“This armor smells like a goat’s Porta-John.”
“You’ll be fine.” Though, admittedly, I concurred with Hi’s assessment.
Hi was wearing a gray tunic and head-to-foot silver chain mail, complete with a helm shaped like a vulture’s head. He struggled down the steps, legs bowed, panting with exertion. I was legit concerned he might tumble all the way to the lawn below.
“I’m going to roast inside this tin can,” he whined. “Why are you torturing me again?”
“We need to locate Connors.” Reaching the bottom of the stairs, I shaded my eyes to look for Shelton and Ben. “After that . . . I’m not sure. The evidence points to him as our guy, but we’ve got nothing tying him to the crime. You need to find something.”
Hi flipped up the visor of his ridiculous helm. “That’s it? Find something?”
“You’re the great improviser. Get close to him. See if he’s acting strangely.”
Hi gave me an exasperated look. “The dude dresses like Robin Hood, and is spending his convention bashing strangers with a fake broadsword he named Oathbreaker. But I’m supposed to see if he’s acting strangely. Got it.”
We passed a quartet of minstrels having a smoke break, then skirted a cluster of rainbow-colored pavilions. In moments we’d reached the heart of the medieval festival. I spotted Shelton and Ben standing beside a pretzel vendor. Waved.
“If Connors is our guy,” I said quietly, “he must be watching the clock, right? Checking his PayPal, or whatever. The ransom deadline is less than an hour away.”
Shelton’s voice cut through the din. “What in the name of Grayskull?”
Catching sight of Hi, Ben broke out laughing. He now wore a brand-spanking-new Hellboy T-shirt and shorts with the Warner Brothers logo. “Nice look, Stolowitski. I’d have paid money to see this.”
“You want me to start smiting?” Hi lifted his weapon—an ax blade mounted on a long pole, topped by a spike with some kind of metal hook on the back—and shook it at Ben. “I’m not sure what this is, exactly, but I’ll clobber you with it.”
“It’s a halberd.” Shelton couldn’t wipe the smile from his face. “Swiss weapon, from, like, the fourteenth century. Fun fact: Vatican guards still carry them on the job.”
“Awesome,” Ben quipped. “Why does doofus have one? And whose armor is that?”
“Don’t know,” I admitted. “Let’s hope the owner doesn’t notice we borrowed it.”
I winked at Ben. “Nice look yourself, by the way.”
“Best I could do.” But his face burned scarlet.
“Rifle a gym bag?” Hi muttered. “Oh no! That would be wrong. But steal some dude’s entire Crusade Warrior costume? That’s totally cool.”
I ignored him. My ethical standards may seem arbitrary, but they’re not. We’d return the armor as soon as we’d finished with it. You can’t return someone’s privacy.
Fine. I’m ridiculous. But it works for me.
“Just get close to this Connors guy,” I repeated. “See if he’s the one.”
“How?” Hi stamped a chain-mail-covered foot. “What, he’s just going to tell me he committed a felony?”
“I don’t know. Use your—”
“You there!”
I nearly jumped from my skin, head whipping to a red-faced court jester jogging toward our group. He didn’t look happy.
“Heads up,” I warned, crossing my fingers that this wasn’t Vulture Head’s owner.
Hi flipped down the visor on his helmet.
“Gerald the Terrible?” the man intoned, eyes on Hi, blue-and-yellow bells trembling on his floppy purple hat. “I thought you’d reposed to the inn for mead and bread? You’d best hurry if you want to partake in the melee!”
“Err.” Hi raised a hand awkwardly. Shrugged. “Um. Yeah.”
The jester waved impatiently. “Come! Your company hath already assembled in the north corner of the battleground. You’re attacking Skull Crusher’s fortress. In two minutes.”
“Right.” Hi didn’t move. Hitched up his stolen tunic. “Good.”
Exasperated, the jester grabbed Hi by his chain mail and hissed in a sharp Boston accent, “You need to get out there now, Jerry. Run, or everybody’s gonna be wicked pissed!”
“Is Frank Connors playing in this game?” I asked quickly.
The jester glanced at me in annoyance, resuming his regal brogue. “Lord Mace is defending Skull Crusher’s fortress, milady. And he’ll be most vexed if the battle is delayed.”
“Of course.” I tried a flirty smile. “And which one is Lord Mace, good sir?”
The jester stared as if I’d farted. “The one holding mighty Oathbreaker, of course!”
“Oathbreaker?” Ben scoffed. “What are you talking about?”
“The Sword of Despair,” the jester answered testily. Then he stepped closer and whispered, dropping the stage speech, “Frank’s the gigantic dude with the big red sword. Look, if you’re gonna hang out back here, you need to get the basics down. We try not break character.”
“Got it,” Ben deadpanned, “my liege.”
He winced as I kicked his ankle. “Understood, good jester. Our gracious thanks. Have a glorious battle.”
There. That seemed perfect.
The jester snorted. “Work on it. Now come on, Jerry.”
The peevish little fool marched Hi across the lawn to a group of men and women wearing similar chain mail. At his arrival, his fellow warriors began working themselves up, bashing weapons together and pounding one another’s armor. Several welcomed “Gerald the Terrible” by thumping the side of his helm. Hi’s knees wobbled as he struggled to keep his feet.
“Oh man.” Shelton reached for an earlobe as we hurried for a better view. “This is not going to end well.”
Ben couldn’t stop chuckling. “He’s going to get skewered.”
A horn sound, triggering a roar from the opposite side of the field. A slightly larger group of warriors charged, howling like madmen, waving nasty-looking weapons above their heads. They flew toward Hi’s company.
The defending fighters quickly formed an organized battle line.
One that did not include Hiram.
He stood ten paces in front of the defensive formation, arms slack at his sides, facing the avalanche of screaming humanity alone.
“Oh, damn.” My hands rose to my face. “He froze.”
Several defenders shouted at Hi, waving him back, but our friend didn’t budge. He remained paralyzed, halberd drooping as the stampede of angry barbarians thundered closer.
“Hiram!” Hands now cupped to my mouth. “Run!”
I don’t know if he heard, or if his self-preservation instinct finally kicked in. In any case, Hi dropped his weapon and fled before the attacking tide.
Not soon enough. Fake swords clashed up and down the line. Hi stepped on his own pant leg and went down in a rattling heap. As he attempted to rise, a behemoth wielding a five-foot scarlet broadsword thumped him across the helm.
“Ooh!” All three of us at once.
“That hurt,” Shelton mumbled.
The battle ended quickly, with Hi’s squad getting trounced. His companions lay strewn across the ground in various depictions of feigned violent death. The victors whooped and yowled, high-fiving in a most unknightly manner.
“Well,” I said with a sigh, “at least that’s over. Maybe he can . . .”
I trailed off as the obvious became clear.
The victors retreated across the field, still pumping their fists. Hi’s company circled up in a tight bunch, bickering in angry tones that carried all the way to us. A man in an eagle-shaped helmet dragged Hi to his feet. His helm had been spun sideways, and it took two additional warriors to twist it back into place.
“I think they have to charge now,” Ben said.
I flinched. “Yikes.”
Abruptly, Hi shook off his helpers and retreated a step. Dropped to one knee.
“Quit now, Hiram,” Shelton urged under his breath. “You’re gonna lose your head.”
Hi’s portly frame shook. He dropped to all fours, shoulders heaving. Then, as two of his teammates rushed over, he bounced nimbly to his feet and jogged to the group. Hi waved off the offered assistance, his chest rising and falling as if he were breathing hard.
I felt an electric tingle crawl my skin.
“Oh crap!” All three of us at once.
“How about that?” Ben’s eyes widened with surprise. “Who knew doofus had the stones.”
Hiram was flaring.
“I’ll kill him,” I hissed. “Twice.”
“Come on, Tor.” Shelton shifted uncomfortably beside me. “He is wearing a helmet. And you did throw him into a freaking sword fight.”
True. But still.
Ben’s hand squeezed my shoulder. “Help him.”
“What?” I stepped back. “How?”
But I knew.
You see, my friends and I have a secret.
Months ago, the four of us were infected by a canine supervirus. The vicious little pathogen was created in a secret lab, during an illegal experiment, and somehow made the leap to human carriers. We caught it while freeing the original test subject, my wolfdog, Cooper.
We were sick for days, then had to battle our own bodies as canine DNA infiltrated our human double helixes. When the dust settled, my friends and I had been forever altered, down to the core. We became a pack. We have the wolf buried deep inside.
And sometimes, the wolf comes out to play.
We don’t know what will happen next. Primal canine genes now lurk inside our genetic blueprint. At times we lose control. Lose ourselves.
But our condition is not without certain . . . benefits.
“Watch his back.” Ben caught and held my gaze. “Send him signals. You’re the only one who can.”
“You’re as crazy as he is!” I spat. “I don’t even have my sunglasses.”
Ben arced a hand at the crowd. “Look around you, Tor. You don’t need to hide your eyes. Not here. Half the jokers at this convention are wearing goofy contacts. I’d help Hi myself if had the ability. But I don’t. Only you can link to our minds.”
Crap. He was right.
In this crowd, glowing yellow eyes would get me applause, not suspicion. My biggest worry would be people wanting to take my picture.
Shelton tugged my elbow. “Help him, Tor. You can pull it off.”
I looked back at Hi. Recalled the hammer blow he’d taken to the head.
I did send him out there.
“Blargh.” Deep breath. “Fine.”
Eyes closed. Gates open.
SNAP.
I trembled as the power burned through me.
Fire. Ice. Lightning bolts traveling my spine.
Raw energy unfolded inside me like a flower. Blasting my senses into hyperdrive.
My eyes opened. Gleamed with molten yellow light.
I flared. Hard.
The feeling is indescribable. The battlefield shifted into crystalline detail. I heard the slightest clink of armor, the faintest tickle of a lute string. My nose erupted with a mixture of heady scents. Boiled leather. Cut grass. Hot dogs. Sweat. I felt the slightest puff of breeze on my arms, could taste yesterday’s rain on the wind.
Every muscle in my body burned with caged energy. Intensity. Focus.
Yet I’d never felt more exposed. More acutely aware of a crowd around me.
But Ben was right. Though several people looked directly at me, their eyes didn’t linger. A girl in a Wonder Woman tank with yellow eyes was barely noteworthy in a fantasy land of costumed knights, superheroes, and comic-book characters. When it came to sensational, in this crew I just didn’t rate.
A wave of screams rolled from the battlefield.
“It’s on,” Shelton warned.
I spotted Hi lurking near the edge of his group. This time, however, he’d dropped into a battle crouch, halberd up, one foot bouncing impatiently.
I only had a moment.
Closing my eyes, I visualized a glowing line connecting me to Hi.
It immediately sprang to life in my subconscious. Surprised and pleased, I wrapped the fiery cord with my thoughts. The cord became a tunnel. I drove my conscious mind inside, firing down its length.
Hiram.
—I’m gonna whack that big bastard with this goofy ax if it’s the last thing I do. Think you’re so tough, Mister Stupid Medieval Death Jackass? Well, Hiram’s got a surprise for you, ninja style! It’s about to get REAL out here in the Dork Wars, you smug—
HIRAM!
Hi jumped, then spun to face me.
Tory? What are you—
The horns sounded. There was no more time.
Sweat dampened my hairline as I sent. I’m with you. Be careful.
The horns died. Hi’s company began loping toward their foes.
I dropped to a knee, my entire concentration on strengthening our link. Finding that final level of completeness. I pushed, somehow, willing the last mental barrier to crumble, and found myself looking through Hiram’s eyes.
“Wow,” I murmured. “I’m in. All the way, this time.”
Shelton and Ben shifted anxiously, but didn’t speak. Despite their urgings, I knew the telepathy made them uncomfortable.
Hi was bounding full-speed across the grass. He could barely see anything—the visor’s vertical slats severely limited his forward vision, while the helmet’s sides blocked his periphery. I backed out of his eyes, sensing I could help more from my own vantage point.
Worry about what’s in front of you, I instructed. I’ll watch your back.
Okay. Grim determination flowed through our link. This sucks, by the way. Thanks for the terrible assignment.
The attackers reached the defensive line.
All hell broke loose.
The fighting splintered into individual duels as sweaty warriors tattooed each other’s shields. Occasional breakthroughs forced the touched combatant to drop theatrically in a mock agonizing death.
Hi was on the right, trading blows with a short, fat dude in what appeared to be a bearskin. Moving with flare-induced dexterity, he slipped inside his opponent’s guard and fake-gouged his belly. The man fell with a bloodcurdling wail. Hi dropped his cumbersome halberd and grabbed his victim’s sword, a better weapon for close-in fighting.
A knight in plate armor appeared over Hi’s shoulder, weapon raised.
Behind you! Spin left and low.
Hi reacted instantly, dodging a falling ax as it swished through the space he’d just vacated. Then it was a simple matter for Hi to poke the man’s back.
TWO! Hi thundered inside my head.
Watch out. Dive right.
Once again, Hi moved on command, narrowly avoiding another blow. Rolling to his feet, he drew a surprised ooh! from the crowd. There was a smattering of applause.
Hi turned, found himself face-to-face with the titanic red-bladed demon.
You! I felt Hi’s lips curl into a snarl. I owe you something, pal. Come get it.
Easy, tiger, I cautioned. Your back is clear.
Most of the combatants were down, leaving ample space for single combat.
“Dare you defy Lord Mace!?” Connors screamed, holding aloft the massive scarlet broadsword. “Fool! You shall taste the bite of Oathbreaker.”
“This freaking guy.” Ben shook his head.
“Too much Lord of the Rings,” Shelton agreed. “He’s gone mental.”
I stayed focused, nestled inside Hi’s mind like a hitchhiker.
Watch his hips.
I’m watching that freaking head-smasher! Hi sent back.
He’s going to feint, I warned. Concentrate on his torso. You can’t fake with that.
On cue, Connors jabbed left, then spun in a tight circle, swinging Oathbreaker as hard as he could. Hi barely avoided the arcing blade. A murmur of excitement rippled through the crowd.
Okay. So. Even flaring, Hi was breathing hard. Pretty sure this guy is trying to kill me.
Hi. Do this. Unable to explain in words, I sent him an image from my brain.
Lord Mace was circling left, forcing Hi right. Following my instruction, Hi leaped forward, tucked into a ball, and then popped up close to his opponent’s shield arm.
Stick him in the side! I mentally squealed.
Hi struck like a cobra, chopping at the unprotected flank.
But Lord Mace had the answer. Sidestepping deftly, he dodged the strike, then bashed Hi in the face with his shield. Roaring manically, Connors shoulder-charged Hi to the ground. Oathbreaker landed on his chest a second later.
The crowd oohed a darker note. Then roared with approval.
Ouch. Hi lay sprawled on his back. That didn’t work, Tor.
Sorry! I cringed. Didn’t know you could hit with the shield thingie.
As Hi lay dazed on the grass, Lord Mace stood over him, shaking his weapon in triumph.
Suddenly, Hi stiffened. Tory. Look.
What? I stepped back into Hiram’s eyes. He was staring at his enemy’s boot.
Coarse brown fibers curled from its metal rivets.
Gotcha.