Amari and the Night Brothers

by B. B. Alston

  He holds it up for me to see. The red liquid rises all the way to the top, so fast it shatters in his hands. We lock eyes and he frowns. “Interesting . . .”

  “Good interesting or bad?” I ask.

  He doesn’t answer. Instead, he pulls a small metal box with the words Starter Kit scribbled across the top from his Invisi-Tote and pushes it into my stomach. “Be at this address at six p.m. tomorrow.”

  “Tomorrow? But—”

  He practically shoves me out of his office.

  7

  MAMA WORKS EVEN LONGER HOURS ON THE WEEKEND, so she won’t be home until really late. That means I’ve got no choice but to call her at work about going to camp this summer. The phone call goes something like this:

  Mama: What’s happened? Are you hurt? Is everything okay?

  Me: I’m fine, Mama—

  Mama: Amari. Renee. Peters. You know not to call me at work unless it’s an emergency.

  Me: It kind of is, though. I have to be somewhere tomorrow and I need your permission.

  Mama: You do remember that you’re still very much grounded?

  Me: I know but . . .

  Mama: But what exactly?

  Me: It’s Quinton’s old summer camp. He must’ve nominated me before everything happened.

  Mama: (A long pause) Is that so. You got the number to the program?

  Me: (Reads number listed in the “How to Deal with Non-Bureau Parents” pamphlet.)

  Mama: I’ll give them a call and let you know what I decide.

  While I wait for Mama to call back, I go through the rest of the Starter Kit. Inside is my own personal copy of One Thousand and One Careers, Protected Edition. It’s so protected that I can’t even read it. All the pages are blank.

  There’s also a list of items I’ll need to bring.

  Items Needed

  —Yourself, everything else will be provided

  Last is a tiny vial of blue liquid. The attached tag reads:

  TRUE SIGHT

  BY VOILÀ PHARMACEUTICALS

  One drop in each eye. Take immediately.

  On the rare occasion that you find yourself with X-ray vision, please consult a doctor.

  It takes me a few tries but eventually I get the drops in my eyes. Nothing happens, though. Not even the X-ray vision. But I’m still so proud of myself I do a little dance in the mirror.

  A knock sounds in the living room.

  I dash to the front door, wondering if it’s something to do with the Bureau of Supernatural Affairs. But one look through the peephole and I can see it’s Mrs. Walters. Her permanent frown brings down my good mood even from outside. She’s one of those people you can’t ever imagine smiling. The type of person who looks annoyed even when they’re on TV accepting a check for winning the lottery. I open the door and say in my most polite voice, “Hello, Mrs. Walters. How can I help you?”

  “Don’t you Hello, Mrs. Walters me! Your mama told me to keep an eye on you in case you tried to sneak out. And I caught you! Saw you at that bus stop, and I saw who you were talking to. Wait till your mama hears about . . .”

  I’m right in the middle of coming up with a really sorry excuse when I blink, and Mrs. Walters’s facial features begin to swell and shrink. And that’s not even the biggest change. “Um, Mrs. Walters? How long has your face been green?”

  Mrs. Walters stops midsentence, reaching up to touch the end of her suddenly long, pointed nose. Her beady eyes bulge in surprise. “You can see me? Really see me?”

  I nod. “You look like the Wicked Witch of the West from that really old movie . . .”

  Mrs. Walters shrieks and steps back away from my door. “That’s what I get for buying that discount concealer!” She throws down some powder and disappears into a cloud of smoke.

  No way. I step out into the hallway and wave my hand through the fading haze. Mrs. Walters is really gone. I guess Mr. Ware knew what he was talking about—there really are supernatural beings in the world. In my neighborhood!

  Not that I didn’t believe him—but seeing it is way different from just hearing about it. And I guess I know why those eye drops are called True Sight. I’ve seen Mrs. Walters a hundred times and never knew she was a witch.

  What have I gotten myself into?

  It’s Sunday afternoon and Mama is late. When she finally called me back last night we agreed that she’d leave work today at 3:00 p.m. in order to make sure we had plenty of time to get across town.

  Instead, it’s after four when she comes stumbling through the front door with shopping bags in both hands. She drops the bags when she sees me and wraps me up in a great big hug. “This is so wonderful,” she says. “Just what you need. When Quinton came back that first summer he was different. More mature.”

  “What’s in the bags?” I ask.

  “Oh, I just picked up a few things for you. I know they claim you don’t need to bring anything but, trust me, you’ll be glad. I grabbed you some new pajamas, all your hair products, ooh, those fuzzy socks you love . . .”

  My ears automatically tune her out the moment I catch sight of the Best Buy bag. I scramble over and open it up, gasping once my eyes land on what’s inside. The sleek wooden box contains the cell phone I’ve wanted practically my whole life. It’s even the newest version.

  “I thought we couldn’t afford for me to get a new cell phone?” I ask. In fact, how can we afford any of this stuff?

  Mama just smiles. “I won’t have my daughter gone for most of the summer without a reliable way to keep in touch.”

  “But Mama,” I say. She totally avoided my question.

  She puts her hands on her hips. “Okay, I went to the payday loan place, but this won’t be like last time.”

  I’m like a balloon with a brand-new hole, the way my excitement spills out of me. Last time Mama took out a loan, she had to use bill money to pay it back and we almost got kicked out of our apartment for missing rent.

  “Don’t look at me like that,” Mama says, that familiar sadness creeping into her expression. “Just let me do something nice for you for once.”

  I don’t have the heart to fight with her when she gets like this. So I just say “okay,” and force a smile.

  Mama smiles too and then adds, “I had a little bit stashed away in case of an emergency, and seeing as the program offers a scholarship, I won’t have to put it toward your tuition next year.”

  “The scholarship isn’t guaranteed,” I say. “There’s a chance I won’t get it.”

  “You are my daughter and Quinton’s baby sister. Ain’t a chance in the world they won’t give you that scholarship.”

  I open my mouth to remind her I’m not nearly as good at everything as Quinton is, but I stop myself. That would only make her sad again.

  “Remind me—what time did you need to be there?” she asks.

  “Six,” I say, glancing at the clock. It’s 4:07 p.m. “How long is the drive?”

  “Oh, we’ve got plenty of time,” says Mama.

  “Even with the big music festival going on downtown?”

  “Is that tonight?” she asks. “I’m so sorry, I completely forgot. Traffic is going to be a nightmare.” We exchange a panicked look and make a mad dash to get ready.

  Mama swears she can get us to the address on time as long as she sticks to her side roads and backstreets. These aren’t nearly as busy as the main roads but they are definitely way more . . . interesting than I remember.

  First, Mama cuts off a man who waves a fist at us, except it’s not a fist but a paw. And he isn’t so much yelling at us as he is growling. My jaw drops and I turn to see what Mama makes of it, but she doesn’t seem to notice. It has to be the eye drops, right?

  It gets weirder. A man waiting at the next bus stop is literally on fire, but he doesn’t seem bothered by it. Like, at all. He even lights a cigarette on his forehead. The lady that lets Mama turn in front of her? Snakes for hair. I try not to meet her eyes in case she decides it would be fun to turn me into stone, Me
dusa-style, but Mama just waves thanks and keeps on driving.

  It isn’t until we spend the longest red light ever next to a dark alley filled with glowing eyes that I decide maybe I’ll just keep my own eyes inside the car from here on out.

  I assumed supernaturals like Mrs. Walters were rare, but they’re all over the place, hiding in plain sight. As it hits me where I’m going, I can’t tell if I’m shaking with excitement or fear. Or maybe it’s a little of both. I’m about to be part of their world. The supernatural world. Something I didn’t even know existed two days ago.

  I wish I could tell Mama about all of this. It doesn’t feel right to keep secrets from her. Especially secrets that are this big. But something tells me she wouldn’t be thrilled about her daughter going to the same secret agency that had something to do with her son going missing. Honestly, it makes me nervous too.

  To keep myself from completely freaking out, I pull One Thousand and One Careers out of my bag. Only this time, thanks to those eye drops, every page is filled with words and pictures.

  As I flip through it, Mama glances over and asks, “What’s that?”

  I panic and slam it shut.

  “No need to be so dramatic,” says Mama. “Is that your journal?”

  Just that fast, I forgot that she isn’t able to read it. Keeping all this a secret is going to be harder than I thought. “It’s for camp this summer.” Avoiding the question feels better than not being honest.

  Mama just shrugs and focuses on changing lanes.

  I open the book again and flip through until I reach a page that catches my eye. It’s a full-page photo of a bulky, bearded guy in a cowboy hat, decked out in a dark gray suit. He’s aiming a flaming ax toward the camera and his gray eyes are so intense it’s like he’s daring me to turn the page without reading first. So I read.

  The caption says, “The closest thing to a superhero in the supernatural world. Join Agent Beauregarde Magnus at the Department of Supernatural Investigations and start your journey toward becoming a Special Agent today!”

  On the opposite page is a job listing:

  DEPARTMENT OF SUPERNATURAL INVESTIGATIONS

  Junior Agent

  Minimum badge allowed to perform this job: Bronze

  Chief Responsibilities: To serve and protect both humans and non-humans alike against supernatural threats, foreign and domestic. Enforcement of the laws that govern supernatural entities living in the known world. Those who excel in this position may be promoted to Senior Agents, Surveillance Agents, Special Agents, and more.

  Noteworthy Agents: Beowulf, Captain Ahab, Abraham Van Helsing, Captain Nemo, Dr. Jekyll/Mr. Hyde (part-time researcher/part-time agent), Sherlock Holmes, Maria Van Helsing, and Quinton Peters

  I can’t believe it! Quinton’s an agent. Just like this guy in the picture. Of all the crazy things I’ve learned, this might be the craziest. Agent Magnus looks like the person you’d call if a bear got loose at the zoo. Quinton is afraid of spiders. Even the tiny ones.

  As the clock on the dashboard blinks to 5:26, a question pops into my head. “Mama, how much do you know about this summer camp?”

  “It’s a really fancy leadership camp,” says Mama. “You guys take classes and go on trips to meet with CEOs and government leaders. Plus you’ll get to mingle and make friends with other high achievers. These kinds of programs will really pay off later as an adult. When it comes down to getting those cushy jobs, it’s not what you know but who you know.”

  So Mama thinks this is just a leadership camp. That must be what they told her when she called. And what Quinton used to tell her too.

  “Just make me a promise, okay?” Mama continues. “Promise me you’ll go to college. You won’t follow Quinton into whatever he was doing.”

  “So you think this, um, program had something to do with Quinton going missing?”

  “Of course not,” says Mama, “or I wouldn’t let you near it. I don’t know what could’ve happened to your brother. I just want you to use this program to get into a good university somewhere and live a safe and happy life.”

  Safe and happy life. I can’t help wondering if maybe deep down Mama does know that his job is the reason he’s gone. “I promise,” I say. I’m only entering this program to find out what happened to my brother. Once I do, I don’t care if I ever see the supernatural world again.

  Even with all Mama’s shortcuts we don’t turn onto the tree-lined entrance to the Vanderbilt Hotel until 6:02. I can’t believe we’re late.

  The building looks so cool, like one of those famous cathedrals, topped with a beautiful golden dome. A large white guy in a gray suit is headed up the wide stairs at the front of the building. I recognize his cowboy hat.

  “That’s your escort,” says Mama. “Catch him before it’s too late!”

  I push open the door and step outside. “Agent Magnus! I’m here!”

  If Agent Magnus hears me, he doesn’t stop or even turn around. I can’t believe we’ve come all this way only to be too late.

  “Hey! It’s me. Quinton’s little sister.” I bounce back and forth, waving my hands over my head, praying that Agent Magnus will turn around.

  At Quinton’s name Agent Magnus pauses and turns to face me. He’s twice as intimidating in real life. Those intense gray eyes size me up as he comes down to meet us.

  Mama gets out of the car and thanks him. He says something that makes her laugh and then gives her hand a kiss. Mama blushes and giggles. Of course they know each other, Mama used to drop Quinton off here every summer.

  “Babygirl?” says Mama. “Introduce yourself.”

  Now that he’s right here in front of me, I can’t find any of the confidence I had a minute ago. “Hello,” I say, not able to meet Agent Magnus’s eyes.

  “You’re late.” His voice is deep, with a raspy southern twang. “Believe Mr. Ware said to be here at six.”

  “I know,” I say. “There was traffic and—”

  He puts up a hand to cut me off. “One thing you’re gonna learn is we don’t make excuses. If you were anybody else, you’d be headed back home. But you had one favor owed to you on account of being Quinton’s little sister. That favor’s used up now. Understand?”

  I nod. “Yes, sir.”

  Agent Magnus turns his attention to Mama. “Always a pleasure, Renee. I’ll make sure Amari is well looked after.”

  Mama smiles. “I know you will. You and Quinton were so close—I’m thankful you’re taking the time to escort Amari on her first day.”

  “Great kid, Quinton.” A flicker of emotion passes across Agent Magnus’s face. “I’ll send somebody down to collect Amari’s things.” His eyes find me again. “You ready?”

  “I think so,” I say.

  Agent Magnus grins. “Oh, I doubt that very much.”

  8

  THE INSIDE OF THE VANDERBILT HOTEL IS EASILY THE fanciest place I’ve ever been. The lobby is huge, probably bigger than most people’s houses. The floor glistens like it’s permanently wet and tall paintings hang on the walls.

  The hotel guests all look like really important people—men and women lounge on plush chairs, sipping drinks brought to them by waiters in clean white uniforms as music from the string quartet set up in front of the large fountain fills the lobby. My stomach knots. And here I thought I didn’t fit in at Jefferson Academy. This looks like the kind of place the royal family of another country might stay if they were visiting America.

  I feel like a speck of dust on a beautiful painting.

  “The Vanderbilt Hotel is one of many cover businesses the Bureau uses both to fund and conceal our organization. The building rests on a natural magic wellspring, which allows us an everlasting power source for much of what we do here. The hotel’s a bit froufrou for my tastes, but they have a killer cigar selection.”

  I keep my head down as Agent Magnus leads me through the bright lobby to a small hallway marked Authorized Personnel Only. At the end of the hall is a big metal door with a keypad in th
e center. I try to see what code Agent Magnus types in, but his fingers move too fast. After a series of clicks, Agent Magnus twists the handle and pushes open the door to . . .

  Another door. This one is even bigger, with a combination dial. Magnus turns it back and forth, like, ten times before the thing finally clicks and the door slides out of view. “Welcome to the Bureau of Supernatural Affairs.”

  An enormous hall greets us, and I gasp—it’s filled with all kinds of strange sights. A flock of fairies twinkles past like floating Christmas lights, their laughter like tinkling bells. They all wave to me in unison. A bit dazed, I’m about to lift my hand to wave back when a loud shriek rings out. Witches zip by overhead on brooms, cackling madly and firing plumes of black smoke at one another. I look to Agent Magnus, wondering if maybe somebody should do something about the witch battle going on above, but he doesn’t seem the least bit interested. What in the world have I gotten myself into?

  “Follow me,” says Agent Magnus, moving into the crowd.

  I do, my head twisting in every direction trying to see everything at once. On my left, two hulking giants have a very polite discussion about the literary merits of Hemingway. It starts out polite anyway. Soon they’re growling and stomping, and we make sure to give them plenty of space to avoid getting stepped on.

  Just when I think this day can’t get any weirder, I nearly bump into three dripping wet green . . . somethings, with a whole lot of eyes. They’re flipping through “Places to See Away from the Sea” brochures.

  It’s not until we reach the clear elevators at the back that I realize I’ve been holding my breath this whole time. I wrap my arms around myself tight, my emotions all over the place. Is this real life?

  “You all right, kid?” Magnus asks with a grin.

  I nod stiffly and he laughs.

  “We’re all a bit shell-shocked in the beginning. Not to worry, you’ll get used to it.” Agent Magnus takes hold of my shoulder and gently turns me back around to face the lobby of supernaturals. “Now, one of the most important purposes of this here Bureau is to ensure that scenes like this one continue to exist. A safe place within human cities and towns for supernaturals to meet and gather and conduct business—no glamours or disguises necessary. Heck, they barely even have to behave within these walls.”