by B. B. Alston
No wonder he won’t answer their questions. They’ve been sending agents to interrogate him—but agents are the reason he’s locked away. An idea pops into my head. There might be an upside to my being a magician.
“Could I talk to him?” I ask. The rest of my tour group gawks at me but I focus on Agent Fiona. “Maybe he’d be willing since I’m also a magician?” If the whole supernatural world thinks I’m destined to be a villain anyway, maybe Moreau will too, and say something that could help us find Quinton and Maria.
Agent Fiona raises an eyebrow. “Not a chance, Peters. You’re on shaky ground as it is. There’s no way the higher-ups are gonna risk ye being corrupted by the single most dangerous being on the planet.”
“Who says I’d be—”
I stop short as the hallway darkens and red lights begin to flash above us. What’s going on? A siren blares, making me jump.
“Agent Fiona!” shouts a Junior Agent running up the hall.
“Tristan,” says Agent Fiona. “What’s happened?”
“There’s been an attack on one of our outposts,” he replies. “Thirty hybrids have overrun the place.”
“Thirty?” Agent Fiona’s face blanches. “How’s that possible?”
He shrugs. “The Director wants all Senior and Special Agents to report to the Operations Bay immediately.”
The rest of the tour is canceled. Instead, we’re taken into a large computer room. But my mind is still back at that red alert.
If the Bureau refuses the trade, no one is safe. That’s what the letter said, according to Dylan. The way Agent Fiona fussed at him, he had to be telling the truth. Just who is this apprentice that has my brother and Maria? And what’s going to happen if we don’t find them soon?
An agent sits at a desk at the front of the room, speaking in the most boring monotone I’ve ever heard. “I’m sure the red alert you all experienced must have been very disconcerting. Rest assured that we’ve got the very best people looking into it. Rather than have you kids idle, we’ve moved up tomorrow’s Supernatural Knowledge examination to today. Do remember this is merely a diagnostic, meaning no studying was required. It will merely serve to inform us where you currently stand.”
As much as I try to tell myself this exam doesn’t count, I get more discouraged with each question. How am I supposed to know which two great beasts reside in the Atlantic Ocean? Or how old Merlin is? Or even what date the Bureau of Supernatural Affairs was founded?
Not to mention I keep getting distracted by the fact that Moreau is literally in the same place as I am. There’s got to be a way for me to find out what he knows.
When the exam is over, we’re called into the office at the back of the classroom to meet with the instructor. Lara is first up and returns a few minutes later red-faced. “A measly eighty-three,” she tells Dylan. “I told that ridiculous tutor we were focusing on the wrong things. When I see Daddy, I’m demanding a new one.”
If not even Lara could ace this test, I’m not looking forward to my own score. Unfortunately, I’m called in next.
“Take a seat, dear.”
I do. As the instructor taps away at her computer, I brace myself for the worst. “I know I probably didn’t do all that well . . .”
The instructor nods. “You’d be correct. You scored a four out of one hundred. And that’s probably due to a few good guesses, am I right?”
I nod. A four?!
The instructor keeps typing away, not a trace of sympathy in her voice. “Just means you’ll need to devote a good bit of your time to studying in order to perform well during the exam section of the finale. I won’t sugarcoat it, dear, you’ve got quite the uphill battle ahead. Especially given your supernatural ability situation. I’ll write you up a list of books to check out at the library. I suggest you begin your studies as soon as possible.”
The list she gives me is the length of my arm. I’m supposed to read all of these? When will I have time to search for Quinton?
I leave the office in a daze.
My phone buzzes inside my pocket. It’s another message from the mystery girl.
New Message from magiciangirl18:
Bummer on failing the test. Wouldn’t you rather be learning the truth about magicians?
About Moreau?
I spin around, searching the classroom. I look to Lara, then Dylan, then their circle of friends. Not a single person is on their phone right now. I type up a quick response.
From: Amari_Peters
How do you know that? Are you here too?
And what do you know about Moreau?
The response is nearly instant as I scan the other trainees to see if anyone picks up their phone. No one does. I glance down at the message.
New Message from magiciangirl18:
First, you have to prove you can keep a secret.
Don’t tell anyone about my offer and I’ll contact you when the time is right.
14
BY THE TIME LUNCH COMES AROUND, I’M ALREADY STRESSED out about my chances of making Junior Agent. Maybe Director Van Helsing was right. Maybe I am in over my head.
Feeling like I need to be doing something, I skip the first few minutes of lunch and head to the Files and Evidence Room in the Department of Supernatural Investigations. Maybe if I can get permission to look at some of the files on my brother, it’ll help me understand what the Bureau knows and what they’re doing to find him.
Unfortunately, the lady at the front desk makes it clear that trainees don’t have access to classified files under any circumstance. What’s worse, Junior Agents don’t either—only the adults.
And if that’s not frustrating enough, magiciangirl18 is spying on me somehow? I was so sure it was one of the other Junior Agent trainees trolling me, but none of them were on their phones when those messages came through. I made sure of it.
Now I can’t help but wonder if Elsie was right and magiciangirl18 really is the magician who took my brother and Maria. But what should I do about it? If I accuse her and I’m wrong, there’s no telling how she’ll take it. I certainly don’t appreciate being called a criminal just because I’m a magician. A false accusation—especially against someone trying to help—could mean blowing the best chance I have to learn anything at all about Moreau and being a magician.
I can’t risk it.
“Ooh!” says Elsie when she sits down to lunch with me in the food court. “Tell me what you think about this—lip gloss that shoots knockout gas. The antidote would be in the lip gloss itself, so once you put some on, you’d be immune!”
She’s been like this ever since she got her Mastermind Inventor ability from the Crystal Ball. Out of nowhere she’ll get this intense look and then just start coming up with all sorts of ideas for cool new inventions. Yesterday she got an idea for a microphone that turns your voice into that really high pitch that only dogs can hear. As long as the person you’re talking to has an earpiece that picks up the sound, you could have totally private conversations in a crowded room—assuming there aren’t any werewolves around.
It feels weird not to tell Elsie about the new messages. But magiciangirl18 was pretty clear.
“You might as well tell me,” Elsie says.
I blink and find my roommate staring right at me.
Elsie leans closer. “Your aura just went gray. What’s wrong?”
“I . . . well, there’s a . . .” I totally chicken out. “Um, just worried about my test score.”
Elsie doesn’t look convinced. “Are you sure that’s all?”
Chief Crowe’s voice booms over the intercom before I can answer. “Trainee Amari Peters is requested in the office of the Chief Director immediately. Her private elevator will be waiting for you in the food court lobby.”
The food court goes completely silent and nearly everyone turns to look in my direction.
“Nobody gets to use that elevator,” says Elsie, eyes wide. “Must be something really important.”
Why would the chief ne
ed to talk to me?
I mean, unless I’m in trouble again. I swallow. Maybe they know about magiciangirl18 after all.
The chief’s elevator is the last one on the row and is twice as big as the others. Normally there’s an Off-Limits sign on its front, but today the doors are wide open. The floor is plush carpet and the walls are all tinted mirrors so those inside can see out but nobody can look in. A pair of slippers sit near the entrance.
“Are these slippers for me?” I ask, leaning inside. Man, this thing is fancy.
“Of course they are,” says the elevator in a snooty voice. “This carpet is made of fine hand-woven unicorn hair—shed not shaven—and it will not be blemished by the likes of you!”
I can’t roll my eyes hard enough. “Nice to meet you too,” I mutter.
“What was that?”
“Nothing,” I say quickly. “Wait, aren’t you supposed to introduce yourself?”
The elevator groans. “I suppose I am. How I go from transporting His Royal Deviousness, the Goblin King himself, to some trainee is beyond me . . .” The elevator clears its throat. “The name is Lord Archibald Reginald Kensington, reluctantly at your service.”
“Lord . . . of the elevators?” I ask. “Is that really a thing?”
“Of course it’s a thing! Now get on!”
“Okay, okay. Sorry I asked.” I step out of my shoes and into the slippers. I turn around as the doors shut and then immediately open up again.
“We’ve arrived at the Office of the Chief Director,” says Lord Kensington in a bored voice.
Whoa! “That was fast!”
“As I am Lord of these elevator shafts, that should really be expected, shouldn’t it?” replies Lord Kensington with a harrumph. “Now be gone with you. And don’t you dare take my slippers.”
I step out of the elevator and glance around the small lobby. There’s only a fancy glass desk with a big Office of the Chief Director plaque across the front. The same secretary who escorted Elsie and me to our seats on Welcome Day is seated behind it. A giant picture of Chief Crowe in a business suit fills the back wall.
My smile fades at the secretary’s serious expression. She points to a door marked Conference Room and says, “This way, please. They’re waiting for you.”
They? My mind flashes back to the last time I was in a conference room—when everyone had just learned that I was a magician. A few of the directors wanted me locked away. What if this time they mean to go through with it? Please, oh please, don’t let me be in trouble. If they really do know about magiciangirl18, I’m toast.
This time the conference room is a lot emptier. Agent Magnus is seated at one side of a long table, his big arms folded across his chest. Agent Fiona and Chief Crowe both sit on the opposite side. Agent Fiona shoots an annoyed look at Magnus as the secretary leads me into the conference room.
“Amari!” says Chief Crowe with a wide smile. “I do hope your afternoon is going well. Please take a seat.”
It can’t be that bad if she’s smiling, right? I glance over at Agent Fiona, and she gives me an encouraging nod.
I start to relax a little until Magnus pats the chair next to him.
“Don’t you go getting comfortable. Wait till they tell you about the reckless idea that’s brought you here,” he says to me. He shakes his head. “In all my years . . .”
Agent Fiona chucks a pencil past his head.
Reckless idea? I take a seat beside Magnus, my eyes going back and forth from adult to adult. “What’s going on?”
“Well, Amari . . .” Chief Crowe gets to her feet and puts her hands behind her back. The gills on her neck flap open and shut as she clears her throat. “You’re no doubt aware of this morning’s attack on one of our outposts?”
“It happened right in the middle of our tour,” I say. “There were flashing lights and everything.”
Chief Crowe sighs and begins to pace. “It was an especially violent attack that resulted in terrible injuries to a number of our members. These weren’t agents, mind you, rather very specialized researchers studying wild magical flurries. The new batch of hybrids appears to be especially bloodthirsty creatures. These hybrids exhibit superhuman speed and strength far beyond the ones of the past.” She shakes her head. “It’s quite unlike anything we’ve seen before.”
“Truly,” says Agent Fiona. “The entire research team had to be flown to the nearest supernatural health center.”
“That’s awful,” I say.
“The long and short of it is that we’ve become quite desperate,” says Chief Crowe. “As far as we know, Moreau is the only magician with enough magic to create hybrids. A spell that can warp nature so perversely is typically far beyond his apprentices. Until you showed up here, we had no idea a single person could even be so magical.”
That must be why they were so quick to accuse me. I swallow. “It wasn’t me. Everything I’ve done with magic has been a complete accident. I wouldn’t even know how to use a spell.”
“No one in this room is accusing ye,” says Agent Fiona. “Why, you’d have had to be in two places at once to order the attack on that outpost.”
“What we are saying is that someone we believe to be connected to Moreau is creating these hybrids. And we don’t know the first thing about this new magician. So when Agent Fiona came to me with what I’ll admit is a rather outlandish proposal, I found myself forced to consider it,” says Chief Crowe.
That’s when I realize why I’m here and why Agent Magnus is so upset. I lean forward in my seat. “You’re going to let me to talk to Moreau.”
Agent Fiona and Chief Crowe both nod.
Agent Magnus gets to his feet, knocking over his chair. “Amari won’t have any part in it.”
Agent Fiona reddens. “It’s not your decision is it, ye great big oaf!” Her blue eyes come back to me. “We wouldn’t ask ye if it wasn’t important. Innocents are getting hurt.”
“Oh, do sit down, Magnus,” snaps Chief Crowe.
Magnus picks up his fallen chair and drops into it dramatically. That guy can sure throw a tantrum.
“Now, Amari,” Chief Crowe continues, “I know you were quite eager before but I’d like to be sure you’ve properly thought this through. We would be placing you near the most terrible villain in the history of our world. Desperate or not, it’s not a decision I’d have you take lightly.”
“This kinda thing ain’t her job yet,” grumbles Agent Magnus. “She’s just a kid, for crying out loud.”
“And it’s still her decision,” says Agent Fiona.
I lean back in my chair and pretend to think it over. I get that Agent Magnus feels like it’s his job to keep me safe, and maybe that’s what Quinton would’ve wanted. But this is the opportunity I’ve been waiting for. “I’m doing it.”
Agent Magnus throws up his hands.
Agent Fiona blows out a heavy sigh of relief. “Ye have our thanks, Peters.”
“Indeed you do,” says Chief Crowe.
“But I have a condition too,” I continue. “I want to know why you refused the trade to get my brother back. And whatever else you know about my brother’s disappearance.”
Agent Fiona and Chief Crowe both exchange a startled look. Chief Crowe asks, “How on earth do you know about that?”
“It’s classified.” Agent Magnus crosses his arms.
“If she already knows about the letter,” says Agent Fiona, “then it’s only fair we fill her in on the details. It’s nothing she couldn’t learn from Moreau himself.”
After what feels like forever, Chief Crowe gives a stiff nod. “We’ll tell her everything we can within reason.”
Agent Fiona and Chief Crowe huddle for a moment, speaking in low voices. While they talk I sneak a peek over at Agent Magnus. He’s seriously unhappy. Well, too bad. I’m about to complete step two of me and Elsie’s plan. I’m about to discover what the Bureau knows about my brother’s disappearance.
Chief Crowe and Agent Fiona return to the table. The ch
ief speaks first. “The letter we received came from one of Moreau’s apprentices. And it made not just one, but two impossible demands, one for each member of VanQuish.”
Two demands?
Chief Crowe continues, “The first was releasing Moreau from prison.”
“Ye weren’t here when Moreau was free,” Agent Fiona cuts in. “Horrible things would randomly happen without any rhyme or reason. The worst part is we’d all know it was Moreau who did it but there was nothing we could do. The fact your brother and Maria were able to track him down is nothing short of a miracle.”
Elsie and I figured Moreau’s apprentice would want him free. “What else did the letter ask for?”
“That, I’m afraid, really is classified,” says Chief Crowe. “Just know that it concerns an item of immense destructive power. An item that would put many, many innocent lives at risk were it placed in the wrong hands.”
It takes a few seconds for the words to sink in. When they do, I try to blink back my tears. “Whoever has my brother must be a horrible person to want something like that. If we can’t give them what they want, what’s to stop them from hurting Quinton and Maria? How are we supposed to get them back?”
“By catching whoever has them,” says Agent Fiona, coming around the table to crouch in front of my chair. “And our best hope right now is getting something out of Moreau that will help us do just that. Ye are our best hope, Amari.”
“I’m in,” I say. “I’ll do whatever it takes.”
15
IT’S ALMOST TIME.
I’m sitting in the lobby of Chief Crowe’s office, watching a whole bunch of adults rush in and out of conference rooms in preparation for my meeting with Moreau. When I agreed to it, I didn’t think they meant right away. But, as Agent Fiona explained, the Bureau has no clue when the next attack might come. The quicker they find Moreau’s apprentice, the safer we’ll all be.
Agent Magnus and Agent Fiona gave me a list of questions that Director Van Helsing typed up himself, and I prepped with them all afternoon. “Moreau is wicked smart,” said Agent Fiona. “He’ll try and mess with your head if ye let him.”
