UnWholly (Unwind Dystology #2)(62)

“We’ve restored the north wing. For now it’s all we need. Of course, we’ve had to board all the windows—lights at night in an abandoned ruin would be way too conspicuous.”

The place is nowhere near in the condition it must have once been in. There’s still peeling paint, and water stains on the roof, but it’s far more livable than the rest of the sprawling estate. The dining hall has two mismatched chandeliers that were probably salvaged from other areas of the mansion. Three long tables and benches suggest that a lot of people are served their meals here.

At the far end of the room is a huge fireplace, and above it a full-length portrait, larger than life. At first Lev takes it to be a painting of one of the Cavenaughs as a boy, until he looks more closely.

“Wait—is that . . . me?”

Cavenaugh smiles. “A good likeness, isn’t it?”

As he crosses toward it, Lev can see how good a likeness it really is. Or at least a fine rendering of how he looked a year ago. In the portrait, he’s wearing a yellow shirt that seems to glow like gold. In fact, the portrait is painted so that his skin gives off a sort of divine radiance. The expression on his painted face speaks of wisdom and peace—the kind of peace Lev has yet to find in life—and at the base of the portrait are tithing whites metaphorically trampled beneath his feet.

His first reaction is to laugh. “What’s this all about?”

“It’s about the cause you fought for, Lev. I’m pleased to say we’ve picked up where you left off.”

On the mantel just below the portrait are everything from flowers to handwritten notes, to bits of jewelry and other trinkets.

“These things spontaneously began to appear after we put up the portrait,” Cavenaugh explains. “We didn’t expect it, but maybe we should have.”

Lev still struggles to process this. Again, all he can do is giggle. “You’re joking, right?”

Then off to his right, at a doorway to an adjacent hallway, a woman calls out to them. “Mr. Cavenaugh, the natives are getting restless. Can I let them in?”

Lev can see kids craning to see around the rather heavyset woman.

“Give us a moment, please,” Cavenaugh tells her, then smiles at Lev. “As you can imagine, they’re very excited to meet you.”

“Who?”

“The tithes, of course. We held a contest, and seven were chosen to personally greet you.”

Cavenaugh talks like these are all things Lev should already know. It’s all too much for him to wrap his mind around. “Tithes?”

“Ex-tithes, actually. Rescued before their arrival at their respective harvest camps.”

Then something clicks, and it dawns on Lev how this is possible. “Parts pirates—the ones who target tithes!”

“Oh, there are certainly parts pirates,” Cavenaugh says, “but to the best of my knowledge, none of them have taken any tithes. It’s a good cover story, though. Keeps the Juvenile Authority barking up the wrong tree.”

The idea that tithes are being rescued rather than sold on the black market is something that has never occurred to Lev.

“Are you ready to meet our little squad of ambassadors?”

“Sure, why not.”

Cavenaugh signals the woman to let them in, and they enter in an orderly procession that doesn’t hide the high-voltage excitement in their step. They’re all dressed in bright colors—intentionally so. Not a bit of white in the whole bunch. Lev just stands there dazed as they greet him one by one. A couple of them just stare and nod their heads, too starstruck to say anything. Another shakes his hand so forcefully Lev’s shoulder has to absorb the shock. One boy is so nervous, he stumbles and nearly falls at Lev’s feet, then goes beet red as he steps away.

“Your hair is different,” one girl says, then panics like she’s gravely insulted him. “But it’s good! I like it! I like it long!”

“I know everything about you,” another kid announces. “Seriously, ask me anything.”

And although Lev is a bit creeped out by the thought, he says, “Okay, what’s my favorite ice cream?”

“Cherry Garcia!” the kid says without the slightest hesitation. The answer is, of course, correct. Lev’s not quite sure how to feel about it.

“So . . . you were all tithes?”

“Yes,” says a girl in bright green, “until we were rescued. We know how wrong tithing is now.”

“Yeah,” says another. “We learned to see the way you see!”

Lev finds himself giddy and caught up in their adoration. Not since his days as a tithe has he felt “golden.” After Happy Jack, everyone saw him either as a victim to be pitied or a monster to be punished. But these kids revere him as a hero. He can’t deny that after all he’s been through, it feels good. Really good.

A girl in screaming violet can’t contain herself and throws her arms around him. “I love you, Lev Calder!” she cries.

One of the other kids pulls her off. “Sorry, she’s a little intense.”

“It’s okay,” Lev says, “but my name’s not Calder anymore. It’s Garrity.”

“After Pastor Daniel Garrity!” the know-it-all kid blurts. “The one who died in the clapper blast two weeks ago.” The kid is so proud that he has all the information down, he doesn’t realize how raw Dan’s death still is for Lev. “How’s your broken eardrum, by the way?”