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4 Homecoming

4

HomecomingBy the time Jonah neared the estate, most of his frustration had given way to regret. And maybe even shame.

No, he didn't appreciate being kept out of the loop. That part hadn't changed. But maybe Reena had been right.

Oh, damn it all, she had definitely been right. Jonah's anger was misplaced.

Terrence, Reena, and the rest of them weren't the ones bringing this hellacious crap onto the Earth and Astral Planes. They weren't the ones who put the estate at the mercy of a right-wing, vengeful cult investigator. It was Creyton doing those things. Who had he used this time? Wyndam O'Shea? Charlotte Daynard? A nameless disciple Jonah didn't yet know? Or his beloved Inimicus, Jessica Hale?

And because of the fires that they created, Jonah had just snapped at, and very likely pissed off, the people that were on his side. And that was after getting arrested in Coastal Shores.

He was batting zero for life right now.

Swearing to himself, he pulled into the gate and soon saw his home beyond the trees. It stood as resolutely and majestically as it always had, but something was different.

Very different.

There were many more dark windows than there were lit ones.

When Jonah left for the Outer Banks, it seemed like every room had been occupied. The estate had been bursting with life. But now it was emptier. Quieter. Even a little forlorn.

As Jonah surveyed the setting in confusion, he felt eyes on him, and turned. It was Bast.

“Hey Bast.” Jonah knelt to scratch her ears.

“Greetings, Jonah,” she intimated to him. “How are you doing? Was your time away all that you hoped it would be?”

Jonah's mouth twisted. “For the most part,” he grumbled. “But never mind that. Where is everybody, Bast?”

The herald looked a bit crestfallen. The emotion on her small face was entirely new. “Too much for me to intimate,” was what flashed across Jonah's mind. “Creyton's return—and subsequent actions—have created ripples that are most far-reaching. Are you aware of the current investigations of our home?”

Jonah looked at the grounds, which were much less visible now that the late afternoon had turned to evening. “Yeah, I am. Can you tell me exactly—?”

Bast began to shrink away. Jonah frowned at her. She didn't intimate anything else into his mind. But then he tensed. Someone was directly behind him.

“Stand,” commanded a vaguely familiar voice. “Now.”

Very slowly, Jonah complied.

“Who are you, and what are you doing here?” said the person behind Jonah. “And don't even think of running. That'd be a very stupid thing to do right now.”

The word running made it click. But wait…how could that be? Jonah hadn't actually heard that voice in his real, physical life. It had just been dream, and that Spectral Event…

Very cautiously, Jonah turned around to an arrow notched about two feet away from his face. When the archer saw his face, which was illuminated by the arrow, which gleamed gold, he exhaled in relief and lowered his weapon.

“Jonah Rowe.” His voice sounded much more pleasant now that it was free of suspicion. “It's you. Even if I'd seen you from afar, I wouldn't have recognized you with that beard. My awareness is not what it once was.”

Jonah took in some of those words, but he was more focused on the figure who'd voiced them. “How are you here?” he asked. “I remember you from the Spectral Event, but you said that I wouldn't remember your name.”

“Indeed I did,” said the archer. “And my name is Daniel.”

“Daniel.” Jonah memory flooded back the second he'd heard the name. “I remember now. The Spectral Event wasn't the most recent time I saw you. You were the one—”

“—from the dream that all of the Eleventh Percenters had,” finished Daniel. “I'm sure that you've already heard many things at the Decessio residence. Why don't you and your friends come on in and we can speak more?”

“My friends?”

Daniel pointed, and Jonah turned. Bobby, Alvin, Liz, Terrence, and Reena were there. Jonah hadn't even felt the breeze when they came through the Astralimes. Bobby had a rather awkward look on his face, as did Terrence. Liz regarded him with caution. But Reena got right up in his face.

“Are you in there, Jonah?” she demanded. “Or is the asshole still out of the box?”

Jonah ran his tongue across his teeth. “It's back in the box,” he muttered. “I apologize.”

Reena's face cleared somewhat. “Accepted. Now that you've met Daniel, let's head on inside.”

* * *

Jonah's outward assessment of the estate had been an accurate one. Many of his friends weren't there. He did see Magdalena, Malcolm, Spader, Akshara, and Maxine, but several others, like Ben-Israel, Noah, Barry, and Sherman were nowhere in sight. Jonah didn't even see Nella, Liz's youngest sister. Liz waved away his concern.

“She might be around later this week,” she told him, “but right now, she's visiting my Aunt Clara with Mom and Sandrine.”

“Really?” asked Jonah, curious. “How did you get out of it?”

Liz snorted. “Green Aura reasons,” she murmured.

Jonah shook his head at the lame excuse, but filed it away. “Where is everybody?”

“I'll tell you everything that you need to know, with Jonathan's help,” said Daniel, who removed his bow from his back and placed it within reaching distance. “It's about twenty-six people here, give or take. Probably the ones who flat-out refused to leave, or the ones that Jonathan simply couldn't place anywhere.”

That sounded very odd. What did it mean?

“But I thought you said Jonathan wouldn't be around,” Jonah said to Daniel, but at that very moment, the Protector Guide appeared, a small smile on his face as he surveyed the family room's occupants.

“I won't be as visible as in the past, Jonah, it's true,” he said. “But that applies to the grounds. The interior of our home is fair game. At least sometimes, anyway.”

Although Jonathan had a smile on his face, Jonah noticed that it didn't reach his eyes, which were focused, determined, and a little hard. He wondered if Jonathan was hiding something again, or if he simply had one too many thoughts in his head.

Jonathan looked at Daniel with a slight frown. “Daniel, is it true what Bast intimated to me? Did you point an arrow at Jonah?”

“It was an honest mistake, sir,” said Daniel. “In the present climate, one can never be too careful. My cognizance has greatly diminished since…you know.”

“Nonsense,” dismissed Jonathan. “You are as sharp now as you ever were. Even so, Jonah offers no threat to our home. Do not do that again.”

“Yes, sir,” said Daniel.

Jonah was a bit mystified by Daniel referring to Jonathan as “sir.” With his charcoal-grey hair, he looked to be Jonathan's elder. But he knew that chronologically, Jonathan outstripped the archer by several decades.

Or did he?

“Hold on,” said Jonah. “Daniel, you're a Protector Guide, too, aren't you?”

Daniel had his eyes focused on an arrow, which gleamed gold in his grasp once more. “No,” he replied. “No longer.”

Jonathan looked at Daniel with respect. Jonah looked at Terrence and Reena. Terrence widened his eyes and shook his head, and Reena pointed a finger at Daniel and mouthed, “Pay attention!”

“Daniel is the one that stopped the Deadfallen disciples in that dream you all had, Jonah,” said Jonathan.

Jonah's mind went back to the dream. The numerous Deadfallen disciples, the myriad of aura colors which turned dark and caused the stinging pains, and the archer—Daniel—who laid them all out. And of course, his warning to Jonah to run, which no one else was told. Now was as good a time as any.

“You told me to run in that dream, Daniel,” he said to the man. “But no one else was told that. Why was it just me?”

“You're the Blue Aura, Jonah,” said Daniel. “The hatred that they have for you is more concentrated than anyone else.”

Jonah took a very slow breath. So he was right. It happened with only him because he was in more danger than anyone else. Because, of course.

“When Creyton achieved Praeterletum, the Curaie quickly realized the natural abhorrence that he had caused,” Daniel went on. “They tasked us all with damage control. That included the Protector Guides, the guardians, the Elect and Very Elect spirits and spiritesses—all of us.”

“Who are the guardians?” asked Jonah quickly. “And the—did you say Elect and Very Elect spirits and spiritesses?”

“Yes, I did,” said Daniel. “The Very Elect ones are just a couple rungs beneath the guardians. The ones directly beneath them are simply called the Elect ones.”

“I know the terms from Dad,” said Terrence, “but who are they all? What do they do?”

“Daniel,” said Jonathan warningly.

“Worry not, Jonathan,” said Daniel, who then looked at Terrence. “I'm not at liberty to say, son. You are still a physically living being; there are some things about Spirit that you are better off not knowing. You wouldn't comprehend most of them, and I don't mean that as an insult. It is simple fact.”

Terrence made a face, but didn't say anything else. Jonathan nodded at Daniel, who continued.

“My brother, Broreamir, and I were assigned with preventing any more spirits and spiritesses falling victim to being usurped if we could,” he continued. “But we discovered that Creyton hadn't re-blocked the paths. He was actually voiding spirits and spiritesses of the personalities and essences, making them something like barely functioning shells.”

Jonah's fists tightened. “Were they the lost spirits and spiritesses in the dream?”

“Yes,” said Jonathan.

“Broreamir was so fascinated by Creyton's new range of power after his resurrection that he betrayed us,” said Daniel, who stared into the empty fireplace. “He chose to renounce his Guidanceship, embraced life as an ethereal human, and joined the ranks of the Deadfallen disciples.”

“What!” demanded Jonah, but the word was echoed all around the room. So he wasn't behind in everything, it seemed.

“Yes,” said Daniel. “He defected around the time Balthazar Lockman made it his goal to investigate you all. Then that dream happened, and I could stand by no longer. I invaded Creyton's little ethereal excursion into all of your minds, trying to figure out what was going on, and what he was doing.”

“Did you?” asked Reena.

“No,” said Daniel in a cooler tone than he'd had previously. “And I don't even know what they were trying to achieve with those stings. So I just fought them. Hard.”

“You did that to save us?” said Jonah, awestruck.

“Yes,” said Daniel, “and I also wanted to muddy the waters from Creyton if I could. But I put my neck on the line with my actions.”

“How so?” asked Liz.

“The Phasmastis Curaie is trying to handle the situation as best they can,” said Daniel. “As I am sure all of you are tired of hearing by now, no other Eleventh Percenter has ever done what Creyton has. He's changed the status quo. Between Broreamir dispensing his Guidanceship to become a Deadfallen disciple and Balthazar Lockman bringing in his Tenth skeptic brigade, not to mention the unconscionable actions of Gamaliel Kaine and his little Network, we were all ordered not to interfere. We were told to follow orders and do nothing else.”

Jonah's eyes narrowed. “And, even though you saved us, invading our dreams was looked upon as defiance.”

Daniel smiled humorlessly. “I didn't even let them judge me,” he said. “I took the same path Broreamir took, and renounced my own Guidanceship and became an ethereal human. I'd do anything for Jonathan, anyway, so here I am.”

“But we only met you today,” breathed Reena.

“Yes,” said Daniel, who didn't get her point.

“You renounced your Guidanceship and flouted the Curaie since that dream occurred?” Reena looked thunderstruck. “But that only happened last night!”

Daniel looked Reena in the eye. “How many times must you young ones hear that time means little to nothing on the Astral Plane?” he asked.

“Wow,” said Liz, “and all day long, I just assumed you were here to help out Jonathan.”

“Never mind that,” said Terrence. “Like Reena said, Daniel, we just met you this morning, and Jonathan kept things pretty quiet until we could all get together. But I got to ask you something: You felt the need to become an ethereal human? This situation is that bad?”

“Yes,” nodded Daniel. “It's that bad.”

Jonah shook his head. He had no idea what the day would bring when he woke up that morning. Then again, the morning itself had brought about that damn dream.

“Who is Broreamir again?” he asked.

Daniel looked at Jonathan, who nodded. Then he sighed. “You've encountered him before, Jonah,” he said. “He was the pale, dreadlocked behemoth you saw in that bookstore vision you had back when your essence was still raw.”

Jonah shot up from his seat, horrified. “That guy?”

Daniel nodded.

“But then…the crows in the dream…” Jonah thought that that dream had lost its meaning when he'd gotten past Creyton back then. But now…it couldn't be coincidence that it was revisited right now.

“Jonah,” said Reena suddenly, “you said that the largest crow never landed in that bookstore vision. Was it similar in size to the crow in the dream we all had?”

“No,” muttered Jonah, “the one last night was even larger.”

Terrence made a derisive noise. “And it had to coincide with this cult garbage,” he grunted.

Jonathan closed his eyes. “Jonah, this is why I wanted us all to speak inside here,” he said. “Being that I can't be seen outside at the moment due to Lockman's spies, Daniel will function as the estate's physical bodied representative. If Lockman comes knocking, Daniel will be the one he sees. It is also the reason why so many of our friends aren't here. The ones that remain here, like Daniel said, are either here of their own volition—”

“—or they are too old for their parents to tell them what to do anymore,” added Bobby. We're here for you, Jonathan. We're loyal. That's not to say that our friends who are at their homes are disloyal, just saying we want to be here to help you out against Lockman. And, of course, Creyton.”

Jonathan grinned at Bobby rather shrewdly. “I appreciate that greatly, Bobby,” he said, “but are you absolutely certain that you can do that?”

Bobby snorted. “Of course.”

Jonathan continued to smile. “And Constance acquiesced to your plan when, exactly?”

“Come again?” asked Bobby, while Alvin laughed.

“Right before we left the house today, sir,” said Terrence.

This got a quick laugh out of everyone. Bobby muttered, “Snitch” at Terrence, but he was laughing, too. Jonah was glad to laugh; the levity siphoned off some of the crap out of his consciousness. But his laughter abruptly stopped when he had a stab of memory from the morning.

“Jonathan,” he asked, “why would a Tenth follow the orders of a Deadfallen disciple?”

Jonathan and Daniel looked at each other. “Jonah, Tenth Percenters who do the bidding of Deadfallen disciples are referred to as suuvi,” said Jonathan. “Suuvus is the singular term.”

“Suuvus?” said Malcolm. “But Jonathan, that means slave! Creyton and his disciples have Tenth slaves?”

“It's more akin to indentured servitude that pure slavery,” clarified Jonathan. “Although it is equally as atrocious. The suuvi do things for Creyton, and in return, they lay down their physical lives one day for him to make them minions.”

“But Creyton has no further interest in making minions,” said Jonah. “He's reactivated his disciples!”

“We know that,” muttered Daniel, “but the suuvi don't.”

Reena sat back on the sofa, fingers at her temples. “So India Drew got a suuvus to rile Jonah, and then she left when the fire was lit.”

“Not only that,” said Daniel. “She murdered the man about an hour later.”

Jonah flinched. “What? Why?”

“Loose end, Jonah,” said Jonathan. “What if the Networkers got a hold of him? He'd have caved in an instant.”

“Damn,” said Jonah. “I almost feel sorry for that bum. But that's aplenty for this evening. I'm calling it a night.”

“One more thing, Jonah.” Jonathan had a rather inscrutable look in his eyes. “In three days' time, I must escort you to an audience with the Phasmastis Curaie.”

Terence and Reena looked at Jonathan, just as confused as Jonah was. He looked at his mentor like he'd sprouted gills.

“Why do I have to see the Spectral High Court?” he wanted to know. “I haven't done anything!”

“Of course you haven't,” said Jonathan rather impatiently. “It's not a trial; you'll only be meeting the Five.”

Jonah blinked, clueless.

“Oh, my apologies,” said Jonathan. “The Five Spirit Guides who created the Phasmastis Curaie. There are thirteen, of course, but you will meet with the original Five.”

“Oh, okay.” Jonah tried very hard to fight the sarcasm and impatience in his voice. “Once again, may I ask why?”

“They've tired of the second and third party information they've been receiving about the occurrences on the night of Thaine's return, I'd wager,” said Jonathan. “They desire to hear things from you directly.”

Jonah had the distinct feeling that Jonathan was holding something back. But he decided not to pry at the moment. “Why now?” he asked instead.

“You've recently turned twenty-six,” began Jonathan. “You've only been that age for about a month and a couple weeks. One's spiritual and ethereal composition is always at its sharpest near the time of their spirit's sojourn into physical life. They chose this time period by design, as you will remember more details. I don't think that they would have had a problem though. You're the Blue Aura, after all. Your retention can be very profound.”

Jonah didn't feel pride from that praise. If anything, he felt more isolation. He had to meet with the Curaie. It felt like…he couldn't say. When Terrence had explained to him who they were a few years ago, Jonah had simply viewed them the way an average citizen viewed a celebrity; he knew they were in the world somewhere, but he probably wouldn't ever lay eyes on them. Now he had to see them, recount a tale that he didn't want to revisit, and deal with whatever thing that Jonathan wasn't telling him.

He hoped that he wasn't supposed to be thrilled.

“Look at the time,” said Jonathan. “Get you rest, everyone. Peace and blessings.”

He vanished, and Daniel returned his focus to whetting the ethereal steel tips of his arrows. People dispersed in a very drowsy fashion, and Jonah, Terrence, and Reena ascended the steps together.

“That Daniel guy makes me nervous,” said Terrence once they were out of earshot. “He just sat so still. He was so quiet most of the time. Like a crazy beast that'd been medicated or something.”

Reena sighed. “Terrence, the man has been human for literally a day,” she said. “Cut him some slack. Besides, what he's done—what he's sacrificed—noble is an understatement. It takes more guts than I have.”

“Me, too,” said Jonah. “I can't believe that that dreadlocked freak from my dream is his brother.”

“I can't believe he embraced humanity to join Creyton,” said Terrence. “But it messes with your head; if he's willing to give up a Guidanceship to be a Deadfallen disciple—Creyton's new plans must be sick.”

“Time for a subject change.” Jonah had had enough dark ethereality talk for a day. “I want to ask after some people. Doug?”

Terrence snorted. “Doug had to go to Asheville with his grandmother. They're visiting Silas, her youngest son. The one that's only like ten minutes older than Doug, remember?”

“The one with the little brat that Doug's grandmother favors over him and all her other grandkids?” asked Jonah.

“Yep,” said Terrence. “I told him to take a lot of pictures.”

“Trip?”

“Gig with his band in Charlotte,” said Reena.

“And Vera?” asked Jonah.

Something flashed across Reena's face. “In her room,” she said. “But she's probably really tired. She had a long day.”

“Did she road-trip for a play, or something?” asked Jonah.

“Nah, man,” said Terrence cautiously. “She's been—cleaning.”

“What is up with all the esoteric around here?” Jonah felt that impatience stir in him once more. “She was cleaning what?”

“Cleaning up 810 Colerain Place,” answered Reena.

Jonah looked at them, stunned. “Why?”

“I guess—in the event that things got too hot here at the estate,” said Reena. “But Jonah, let her rest. Don't bombard her with questions tonight.”

“'Specially after the day you've had yourself,” added Terrence.

“Of course not,” said Jonah blankly. “I'm just going to bed. See you in the morning.”

Terrence nodded, and walked away. Reena shot Jonah a doubtful look, and then left as well. When they were gone, Jonah headed straight for Vera's room.

Cleaning in the event things got too hot here at the estate…Jonah didn't buy that dreck for a second. Vera inherited that house and hated everything about it. It had been the site of a horrible fight with her crazy older sister that had left her with scars, physical and otherwise. Creyton, in disguise, had even tried to kidnap her there. And even before she'd discovered that she was an Eleventh Percenter, she'd only stayed there out of convenience, because she was a waitress and struggling stage actress.

And he was supposed to believe that she would voluntarily go back?

He reached her door, which was ajar. And her light was on. Good.

He knocked? “Vera?”

No answer.

“I swear,” murmured Jonah to himself, “if she's got that damn yoga CD on again—”

He pushed the door open. Vera had fallen asleep in a position that showed that she had been reading beforehand. Jonah moved forward, smiling when he saw the book. It was an encyclopedia of female playwrights, his present to her the previous Christmas.

He shook his head at her awkward angle, and wondered how comfortable she was in her tank top and yoga pants. Her right arm hung limply off the bed. That was going to ache her something fierce when she woke.

Jonah took the book out of her hands and placed it on the nightstand. Then he gingerly lifted her hanging arm to her chest and covered her with her blanket.

“On second thought,” he murmured to her slumbering form, “we'll talk tomorrow.”