The Paladin Prophecy

#68: NEVER SIGN A LEGAL DOCUMENT THAT HASN’T BEEN APPROVED BY A LAWYER WHO WORKS FOR YOU.

Lyle offered a pen from his pocket. Will ignored it.

“Great,” said Will. “I’ll take a look and get back to you.”

Lyle studied him, searching for insubordination, but Will just smiled.

“I’m going to examine the rest of your belongings,” said Lyle. “You’ll find the legal authority for this on page six, article three: Arrival Inspection. Along with a detailed list of banned and forbidden objects and substances.”

Will glanced at Brooke. She confirmed with an anxious nod.

“I’ve got nothing to hide,” said Will.

“Empty your pockets,” said Lyle.

Will turned the pockets of his sweats inside out. Lyle opened his bag and poked around, delicately, using the pen. He fished out Will’s dark glasses, then came up with the ones Dave had given him on the plane. Lyle examined them avidly.

“Are dark glasses on the banned list?” asked Will.

“Why do you have two pairs?”

“Rule number ninety-seven: Regarding eyewear and underwear: Always travel with backups.”

“Where did these come from?” asked Lyle, looking through the lenses.

“Boutique label.”

“I don’t see any label.”

“That’s what makes them so legit. It’s a West Coast thing.”

Not entirely convinced, Lyle put both pairs back in the bag. He brought out Will’s Swiss Army knife and held it in the palm of his hand.

“Violation,” said Lyle, smirking. “This is a weapon.”

“Sorry to quibble, but that’s incorrect. May I?” asked Will, lifting the knife from Lyle’s hand. “It has a blade, yes, but that was originally included so soldiers could open cans of field rations.” Will unfolded each tool. “It also has a chisel, scissors, a bottle opener, a screwdriver, an awl, a wire stripper, and a key ring. They give it to guys who already have rifles, bayonets, and hand grenades. It’s not a weapon; it’s a toolbox, and I’ll call and argue that to the headmaster right now if you take it.”

Fuming, Lyle set the knife back in Will’s bag. After more probing, he lifted out the folded hand towel. Setting it on the table, he unrolled it, revealing the remains of the broken bird.

Damn. I keep forgetting that’s in there.

Lyle held out a questioning hand, as if this time he didn’t even need to ask.

“Science project,” said Will. “From my old school. I’m still tinkering, so I couldn’t bear to part with it—”

“What is this?” asked Lyle.

“What’s it look like?”

“It looks like a mechanical bird.”

“Yes, exactly what I was going for. Fist bump.”

Lyle ignored him. Will sensed Lyle really wanted to confiscate the bird—wanted to confiscate anything—but was fishing for a reason.

“Don’t tell me mechanical birds are on the banned list,” said Will.

“Surveillance equipment is.”

“Surveillance equipment?”

“That’s a camera, isn’t it?” asked Lyle, pointing to the eye.

“That’s flattering, Lyle, but you have wildly overestimated my engineering ability. I couldn’t even program the doggone thing to tweet, let alone fly. I’m hoping somebody here can teach me how to—”

Lyle drew himself up and locked eyes with Will. Will felt a strong, unpleasant pressure in his head, like a steel band had dropped and tightened on his skull, followed immediately by a sensation that someone was poking at the edge of his brain with a penknife. The wound on his head throbbed painfully and threatened to get a whole lot worse. Will didn’t want to show he felt anything, so he turned to Brooke. She looked pale and sincerely frightened.

And suddenly Will understood why: Lyle Ogilvy played some kind of mind music, the way Will knew how to do, but unlike Will, he apparently felt no qualms about using his power on other people.

Will tried to evade Lyle’s psychic prodding by pushing a blank picture at him. It didn’t seem to affect him, but something stirred inside Will, like an electric current twitching to life. He sensed more power there but had no idea how to use it.

As he struggled, his perception of Lyle’s pressure shifted, a new field of vision opening before him. It was as if he could see and hear whispered suggestions oozing out of Lyle, floating toward him like a volley of slow-moving bullets. Poisonous fragments of thought embedded in soul-piercing jackets aimed at his mind:

Let go … stop fighting … let me in … don’t resist … I’m your friend … trust me …

Will recoiled. Instinctively he knew that once one of Lyle-the-Strange-o’s “bullets” drilled into him, he’d find himself doing exactly what Lyle wanted, without a clue about why. No wonder he scared the crap out of kids like Brooke.

The thought of this arrogant cretin intimidating Brooke pushed Will over the edge. His anger ramped up the twitching circuitry in his mind into a unified surge of power, and the mind picture he’d been trying to project assumed the shape of a bright, impenetrable shield. It felt a little like trying to steer a runaway truck by kicking the tires, but somehow Will swung the shield in Lyle’s direction.

Their energies collided. Lyle’s bullets shattered as they hit Will’s shield. At the moment of contact, Will knew that whatever mojo Lyle could throw at him was ten times stronger than his own. A violent shock wave ran back into Will, like he’d touched a live wire. But Lyle felt a kickback, too, and as his eyes lit up in shock, Will realized something:

He’s never been challenged like this before.

Lyle’s eyes redlined with anger. With his new awareness, Will could see Lyle’s power regroup into a dark and dangerous mass. If his prior intent had been to probe, now he meant to punish.

Will knew he’d have no chance this time. So instead of trying to block him, Will feinted forward, then yanked his shield back and to the side. Like pulling a chair out from under someone halfway sitting down. The hammer blow of Lyle’s fury blew past him, as if a freight train had missed him by an inch.

The faintest breath of wind rippled a few strands of Brooke’s hair. On the wall behind them, a framed photograph of the Center sagged ever so slightly off center. The energy in the room sizzled and then vanished with a snap.

They stood there looking at each other, exactly as before. They’d hardly moved a muscle during their psychic jujitsu.

Lyle smiled confidently, showing his canines. “I’m quite certain somebody here can teach you something.” He placed the bird back in Will’s bag.

A tone sounded, indicating Will’s iPhone and MacBook had synced. Lyle disconnected them and placed them in a plastic tray.

“As soon as the data transfer is complete,” said Lyle, “your new tablet will be sent to your quarters. Miss Springer will show you to them now.”

Lyle nodded at Brooke, who opened the outer door. She couldn’t leave the room fast enough. Will zipped up his bag and winked at Lyle.

“See you round campus, pal.”

Lyle didn’t respond until Will reached the door.

“West. Let me offer some personal advice: At the Center, we say that problems exist only in order to inspire us to find solutions. Don’t be an inspiration to me.”

Lyle disappeared into his inner office. Will walked outside and joined Brooke. After a few steps, he staggered and had to brace himself against the wall. The same blackness and nausea he’d felt at the airport washed over him, although this time it was much worse.

“Are you all right?” asked Brooke.

He grunted, holding his head. She leaned against the wall beside him, close. Still afraid.

“How did you do that?” she whispered.

How much did she see, or sense, of what went on in there? Will wondered.

“Do what?” he whispered back.

“Stand up to Lyle that way. I’ve never seen anybody manage it before.”

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