"So you know the boy who chased me out?" Achmed asked me while we were doing dishes. Mom had assigned me to them, because she loved making my life miserable. Achmed had sneaked into the kitchen to help me, mainly because Mom had turned him down. I wondered what reason Achmed might have for wanting to help me – he'd never volunteered for chores before – but I was grateful for the assistance.
I'd just mentioned the reason for my reaction to Achmed's description of his unlikely savior – sort of. I'd only gotten to the part of him being an acquaintance of mine. Given that what happened to him was a threat VLADJI dealt with in resolving, I figured my brother needed to know the truth. And hey, now was certainly as good a time as any.
Pop had taken Knuckles into the parlor to discuss a matter. I didn't know what, but Pop had given me a look and said, "a little business matter," when I asked. I guessed Pop had taken a shine to Knuckles when he walked in and was wanting to hire him. It would not have surprised me. Knuckles' strength was pretty in demand – there's always a need for someone to lift heavy machinery. (And no, I was not going through that again.) Besides, if the place caught on fire, he'd be quite handy to have around. At least to rescue people from it, anyway. And I knew Knuckles was too sensible to set the place on fire on purpose.
"Yes," I said. "He's a friend of mine." I decided to go with friend, even though Amos was a pain and it was quite generous – assuming it was, in fact, Amos we were talking about.
"Hold on." Achmed quickly set one of the dishes he'd dried in the cupboard. Perhaps he'd sensed I was about to discuss something major and he didn't want to drop it. We had enough broken dishes as it was. "He's your friend? And what about Knuckles?"
I shook my head incredulously and grabbed a cup. One dozen more and I'd be done. "What do you mean?"
I wasn't kidding. Achmed could have meant that several ways: Is he a friend, too? Or how do you know him? Or What is his thing with you? But Achmed went for a tack that was a horse of a different color.
"There's something about him… he's like, different. Not the Rock or John Cena different, but –"
I shook my head again. "Just how many boxing matches have you been watching?"
"Three this week. But don't tell Pop."
"Understood, Squirt." I began scrubbing the inside of the plastic cup. I imagined it was Mom, and I was scrubbing the dirt off her hollow heart.
"Something's weird about him, though. I know, he doesn't even look human at all, but… is he a messenger?"
I laughed. "What?"
"A messenger? From Allah?"
Oh, boy. Here goes, I thought. "Promise not to react?" I said. "Not to freak out, not to call me crazy?"
"Why do you say that?"
"Just promise."
Achmed nodded. "Promise."
I rinsed off the cup in the other sink and set it in the dish drainer.
"You mean… is he an alien?"
That cracked me up even more than the previous suggestion. "Not necessarily. He's actually… he's an avatar."
Achmed glanced at me blankly. "What's an avatar? Is it like John Cena's clone?"
"Achmed, Achmed, you're going to send me into a fit with all that. More like a superpowered, sentient being all his own. He's created from tech and magic –"
Achmed frowned. "How is that possible?"
"You probably shouldn't ask," I replied. "But it gives him some advantages – he's stronger and faster and tougher than most humans. In fact, I think he'd cream the Rock in a fight. He kind of has to be, though."
"Why do you say that?"
I frowned. Boy, was this going to be a thorny explanation. "You know the quote from Spider-Man? Uncle Ben's words? With great power comes –"
"– great responsibility, yeah. What's it got to do with it?"
I grabbed another dish, keeping my eye on it as I washed. The last thing I wanted was to break the ceramic in the sink. I already had scars on my hands from the last few times. "Well, Knuckles and the avatars –"
"There's more of those guys?" Achmed said in excitement.
"Whoa, calm down, Achmed. Remember, you're not supposed to be in here, but I'm letting you. They have to defend the world from monsters that attack them. Monsters that hide under the bed and scare you witless –" Achmed giggled at the words. "And –" I hesitated, because the next part of it led straight into another thorny topic – the very topic I'd been wanting to tell Achmed about.
"And?" Achmed pressed.
I took a deep breath and placed the plate in the drainer, having already rinsed it. "Well, they're defending weaker beings. They can't attack us humans themselves – can't even lay a finger on them. It would be a disgrace."
Look at you, said a voice in my head. Talking about disgrace. Aren't you one?
Shut up, me, I thought.
"Thing is," I continued, "well, there isn't much discipline in humans these days. We've gotten soft on morality. You saw the thing with the –" I sighed – "drag story hour. They're exposing kids to things they shouldn't be knowing."
"So, what? Was the boy who led me away the exception? Was your… friend?"
"One of 'em, yeah." Alright, it's really on, I decided.
Achmed considered. "Well, he was nice about it, at least."
"Not everyone else is, though," I responded. "And that's part of the problem."
Achmed looked up at me. "You mean, a big bad brawl like John Cena and the Rock? And it won't be just a gag?"
Goodness, he could piece things together even better than DJ sometimes. I remembered the vision the Vortex had shown me – furries, leashed up to avadarks, leading a woman away. I got the suspicion it wasn't over. "Worse than that. But rest assured – me, the boy, the others –"
"Others? You've got other friends in this?"
I glanced around to check and make sure my parents weren't listening before lowering my voice. "These others… well…"
I told him about DJ, Vinny Lee, and Amos, and my run in with the Doctor-who-was-actually-the-Vortex. I explained about our calling to become the "light of reason" to our city.
"So, you've been hanging around people outside your belief set –" Achmed shrugged. "I don't mind. But our parents –"
"Pretty sure they can make an exception for Allah's calling," I responded. That was partially true – I had been called by the Vortex, whom I'd never really considered a god (because reasons), just a ridiculously powerful being. "Although if I said that, they'd just think I was crazy."
"Pretty sure they would," Knuckles said, having entered the kitchen.
"How'd it go with Pop?" I pressed.
"Fine. He had me lifting the cargo boxes. It took a couple of minutes, but he was impressed. Wanted to hire me for stocking."
"Whew. Glad someone else is doing it." That had been one of my tasks before Mom's near arrest. I was still feeling the weight of those heavy wooden boxes even two years after that. "Anything else?"
"He wanted to know how you were doing with me. When I told him about how I helped you get control of your strength –"
"You mentioned it?" I had to really try not to punch Knuckles in the face, as, with his form of invulnerability, I'd just break my own fist. I like having my weapons in working order. Besides, I hadn't finished the dishes just yet.
"He asked! I figured he deserved to know."
Pop came into the room. Achmed quickly pretended to be looking for an action figure.
"You will keep my daughter out of trouble, right?" he said to Knuckles.
"Oh, he'll get me out of it," I said, setting the last dish in the drainer. "But if you're implying that I look for trouble, I'll have you know I don't. It always finds me."
