“This isn’t only about Bello anymore,” I say. “It’s about all of us. We need to survive. I am going to the haunted room, Bishop, and you will take me there. We need to go with strength, but we also need to protect the people who will stay here. So, you decide who goes with us, and who guards this room.”
Our stare-down continues. We are on the edge of coming apart, of the group splitting in two. That smile Bishop gave me back in the Garden, I doubt I will ever see it again—right now, he hates me.
He can hate all he wants, as long as he does what I need him to do.
Finally, the stare breaks. Bishop looks around the room.
“El-Saffani comes with Em and me,” he says. “And Visca. And Bawden.”
The tension in the room eases slightly, but it’s not gone. The others are glancing my way. They think we should go after Bello. They are angry we left her behind. I led these people in a circle, so I can’t fault them for doubting my decisions.
Bishop points his club in turn at two circle-stars. “Farrar, Coyotl, you guard this room.” To my surprise, he then points at two more people. “Okereke, Smith, you help Farrar and Coyotl.”
Okereke and Smith are surprised to be chosen for this duty, honored to be recognized by the biggest of us all. They aren’t circle-stars, but I understand Bishop’s choice. Okereke is strong and has an air about him that makes him lean toward danger rather than shy away from it. Tall, skinny Smith moves with grace and speed. She never stumbles or falters. Maybe she’s a fighter as well as a healer.
Bishop then points the club at Gaston.
“And you,” Bishop says. “The door to the haunted room only opened for you, so you’ve got to come.”
Gaston puts his hands to his face. “Crap. I forgot about that.”
Spingate shakes her head. “Gaston shouldn’t go. He’s too little, there are monsters now, and—”
“I’m not too little,” Gaston snaps. “They can’t get in if I don’t go.”
She shakes her head again, harder this time. She holds up the scepter. “They can take this, I don’t care. I’ll show them how it works.”
“It didn’t open with a scepter,” Gaston says, his voice kinder now. “It opened for me. If I don’t go with the group, there’s no point in them going at all.”
Spingate looks like she’s fighting back tears. I can tell she has a hundred questions about how the door works, why someone else can’t open it, but Gaston’s face is set—he’s going.
“Spin, we need him,” I say. “Bishop will make sure he stays safe.”
She looks at the gray-faced boy. “You better.”
Bishop nods once.
“I’ll go as well,” O’Malley says.
His tone is hopeful, but not as firm as Gaston’s. I think O’Malley already knows what he’s going to hear.
“I need you to stay,” I say. “You’ll be in charge while we’re gone.”
Aramovsky huffs. “Really? Yet another terrible idea. O’Malley, do you believe in the gods?”
O’Malley shakes his head. “There’s no such thing.”
Aramovsky looks around the room, spreads his hands as if to say: There, you see?
“Em wants someone who thinks the gods don’t exist to be in charge,” he says, playing to the crowd. “Do you think the gods are going to like that? I don’t. I should be in charge while she’s gone, wouldn’t you all agree?”
Some heads shake, but most nod.
A wave of fury wells up in my chest. He wants to take leadership away from me? I wonder what it would feel like to shove the spearpoint into Aramovsky’s throat. If he contradicts me again, I could kill him just like I killed Yong.
No…Yong was an accident. I didn’t kill him, he ran into the knife. That’s what happened.
Isn’t it?
I give my head a hard shake, clear my thoughts. Yes, Yong was an accident. I’m not going to kill Aramovsky for speaking his mind—that’s crazy.
I think back to the Garden, to Aramovsky standing tall. People sat around him, watched him reverently, listened to his words. What was he saying to them? And, more importantly, what will he say while I’m gone? Bishop is in danger of splitting the group, but I don’t think he means it or even knows he’s doing it. Aramovsky, on the other hand, knows exactly what he’s doing.
So it’s best not to let him do it.
“You can’t be in charge here, Aramovsky, because you’re coming with me.”
He’s surprised. He wasn’t expecting that.
“But I would be no help in a fight,” he says. “It doesn’t make any sense for me to go.”
“You seem to know religion better than the rest of us,” I say. “What if we run into something we don’t understand, and we do the wrong thing? We might accidentally anger the gods if you’re not there to give us guidance.”
When he first spoke of gods and magic, many heads nodded. Those same heads nod again—they believe in him, think it makes sense for him to come along on this important mission.
Aramovsky’s eyes harden. He knows I’ve used his own words against him. If he doesn’t go now, he’s basically telling everyone he doesn’t give a damn about his gods.
“Fine,” he says, and forces a smile. “I’ll do my part.”