“Actually, I should probably get to bed. It’s late and I’m supposed to meet Alex in the morning.”
“Where are you two going?”
“I don’t know; I’m meeting him in the rotunda at the end of the main hall.”
“The Inner Chamber!” She bounced off the bed wringing her hands together in excitement, “He’s taking you to the Inner Chamber! Oh, just wait till you see it, it’s amazing!”
“The what?” I asked, pulling on my shoes.
“They call it the Inner Chamber, it’s where the Order meets and where they store all the artifacts, and books, and of course, the Iris.”
“What’s that?”
“Alex will tell you all about it,” she said, shooing me out of the room, “Now go get some sleep!”
“OK, see you tomorrow,” I laughed.
“Have fun!” she called after me.
I waved over my shoulder before turning down the hall to my room, wondering what this chamber had that could possibly be so great. I had no idea, but whatever it was, if a girl who could literally see the future thought it was awesome, I figured it must be pretty cool.
10
The next morning, I had made it all the way down to the main entryway – without getting lost, I might add – on my way to meet Alex, when I heard someone calling my name.
“Becca, lass!”
I looked over toward the lounge area adjacent to the main foyer, to find Mr Anderson waving to me.
“We don’t need a second opinion! You lost, take it like a man!” a second voice chided.
“We need a second opinion because you’re a rotten cheat, and I don’t trust you far as I can throw you!”
I entered the lounge area, where Mr Anderson and the bald-headed man from the office eavesdropping incident yesterday were standing side by side in the corner of the room, looking down and pointing at the floor.
“Here now, lass,” Mr Anderson said seeing me. “Come over here, and tell us which is closer.”
I stepped up to see what they were hovering over, to find several square-shaped folded pieces of paper scattered across the floor. Two of which seemed to be almost exactly the same distance away from a small red dot taped to the floor.
“Bocci?” I asked, remembering a similar game we played in gym.
“In Italy it’s bocci, in Ireland it’s bowls,” the bald man said, extending his hand toward me. “Duncan Reid, Miss Ingle, it’s a pleasure.”
“Becca, please,” I said, shaking his hand. He had large hands though he was very skinny, and had a slight accent that I couldn’t quite place.
“Now,” he said, mockingly apologetic, “if you could do us a favor and put this poor, blind fool out of his misery and inform him that he’s lost–”
“No you don’t!” Mr Anderson yelled, pushing Mr Reid away from me. “She’ll do it on her own, with no help from the likes of a cheat!”
“I am not a cheat! You are a sore loser, sir!”
“Well,” I mused, looking it over, “the corner of the one on the right is a tiny bit closer.”
“Ha ha!” Mr Reid laughed, clearly the owner of the right square.
“That’s because you moved it!” Mr Anderson insisted.
“You want to see me move it,” Mr Reid said, exacerbated. “I’ll move it!”
At that moment all the paper squares came flying up off the floor and straight into Mr Anderson’s face like a flock of attacking seagulls. They then started to hover around him, slapping him in the face, poking him on the nose, ruffling at his hair. I gave a yelp, and looked up to Mr Reid, expecting him to go to his friend’s aid, but he simply stood there watching and chuckling, looking vastly amused.
Then it dawned on me. “Are you doing that?” I asked, as Mr Anderson began swatting at the flying papers as he would a swarm of bees, cursing under his breath.
Mr Reid nodded. “It’s what I do. Did no one tell you? I’m a Kinetic, I can move objects without touching them.”
“Oh, so that’s why he thinks you cheated?” I asked, watching the assault on Mr Anderson, with wonder. “Can you move anything, or does it have to be something light?”
“Anything,” he said. “Here, have a seat.”
No sooner had he finished the sentence than a large upholstered armchair slid across the room, stopping just behind me.
“You’re not worried he’ll retaliate?” I asked, taking a seat while trying not to laugh at Mr Anderson, who was becoming winded.
“Him? No, he’s good as useless,” said Mr Reid clearly enjoying the show. “He’s an Imparter. All he can