by B. B. Alston
“I bet he already knows,” she says. “His aura is a reddish orange—protective. I think he’s been protecting Quinton all this time.”
That’s why he claimed not to know about what Quinton was doing. “We know about the Black Book.” I lean back in my chair and add, “We also know that Quinton discovered the Key Holder’s identity. I think that’s what he’s keeping in that second Farewell Briefcase.”
Agent Magnus jumps in his seat. “How on earth did you figure all that out?”
“Long story,” I say. “What I don’t understand is why he would search for the Key Holder if he knows the horrible consequences?”
“I won’t say I agree with what he did,” says Agent Magnus. “But I do understand why he did it. It was clear when we raided Moreau’s island that he was actively trying to resurrect his fallen comrade. Seems this Black Book has the power to do just that.”
“And that’s why Moreau’s apprentice took my brother?” I ask, wanting to be sure. “To get him to reveal the location of the Black Key?”
“That would be the best-case scenario.” Agent Magnus comes from around his desk and places a hand on my shoulder. “They’d need your brother alive to learn what he knows. And if Quinton has refused to say anything, then there’s a good chance he and Maria are still out there somewhere.”
Please oh please let that be true.
“The Black Book is still safe inside the Great Vault, right?” asks Elsie. “Like there’s no way anyone could get to it?”
“Absolutely. It’s the safest place in the whole supernatural world.”
I shake my head. “You guys didn’t see Moreau’s face. He was so sure of his plan.”
“All the more reason to get our hands on this apprentice as soon as possible and put an end to this,” says Magnus.
For a second I think to mention that my brother suspected Maria, but that wouldn’t be treating her like she’s innocent. And I promised Dylan that I would.
Instead, I say, “I want to help. I want to find my brother and bring Moreau’s apprentice to justice.”
Magnus sighs and crosses his arms. “Quinton didn’t want this life for you. But if you succeed in making Junior Agent and officially become part of the Bureau, then you’d stand to inherit all of his belongings. This briefcase technically becomes yours. Though it’s likely the information inside made your brother a target. Not to mention what it could mean for the Bureau if word got out what Quinton was up to.”
“I’ll keep Quinton’s secret,” I say. “And I don’t care about being safe. Or if there’s a target on my back too.”
“Gathered that much when you ignored my warning and became a Junior Agent trainee in the first place,” says Agent Magnus. “Good or bad, you’ve got Quinton’s same fire in your blood. That same stubborn determination, minus a setback or two.”
I remember just how close I came to quitting Junior Agent training. Twice.
“Let me help,” I say again. “I’m sure my magic could help.”
Something buzzes on Magnus’s belt. He unclips his phone and holds it up to his face. “Would this magic of yours have anything to do with the message I just got about you dumping a plate of spaghetti on Lara Van Helsing’s head?”
My face flushes. “She was planning to dump it on Dylan, and I sort of lost my temper.”
Magnus snorts. “Well, if there’s anybody due for a bit of spaghetti humbling, it’s that Van Helsing gal. Kid was born with her nose turned up.”
“Then you’re not going to kick me out of Junior Agent training?”
“Oh, I’m sure those phone calls will be coming any minute,” says Magnus. “It’ll be a good time to trade in some of the goodwill you built up with the chief by meeting with Moreau. Besides, you’ve already got enough going against you. The chief is under a lot of pressure not to promote you to Junior Agent. A good many folks assumed you’d fail the second tryout. But now that you’ve made it to the finale, they’re getting nervous. The idea of a magician inside the Bureau of Supernatural Affairs scares a lot of people.”
But there have been magicians named Van Helsing inside the Bureau for centuries, I think. “What am I supposed to do?”
“Only thing you can control is how hard you try,” he replies. “Make it as hard as possible to overlook you. Do that, and I’ll do what I can to see that you get a fair shake. Understand?”
“I do,” I say. “I’m going to outwork them all.”
27
“SERIOUSLY, AMARI?”
My eyes jump open to find Elsie standing in the doorway of our usual study room with her hands on her hips.
“That’s got to be the most uncomfortable sleeping position ever,” she says.
“I . . . I wasn’t asleep,” I say defensively, lifting my head. But now that I’ve pulled my face away from my book, I can see where I’ve drooled on the pages.
Elsie sits down next to me. “You’ve been studying nonstop for days. You need to take breaks, you know. Otherwise your head’ll explode.”
“I’ve got to get through this booklist,” I say. “And then I have to go back over all the stuff I read when I first got here because it feels like I can’t remember any of it.”
“You haven’t forgotten,” says Elsie. “You just haven’t given your brain any rest. It’s practically got steam coming off it.”
Maybe she’s right, because I can’t even remember what the title of this book is. I slam it shut and yawn. “What time is it?”
“Breakfast.”
My jaw drops. “You’re joking. Please say you’re joking.”
“Nope,” she says. “You spent the entire night face-first in a book.”
I rub my neck and groan. “No wonder my neck feels so stiff. . . . Wait! If it’s already tomorrow then I have to meet Dylan in the training gym. It’s our last chance to practice the Helsing technique. It’s their family Stun Stick style and Maria taught it to Quinton. It’s—”
“Amari!” says Elsie. “I know what the Helsing technique is. But maybe you should focus on going back to the room and taking a nap first. I’ll tell Dylan you’re going to be a little late. And brush your teeth too.” Elsie pinches her nose to make her point.
I cover my mouth. “Sorry. I think I will take that nap. Hey, who needs a whole bunch of friends when I’ve got one Elsie.”
When Dylan and I arrive at the training gym, there’s a giant petition posted on the doors with the names of all the legacy parents who don’t want me participating in the finale.
Most of them aren’t even from Supernatural Investi-gations, but they are current members of the Bureau of Supernatural Affairs. They’ve got their names and titles listed.
“Maybe we could practice somewhere else today?” I say to Dylan.
“I say we train right in their faces.” Dylan pushes open the door.
“Are you sure?” I ask. “You don’t worry about people going after you because of me?”
“Never,” he says. “VanQuish 2.0, right?”
I take a deep breath. “Okay, then. Let’s do it.”
The Helsing technique is just as hard as it looks, but Dylan is pretty confident we’ll win our duels with just the basics. Quinton and Maria make it look so easy in all the footage we watch. One time they even pulled it off hanging upside down from the ceiling. Those man-eating stalactites didn’t stand a chance.
We practice until we’re both so exhausted we just lie on the padded floor.
I still haven’t told Dylan about Quinton tracking down the Key Holder. Things were so weird between us with the whole Maria/traitor thing. And now that there’s a chance we could find out who this Key Holder actually is, it feels like we’re close to a major discovery.
We did promise to share whatever we found.
“I’ve got something important to tell you,” I say.
“What is it?” Dylan asks, sitting up.
I sit up too and tell him everything we’ve learned.
“This is huge!” he says. “If the Bu
reau can get to the Key Holder first, then maybe we can spring a trap for Moreau’s apprentice. This could be how we get Quinton and Maria back.”
“Only one problem,” I say. “I have to become a Junior Agent in order to inherit Quinton’s second Farewell Briefcase. And there’s a whole petition against me being in the finale.”
“You have to do it anyway,” says Dylan. “And prove that you deserve a place here.”
“But how? They’ll never let me go onstage and show off my magic.”
“Use my turn,” he says.
“What do you mean?”
“When they announce me,” he says, “you go onstage instead.”
“You’re serious?” I ask. “We would be in so much trouble.”
Dylan just laughs. “You think my dad is going to let both his kids flunk the tryouts? Besides, if you don’t do this, then you’re giving him the excuse he needs to cut you. All he has to say is you didn’t fulfill all the requirements.”
“I don’t know,” I say. “Agent Magnus already said he’d try to help.”
“What’s better,” asks Dylan, “hoping Magnus convinces enough people to feel sorry for you or going up there and taking a spot you should already have?”
A mix of nerves and excitement washes over me. “I do deserve my spot.”
A sneaky grin lights up Dylan’s face. “Then tell me, how would you show off your magic?”
Elsie dashes into our room looking way too pleased with herself.
She skips over to my side of the room, where I’m hunched over Sovereign Cities of the Supernatural World, and plops down on the end of my bed. “I hope you’re not planning on studying all day.”
“We’re not all geniuses,” I say, turning a page.
Elsie lifts her chin and I know immediately she’s about to go on about something she’s read. “You know, studies show that cramming the day before a big test is actually worse for you than just taking the day off.”
“I’m not cramming,” I say, without looking up. “This is the last book on my booklist.”
“Fine,” Elsie sighs. “Study if you want, but promise me you’ll keep tonight free.”
I raise an eyebrow. “Why? What’s happening tonight?”
“Just promise, okay?”
Hold on. “You’re really not going to tell me what it is?”
“Nope,” says Elsie. “It’s a surprise. Please just say you’ll come with me. Please? It’ll be so much fun.”
As much as I’m tempted, there’s a part of me that feels guilty for even thinking about it. “It doesn’t feel right to have fun when Quinton is still out there somewhere.”
“You’ve been working super hard. And once you make Junior Agent, I’ll barely ever see you while you’re off with Agent Magnus working to get VanQuish back. Just come with me and have some fun tonight. You’ve earned it.”
“I . . . I guess you’re right,” I say.
Elsie claps her hands and squeals. “Hope you’re not scared of the dark!”
It takes me all morning and most of the afternoon to finish Sovereign Cities of the Supernatural World. Despite the boring title, it’s pretty cool to learn about the non-human cities out there. Places like the underwater city of Atlantis. Or the dwarven stronghold of Cibola, an underground city made completely of gold. It figures that it’s located directly beneath Las Vegas.
When I get back to my room, Elsie is waiting inside for me with a suitcase and a grin so wide I know I’m in trouble. “What are you up to?”
“So . . . tonight’s festivities may involve sneaking out,” says Elsie.
Sneaking out? “To where?”
“Good question,” says Elsie. “Where is much better than why. Not that I’m answering either question. Just know that it involves these most splendid cloaks.”
“Are those . . . Junior Undertaker cloaks?”
“Fresh from the Department of the Dead!”
“Something tells me I’m going to regret agreeing to this,” I say. “Are you sure we won’t get caught?” I mean, it would really suck to get thrown out the day before I make Junior Agent.
“Don’t worry, we won’t be the only ones.”
At exactly 8:15 p.m., we get changed and join a large group of Junior Undertakers making their way to the elevators. Bertha stops and gives us a good looking over, but with the hoods of our cloaks pulled so low over our heads, we all look alike. Still, shouldn’t she know by now how many Junior Undertakers there are? It’s like she’s just letting us go.
Once we’re on an elevator, Lucy gives us a “Tsk, tsk, someone’s being naughty.” Still, she zips us up to the Vanderbilt Hotel lobby without another word. Elsie and I follow the others down a side hall that leads outside where a bus is waiting. We sign the roll with made-up names.
My roommate and I head to the very back of the bus. As soon as we find seats, Elsie pulls back her hood and grins. “Done and done.”
I pull my hood off too. “Maybe now you can tell me where we’re going?”
Elsie rolls her eyes playfully. “You’ll know soon enough.”
“Amari?” says a voice I recognize. Dylan’s head rises into view above the seat in front of us. “I thought I heard you.” He’s got on a Junior Undertaker cloak too.
“Are there any actual Junior Undertakers on this bus?” I ask.
“A few,” he says. “Sneaking out the night before the finale is kind of a tradition.”
No wonder Bertha let us go so easily.
“I’m coming back there.” Dylan climbs over the seat and plops down between me and Elsie. “Is this your first All-Souls Festival?”
“All-Soul Festival?” I repeat. Are we going to a soul music concert? Mama would be so jealous.
Elsie shoots Dylan a look and says, “It’s supposed to be a surprise.”
“Oh, my bad,” says Dylan, looking back and forth between us. “Well, if it’s your first time going, let’s just say the name doesn’t really give much away.”
The bus leaves the city and we end up on an empty two-lane road. We pass through thickly wooded areas and farmland until eventually the bus pulls off onto a wide grassy field. A large crowd is gathered next to the road. I try to look past them all, to get a hint at what the All-Souls Festival might be, but the only thing that catches my eye is the full moon above.
The three of us pull our hoods back on and follow the others off the bus. But when the Junior Undertakers move to the front of the crowd, Elsie grabs my hand and pulls me to the back.
“Climb on my shoulders,” says Dylan.
“I’m not—”
“Hurry,” he insists. “You’ll miss it.”
Elsie nods enthusiastically.
I take him up on his offer. On top of Dylan, I get a clear view of the Junior Undertakers spaced evenly in a straight line, their backs to the crowd. At the center is a Senior Undertaker whose cloak has a high silver collar. It looks like he’s checking his watch.
“Can they get on with it?” says something that looks a lot like the boy version of Tinkerbell, his small wings buzzing in my ear. “It’s been midnight for three minutes already.”
Finally, the undertaker reaches into his cloak and brings a whistle up to his lips. He gives it a blow and the Junior Undertakers raise their right arms in unison. Each one holds up a baton. “By order of the Department of the Dead, working in conjunction with the foremost representatives of Afterlife, I declare before the full moon that this month’s All-Souls Festival is now in session!”
The Junior Undertakers point their batons forward. Green light comes pouring out of them, and together they draw a complex symbol of glowing green. The undertaker takes a step forward and says, “Open, Says Me.”
The symbol flashes and then fades into nothing. Bright colorful tents begin to emerge, spreading out over the entire field. Only they never fully take form. They stay hazy, almost translucent, like a strong gust of wind could blow them all away.
The grass below my feet becomes black pavement a
nd little stands line the winding road ahead. Shimmering white figures swish back and forth along the road, calling us forward.
Dylan drops me onto my feet and I almost don’t remember to catch myself. “Are those ghosts?” I ask.
“Yep,” says Dylan. “It’s why they call it the All-Souls Festival. Everyone’s invited, living or dead.”
I don’t get very long to decide how I feel about being surrounded by ghosts because Elsie whoops and tugs me by the hand, behind the mass of people moving along the street. Dylan keeps pace, and we move through the crowd until we reach the first of the stands.
I can’t stop staring. Up close, the spirits look like people, only they’re as shimmery and translucent as everything else here. A slender spirit with a thick mustache waves us over to his table. “Grab a bite of Ghostly Cotton Candy! Eat as much as you want! You’ll never get full!”
I pat down my pockets for show. “I’m sorry, but I don’t have any money. Wait, do you even take money?”
“Joss paper,” says the spirit. “Just have to burn it in my presence.”
I turn to Elsie, who digs into her pocket.
Dylan stops her. “I think my dad should pay for Amari’s fun, don’t you?” He pulls out a thick roll of pink dollar bills and a lighter, and then sets a couple ablaze. Instead of burning up, though, the bills only turn as shimmery as everything else in the festival. The spirit happily accepts the money and stuffs it into a jar.
“A pleasure doing business,” says the spirit. He hands me a small bag of glowing cotton candy, and I can’t get the stuff into my mouth fast enough. The fruity flavor melts on my tongue. I’ve never tasted anything so delicious.
Elsie, Dylan, and I move from stand to stand trying all kinds of different goodies. I can’t stop grinning after tasting a Strawberry Smiles–flavored milkshake. Poor Elsie can’t stop giggling after asking for a sample of the Chocolate Chip Chuckles flavor. Dylan and Elsie dare me to try Banshee I-Scream, which seems like plain old ice cream to me until the urge to shout my lungs out takes over after the third bite. Dylan and Elsie both go red in the face from laughing at me.
Once we’ve tasted everything there is to taste, we head into a large tent called Sweet Dreams. The dreams in here all glisten like liquid gold in little glass bottles. The sign says you only need one sip before bed to ensure you have the dream you want. Richest Person in the World seems really popular and so does Most Beautiful Person in the World. I see a few people attempt to slip Sweet, Sweet Revenge into their shopping baskets without anyone noticing. A group of teenagers swarms the My Crush Wants to Go Out with Me counter and don’t leave a single bottle on the shelf.
