap. Bid deal; you've done worse."

"You should have seen him. It was worth the night in jail."

"Maybe you could do house-cleaning work," Magdalena suggested. "You're really not half-bad at it. You don't mess up laundry like Sid does. The windows always look clean when you do them. You dust well, and vacuum better than Jack—"

"Cleaning is not a marketable skill," I interrupted. I would not be a maid.

"Sure it is," Jack replied. "You said yourself—maybe we could get a janitor over at the Reproduction Clinic."

"One of the Newly Dead," I said stiffly. "They'll do background checks there."

"So you've attacked a couple of people—"

"A couple of Devas," I corrected him.

"A couple of Devas," he conceded. "I don't know if that completely disqualifies you."

"Maybe not," I admitted. "But who are they going to look at when the place goes up in flames?"

"Little Lory," Jack muttered.

"Little?" Magdalena wondered.

"You know," Jack mused, "he may be taller than me, but he's so skinny that we're probably nearly equal in terms of over all mass. And I can remember when he was 'little.' Back in the home."

"I still say fast-food!" Magdalena said, changing the subject back. "Lory, you could easily work your way into some management position. Then you'd have a permanent job, instead of this bouncing from ice-cream truck to odd job."

I liked the variety. Not knowing what your industry would be in six months was an adventure. I did not tell her this. Instead I said, "I like my ice cream truck."

"Whatever," she replied coldly. "I was just trying to help." Sudden mood swings were Magdalena's habit.

"You could—" Jack started, but was interrupted by a sudden stream of people banging in the back door, lead by Sidney.

He fell into his usual chair, unwinding his scarf. There were snowflakes in his hair. The Newly Dead following him arranged themselves around us on the floor. I glanced over at them, and found Thistle looking up at me. She smiled shyly, and I looked away again, at the newspaper in my hand. The room had taken on a strange, expectant silence, save for the rustling of winter coats.

I looked up again, over the paper at Jack. He had his chin cupped in one hand, and a brooding look. I lowered the paper and gave him my full attention—that was an idea look.

"Lory, Sidney," he said, after a moment, standing up. "Blow up the library, or at least set it on fire good. Take a bunch of Twelves, and maybe a few Fives or Threes. A couple of the Newly Dead can go and help." He scanned the group, and then pointed at a dark boy who had been with us for perhaps a year and a half. "Arthur," he said, "you come with me. You too, Maggie. We're gonna see if we can get you," he pointed at Arthur again, "a janitorial job, and then me and Maggie, we'll work on fake papers for a couple of you. Cover all our bases."

"What for?" asked a girl called Triss.

"Glad you asked," Jack said, flashing a million dollar grin. "You will all find out at some arbitrary later date. Until then… get to work. Go clean something, or something like that. C'mon Arthur, Maggie. Let's go."

There was a general shuffle as Magdalena abandoned her eggs and the three made their way out of the kitchen. After the front door slammed, Sidney stood, clapped his hands together, and smiled, while I went to the stove and ate Magdalena's abandoned eggs—no sense, after all, in wasting them.

"So," he asked with mock enthusiasm. "Who wants to blow up the library?"

For a moment, no one responded. They usually were timid about helping with important things—the Newly Dead could be pretty useless. And then, slowly, unsurely, Thistle raised her hand.

"Me and Ambrose will," she volunteered to Sidney, but she looked at me as she finished saying it.

"Good," Sidney said. "Let's get to it, then. Move out!"

Not long after, we were rolling down the road in my car, which was deemed the least conspicuous. I drove. Sidney made small talk.

"So you two are how old?" he asked Thistle and Ambrose, who were in the back seat.

"Seventeen and fourteen," Thistle replied.

Ambrose, for all the excitability that he had exhibited earlier, did not speak. When I caught glimpses of him in the rearview mirror, his face looked pinched and ill.

"You ever done something like this before?"

"No. We've only been Hungry Ghosts for a few weeks."

Sidney made a face.

"I hate that name," he muttered.

"So do I," Thistle agreed. "It seems silly, a bit. Why do you need a name?" she wondered. "And why not have a more descriptive name? Like a good acronym, that tells it like it is. …What do you think, Lory?" she asked.

"It was a story," I said. "Jack's grandmother told it to him. Hungry Ghosts were those who had been scorned in life, or who had unfinished business. Who needed revenge. Justice had to be dealt before they would leave. He feels that we're like that. We won't stop until justice is served."

"But what do you think?"

Sidney grinned suggestively and caught my eye. I ignored him.

"I think that it is not my place to question my leader's choice of nicknames," I said.

"But," Thistle wondered, leaning forward between the front seats, "Don't you think that it's your duty, as a faithful follower, to try to help your leader make improvements?"

I tightened my grip on the steering wheel.

"I don't believe our name to be worth worrying over so much," I said thinly.

"You have to start somewhere, don't you?"

"What you are saying sounds dangerously close to mutiny."

"No, no!" Thistle cried, sitting back in her seat and laughing nervously. "I just think group input is good. That's all. You don't agree, Lory?"

I found her familiarity a bit too bold, and made no reply. In fact, I didn't say anything else until we reached town.

We stopped in a parking garage a few blocks down from the library.

"Two groups," Sidney said. He tended to take over. "Lory, Thistle, since you two seem to get along so well, why don't you go together? I'll take Ambrose."

"Right," I said, pointedly ignoring his attempt at humor. "We'll take four Twelves, and the Five. You take the rest. It's 11:15, now. So at, let's say, 1:30 we blow it up. I've got the detonator. We'll go north from the library, you go wherever the hell you want—just be out of there by 1:15 or so. We'll pick you up later at…"

"How 'bout the Black Bull?"

"Fine. Black Bull, around 2:00. We detonate at 1:30."

Sidney reached under his legs and pulled out the bag of explosives. We divided them, tucking them safely away into pockets and sleeves, and then we left the car.

Sidney and Ambrose took the most direct path to the library, while Thistle and I dawdled a little—took a longer route.

"Do you think they'll catch us?" she wondered as we walked down a particularly deserted street.

"No." It was a stupid question.

"Have you ever been caught?"

"With explosives? No."

"For what, then?"

"Defending myself against self-righteous jerks, mostly."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean people who wanted to screw me over for being an Animal. I always seem to get arrested showing them not to mess with me."

"So, more or less, aggravated assault?"

"Only one of them would call it that."

"No, you're right. It's just…"

"What?"

"Well, just… don't you think you put the group at risk by acting like that?" she asked.

"No," I said coldly. "My actions are just an extension of the group's. It's the same with all of us. It would be more dangerous to the group if you, say, went out and socialized with Devas in your spare time, than it ever is for me to attack one."

"That's stupid."

"You're a child. I wouldn't expect you to understand."

"A child?" she asked, stopping, her voice uncomfortably loud. "Is that what you think of me? Explain that to me. Explain why that would be more dangerous."

"Because," I hissed, grabbing her upper arm and pulling her forward with me. "It's far more dangerous to the group, as a whole, if someone is breaking the ideals, than if someone is practicing them in a very public manner."

"But—"

I clamped my hand around her arm more tightly, and pulled her into the nearest alleyway.

"Lory, you're hurting—"

I shoved her against the wall and covered her mouth with one hand. Her eyes went wide.

"What you think," I said lowly, "Does not matter. Above all, loyalty within the group is the most important thing. I have to know, right now: Are you a threat to that?" I shook her slightly for emphasis.

Her head jerked back and forth.

"Are you ever going to be?"

She shook her head again.

"Make sure. I don't have time to waste screwing around with you," I said, letting her go. I walked out of the alley, and she followed at my heels.

"I want you to know that I believe in this cause," she said, and I was a little bit surprised by the strength in her voice. I had expected tears.

"Good," I said. "If I thought you didn't, I would kill you."

"Would you really?"

"Yes."

"Believe it or not, that's really comforting."

I put my hands in my coat pockets and fingered the Five. It was cylindrical. Long and cool. Calming.

"But, what would happen if we got caught?" Thistle asked from behind, and then quickly added, "I won't back down, no matter what. I just want to know."

"We would probably be killed."

"Would they torture us?"

"They're Devas."

"I know! But, after all you've—well, I mean, what if they wanted to get more information?"

"Then they would put us in jail and hope that we would talk."

"So they definitely wouldn't torture anyone."

"They can't!" I growled. Was she stupid? Had she lived exclusively with Animals for her whole life? "Any time they're focusing that much on one person," I explained to her, dropping my voice considerably—no one appeared to be around, but it was hard to know for sure, "they feel them through the Shekinah. They would be torturing themselves."

"They feel it?"

"Are you stupid? You didn't know that they can feel things like that?"

"No."

"Have you ever even been on the Deva side of town, before?"

"Well… no," she confessed. "Not before pretty recently, I mean. Most people just don't come here. I guess it's different for people like you, who've lived in the home, with Devas, for a long time. But for people like me, or all of my old friends —on the Animal side of town, well… We just never did it. We never had a reason to. I guess it shows. …They can really feel it if you're being hurt?"

"Yes. That's why you have to be careful doing things like this. If no one notices you, you're fine. But if you get too angry, or too nervous, or even too happy, they can feel it, if they're paying attention to the Shekinah. They notice. You have to keep a cool head."

"Great, that just makes me more nervous. Say, how do you know that?"

"…Well, I had always assumed it was pretty common knowledge. There were studies published, back when it was a new thing, and we read one of them, in the home. I know from experience, too, actually. Once, this man made me so angry that it actually hurt him."

I remembered that well, because it had been a shock. He cut me off in traffic. It hadn't been a good day before that, either—full of snotty brats claiming that I'd given them the wrong change or the wrong flavor or any number of things. And then this jerk pulled out in front of me. I had to slam on the breaks, and when I did, I distinctly heard boxes fall in the back of the truck. That was the last straw. I had tailed him until he pulled over and got out, probably ready to beat me back into place.

"You arrogant bastard!" I yelled at him, getting out. "You ruined half of my merchandise!" I continued, pointing at the truck.

"I apologize," he said, folding his arms over his chest. "But if you'd only stopped and fixed it when it happened, you could have prevented the damage. It's partially my fault, and I apologize, but you are at fault, too."

"Like hell I am! Listen, jerk-off, you're going to pay for all of that, or—"

"Please," the man had said, wincing, and clutching at his temples. "Calm down. You're hurting me. I'll give you fifty. Will that cover it?"

"Barely," I sneered, but took it anyway.

Later, I put the ice cream back in the freezer and broke the door lock with a screwdriver. I duct-taped it shut again, claimed that the lock had broken and opened the door while I was driving, and kept the 50 for myself.

"That's so cool," Thistle said, and then, "Look, we're here."

So we were.

We went in the back door, which lead to the children's section. The librarian was putting something away. Thistle went in, and I pretended to be getting a drink of water until the librarian left. Then I stepped around the stolen-book detectors in the doorway. I wasn't sure if the copious amounts of metal on my person would set them off. I decided to be on the safe side.

"Lory," Thistle whispered. "As long as we're here, can we get one of those early reports that you mentioned? About the Shekinah?"

"We don't have time."

"How about later? Would you take me to the library on our side of town later? I'm really interested."

"Can we just do this?" I demanded.

"…Right. Sure. So, what do you do?"

I lead her over to a shelf of fiction away from the counter.

"It's like reverse pick-pocketing," I whispered to her, leaning in close.

"Are you good at pick-pocketing, too?" she asked.

"Average," I replied.

"You'll have to show me some time."

"Just pay attention." I peered through both shelves and, seeing no one, started to take a Twelve slowly out of my pocket. Just then a priestess of the Shekinah, clothed all in white, came out of another set of bookshelves a small space away from us. I was surprised for a second only, before I recovered enough to slide the Twelve back down, out of sight. The woman didn't see Thistle and me, though—she was busy with the books, and soon passed out of sight again.

This time I looked around more carefully for any other people—or priestesses—before I took the Twelve back out. I picked out a neglected looking book slightly below my eye level and put the explosive into the bookshelf behind it. I deemed the chances of that particular novel being checked out any time soon rather slim.

We moved about the library, putting the other three Twelves into places where they seemed likely to start fires. We took our time moving across the library, taking plenty of opportunities to browse through the books. Thistle watched without comment, for which I was grateful.

"One more," I told her, putting both hands in my pockets. Two more objects—the Five, and the detonator. An almost giddy feeling rose up inside of me, pressing my fingers around the detonator. I noticed the librarian looking in my direction, which smothered the feeling. I disliked her. I was glad that we were going to be putting her into her place. I buried the Five in the tissue box on the counter when she had disappeared into another room. It was a bit risky, but she was more likely to be standing close to it. With a little luck, maybe that priestess I'd seen earlier would be standing close by, as well. After the Five had disappeared into the tissue box we left, and headed north. I checked my watch—1:00.

"We've got some time, don't we? Let's go in that coffee bar," Thistle said, pointing out a building down the street.

I shrugged.

"If you want."

I followed her in and sat across from her at a table for two.

"Isn't this place cute?" she said. "I've always wanted to be the kind of girl who gets asked on dates to places like this."

While I tried to figure out what she meant by that statement, she stood up again.

"I'll treat," she said. "What do you want?"

"Black tea is fine," I said, waving her away.

"Are you sure?" she asked.

"Yes."

"Positive?"

I gave her a level look.

"Absolutely."

"Well, if you're sure," she mumbled, going to the counter.

I looked out the window at the library moodily. The building stared back, like it knew what we had done to it. Like maybe it was going to tattle on us.

Thistle came back with two cups in hand, smiling.

"I love this," she said.

"Yeah," I replied, staring into the teacup without her last sentence actually having registered.

"Really?" she asked. "That's so cool. It's so nice that we have that in common. I'd like for us to be friends."

"What?" I asked, raising my head to look at her, startled.

"I want to be your friend."

"Why?"

"Because you seem nice. Don't look so shocked—I'd rather see you smile." She smiled at me, then, as though to reinforce this.

I looked back at the teacup, and then at my watch. 1:12.

"Eighteen," I said to myself.

"What?" Thistle asked, leaning forward until a line of cleavage peaked out of her shirt.

"Nothing."

"No, what did you say?"

I sighed.

"I said 'eighteen.'" I looked at my watch again. "But it's seventeen, now."

"Oh." She leaned back again. "Have you ever wanted to go to college?" she asked.

"Me?"

"Yes, you. Who else would I be talking to?"

"I don't know," I muttered, crossing my arms across my chest.

"Have you ever wanted to go to college?" she repeated.

"No."

"Why not?"

"I want to do this. And where would I get the money, even if I wanted to?"

"I always wanted to," she said, sipping her coffee. "I was going to, too. Next year I would have graduated high school. I had a basketball scholarship, even. Not anymore, I guess."

I doubted her loyalty, truly. By the wistful tone of her voice, I guessed that she would go back to her old life if she got the chance. I wanted to ask her what made her hate Devas enough to join us, but it was hardly the appropriate setting—a busy coffee shop on the Deva side of town.

"What about you?" she asked.

"What about me?"

"Where did you go to school?"

"At the home…" I said, vaguely, trailing off and trying not to think about our Deva teacher, Miss Patterson, who had insisted that we call her Hazel, and who had constantly complained that we smelled filthy, like grease and sweat and dirty little hands.

"Oh. How long were you there?"

"Nine years." Nine godawful years that I wanted terribly to forget.

"Was it bad?"

I looked at my watch. 1:17.

"Yes. It was terrible. What do you expect? Do you think Santa Claus was standing at the door to meet me and Beatriz?"

"Beatriz?"

"My sister."

"Oh. I'm sorry. That it was so bad for you, I mean. What does your sister do?"

"She's married."

"Oh? To a good guy?"

"To Edward Rosenbaum."

Thistle gasped.

"That must hurt."

"It does hurt. But she can't know why."

Thistle nodded.

"I understand. I didn't want to bring Ambrose here, either, at first."

Warning bells went off in my head.

"I almost let them take him to the home. He's only fourteen, you know. But I couldn't, in the end." She put her fingernails into her mouth and bit on them. I looked at my watch.

1:23.

"Let's go," I said, downing what was left of my tea.

Thistle stood up a little too eagerly and followed me out of the building and across the street.

When I turned to look at her, she was staring at the library.

"Don't," I told her. "That looks suspicious. Don't look until you hear it happen."

We turned and window shopped our way up the next street. I looked at my watch. 1:29. Close enough. I snuck my hand into my pocket and depressed the button. There was a loud, gut-wrenching noise, and I imagined all of those Devas looking up in shock, just before the books and shelves and walls went flying at them.

Thistle and I both looked in the direction of the library as if surprised. Somewhere, someone screamed. Already, flames were eating the library from the inside out. I couldn't force down the excitement that bust open inside of me like a water balloon. I reached down and squeezed Thistle's hand.

"Ow, ow, ow!" she said, and then laughed.

"Sorry," I replied quickly. "Let's beat it."

"To where?"

"Sidney said to meet them at the Black Bull."

"What's that?"

"A cathouse."

"A cathouse?"

"And bar."

"He took my brother to a cathouse?"

"And bar."

"God," she said, grabbing my arm. "What are we standing around here for? Come on."

I got one last good look at the fire over my shoulder as we left. It was so beautiful. I imagined all the books burning inside—pages and spines twisting and blossoming into flame, their plastic covers crackling. I wondered what it would feel like to be inside of it.

I wondered if it would feel as good as lightning.

Ambrose was virtually alone in the Black Bull, and completely alone at the bar—although why he'd chosen to sit down there rather than at one of the tables scattered across the large main room was beyond me. Colored lights flashed behind the bar, and his face was illuminated by pinks and blues and yellows as he turned to look at us.

Thistle hurried over in a worried manner and sat down next to him. I took a seat on his other side.

"Where's Sidney?" Thistle asked pointedly.

"H-he went off with—"

"Violetta?" I wondered.

Ambrose nodded, looking shell-shocked.

"You know her?" Thistle asked, eyebrows arched.

"Yes." Intimately. But I didn't mention that.

"Lory," the woman behind the bar gushed, approaching us from the far end. She was a shapely platinum blonde, but I could not for the life of me remember her name. "I haven't seen you in years!"

"It's been a while," I said.

"But I never forget a face," she said, winking. Then she pinched Ambrose's cheek. "And aren't you a cutie?" she said. "But, sorry. We don't take clients under eighteen. Come back in a few. Hey, you want something to drink?"

"No," Thistle said flatly. Ambrose stared at the counter.

I shrugged. "What's cheap?"

The woman sighed in exasperation.

"Look, how 'bout if I put it on Sid's tab?"

"All right, then what's expensive?"

She grinned at me.

"We just got some Cloud in. It's divine. Haha, get it?"

"Right. I'll have one of those, then."

"You want anything… special in it?"

"No. Thanks. Hey, how long do you think Sidney'll be?"

She shrugged, turning to the counter. After a moment she handed me my drink.

I didn't much like it. It was some trendy new thing—pale blue and with a sweet, vaguely milky taste.

"That's got a kick," she said warningly, and then disappeared down the bar.

I closed my eyes and propped my chin in one hand.

"If he's more than forty minutes, we're leaving," I said.

"He's already been here an hour," Ambrose mumbled.

Thistle tsked.

"I don't like it here," she said. "I feel like I should be dressed in a purple bustier with marabou trim."

"Ask," I suggested, taking another drink. "They probably have one you can borrow."

"I like my shirt just fine," she muttered bitterly.

"No one is going to mistake you for one of the girls who work here. Don't worry," I told her.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

I opened my eyes again and looked over at her.

"Nothing," I said.

"Whatever you say," she replied with an undue amount of sarcasm.

"What?" I asked. "What would it mean? You don't look like a whore. That's all."

"Oh. I don't know, I thought—never mind. I just… I think alcohol is evil."

I blinked at this statement, and put the glass—which I had been raising to my lips—down, and pushed it away.

"All right, then," I said.

Thistle smiled shyly.

"Thank you."

Ambrose didn't appear to have heard anything that had been said. I wondered if he was always like this. It seemed a far cry from the stupidly eager kid of the other day.

Suddenly, there was a weight on my shoulder. It happened to be Sidney's head.

"Well, hello," he said.

Thistle and Ambrose both looked a bit shocked.

"Finally," I muttered, standing up and dragging Sidney's upper half with me. I turned to look at him, and he collapsed against me.

He was terribly pale, and reeked of something that might have been incense—but wasn't. His face gleamed with sweat, and he was smiling stupidly. But it was close enough to his usual smile that I wasn't too worried.

"Go out to the car," I told Thistle and Ambrose. "I'll get Sidney."

Thistle nodded, put an arm around Ambrose, and led him out the door.

"I'm good, Lory, really," Sidney protested.

"I can tell. What did you take? Amaladine? You smell like it."

He held his thumb and first finger very close together in front of my face.

"Just a little bit. I'm good, though. Hell, I'm great, Lory. Really, really, really… unh." He collapsed fully, and I caught him and supported him against myself.

I was sure he was great. I just didn't want good liquor to go to waste. With my free hand I grabbed my drink, and took a deep draught of it before deciding that I really did not like it. Then I hauled Sidney as best I could back to the car.

Thistle and Ambrose watched wide-eyed as I wrestled Sidney's limp body into the passenger seat and buckled it in.

It was quiet for a long time after the car was in motion until suddenly, out of absolutely no where, with no warning whatsoever, Ambrose broke into tears.

"Oh!" Thistle squeaked, and then, in a placating tone, "What's wrong, Amby?"

"Don't call me that!" he snapped between sobs. "It's a little-kid name! I hate it!" Then he broke down again, sobbing until I pulled over because it sounded as if he might be sick.

"Ambrose," Thistle said again," What's the matter?"

"What's the matter?" he asked, tone rising quickly to hysterical. "What's wrong? Look at how many people we just killed!" he screamed, voice breaking.

I stared straight ahead. I knew it. I had known something like this would happen. Knew it, and had known it, but didn't know what to do about it.

"But Ambrose, they were Dev—"

"Don't say that!" he shrieked, in a child's frustrated voice. "They were still people! They still have families that are going to miss them when they don't come home! Imagine how it'll feel for their families to find out on television that their kids or sisters or husbands are dead! They don't exist any more! They got burned to death. How do you think it feels to be trapped in the smoke, and to have the flames licking at your clothes and skin and hair, when you just wanted to go to the library and check out a book? And they don't even know why! Imagine them choking to death on the smoke and dying without even knowing why!" He sobbed furiously again. "And I helped! I helped that madman plant bombs all over the library in a hurry, so that he could go and fool around with some prostitute while people died! I helped you destroy human life! I hate you, Thistle—how could you do this willingly? I hate myself!" He broke down completely and started to hyperventilate. Thistle wrapped her arms around him and rocked him back and forth, back and forth, back and forth.

"Please don't tell Jack Dandy," she said over and over, over the sound of her brother choking his hatred out.

Imagine them choking to death on the smoke and dying without even knowing why. God, that's what I did every day.

That's what I lived for.

That night, I was just getting to sleep when my cell phone rang. I threw one arm out across the table beside my bed, and, after a moment of confused groping, my hand made contact with the phone.

"Hello?" I mumbled. I wanted to sleep.

"Liss?" asked a small voice from the other end.

My eyes snapped open.

"Beatriz," I said. "Is something wrong? You—"

"I'm fine, Liss. I was calling you to tell you about your date with Mabel."

"My… what?"

"Mabel! Don't you remember? Liss, you promised!"

"No, it's all right, I remember now, Beatriz."

"You had better. You're meeting her on Friday night. At The Argo."

"You're kidding. Beatriz, that'll cost me an arm and a leg!"

"I'll pay you back if you don't want to go out with her again. I swear."

"You had better."

"I will! Meet her there at 7 o'clock. The table's under her name—Mabel Hornbacher."

I yawned.

"Okay, Beatriz."

"All right! Love you, Liss, but you sound sleepy, so I'll let you go."

"Okay, Beatriz. I love you, too. Bye."

"Bye-bye!"

There was a click. I ended the call on my line and dropped the phone. I was asleep before I even meant to be.