“Of course, of course,” the Tutor said, standing aside and motioning for his student to enter. “How delightful. I was just preparing tea. May I offer you some Earl Grey?”
“No. Thank you, though.”
It was odd to hear the Tutor speak to him in such a casual way. He was always so dull and severe in tutoring sessions. It had never occurred to Alex that there might be something more to the man behind the stodgy beard and thick rectangular glasses.
“Straight to business, then,” the Tutor said. “What are you looking into? You seemed to be quite taken by the lessons of Aristotle we covered this week. I’ve just finished reading a brilliant analysis of his theories on causality that you might be interested in seeing. . . .”
Before Alex could respond, the man was already scooting papers around his desk, looking for the book.
“Actually, I’m looking for something more . . . geographical. I was wondering if you had any maps of Victory Park laying around that I might look at. With everything going on . . .”
The Tutor looked up at Alex with such a stern expression that the boy forgot completely where he had intended his sentence to go. A moment of silence passed between them.
“Lying,” the man finally said.
Alex was sure that he had gone white.
“What? No, I’m—”
“The maps would be lying around, young Knight. It’s an intransitive verb.”
“Oh,” Alex exhaled with a sigh. “Yes, of course.”
“I wondered how long it would be before one of you came wanting to know more about Victory Park,” the Tutor said, speaking solemnly. “Your generation is far less concerned with its own history than your parents’. Why, your mother read every scrap of paper, every hastily jotted note about the Society’s history that she could get her hands on. It is no surprise to me that her son is the one who has taken an interest in that battle, what with your family being so central to it.”
“Yes, my mother has told me many times that it was my grandfather who led the charge against the Rangers.”
“He was a brilliant man. It was a tragedy that we lost him that day, especially since he had been so against the battle in the beginning.”
“He was?” Alex asked.
“Oh, yes. He and some of the other elders of the High Council at the time did not completely agree with the direction that the younger members were taking the Society. They felt there was no need to make such a public gesture or seek to dominate the Rangers of Justice. They were quite happy with the way things were. When they discovered that your mother and the others had commissioned the Umbra Gun, the council was furious. I suppose that old men and women like me are somewhat resistant to change, though.”
“What was it that changed their minds?” Alex asked.
“I can’t say for sure. In the end, your mother always did have a way of getting people on her side,” the Tutor said. He shook his head. “Now, I have a file on the Victory Park incident here somewhere. If you’ll excuse me for a moment.”
“Uh, thank you,” Alex said. He had only wanted a map—a current map, not one a decade old—but perhaps an entire file on the park would be useful. And he had to admit that his interest was piqued.
Alex walked around the room, letting his fingers graze the spines of the books stacked everywhere. He moved around the side of the man’s desk, which was completely covered in notes and reading materials (though unlike Gage’s workshop, everything here was set up in an organized fashion), and picked up a tall bronze eagle that the Tutor was using as a paperweight.
“That’s a finial,” the Tutor said, returning. “French. Two hundred years old. It once topped a Napoleonic flag. It was a gift from your mother. I believe she picked it up the same time she procured the Rembrandt in Gage’s workshop.”
Alex turned. The Tutor was holding a black leather box with the words STERLING CITY PARK INCIDENT written on a card stuck to one side. The man carefully set the box down on his desk in front of Alex.
“Ah, sir,” Alex said, “that says ‘Sterling City Park’ on it.”
“Well, of course,” the man said. “The park was renamed after the battle. It was almost ‘Memorial Park,’ but the city went with something more positive in the end. Take it. You’ll find maps in there, along with newspaper clippings and a few of my own notes, recorded for posterity. I beg you, please use the utmost care when handling these materials.”
“Thank you, sir,” Alex said, turning to leave.
“No, thank you, young Knight,” the old man said. “It does my heart good to see you take initiative.”
Alex excused himself from the library, thanking the Tutor once again for his help, and hurried to his room. He rustled through the box, found a map, and studied it for a while, refamiliarizing himself with the paths. Just after ten o’clock, he changed into his formal training gear—ready to blend into the night—and pocketed the Blackout Bomb he had left over from his previous trip to the park. He put his ear to the door and, hearing no footsteps, set out.
Alex was able to get to Centennial Fountain with little trouble, jogging at a slow pace, fighting his instinct to sprint the entire way there. Finally he was at the clearing, where he half expected Kirbie to be standing. A few birds lounged about on the fountain’s edges, but they were all pigeons—no oversized golden falcons in sight.
Alex sat in front of the fountain, waiting, but quickly grew anxious. The longer he waited for Kirbie, the more time he was away from the base. He began to panic, wondering if he’d left too early in the evening, or if one of the Betas had noticed that he wasn’t in his room. After fifteen minutes he took the Blackout Bomb from his pocket and held it out, studying it. He had to do something to get Kirbie’s attention. If she hadn’t figured out he was in the park already, surely she’d notice if the light of Centennial Fountain went out. A click, and the glowing light of the Gordian knot was gone, along with the sound of water cascading out of the bronze sculpture. He stood still, eyes to the sky, listening for the beating of wings or the crunch of footsteps on gravel.
He was so focused on watching for Kirbie that he didn’t see the creeping movement of tendrils slithering toward his legs from the shadows behind him. It wasn’t until they were coiled around his ankles that he noticed them at all, and before he could react, the dark cords were winding up his legs.
“No!” he breathed before they pulled his feet out from under him, dragging him into the bushes.
The memory of Lone Star held on the ground by Phantom’s shadow energy flashed in his mind, and he expected to be sucked into the Gloom and back to the underground base to face the punishment of the High Council. But instead he found himself hanging upside down several feet off the ground. His palm felt normal, meaning that it wasn’t Phantom’s power that had dragged him away from the clearing. Bending up, he grabbed at whatever was keeping him suspended in the air. Alex could just barely make out the silhouette of wide, flat leaves. He had been attacked by sentient vines.
There was a rustling in the bushes to his left, and out of the darkness walked a figure with blond hair and soft features, wearing a Junior Rangers uniform. Kyle. Thorn. Kirbie’s brother.
“Oh, it’s you,” Alex said gratefully, as if Kyle were an old friend.
“What are you doing here?” the boy asked, his tone accusatory.
“Nothing,” Alex assured him. “It’s fine. This is just a misunderstanding.”
“I recognize you,” Kyle said, his voice hard, but threatening to tremble. “You’re one of the Cloak Society.”
“I don’t want to hurt you,” Alex said, trying not to sound at all threatening. “I’m not here for anything bad.”
“My name is Thorn, junior member of the Rangers of Justice. It is my sworn duty to protect the citizens of Sterling City. Now, what are you doing here?”
“Look, it’s not what you think,” Alex said. “Your sister—”
“Kirbie?” Kyle asked, his voice suddenly frantic. The vines tightened around Alex
’s ankles, causing him to wince in pain. “What have you done to her?”
“I haven’t done anythi—”
“Where is she? If you’ve hurt her . . .”
“No! She’s . . . ,” Alex started, but he wasn’t sure where to go from there. He didn’t want to get Kirbie in trouble.
There were footsteps, heavy and fast, somewhere behind Alex. He twisted around, swinging, but could see only blackness in the trees. Someone was headed straight for him, and Alex tried his best to focus, preparing for the worst.
Kirbie stepped forward. She stopped short upon noticing that Alex was upside down, dangling from a tree branch.
“Alex!” she said, alarmed.
“Kirbie?” Kyle asked, his confusion warranted.
“Kyle?” She noticed her brother for the first time.
“Alex?” Kyle asked, the word beginning as a question but leaning dangerously toward an accusation by the time his mouth closed on the X.
“Kirbie,” Alex said, relieved. “I mean, hi. Would you please tell your brother that I’m not doing anything wrong?”
“Wait . . . Kirbie, you know this guy?” Kyle asked.
“Kyle, just . . . just let him down so we can talk,” Kirbie said.
“He did something to the fountain,” Kyle stammered. “I haven’t had a chance to check out the rest of this area, but it wouldn’t surprise me if there were more of them—”
“No, it’s okay,” Kirbie interrupted. “I was just in wolf form, and the two of you were the only scents I picked up. Besides, I know why he’s here.”
“What?” the boy asked. “What are you talking about? You’re not . . . consorting with him or anything. . . .”
“If you’ll put him down, I’ll—”
“We just fought him,” Kyle said, thrusting an angry finger toward the suspended Cloak member.
“Uh,” Alex butted in. “I’m feeling really dizzy.”
“Kyle,” Kirbie said, sternly now. “Put him down.”
Kyle looked back and forth between Alex and his sister. He grimaced, and the coils around Alex’s ankles went slack, dropping him to the ground with a thud. The Beta was up on his feet far too quickly for someone who had been upended for several minutes. He suddenly felt light-headed and began to sway. He took a few steps forward, reaching out for a tree to lean on, but instead fell straight back down toward the ground. He would have landed there, too, if it had not been for Kirbie swooping in and catching him.
“Are you okay?” Kirbie asked, her arms wrapped around his chest, helping him to his feet.
“Yeah,” Alex said. “Sorry. I just need a minute to recover.” The concern in her voice was so genuine that it caused him to smile. Realizing that he was still half cradled in Kirbie’s arms, he jumped back and leaned against a nearby tree.
“Explain,” Kyle said, a finger again pointed at Alex, eyes boring into Kirbie.
“Alex is—”
“Our enemy,” Kyle said, cutting her off.
“He’s thinking about defecting from the Cloak Society,” Kirbie continued. “And we’re Rangers. It’s our duty to help those in need.”
She cast a sympathetic glance toward Alex.
“He’s a lot like us,” she said. “He just needs someone to talk to.”
“It’s a trap,” Kyle said.
“No,” Kirbie countered quickly. “I believe him.”
“What are you thinking, Kirbs?” her brother asked after a pause.
“Just trust me, Kyle. Okay? Please.”
Kyle looked at Alex with marked disdain, and then back at his sister, staring intently at her. Her face was insistent, but gentle.
“Okay,” Kyle finally relented. “Fine. But I will be right here. Ready to do anything.” He turned to Alex. “You got that?”
“Yes.” Alex nodded. “Loud and clear.”
“Thanks, Kyle,” Kirbie said.
Kyle nodded and, after giving Alex one more hard look, stepped deeper into the wooded area of the park. The trees and bushes leaned away from him as he walked, closing up again as he passed through, until he was no longer visible among the plants.
“Hi,” Alex said, picking leaves from his hair.
“Hey,” Kirbie replied. “Are you feeling better now?”
“Yeah. I just needed a second.”
“Good,” she said, turning back toward the fountain. “I’m glad you came. Want to go for a walk?”
Alex followed, trailing behind her as she walked through the clearing and onto one of the trails.
“What did you do to the fountain?” she asked. “I saw the light go out.”
“Nothing permanent,” Alex said. “It was just a little trick with the electricity.”
“Well, it’s probably not a good idea to do that. It attracts unwanted attention.”
“I’m sorry,” Alex said. “I didn’t realize anyone else would be out watching the park.”
“Kyle wanted to help out tonight, and I couldn’t convince him to stay behind,” Kirbie said. “Don’t mind him. He’s just overprotective of me. He’s probably the nicest person I’ve ever met.”
“I guess I’ll take your word for it,” Alex said. “He’s good with vines, at least.”
“He’s a pretty good fighter in the park where he’s in his element,” Kirbie said. “In the city, he’s much less of a threat. I’m just thankful the grounds of Justice Tower are practically a garden. I think it makes him feel more comfortable. At home.”
They continued on the path, walking side by side. Alex didn’t know where they were going, but he didn’t much care. The night was cool and still.
“So,” she said. “Do you own anything that’s not black, or is that just how supervillains always dress?”
“Oh,” he said, looking down at his dark clothes. “I’m sure I have something colorful somewhere in my closet. . . .”
“Relax, I was just kidding.”
“You’re one to talk,” Alex said. “Is that . . . spandex?”
“No,” she said, pretending to be offended. “Well, sort of. It’s an extra-strong material that stretches and contracts when I transform. Trust me, it’s a lifesaver.”
“So can you change into any animal?”
“No,” she said. “Not yet. The wolf just comes naturally. I’ve been doing that for years. The bird is newer. It just . . . happened. Lone Star thinks that one day I might be able to morph into anything, but that’s really just a guess.”
“That’s incredible,” Alex said. “If I were you, I’d probably never walk around looking like a normal person.”
He imagined how intimidating the Beta Team would be with a hulking she-wolf standing beside them. Kirbie had gotten into the wrong line of work.
“A werewolf running around in Victory Park sounds like something out of a horror movie. Besides, I don’t like to turn into that unless I have to. I don’t like scaring people.”
They neared a large clearing Alex had never been in before. Squinting, he could make out people silhouetted in the distance. He feared that they were walking into a trap and his muscles tightened, but once they were closer, Alex saw that the figures were lifeless, cast in a shiny silver metal that seemed to glow, despite the dull moonlight. Kirbie had led him to some sort of sculpture garden.
As they entered the clearing, Alex stared up at the men and women standing on granite pedestals, towering over him. They were locked in triumphant poses, arms raised to the sky or hands resting on their hips. They wore capes and tall boots with emblems on their chests. He counted nine of them, spaced throughout the open garden.
“Oh, wow,” Alex said, humbled. “This place is amazing.”
“Yeah, I know. It’s packed with tourists during the day. But at night, it’s the most peaceful place I know.”
Suddenly it dawned on Alex where they were and who the statues around him represented. An engraved slab of black granite resting in a grassy crater confirmed his suspicions: IN MEMORY OF THOSE HEROES WHO FELL SO THAT WE MIGHT STAND. Thi
s was the site of the battle between the Cloak Society and the Rangers of Justice. He was surrounded by the people his parents had banished to the Gloom.
“No wonder the council never brought us to the park,” he muttered to himself.
“What happened here changed everything,” Kirbie said. “Not just for the Rangers. Not even for Sterling City. It changed the world. People across the globe had looked up to the Rangers. They idolized them. Nobody expected that in a matter of moments most of them would be gone. It certainly changed Lone Star, killing all those Cloak members at once. People remember it now as a victory on our part, a triumph for Sterling City. But back then . . . Killing goes against everything the Rangers stand for. Lone Star carries that guilt with him every day.”
Kirbie pointed to two statues on the opposite side of the clearing sharing the same base. A man held a triumphant sword into the sky, while a female held a single palm outstretched in front of her.
“Those are Amp’s parents. His father, the Guardian, led the Rangers. It’s been tough for him. He’s still angry about what happened. You can’t really hold that against him, though.”
“No, I guess not,” Alex said quietly. He was beginning to feel the actions of the older generations of Cloak weighing down heavily on his own shoulders, and he was no longer reveling in the idea of his family rushing into battle.
“Can I ask you something?” he said. Kirbie nodded. “Were your parents there too? Is that why you’re with the Rangers?”
Kirbie sat down on a park bench, cross-legged. When she spoke, she didn’t look at him.
“No. I was never meant to be a Ranger. When my powers kicked in, I was an eight-year-old in a small town in west Texas. I was a normal girl one moment, and the next I was some kind of monster. No one knew what to do. My parents couldn’t take me anywhere. Who would they even take me to? Kyle’s powers came around the same time, but they were different. They were invisible. They could be ignored. My parents just got rid of all the houseplants and killed our lawn. But they were scared of me. They were fighting all the time over what to do with us, trying to figure out what had caused this and whose fault it was. They never figured out why it was happening. Eventually the way they looked at us—at me—changed.