In gamespace it was a raging coal-fire furnace, belching smoke.
Hephaestus motioned Kenny’s hand down to his mouth and swung a finger across the drop of blood, bringing it to his lips. “Yes,” Hephaestus said, gumming his lips. “That will do nicely.”
Charlie sighed. It was grotesque, but it was done. Now they could move on to the prize.
Kenny seemed to feel the same way. The tension in his shoulders melted. He was nursing his finger, which was still bleeding more than he’d intended.
“No sense in wasting,” Hephaestus said.
Seriously, Charlie thought, we have to watch the little ghoul drink more blood?
But Hephaestus had another idea.
He tapped his cane on the broad surface of the roaring heater. “I need you to write something for me.” He pointed at the beading blood on Kenny’s fingertip. “With that.”
“Rad,” Alex said. “This is like Friends of the Crypt–level stuff.”
That wasn’t exactly a template for success, Charlie thought. According to legend, half of those guys got arrested, and the leader lost his free ride to Princeton and jumped off the roof of the school.
“You promised,” Charlie said to Hephaestus. “One drop. That’s what you said.”
“I lied?” Hephaestus answered.
“Give us the Breath of God,” Kenny snapped at him.
“Suit yourselves.” Hephaestus began to limp away.
“You little bastard,” Vanhi said.
“No blood note, no prize.” He crossed his arms like a petulant child.
“What’s the message?” Peter asked.
Hephaestus told them.
“I won’t do it,” Kenny said. He was religious after all, or at least he came from a religious family. What would his parents think? This felt wrong. Deeply, morbidly wrong.
He looked at Peter, who shrugged, as if to say, Why not? It’s just a game.
Kenny looked at Vanhi, who believed in the Holy Trinity of code, hair dye, and slap bass. She seemed unconcerned, as if there were no difference between the finger prick and this.
He didn’t even bother to look at Alex. Kenny had already seen the hungry look in Alex’s eyes. Whatever this was, he wanted more.
Finally, everyone looked at Charlie.
Charlie sighed. Screw it. Someone else could be the voice of reason for once. “Why not? We’ve come this far.”
Kenny nodded, but Charlie could see the disappointment in his eyes. “Fine. For Alex.” Kenny knelt in front of the boiler and began drawing with his finger.
There wasn’t enough blood. Kenny closed his eyes and drew a long breath. “In for a penny, in for a pound.”
He went to the old razors and gritted his teeth. Second finger, bow hand.
Hephaestus watched, the corner of his crooked mouth twisted up into a smile. Then he walked away, disappearing into the shadows beneath the pipes and tubes.
“Hey!” Kenny shouted. “You promised.”
But before he could complain further, a creaking noise announced the opening of the fire gate, virtual smoke gushing out. They gathered around the furnace, which glowed a reddish orange, and the flames spoke to them.
What they whispered was a code, a series of instructions, commands and prompts and incantations basically—for at the end of the day, what was the difference between a hack and a spell? Both were a precise flow of words in a secret language known only to the initiated, to manipulate a reality that was inviolate only to those content to accept it as such. The Game gave them exactly what Hephaestus had promised: a tool that they could use in second period, when Kurt was in sight, to bring an invisible revenge down on him.
Just hearing the words and knowing what was to come, the Vindicators felt powerful, enriched.
Charlie’s phone buzzed.
There was a new text from God. But this time it was only for him.