Amari and the Night Brothers

by B. B. Alston

  I think about the supernaturals I saw on the ride here and how Mama couldn’t see any of them. They all must’ve been wearing glamours and disguises.

  He continues. “Supernaturals decided a long time ago that they’d be much safer hidden away from humans. And yet, outside of this place, the known world and the supernatural world are constantly slamming into contact in a thousand different ways every single day. So, for the privilege of remaining a part of their world, we here at the Bureau ensure these interactions occur in a way that keeps the supernatural world secret. Heck, we’ve got a whole department that does nothing but make up convincing stories to cover up some of the wacky things that happen.”

  Agent Magnus leads me to an open elevator and we step inside. Once the door closes, a warm female voice says, “Welcome to the Bureau, Special Agent Beauregard Magnus and Trainee Amari Peters. It’s so good to see that you’ve trimmed that hideous beard, Agent Magnus. It was truly becoming an eyesore.”

  What the—? I glance around for the source of the voice. It seems like it’s coming from all directions.

  Magnus frowns. “Weren’t you telling me how great it looked just the other day?”

  “No,” the voice answers. “If I remember correctly, my exact words were, ‘you’ve certainly looked worse.’ That hardly constitutes a compliment.”

  As Magnus chuckles, I have to ask. “Just to be clear . . . you’re having a conversation with the elevator?” I mean, sure, I talk to my laptop sometimes when it’s not working, but it’s never spoken back.

  “That’s right,” Magnus says. “Amari, meet Lucy. She’s the only elevator for me.”

  I raise an eyebrow and add talking elevators to my fast-growing list of things that are actually things. “Um, Lucy . . . are you supernatural?”

  “Not in the slightest,” she replies. “I’m what you’d call artificial intelligence. You’ll find the Bureau operates on either advanced technology or magical objects. Whichever works best for the job.”

  “Cool,” I say.

  “Agent Magnus,” asks Lucy, “I presume you’re taking Trainee Peters to the youth dormitories?”

  “That’s right,” he replies.

  “Then down we go!” Lucy says.

  We drop into the floor, descending through the clear tube. The elevator goes dark.

  “Now approaching,” says Lucy, “the Department of Supernatural Licenses and Records.” A waiting room rises into view. Curious, I press my face into the glass to get a better look. Seated in the chair closest to the elevator is a cloud of smoke flipping through a newspaper. Next to it is a very bored-looking cyclops; it glances down at its ticket and rolls its large, bulging eye. An electronic sign at the center of the room flashes Now Serving C26, and behind it is a long counter with people stationed at little windows.

  The elevator goes dark again.

  “Now approaching the Department of Creature Control.” Flashing red lights fill the elevator as another room comes into view. Something large and scaly is coiled a few feet from the elevator. People in plastic suits sprint back and forth with fire extinguishers. A wide, snake-like head emerges. The thing’s cold yellow eyes find us in the elevator and it spits a whirling ball of fire in our direction.

  With a shout, I jump to the back of the elevator just as flames reach it.

  “No worries,” says Lucy. “I’m fireproof. That’s not the first Flame Serpent to get loose, I’m afraid.”

  Magnus laughs. “Kid, if you could’ve seen your face.”

  The elevator picks up speed.

  “Now approaching the Department of Magical Science.”

  I only get a glimpse of the enormous room, but what I do see is amazing. Everyone floats, some upside down, like they’re all in zero gravity or something.

  “Show-offs,” Magnus grumbles. “Tomorrow they’ll all be invisible, just for the heck of it.”

  “Now approaching,” Lucy says quickly, “the Department of Supernatural Investigations.”

  It goes by in a blur. Lucy keeps calling out names, but we’re dropping so fast now that it becomes a garbled mess.

  The elevator stops suddenly at a floor that looks like a hotel hallway. Crimson doors are spaced out every few steps, matching the rug that runs down the center of the hardwood floor.

  “We’ve arrived at the youth dormitories,” says Lucy.

  A tall, muscular woman in army fatigues steps into view. The doors open and she salutes Agent Magnus.

  Agent Magnus returns the salute. “Got a late arrival, Bertha. See to it she gets a room and a good night’s rest. Big day tomorrow.”

  Bertha nods stiffly. “I’ll do my best to look after her while she’s in my care.”

  “Kid,” he says to me, “this is where you get off.”

  Quinton had a rule for whenever you find yourself in a new place: Fake it until you make it. That means doing your best to look confident even if you don’t feel confident. I step off the elevator and give the lady a smile, even as my insides are doing flips. The lady returns a smile so forced it looks like she’s in pain.

  “Good luck,” says Agent Magnus as the elevator doors close.

  “Wait!” I shout. With everything there is to see in this place, I almost forgot about the reason I’m here. Agent Magnus holds open the elevator doors. “I want to ask you—”

  “I know whatcha wanna ask me about,” he interrupts. “Or rather, who. All information surrounding your brother’s disappearance is classified. Nothing we’re allowed to discuss with a trainee. It involves extremely dangerous matters you shouldn’t concern yourself with.”

  “What do you mean?” I ask. “He’s my brother.”

  “And he wouldn’t want you in harm’s way on his behalf. Focus on getting settled in.”

  His expression tells me he’s not going to change his mind, so I set my face to show him I’m not budging either. If he won’t tell me what I want to know, then I’ll just have to find out on my own.

  Agent Magnus frowns as the elevator whisks him away.

  “Allow me to make one thing perfectly clear,” says Bertha. Her forced smile is now a sneer. “I don’t care who your brother is. I am your dorm leader and you will address me as ma’am and you will like it. Understand?”

  I don’t see that I have much of a choice. I nod.

  Bertha continues her speech as she leads me through a maze of hallways. “It’s bad enough I have to rearrange things because you’ve upped and decided to exist. I’ll not tolerate any nonsense, do you hear me? Put one foot out of line and you’ll find your stay here a short one. . . .”

  The lady doesn’t stop talking until we arrive at a door and she gives it a knock. No answer. She gives it another try, harder this time. Still no answer. Bertha takes both hands and beats on the door so hard it rattles on its hinges. Finally, the door opens. A lanky girl with light tan skin, curly black hair, and thick glasses leans into the doorway, yawning.

  “Elsie Rodriguez, this is your new roommate,” Bertha says.

  The girl squints, her sleepy eyes going back and forth between me and Bertha. Then, like somebody flipped a switch, her eyes get big. “You’re you! Come in, come in! Tell me all about you.”

  “An early start tomorrow means early bedtime tonight,” Bertha cuts in. “There will be plenty of time for bonding tomorrow. Lights out!”

  The door slams shut behind me. It’s pitch-black in here.

  “What’s her problem—”

  “Shh!” Elsie whispers.

  I take Elsie’s advice and keep quiet. After a few seconds I hear Bertha’s loud shoes pound away. Once the footsteps fade completely, a small green flame pops to life, flooding the room with light. Elsie’s face glows above a twisty little candle.

  “She’ll see the light under the door,” I say.

  Elsie shakes her head. “It’s a sneakandle. Anyone more than three feet away can’t tell it’s lit. Invented it myself.”

  “That’s pretty cool.” I glance around the shimmering green room
and notice two more beds. “Do we have any other roommates?”

  Elsie’s wide grin fades. “There were two other girls assigned to this room but they both requested transfers.”

  “You don’t snore, do you?”

  She lowers her eyes. “It’s worse than that, actually.”

  “Okay,” I say, a little off guard. “It can’t be that bad.”

  She takes a slow, deep breath. “So . . . I’m kind of . . . a dragon.”

  “You’re . . . a dragon.” I repeat. I almost want to laugh but the look on Elsie’s face tells me this is no joke. “You’re serious?”

  “Well, not a dragon dragon,” she answers. “A weredragon.”

  “Like a werewolf?” I ask. “Like, you can turn into a dragon?”

  Elsie’s shoulders slouch. “I was supposed to have my first shift years ago. But it just hasn’t happened. And since I’m the last of my kind, there isn’t anyone I can ask for help.”

  “Oh, then your parents are . . .”

  “Both dead,” Elsie finishes. “Weredragons were considered extinct like five hundred years ago. At least until my egg was found in a deep-sea shipwreck off the coast of Mexico. We can’t hatch without sunlight. A dragon expert from the Department of Creature Control became my legal guardian and took me in.” She sighs. “But once my twelfth birthday passed without a single shift, the Bureau declared me ‘essentially human’ and now I’m here.”

  “What’s it like? Being the last of your kind?”

  “Lonelier than you can imagine.” She gestures to the two empty beds. “They told Bertha they didn’t want to wake up one night to find a dragon snacking on their legs.” She sighs. “Not an unreasonable request, all things considered.”

  “Well, I’m not afraid.” I’m surprised by how much I mean those words. Maybe it’s because I know how it feels to have people judge me before they even get to know me.

  “Really?” she asks, beaming.

  Nervously, I extend a hand. “Friends?”

  She grabs hold and shakes it fiercely. “Absolutely!”

  “Friends don’t eat friends. Dragon or not.”

  Elsie gets a good laugh out of that. “Words to live by!”

  It’s then that I notice the wall above Elsie’s bed. It’s covered in pictures.

  Elsie follows my eyes. “Ohmygosh, I am the biggest VanQuish fan on the planet. I’ve got all six of their action figures, even the super rare Junior Agent editions, a whole drawer full of T-shirts, a blanket, three coffee mugs, and like twenty posters.”

  “VanQuish?”

  “Oh, that’s right!” Elsie’s eyes go wide. “You wouldn’t have known anything about the supernatural world until your nomination. VanQuish is the nickname for the two most famous agents of the last fifty years—Maria Van Helsing and your brother, Quinton Peters. The Van is from Maria’s last name and the Qui is from Quinton’s first name—with a sh on the end. Get it? They ‘vanquish’ the bad guys? How cool is that?”

  I double over laughing. There’s just no way my dorky big brother is some celebrity. “Seriously?”

  Elsie nods enthusiastically. “VanQuish singlehandedly defeated the last surviving Night Brother. It was the biggest arrest in centuries.”

  Before I can ask what a Night Brother is, Elsie holds up the sneakandle to show me her collection of magazine covers, centered around a small Mexican flag, stretching up to the ceiling. The magazines have names like Elf Magazine and Harper’s Bizarre and DeadBook: A Ghoulish Fashion Guide. There’s even a very sticky-looking Slime Magazine beside a Supernatural Geographic. Whatever the title, each cover shows a picture of the same pretty blonde girl next to my grinning big brother.

  “Wow.” There’s a whole side to my brother that he kept hidden from me. I mean, while I was spending my summers doing cannonballs at the community rec center pool, Quinton was out saving the world.

  “Can I ask you something?” I say.

  “Sure,” says Elsie.

  “This might sound weird, but do you have any idea what happened to my brother? It’s been six months since we’ve heard from him.”

  Elsie frowns. “No one knows. They vanished without a trace.”

  “Nobody went looking for them?”

  “Sure,” says Elsie. “Plenty of people did, from all over the supernatural world. The Bureau even set up a special hotline for tips. You wouldn’t believe the kinds of rewards that were offered for information leading to their whereabouts.”

  “Did the Bureau find out anything?” I ask.

  “If so, they didn’t make it public. The last press report only said that VanQuish is considered missing in action and that all details surrounding the investigation are confidential.”

  My shoulders droop. I thought for sure that coming here would finally give me some real answers about Quinton, but it’s just as big a mystery in the supernatural world as it is back home.

  But I can’t give up just yet. Not until I talk to everyone who knew him here. Somebody has to know something.

  “Maybe some music will cheer you up.” Elsie sets the sneakandle on the floor beside her bed and crawls underneath. She returns with a small black box covered in dials and buttons. Two long antennae rise out of the top.

  “A radio?” I ask.

  “Yep. Built it using spare parts.”

  I shake my head. “You’re brilliant, you know.”

  My roommate grins. “Want to test it out?”

  “Definitely.”

  Elsie sets it down on the floor and presses a few buttons. Suddenly a man’s voice blares from the speakers: “HOT 159.7 FM. THE STATION THAT’S ALWAYS KEEPING YOU INFORMED ON THE LATEST NEWS FROM ALL CORNERS OF THE SUPERNATURAL WORLD—”

  Elsie slams down on the large red button at the center of the radio, killing the sound. She blows out the sneakandle, and we both crawl into bed as fast as possible.

  If Bertha is anywhere nearby, we’re in trouble. I cringe at the idea of having to explain to Mama that I got kicked out an hour into being here. Please don’t let this cost me the chance to find Quinton.

  A few minutes pass but no one comes.

  “That was close,” says Elsie in the dark.

  “Too close,” I say.

  “Want to try again?”

  Now that my heart has stopped pounding, I have to admit—I am still curious. There’s so much about this world that I don’t know. “Only if you’re sure you can get the volume right this time.”

  The sneakandle pops on again, and Elsie fidgets with the dials. The voice returns, quieter:

  “. . . Bureau has yet to release a statement regarding the string of incidents believed to involve monstrous human-animal hybrids occurring in both the United States and Europe over the past few months. These creatures, known for their extraordinary size, speed, and strength, as well as their disturbing ferocity, are perhaps the most devious product of magician-craft—a forced, unnatural fusion of man and beast. But with Raoul Moreau locked away in Blackstone Prison and his brother-in-arms, Count Vladimir, long deceased, the Supernatural World Congress has begun to express concerns that a new magician has surfaced—”

  “A new magician?” says Elsie with a shiver. “That’s a scary thought.”

  “Really? What’s so scary about a magician?” I ask.

  “Magicians in the supernatural world aren’t like stage magicians in the known world,” says Elsie. “They have real magic. Lots of it too—much more than the Supernatural World Congress allows humans to have. Remember what I said earlier about VanQuish being famous for capturing the last surviving Night Brother? Well, that’s the same Moreau. The Night Brothers were two of the most powerful magicians there’s ever been. They waged war on the entire supernatural world ages ago and almost won—”

  “LIGHTS OUT MEANS GET TO SLEEP!”

  Bertha’s voice is like a crack of thunder outside our door and we scramble to put everything away and climb into bed.

  But as soon as our dorm leader leaves again, Elsie says, “I c
an’t wait to get my badge tomorrow. My overall potential rose really high on the Badge Tester, so I feel pretty good.”

  I think back on my own Badge Test and swallow. “What’s it mean if the Badge Tester decided to self-destruct?”

  In the dark, I hear Elsie gasp. “It means you’ve got so much potential the Badge Tester couldn’t contain it all! Amari, I bet you’re getting a moonstone badge tomorrow!”

  “Moonstone? I didn’t see that on the chart.”

  “They’re extremely rare,” she replies. “It means something about you is special—legendary. Quinton got one too.”

  Me, legendary? No way. What happens when they discover I’m not like Quinton at all?

  “Hey, it’s nothing to worry over,” says Elsie. “You could be a hero, just like your brother.”

  I try to play it cool. “Who says I’m worried?”

  “Um, I probably should’ve mentioned that I can see people’s emotions, even in the dark. If you were a dragon, we could communicate telepathically, but with humans it’s like an aura of different colors. And your yellow haze tells me you’re plenty worried.”

  “Yeah, well, you should’ve been upfront about that too,” I say angrily.

  “You’re right. I’m sorry.” A moment passes and she adds, “I really do think you could be a hero.”

  “I didn’t come here to be a hero,” I say, still annoyed. “I’m here to find out what happened to my brother.”

  My roommate doesn’t say anything to that.

  I know immediately I should apologize. That I’m too quick to get upset sometimes. Truth is, I am worried. Nobody would want me for a hero.

  But she’s already snoring.

  Me, I don’t sleep much at all.

  9

  AN EAR-SHATTERING KNOCK JOLTS MY EYES OPEN. NOT that I’m fully asleep.

  Elsie is still snoring, so I roll out of bed and drag myself to the door. As I turn the knob, another loud knock comes.