Pittacus Lore - The Fall of Five

“Exactly,” Six replies, and then starts to get into the backseat. She hesitates, thinking something over for a moment, and then suddenly hugs me again. “Okay. One more.”

I hold Six close as my dad starts the car. His face is lit up by the car’s instrument panel and even though he’s pretending not to, I can tell he’s watching us. If I had my way, I’d never let her go—we’d keep right on hugging until the local cops came to arrest us.

Six breaks away from me, looking into my eyes. I try to keep my expression cool and collected, but that’s probably not working.

“For the record,” she says, “I never thought you were Setrákus Ra. I knew you right away.”

“Thanks,” I reply lamely, scrambling for something better to say, like how I missed her or how amazing it is to see her now. Before I can come up with anything, Six has gotten into the backseat.

She’s just buckling her seat belt when Five clears his throat. “Uh,” he says. “What was that stone thing you threw at me?”

We all turn to stare at him. “The Xitharis stone, you mean?” Six asks.

“Yeah,” Five says. “That. I kind of, uh, dropped it.”

“Wow, Johnny. I send you out for reinforcements and you come back with an old man, a nerd and this little hobbit guy. Great job.”

Nine is there to sarcastically greet our group as soon as we enter the foyer of his ridiculous Chicago penthouse. So, my first impression of him during our brief meeting in West Virginia wasn’t off after all. He really is a douche bag.

We’re back later than anyone thought we would be. We searched for the Xitharis stone, but it was gone and we couldn’t stick around any longer than necessary. And while no one seems very happy about it, it’s like they’re trying not to blame Five for losing it. For now, at least.

After it was clear it was gone, after Five had apologized for the hundredth time, Six just tossed her hair and shrugged. “It’s a rock,” she said, sounding like she was trying to convince herself. “A powerful rock, but we’re pretty powerful on our own.”

Still, it’s clear that it hasn’t endeared Five to anyone. Especially Nine.

“Be nice,” Sarah warns him. Clearly the others have gotten used to his not-so-witty banter. By the way he and John slap hands in greeting, I’d say they’ve even become friends. Five, though, seems wounded. Next to me, he subtly tries to suck in his belly. “Hobbit guy,” he repeats, under his breath.

“It’s from a book,” I start to explain, but he cuts me off.

“I get the reference,” Five says. “It isn’t very nice.”

“That’s Nine,” says John, overhearing. “He’ll grow on you. Or, well, you’ll get used to him.”

Five gives me a deadpan look like he doubts it and I can’t help smiling in return. I think we’re both feeling a bit like outsiders in this penthouse. Six tried to catch me up the best she could on the ride back, but there are a lot of new faces and stories here in Chicago, not to mention the most surreal hideout in history. I still can’t believe the Garde are living in a place like this. It’s the kind of lavish pad they used to tour on that MTV show, the one about rich celebrities and their jealousy-inducing lifestyles. How Nine and his Cêpan managed to put together a place like this and keep it off the Mogadorian radar to boot is pretty impressive.

John introduces everyone to Nine, who has stopped cracking lame jokes long enough to meet Five and my dad.

“And you remember Sam, right?” John finishes.

“Obviously,” Nine says, striding forward to shake my hand. His grip is rough and he towers over me so that I have to crane my neck up. He lowers his voice, not wanting the others to hear. “Seriously, bro, sorry about leaving you in the cave. That was sort of my fault.”

“It’s cool,” I reply, a bit taken aback by the apology.

Nine turns my hand over before letting me go, noticing the fresh pink scars on my wrists. “So they put you through it, huh?” he asks solemnly. By his tone it’s like he’s just realizing we have something in common. I guess I’ve joined the secret fraternity of Mogadorian torture victims.

I don’t know what to say. I just nod my head.

“You made it out,” Nine says, patting me hard on the shoulder. “Good for you, bro.”

John starts to lead us by Nine, who’s basically been standing right in our way. He sort of reminds me of one of those big dogs that jump all over visitors as soon as they come in the door. When he finally steps aside, I notice the three other Garde that Six told us about—Seven, Eight and the younger Ten. They’re waiting where the living room starts, a little more patient than Nine, at least letting us get inside.

“If you’re wondering what the horrible smell is, it’s the vegetarian food Marina’s cooking for dinner,” says Nine.

“Hey,” the dark-haired Seven—Marina—replies good-naturedly. “It’ll be good, I promise.”

“Dinner,” Nine snorts, “whatever. Who cares? We’ve got the whole team together! They’re pudgier and dorkier than expected, but I’m cool with it. Let’s go blow some shit up.”

“You need to calm down, dude. We’ve been driving for like twelve hours,” Six tells Nine, shoving a bag of equipment into his chest. “Here. Make yourself useful.”

Sarah quickly follows suit, tossing her bag to Nine. Before long, he’s shouldering pretty much all the stuff we carried up from the cars.

“Fine, I’ll put this stuff away,” Nine says as he agreeably lumbers off to put away our gear. “But then we’re gonna at least talk about kicking some ass.”

I notice Five staring down Nine as he leaves the room. Then, he turns to John.

“We’re not really going to fight again right away, are we?”

John shakes his head. “Nine’s just excited. Getting together was a huge first step. Now we need to figure out what to do next.”

“I see,” says Five, gazing down at his hands. “I guess I’ve never viewed violence as something to get excited about.”

“We’re not all like Nine,” Marina says apologetically as she steps forward. She greets us warmly, even pulling Five into a hug, which I think both surprises him and loosens him up a bit. She definitely puts me more at ease after Nine’s brusque display.

Eight introduces himself next. I get a real easygoing vibe from him, a nice change of pace from the alpha-male routine Nine pulled as soon as we showed up. Still, I can tell he’s just as excited as Nine was, he’s just more tactful.

“I’ve got so many questions for you. All of you,” Eight says. “Five, I’m dying to know where you’ve been, to hear about everything that’s happened to you.”

“Uh,” grunts Five. “Okay.”

“I’m sure you’ve overcome a lot to be here,” Eight continues encouragingly.

“The grunting is all John and I could get out of him in the car,” Sarah whispers to me.

I can understand feeling a bit overwhelmed in this situation; you meet the last living remnants of your people for the first time and it turns out they’ve already been hanging out a bunch. In a way, it’s nice to have Five with me, even though we’re not talking much either; it’s good to have someone equally awkward along in these social situations.

“You were living in Jamaica before, right?” Eight asks Five.

“That’s right,” Five replies. “For a little while, anyway.”

Eight looks like he’s expecting Five to elaborate. When he doesn’t, John jumps in.

“It was a long ride back and I think everyone is a little tired. Maybe we can share stories at dinner,” John suggests.

Eight nods and doesn’t press Five for any more details. I get that John is trying to handle Five with kid gloves, letting him acclimate to the others at his own speed. I am a little surprised Five isn’t asking more questions about the others, but part of that seems to be a reluctance to answer any questions about his own past. Judging by the fact that he showed up without a Cêpan or a Chest, I’m sure it’s the kind of grim backstory all these Garde have.