Amari and the Night Brothers

by B. B. Alston

  “No, thanks,” I say. The drone sighs and floats away. The rest of the lobby is covered in giant screens showing different experiments taking place at Bureau facilities around the world. Each screen has a couple drones hovering nearby to answer any questions passersby might have.

  I find a bench beneath a live feed of Brazilian researchers studying the growth rates of various grasses. It’s right next to a darkened screen flashing the words Outpost Under Repair Due to Recent Attack. It’s not hard to guess why no one else has chosen to sit here.

  Elsie finally comes out, surrounded by a huge group of Junior Researcher trainees. They smile and laugh as they talk, and she looks so happy—it’s the complete opposite of how I feel whenever I’m with the other Junior Agent trainees.

  I wave her over.

  “What’s wrong?” she asks, looking concerned.

  “I don’t know how to update the othernet app.” Realizing how ridiculous that sounds, I add, “I’m waiting for an important message on Eurg.”

  Elsie raises an eyebrow. “Really? From who?”

  I probably said too much. “Uh . . . no one you know.”

  “Okay . . .” says Elsie. “Well, it’s my mistake. I could’ve sworn I set the app to auto-update. It can be a pain to do manually.”

  She taps away on the screen for a couple minutes.

  “Got it,” she says. “And don’t worry about your missed messages. They should all come . . .” Elsie frowns. “Who are you supposed to be meeting?”

  I snatch the phone and have a look for myself.

  New Message from magiciangirl18:

  6:00 p.m. Room 307 in the Vanderbilt Hotel.

  It’s really happening then. My stomach does a flip. As exciting as this is, I’m also terrified.

  Elsie crosses her arms. “You can’t really be thinking of meeting this girl.”

  I should make up a story, I know I should. But nothing I say will erase what she just saw. I’m caught. And besides, if I’m really going to go through with this meeting, somebody should know where I am. Just in case something bad happens.

  “She claims she can tell me more about Moreau and about being a magician.” I’ve been so focused on finding my brother that I haven’t even given much thought to my magic and how it works. “Promise you won’t tell anyone.”

  “I don’t know,” she says. “There’s probably a reason this magiciangirl18 is hiding from the Bureau. What if she’s Moreau’s apprentice? What if this is how they get to you? You could be walking into a trap.”

  “She told me she wasn’t. And I’m not going to assume the worst just because she’s a magician—I’m one too and I’m not bad.”

  “I guess not,” says Elsie. “But then, we’re assuming she even is a magician. There are probably a lot of bad guys who wouldn’t mind using you for revenge since they can’t get their hands on your brother.”

  I didn’t even think about that. There’s no way for me to know if these messages are really from another magician. This mystery person could be lying about everything. “I have to try. She can’t be that bad if she wants to meet so close to the Bureau, right?”

  “Maybe I should come too. Just in case.”

  “You’re the only person who knows about this,” I say. “If you’re right and I don’t come back, then someone has to let people know where I went.”

  Elsie frowns. “I guess that does make sense. But be careful, okay? I mean it. Your brother had a lot of enemies.”

  I blow out a huge sigh of relief. “I’ll be as careful as I can.”

  With the first tryout tomorrow, the only thing scheduled for Junior Agent trainees today is something called Supernatural Immersion. Elsie described it as a supernatural entity show-and-tell. Whatever that means.

  I’m one of the first to get to the classroom so I take a seat near the front. As the other trainees come in, they do everything in their power not to sit next to me. Even when the seats get full, kids decide they’d rather take up spots on the floor. I just sit there in a full classroom with a circle of empty desks around me like I’ve got some terrible disease no one wants to catch. I don’t get it.

  Dylan and his sister are the last to come in. At the sight of me sitting alone, Lara shoots me a little smirk. They’re both about to take up a spot on the floor next to some other legacy kids when Dylan stops, turns around, and comes to sit next to me.

  He gives me a small smile and I honestly feel like I could burst into tears, it’s so nice. Lara looks ready to explode.

  A chubby white guy in a gray suit comes in a few minutes after the class is supposed to have started. “Name’s Senior Agent Kozy,” he says. “Before we get started, I have a message to pass on from Agent Fiona.” He clears his throat. “There will be a sleep-in taking place in the training rooms tonight with the goal of fostering camaraderie in the midst of competition. Further details to be provided. Now that that’s out of the way, who knows what today’s class is about?”

  Dylan answers. “The purpose of Supernatural Immersion is to get us used to being around supernatural entities.”

  “Very good.” Agent Kozy claps. “Our first guest got spooked and canceled on us after this most recent attack on the Bureau. But not to worry, I called in a favor, and do I ever have a treat for you.” He dims the lights. Shouts and shrieks go up as a pitch-black puddle slinks across the floor to the center of the room. I jump in my seat as it passes in front of my desk.

  Billy Pogo goes red and points a shaking finger. “I know what that is! It’s a boogeyman! Had one under my bed for years!”

  A boogeyman? I lean in closer as the shadowy shape of a woman emerges from the puddle, her glowing white eyes searching the room.

  “Boogeyperson,” says the shadow-lady. “It’s the twenty-first century, for heaven’s sake.”

  Agent Kozy hoots in delight. “Isn’t she grand? Well, class, this is your chance. Immerse yourself in this experience. Have a listen to her story.”

  The boogeyperson tells us that her kind resides in the deep, dark shadows of sketchy places. She explains that certain creatures are allowed to scare and harass unsuspecting people if they wander someplace generally acknowledged to be spooky—like graveyards, old abandoned mansions, dark caves, and under beds. As long as the area has a current Permission to Terrorize zoning permit from the Department of Supernatural Licenses and Records.

  Makes me wonder if that’s why Quinton always warned me about taking a shortcut through the creepy junkyard down the street from our apartment. There’s no sign out front and I’ve never ever seen anybody go in or out of there.

  Once the boogeyperson is done telling us about a few of her favorite frights, Agent Kozy lets us ask questions.

  I want to know more about that Permission to Terrorize stuff, but Billy Pogo gets his question out first. “Are you related to the boogey, um, person who haunted the upstairs bedroom at 231 Knacker Boulevard in Charlotte, North Carolina?”

  The boogeyperson strokes her chin. “I do have a second cousin I simply adore in Charlotte. Can you describe him?”

  “Well, he’s sort of shadowy and terrifying and he made these creepy noises . . .”

  “We’re all shadowy and terrifying, love. And creepy noises are in the job description. You’ll need to be more specific.”

  “Sometimes he’d make this ‘Booga Booga’ sound out of nowhere, right when I was drifting off to sleep.”

  “Oh, that was Clarence! Firm believer in the ‘Booga Boogas,’ he is. Myself, I’m more of a ‘spooky whispers in the middle of the night’ gal.”

  “Why do you scare people?” asks Brian Li. I wouldn’t mind hearing the answer to that myself.

  “Everyone’s got to eat,” she shrugs. “Boogeypeople eat fear.”

  “What does fear taste like?” asks Dylan.

  “I have it on good authority that it tastes like chicken, but as I’ve never had chicken before, I can’t really say how true that is.”

  “Fair enough, but why children?” asks a
girl.

  “Because nowadays adults just don’t fear us like they used to. They hear something under the bed and they’re grabbing the flashlight to have a look. Children are far more likely to let their imaginations run wild. And that makes for some tasty fear, let me tell you.”

  “I have a question . . .” says Lara Van Helsing. “Well, really more of a statement.”

  I roll my eyes. Of course she does. Anything to get everyone’s attention back on her.

  “Says here,” Lara continues, squinting at her phone, “that boogeypeople date back seven hundred years to the war with the Night Brothers.”

  Looking uncomfortable, the boogeyperson glances at Agent Kozy. “We don’t really like to talk about those days. Dark times and such.”

  Lara keeps reading. “It’s believed that boogeypeople were created by the Night Brothers and sent into the camps of enemy armies to terrify them in the night. The result being that armies would arrive on the battlefield drowsy and sluggish.” Lara looks at the boogeywoman. “Such a scandalous beginning for your kind.”

  Agent Kozy steps forward. “That’s quite enough, young lady. This boogeyperson is our guest. I don’t see how any of that is relevant.”

  “But there’s a magician right here in this room,” Lara says. “Don’t you recognize one of your masters?”

  The boogeyperson sniffs the air a few times and then looks to me. She drops to her knees. “Apologies, my lady. I didn’t recognize you.”

  “Oh no, you don’t have to bow.” I hate that she sounds so afraid all of a sudden. “Please stand up.”

  The boogeyperson scrambles to her feet and looks up at me with frightened eyes. “Us boogeyfolk know what you magicians are planning, and we don’t want any part in it. Please don’t force us, I’m begging you.”

  “I’m not—do you mean Moreau?”

  “Please, just leave us be!” The lights flicker and the boogeyperson fades into the shadows.

  Her fear of me makes me sick to my stomach. Is this what it means to be a magician?

  The rest of the trainees just stare in stunned silence.

  I swear I could melt right into this chair.

  Even though we agreed she wouldn’t come, after hearing about my Supernatural Immersion class, Elsie begged me to at least let her take the elevator ride with me up to the third floor of the Vanderbilt Hotel. I told her no, for her own good—but let me tell you, no one’s overpowering a weredragon if she wants to go somewhere.

  On the bright side, without her help I never would’ve known about Mischief, a part-time service elevator known for pranking kids with out-of-order signs and self-destruct countdowns, and for a willingness to assist in any type of general rule-breaking. As Elsie and I are lifted up through the Bureau, Mischief has been giggling nonstop in the background saying, “I’m helping a real-life magician escape! It’s my crowning achievement!”

  I’m so nervous I’m bouncing from foot to foot. “If I don’t come back, you have my permission to add my moonstone badge to your VanQuish collection. Think about the bragging rights you’ll have at the next convention.”

  “You can make all the jokes you want,” says Elsie. “You’re forgetting again that I can see how worried you are.”

  Mischief says, “Now entering the Vanderbilt Hotel.” About ten seconds later the elevator stops and the doors open up inside the closet of an empty hotel room. I’m confused for a second but then I realize it makes sense to have a secret entrance like this. Our elevators aren’t exactly open to the public.

  “Be careful,” says Elsie.

  “I will,” I say. “Thanks for coming with me.”

  The second I step off, Mischief squeals, “Magician on the loose!”

  Elsie quickly mashes the button to shut the doors and they both drop down out of sight. I take a deep breath and dash out into the hallway before I lose my nerve.

  When I reach room 307 I spend forever standing in front of the door trying to gather up the courage to knock. Also, how are you supposed to greet a fellow magician? Is there a secret handshake or something?

  I knock. I’m so nervous I can’t stand still.

  But nothing happens—until I hear the door behind me click open.

  I spin around to find a tall, pink-haired girl leaning into the hallway. Tattoos cover her arms.

  “Hurry,” she says. “Before anyone sees.”

  “Are you—”

  “Yes!” she says. “Now come inside.”

  I follow the girl into room 308. She waits by the door a few seconds, peeking into the hallway. “You came alone, right?”

  “I did,” I say.

  “And nobody followed you?”

  “I . . . I don’t think so.”

  “Good.” The pink-haired girl nods, drops the fancy wooden Do Not Disturb sign onto the doorknob, then shuts the door. She takes a few steps backward, away from me. “I’m going to show you something, but you have to promise not to freak out. Okay?”

  “Um . . . or maybe you could just tell me what you’re about to do?”

  “It’s better if I just show you.” Slowly, the girl raises her right hand. As it passes in front of her face she whispers something that sounds like “Misspell.” Suddenly her face begins to blur as though somebody went at it with a giant eraser. I jump back.

  The blurry-faced girl tilts her head and lets out the creepiest laugh—it sounds like multiple people are laughing at once.

  I turn and dash for the door.

  “Wait!”

  I know that voice.

  I turn and feel my jaw drop open.

  18

  DYLAN VAN HELSING SMILES AND WITH A WAVE OF HIS hand all traces of the girl are gone. “Okay, maybe I should’ve warned you.”

  “No way . . .”

  “Yes way.” He chuckles. “Surprised?”

  “But . . . I don’t get . . . I mean . . . how?”

  “How do you think?” Dylan grins like it should be obvious.

  “You’re a magician?!”

  Dylan blows into his hand and three fiery butterflies burst into life. They fly smoky circles around my head and then fizzle out.

  A million different questions pop into my mind. They must all come out at once because he says, “Whoa, one at a time!”

  My face flushes. “Sorry. Why in the world did you call yourself magiciangirl?”

  He flushes. “It was part of my cover. I wasn’t sure if I could trust you. The Bureau doesn’t know about me yet and I want to keep it that way. I didn’t know if you’d report me or not.”

  “Okay . . . but why didn’t your magic show up on the Crystal Ball like mine did?”

  “Because I crafted an illusion,” he says with a smile. “Made it look like I was just another trainee. Took me months to get it just right.”

  I think back to how relieved he looked when he came back to his seat. I thought he was just nervous about his supernatural ability. He was relieved that he’d pulled off his illusion. “Well, what about the boogeyperson? Why couldn’t she smell you?”

  “Illusions can fool any of the senses, not just sight,” says Dylan, grinning. “I wrapped myself in an illusion that can only be smelled instead of seen. You never know what supernaturals you’ll run into at the Bureau, so I make sure to always hide my magician’s scent.”

  “That’s incredible,” I say.

  “Not as incredible as your illusion,” says Dylan. “You made it seem like the Crystal Ball filled with smoke and cracked.”

  “But that was just an accident,” I say.

  “Exactly!” says Dylan. “Only an extremely powerful magician could’ve pulled off an illusion of that size without realizing it.”

  I’m not sure how to feel. That Magic-Meter, Moreau, and now Dylan have all told me how powerful I am. But that’s not how I feel at all.

  “Compared to you, I’m a pretty average illusionist,” adds Dylan, “but I’m a really strong technologist.”

  “What’s a technologist?”

  Dyla
n smiles and my phone buzzes. “Answer it.”

  I pull my phone out of my pocket and take a look. I gasp.

  New Message from Dylan

  Pretty cool, huh?

  “No way!” I can’t help a smile. “That’s so cool.”

  “Isn’t it?” says Dylan. “Magic isn’t the curse my dad and everybody else at the Bureau make it out to be. I’ll bet they gave you that whole speech about how too much magic turns you evil, blah blah blah. Am I right?”

  I just nod.

  “Well, nobody gave the Night Brothers their magic. They were born magicians.”

  “Moreau said I’m probably a born magician too,” I say. The idea that I’ve always had magic seems so impossible.

  “So it’s true, then? I overheard my dad talking to the chief about you going to Blackstone to meet with Moreau.”

  “Yeah,” I say. “He claims there’s some big plan to destroy the Bureau. Kind of like what that boogeyperson was saying. Remember what you said about Moreau’s apprentice wanting to make a trade for VanQuish? Well, it wasn’t just to free Moreau, it was to obtain some kind of destructive power too. Something Moreau says was taken from him.”

  Dylan starts to say something but then stops himself.

  “What?” I say. “Do you know what it is?”

  “I . . . might,” he says. “Some magicians believe that the Night Brothers created their own spell book—something called the Black Book. Supposedly the most powerful spells a magician can wield. Vladimir was probably the strongest weaver the world’s ever seen.”

  “Weaver?” I ask.

  “It’s a kind of magician, like an illusionist or a technologist. They weave together new spells. It’s why the Night Brothers were so powerful. They were a perfect team—Vladimir created the spells and Moreau carried them out. After Vladimir’s defeat, the Black Book was supposedly locked away in the Great Vault in the Department of Supernatural Investigations. If it’s even real.”

  From the way Chief Crowe and Agent Fiona acted, it sounds like it could definitely be real. “Do you think it might contain spells that could destroy the Bureau?”

  Dylan shrugs. “But I can tell you one thing. They’d be far beyond the abilities of an ordinary magician. You’d need to be incredibly magical to even use them. Like, born magician magical. Like Moreau himself or . . .”