“Well Son, I suppose ye’re familiar wit the old adage the Lord works in mysterious ways?”

“But I need more than that father. I don’ understand what kind of mysterious ways he meant in takin’ my family from me. They weren’ hurting no one, but, but them being gone, it hurts me so much. What kind of a God would wan’ ta do something like that to me?”

“Now Son, God knows what you need sometimes even when ye can’t see the reason in his ways. It’s not for us to question.”

“So God wants me ta suffer? But you people were always sayin’ God loved me.”

“He does my child. God loves everyone-“

“But he killed my family! He can’t love me and let them die!”

“Now Son, God didn’t kill your family. It was the hand of a man that did the killin’. And that man was a sinner and will suffer for his wicked ways-“

“I don’t care about that! If God can send down plagues and make his Son rise from the dead and bring on a flood to kill the world then why couldn’t he protect my parents and my wee sister from one fuckin’ burglar? He could, that’s the answer, and he didn’t and I just don’t understand why!”

“Now there child, I know you’re hurtin’. An’ ye’ll work through this in time. It’s best if you find comfort in the Lord and move away from ye’re anger. Say prayers for your parents and your wee sister and they’ll watch over ye for the rest of your life. Let them be your saving grace.”

The boy seemed to consider. He looked at his hands, which were curled in his lap to hide the red.

“You know what Father? You’re the first priest I’ve talked to that’s said that to me. So ye think maybe the Lord took my family so they could watch over me?”

The priest smiled, believing he was finally getting through to the troubled youth. “I can’t claim to fathom the Lord’s reasons for doing what he does, but I think it’s a possibility. An’ if ye can find comfort in the passing of loved ones then it’s for the best. Do ye see son?”

The boy’s lips were curled into a smile. He opened his hands and for the first time Father Doherty was able to see the flakes of brownish red clinging to the palms. The young priest took a tentative step back as his young parishioner reached into his pocket and extracted a blade.

“I think it’s a sick joke to put people on this earth to care about, and then yank them away before you’re ready for the partin’ of them. I think it’s the cruelest thing ye can do ta someone, and ye say God loves me. But I can’ believe that, because if God loved me he’d want me ta be happy. And right now the on’y thing that makes me happy is bathin’ in the blood of his shepherds.”

Brad’s vision broke off as the priest’s jugular was slashed with amazing speed and dexterity. Despite the horrible contents of the vision, he couldn’t suppress a feeling of awe at witnessing the boy’s skill. He still didn’t know what the troubled young man’s name was, but Blanca had promised to help him with that.

Brad took a moment to clear his head and reorient to his surroundings. He was sitting in the living room of the Quebec City flat. It was quiet for once. Blanca was in the kitchen making tea, Sylvia was reading in the girls’ room and Schuldig was getting private lessons from Rourke in the elder telepath’s room. And for once neither of them were screaming.

Brad had staked a claim on the living room. He’d put on a hindustani CD, moved the coffee table out of the way and set himself up in the middle of the room with his meditation cushions. He’d been conducting a sort of psychic audition for potential teammates with his free time for the past few days. Visions of the Irish boy kept coming back, and the few he’d seen of the boy as a teen and member of his team had been promising. For one thing he seemed to get along with Schuldig, which was a bit of a stumbling block for most of his candidates. Schuldig was proving to be difficult, if not impossible, for most people to live with, and all indications from the future said it was only going to get worse.

Brad stretched, and decided to wheedle some tea out of Blanca. He would definitely miss the comforts of Advanced Training. Blanca bought some excellent tea, which he would certainly miss when he was thrust to the bottom of Esset’s food chain.

“Yours is in the blue cup.” Blanca said automatically upon Brad’s entrance. She was stirring an orange mug, and there was a green one beside it. “Sylvia will be out in a few minutes.” Blanca explained, indicating the third mug.

“Ah.”

“Are you still looking at the boy who kills the priests?” Blanca asked.

Brad nodded and she frowned. “He’s skilled and he’ll get along with Schuldig.” He said defensively.

“Well I suppose that is a talent.” Blanca said with a small smile. “But still Brad, he’s awfully unbalanced and still so young. And I don’t See that pain getting any easier to deal with. You might have less trouble with a more stable teammate.”

Brad shrugged. “I just have a good feeling about this one. I had a good feeling about Schuldig too, and he’s unbalanced but you still approve of him.”

She laughed. “Yes well Schuldig’s special and we both know that.” She shook her head, bemused. “I worry about you two sometimes though.”

“That you do.” He said quietly. The unspoken question was implied.

Blanca grinned. “Let’s just say I’d like to see you succeed…in life…and leave it at that. Ah Sylvia, your tea’s in the green mug dear.”

Brad stared at Blanca, wanting to press her but he didn’t dare with Sylvia standing in the doorway, not when he’d Seen how loyal she would prove to be to Rosenkreuz. Had Blanca meant to imply that…did she know what he was planning? Why wasn’t he dead?

“Thank you Miss Blanca.” Sylvia said, taking a sip. “What were you talking about, if you don’t mind my asking? I caught the end of it.”

“Oh just the future. Can’t help it, us precogs you know. We’re all obsessed.” Blanca said with a wink.

“Anybody’s future in particular?” Sylvia asked with a smile in Brad’s direction.

He stalled by taking a large gulp of tea that burned his throat. Blanca came to his rescue.

“Actually next week’s future particularly. At least that’s something I need to talk to you kids about. I’ve just done your reviews with our contacts in the main office and between your combat skills,” she said with a nod towards both teens, “and Schuldig’s incredible agility which we witnessed the other day with the cabinets we’ve come to the conclusion you kids are ready for some practice on the field.”

“Really?” Sylvia’s eyes lit up.

“Schuldig’s ability to scale several feet of smooth glass was the detail that won them over. Next week Rourke and I have a hit. You, however, will be doing all the work. We’ll be there to help you if you get in over your heads, but for the most part this is your mission. You three will work together and dispose of our target. Sound good?” She asked, a proud, maternal sort of smile on her face.

“Of course! I can’t believe you think we’re already ready. I mean, I mean of course we are.” Sylvia’s tone was subdued, but her eyes were alight, betraying her emotion. “When are we going to get the background on the target?”

“Tomorrow night. Rourke and I have files to put together for you, we’ll leave them on your beds.”

***

“They seem to have me mistaken for a human cockroach.”

“Or a contortionist.” Brad argued. “Which you almost are.”

“I don’t contort. I jump. Those two things are completely different. Brad I’m gonna break my neck.” Schuldig whined.

“No you aren’t. Go to sleep.”

Schuldig’s answer was to get out of his bed and sit down at the end of Brad’s, bouncing up and down. To say the preteen was jittery was an understatement. The precog considered using his Talent to check if someone in the house had introduced him to espresso, but he didn’t think anyone was that stupid and besides, Rourke was the only one who drank the stuff. The senior telepath would just as soon offer Schuldig a tasty and expensive drink as take a vow of poverty. No, Schuldig pre-mission jitters were simply more extreme than a normal person’s, just like almost everything about the kid.

“Schuldig neither of us are going to be able to function very well tomorrow without sleep.” Brad pointed out. He was answered by having his glasses thrown at his head and the lights flicked on.

“I can’t sleep.”

“So I can’t either then?”

“Exactly.” Schuldig said brightly. “Glad we can see eye to eye on that.”

“We don’t.” Brad answered, whacking Schuldig with a pillow. “Get off my bed and go to sleep!”

Schuldig frowned, turned the lights back off and started pacing the room. Brad rolled over, but had hardly managed to close his eyes before he felt breath against his ear and was aware of the proximity of a body to his. “What?”

“I’m nervous.” Schuldig admitted. He’d been leaning over Brad, but when he knew he had the older boy’s attention he settled down next to him, head propped up on his hand and straggly green hair falling onto Brad’s pillow.

“There’s nothing to be nervous about. Blanca and Rourke are going to be there with us and if anything goes wrong they can help us.” Brad reminded him.

Schuldig’s nose scrunched up in distaste. “Excuse me if the prospect of Alan Rourke rushing to my rescue is less than comforting.”

“You don’t like him, do you?”

“Neither do you. Neither does Sylvia, but she pretends to, to look better than me. Everyone hates him.” Schuldig complained.

Brad finally sat up and reached for his glasses again. He’d resigned himself to the prospect of a long conversation with Schuldig whether he wanted it or not, and decided he was sick of talking to a pale-ish green topped blur.

“I don’t really hate him, but I am glad not to work with him very much.”

“I work with him every day and he hates me as much as I hate him.” Schuldig bit his lip and looked towards the ceiling for a second before continuing. “How much longer are we going to be here? Are we really gonna be done in a year like Blanca says?”

“I think so.” Brad answered slowly. “If tomorrow night goes really well we can be out in less time, but if it doesn’t…things are a little murky but I think it might extend our time here-“

“Fucking great, extra training in fucking Canada with motherfucking Rourke.” Schuldig scowled, venom in his tone.

“I actually like it here. You don’t like Canada?” Brad asked, hoping to change the subject at least a little. Talking about Rourke with Schuldig always gave him a sinking feeling. But as far as he could tell the man was only training Schuldig interspersed with death threats. The green hair seemed to have done the trick, because neither he nor Blanca had had any troubling visions since Schuldig had taken up swimming.

“Canada’s okay.” Schuldig admitted.

“Well where do you want to go?” Brad asked.

Schuldig thought for a minute. “Not Germany…I know it’s my home but I want to stay as far away from Rosenkreuz as I can…what about your home? What’s America like?”

“It’s actually a lot like Canada. I think that’s why I like it here. The part I’m from has roughly the same seasons and some of the buildings look the same.” He explained.

Schuldig looked confused. “Doesn’t all of America have the same seasons?”

“No, it’s a very big country. Some parts are hot year round and the seasonal changes are very subtle, so someone like me would just call it summer all year. In some parts it rains more than others, some places get snow in the winter, some don’t-“

“But you’re from someplace with snow?” He asked.

Brad nodded. He smiled, thinking back on his hometown. “I was lucky, we had snow in the winter, and we had a real spring and a summer…and then in fall the leaves change color and it’s so pretty that people from other parts of the country actually drove to my town just to look at the trees. We thought they were crazy, but now I really miss the leaves. We were by the ocean too…used to spend almost every waking moment of the summer with my mom at the beach.”

Brad continued reminiscing, Schuldig occasionally contributing polite questions. He couldn’t remember a home or past beyond Rosenkreuz, so for the night he borrowed Brad’s. He slipped into his friend’s mind and wrapped himself in the sensation of salt water sprays and apple cider and the smell of autumn leaves and a multitude of other pleasant stimuli.

They drifted off at some point, and in the morning Schuldig woke up still in Brad’s bed. He’d curled against the precog at some point and woke with his head resting on Brad’s shoulder and one arm flung over his chest. The teen was sleeping, head turned away from Schuldig but he could still make out a small smile on his lips. He was probably dreaming about his home, since they’d talked about it for so long, because Brad didn’t often smile when he slept. Schuldig had asked once, and Brad had explained that his visions usually persisted into his dreams, and the future still wasn’t looking very pleasant.

But the thing about clairvoyance was that it could work backwards too. Rosenkreuz and Esset psychics were generally concerned with the future, so they trained their minds on that and that alone. However clear seeing involves seeing what is generally not known, whether it be the unknown past or present or future. His mind was trained to urge on visions of the future, but visions of the past weren’t infrequent.

Schuldig closed his eyes and drifted into Brad’s mind where, sure enough he was Seeing something completely irrelevant to the eventual downfall of Esset and the events thereafter.

He could see a backyard that was at least a couple of acres, with a swing set and sandbox and a few scattered trees that had accumulated enough leaves throughout the year to coat the yard with a golden carpet. A preteen with messy black hair and light brown eyes was raking up a pile and a five or six year old was laughing as he crushed leaves in his chubby hands. After the preteen had raked up a substantial pile he picked up his brother (somehow Schuldig knew they were brothers) and jumped into the leaves with him. They flailed around in the pile and it quickly scattered over the yard again. After a few minutes a tall man with blond hair, glasses and Brad’s slender but strong build and authorative stance approached them.

“Your mother’s here boys. Time to go home.”

“Can’t we play here a little longer Richard? There aren’t any leaves at Mom’s house.” The preteen asked.

“Nope. It’s Sunday, weekend visit’s over. Sorry boys but your mother wants you back. I gave her some money so maybe she can take you out for pizza or something.” The man answered.

Scowling, the preteen stood up with his hands on his hips. He looked at his brother. “C’mon Cliff, your Dad’s kicking us out.”

“I’m not kicking you out Darren, I just…” But he couldn’t finish that sentence, although Darren waited patiently for a response.

“I thought so. See you in two weeks Richard.”

Schuldig was pulled from the dream as Brad woke up, and his consciousness was thrust very rudely back into his own head.

“What were you doing?” Brad asked, sitting up suddenly. Schuldig almost fell onto the floor as he’d had most of his weight resting on the precog.

“Nothing.” He said innocently.

“No, that was something. That was an invasion.” He spat.

“So…you’re not going to tell me who those kids were, are you? Because I thought one of them was you but then they had different names-“

“Get off of my bed Schuldig. Just-just get away from me. Go bother Rourke for awhile.”

Schuldig’s eyes welled. He jerked backwards, then gave up regaining his composure and ran from the room. He almost ran headlong into Sylvia, who’d been approaching their room with a mug of coffee and her copy of the mission file.

“Oh dear, the two of you aren’t fighting, are you?” She asked with a superior smile.

<Fuck off you fucking whore!> Schuldig spat and continued for the bathroom, rubbing his side which he’d bumped in the doorway to avoid Sylvia’s mug of hot coffee.

Sylvia shook her head, wondering what had Schuldig so rattled. She dismissed it as his general instability and knocked on the bedroom door. “Brad? Are you up? I made you some coffee.”

“I’m up.” He opened the door, still in pajamas with his glasses in one hand as he rubbed his eyes tiredly with the other. His bangs were sticking almost straight up in the air. Sylvia couldn’t keep the smile off her face. The object of her affections just looked too cute in the mornings.

“Did you and the tiny terror have a fight?” She asked, strolling into the room. She had remained in her pajamas as well, though they were a lot skimpier than Brad’s flannel PJ pants and baggy t-shirt. She was wearing cotton short shorts and a hot pink tank top. She sat down on his bed and he straddled a desk chair as he sipped the coffee.

“You really should stop mocking Schuldig about his height. You’re not growing much more but he is.”

“He’s still going to be short though, isn’t he?” She asked.

“Eh, not really. You’re going to be shorter. Even in heels. Thanks for the coffee, this is good.”

“You’re welcome.” Aware that she hadn’t gotten an answer to her question, she pushed on nonetheless. “Are you excited about tonight?”

“Hmm? Oh, oh right.” He shook his head as though to clear it. “I suppose a lot hinges on this.”

“Does it?” She asked.

“Well if we want everyone to continue thinking we’re all prodigies we need to pull off a spectacular first mission.” Brad answered carefully. “What’s so funny?”

“It’s hard to take you serious with that cowlick hon.” She finally admitted.

He self-consciously swiped at his hair and only succeeded in making it worse. “Sorry then.”

“I think it’s cute.” She said with a warm smile. He grinned sheepishly.

When Schuldig was around it was easy enough to remember Sylvia would betray his plans in a heartbeat to any Rosenkreuz official, but when they were alone it was completely different. Instead of an ice-queen and bitch she was almost a normal enamored teenager. He wondered sometimes if he’d been left to his normal life would a girl as pretty as Sylvia bother with him? Maybe he should feel lucky.

“Did you want to talk about the mission?” He asked, in hopes of getting the conversation onto something professional. He determinedly kept his eyes on hers as opposed to her shapely and very naked legs.

She sighed, mentally cursing Brad’s self control. It shouldn’t take this much effort to seduce an eighteen year old male, but apparently Brad Crawford wasn’t subject to the typical raging hormones of his peers.

“Sure. I think it’s going to be easy enough, but I question the wisdom of giving such an active role to Schuldig.”

“Is that because you don’t like him or is there a real reason?” Brad asked with an amused smile.

“I don’t dislike him. He annoys me sometimes but generally it’s apathy. I just don’t see what’s so special about him.” She paused before continuing. “I do think though, that he’s very young and I don’t just mean his age. I’m not sure if he can handle killing anyone at this stage without it damaging him somehow.”

Brad frowned. It was a legitimate observation, one he’d been turning over since he’d first read the file. “He needs to learn to kill at some point. We are going to be assassins.”

“I just don’t think he’s ready. But I could be wrong, you know him a lot better than I do.” She admitted.

He nodded, his expression distant. He almost jumped from the chair when he felt Sylvia’s hand on his shoulder, not having noticed her cross the room.

“Brad…why do you bother with him so much? Really, I mean…he’s so difficult and he needs so much attention, and protection. You should devote yourself to someone who’s more of an equal.” She said softly. She moved her hand to his hair and started smoothing the cowlick. “You wouldn’t need to protect me. I can watch my own back.”

“Sylvia…you just don’t understand it-“

“Then explain it to me.” She purred. She put a hand under his chin and tilted his face to hers for a kiss. She smelled like jasmine and lavender and he was very close to giving in, but when he closed his eyes he saw Sylvia in that white dress shooting Alex down with casual, cold efficiency. With a shudder he put a hand on her wrist and turned away.

“Look at me.” She pleaded.

“Sylvia please. I’m not interested, I…I’d hoped I’d made that clear.” He muttered.

She made an odd noise, some sharp intake of breath combined with a constriction in her throat. Not meeting his eyes she took the mostly empty coffee mug from him and left for the kitchen.