by B. B. Alston
I step forward, realizing Director Van Helsing may have done me a favor when he decided to demote me. “I’m just a trainee and not officially part of the Bureau yet, so I can’t get the Bureau in trouble for going after the key.” I decide to be a little bolder. “I think you should trust Agent Magnus’s judgment.”
Agent Fiona shakes her head. “Heaven help me, this is what we’ve come to. Take down my cell phone number. The very first sign of trouble, ye text me your coordinates and I’ll be right there, tracking device or not.”
I type the number into my phone. Agent Fiona gives us another look like she can’t believe this is happening and then heads to go open the hangar doors.
It’s not till we get into the ship that Dylan admits he’s only ever flown the Jolly Roger on Called to Action: Agents Against the World. That boy then has the nerve to say, “How much different could real life be from the video game?”
Turns out a lot. But after backing into the wall twice, he gets things under control. Thankfully Agent Fiona can’t see our rough start from inside the hangar control room. Dylan guides us slowly out of the stall and into the landing area.
The real Jolly Roger is even fancier than the Wakeful Dream version. I type “Henry Underhill, Boonies Medical Clinic” into the navigation system.
Route found. Autopilot?
I look to Dylan and he nods. Then I press my finger to the GO button and the two of us dash into the night sky.
32
JUST LIKE IN THE WAKEFUL DREAM, THE JOLLY ROGER MOVES impossibly fast. The world blurs and I close my eyes against the streaking stars. This will work. We’re going to find the Key Holder and get him to safety. Maria and Moreau won’t win.
We’re here, I think as the ship glides to a slow stop in midair. The trip took all of ten seconds. I glance back at Dylan at the captain’s wheels and notice his troubled expression.
I feel so bad for him. All this time he’s been so convinced Maria was innocent. And now they’re on opposite sides.
I lean over the railing. A vast forest stretches out beneath us. The only sign of civilization is a small log cabin and a long dirt road that curves out of sight. Here, the sun is only just beginning to set, hurling up streaks of purple and orange as the night pushes it away.
Dylan comes over to take a look.
“We should hurry and park this thing,” I say. “We don’t want the Key Holder to look out his window and see a ship hovering over his house.”
Landing the Jolly Roger ends up being trickier than I’d imagined. Dylan brings the boat down a little too fast, causing a boom that echoes through the trees. “Sorry.”
“I’m just glad we got here in one piece,” I say.
We hop down off the ship and head over to the doctor’s cabin. The grass around here reaches up past my knees. It hasn’t been cut in a while. Weird. It makes me wonder if anyone is really using this cabin.
We pass a sign that says:
THE BOONIES MEDICAL CLINIC
COUNTRY DOCTORIN’ AT ITS FINEST!
Henry Underhill, MD
This is definitely the place. The front door is only a few steps away but Dylan grabs my arm and says, “Just hear him out, okay? Give him a chance.”
Huh? “Give who a chance?”
Dylan sighs. “Why don’t you come inside and find out.”
Without even knocking first, he walks inside.
Confused, I move to follow him but freeze in the doorway. The doctor’s office has been completely trashed. Papers and medical supplies scattered all over the floor. Chairs and cabinets overturned.
And seated at a fancy golden table in the middle of it all is a smiling gray-haired man in blood-red robes. He looks identical to the illusion except there’s a presence to him that I never felt back at Blackstone Prison. Something old and very dark.
It raises the hairs on the back of my neck.
The real Raoul Moreau leans forward in his chair. “Nice to finally meet you, Amari Peters.”
Please don’t let us be too late. “Where’s the Key Holder?”
“I’m afraid Dr. Underhill was dealt with some time ago,” says Moreau. “Do you really think I would risk attacking the Bureau for the Black Book without already possessing the Black Key?” He pulls a piece of twisted black metal from inside his robe.
“But how?” I ask.
Moreau’s grin widens, flashing his pointed canines. “Being so young in your magic, you wouldn’t know this, but there are ways to make truths spill from lips like water from a fountain.”
I grimace. My brother didn’t stand a chance. “Where is Quinton?”
“Right here.” Moreau sweeps his hands forward and a medical gurney rolls out from behind the counter.
My breath hitches at the sight of my brother, lying still. Too still. Shimmering green mist hovers in the air around him. “What are you doing to him?”
“Extracting his life essence—your brother has been dying a very slow death.” Moreau grins. “The spell I shall perform tonight requires it. A fitting end, wouldn’t you say?”
I draw my Stun Stick but Dylan knocks it out of my hand.
Moreau laughs and, with a twirl of his fingers, yanks my body forward through the air and drops me into a golden chair at the table.
I’m totally defenseless.
Dylan takes a seat across from me—right at Moreau’s side. I feel like I could throw up.
“You’ve been lying to me all along,” I snap at him.
Dylan doesn’t respond. He doesn’t even look at me.
Moreau laughs. “I’m afraid my partner has played you for quite the fool, child. And for a very long time too. It might shock you to know that it was he who stole the Black Book from right under your nose. He walked out with it in his jacket pocket while you, Chief Crowe, and a dozen other agents stood only feet away!”
“But Maria,” I say. “I saw her. We all did.”
“You saw what Dylan wanted you to see.” Moreau throws his head back and laughs some more. “She was an illusion, and all the tech magic she supposedly performed was actually Dylan here.”
I can’t believe it. “You disabled the shields to let the hybrids in. You’re the one who set up Magnus.” Maria was a victim just like Quinton.
Dylan still won’t look at me.
I shake my head. “But why? All those times you said you wanted Maria back and you knew where she was all along.”
Dylan stares me straight in the eye. “Maria is a coward! Just like all those other weakling Van Helsing magicians before her. For centuries they’ve stayed silent while the Bureau locked away magician after magician. It’s like I told you, we’re special, Amari. And we deserve to be treated like it. We shouldn’t have to hide what we are. Moreau helped me to understand that a true magician cannot serve two masters.”
With a wave of Moreau’s hands, Maria is rolled out on a gurney, too, her eyes closed. That same green mist surrounds her.
I just keep shaking my head while Moreau chuckles in delight. “Tell her everything, child. Let her see how thoroughly she has failed. Just like her fool brother.”
And he does. Dylan tells me that he and Moreau first bumped into each other over the othernet while using tech magic. And two years ago, it was Dylan who warned Moreau that VanQuish was coming to arrest him, giving Moreau time to wrap his former apprentice in an illusion so he could escape. Dylan was the one who set up Quinton and Maria’s kidnapping. He tells me how every triumph in those tryouts kept me close, while also allowing him to remain inside the Department of Supernatural Investigations long enough to use his tech magic to figure out its wards and security systems from the inside.
It was all Dylan. Attacking his sister wasn’t enough; he wanted to destroy people’s memory of her too. It’s just so cruel.
My heart breaks into pieces. “So those hybrids destroying your house—that bruise you supposedly got—that was just to convince me to come back?”
“Whatever it took.” He shrugs.
“You can’t be like this,” I say. “You just can’t.”
“We’re at war with the entire supernatural world,” Dylan says bitterly. “We’re fighting for magicians’ right to exist, Amari. We have to do what’s necessary. You should want to be a part of this—”
“A toast,” Moreau interrupts, lifting a glass. “To Amari Peters, the most powerful illusionist I’ve sensed since Vladimir himself. A shame that you must be sacrificed for the return of the Night Brothers.”
“Wait,” says Dylan. “You said that she didn’t have to die. That she could join us.”
Moreau frowns. “Don’t be stupid, boy. The girl clearly has no interest in our cause. I gave you the chance to win her over and you failed. But not to worry . . .” Moreau pauses to drink from his goblet, letting the blood drip down his chin. “She will go to her death knowing that it was her sacrifice that righted the world. All those who have cursed and vilified what we are, they shall get their just due. They will all be punished!”
I flinch. I’ve had those same thoughts. Wanting revenge on all those people who’ve hated me for something I can’t change about myself. Those people who gave me dirty looks or the parents who signed that finale petition on the training room door. Isn’t it exactly how I felt when I’d finally had enough and shoved Emily Grant on the last day of school? It was payback for all those times she made me feel bad about being the poor Black kid from the other side of town. For daring to say that Quinton was dead. And it did feel so good standing over her while all those other kids laughed.
I felt totally justified.
But that’s not how I feel anymore. “We can change people’s minds about magicians without hurting anyone. I’ve seen it happen. We just have to give them a chance to see who we really are.” Didn’t Elsie become my friend because we gave each other a chance? And what about Ranger Alford at the second tryout or those people who clapped for me at the finale. I was changing minds by simply not shutting myself off. No matter how many times my efforts got thrown back in my face.
“A touching sentiment, but I have no interest in changing minds,” says Moreau. “A lion does not concern itself with the opinions of sheep. The supernatural world shall fall in line or it shall die. Sadly, a great many will have to perish before this message is fully understood.”
Without looking down, I slowly reach into my pocket for my phone. If I can send Agent Fiona a message . . . But when I glance at the screen, Moreau’s image appears, wagging a finger at me. The phone shorts out.
Moreau stands and pulls the Black Book from his robe. With another flutter of his fingers, it opens. He sets the book down in front of him. Then he balls both hands into tight fists and slams them together. He hisses the words, “Death’s door.”
The green mist around Quinton and Maria swirls in the air before colliding into the far wall. It re-forms into a shimmering green door, as ghostly as the tents at the All-Souls Festival.
With a swish of his cloak, Moreau glides over to the door. He gives it a single knock and shouts, “Come forth, my old friend. Come forth, Vladimir!”
The shimmering door begins to creak open . . .
Moreau’s gleeful eyes return to me. “You shall supply the magical blood he’ll require to nourish himself back to a proper magician.”
With a wave of his hand, Moreau lifts me out of my chair and drops me in front of the glowing door. A ghostly, skeletal arm reaches out from behind it, scratching and clawing to reach me. Moreau’s magic is so strong that I can’t move an inch.
I can’t even move to perform an illusion. I’m helpless.
No, no, no!
A blast of energy streaks through the air, hitting Moreau square in the back. The old man’s arms snap to his sides and he collapses. Dylan stands over him, pointing his Stun Stick.
Moreau hisses up at him. “You would challenge me now, when we are on the brink of victory?”
Dylan closes his eyes. “You know what we are to each other. I can’t just watch her die.”
“Weakness.” Moreau snarls. “To put sentiment before power. You are unworthy of being called a magician.”
Dylan growls back. “You’ve had centuries to restore magicians to their rightful place. And yet I’m the one who got you the Black Key and I’m the one who took the Black Book. No, I think you’re the one who’s unworthy. Time’s up, old man.”
“You do not have the power to steal my magic, boy!” Moreau shouts.
Dylan says a series of strange words and his hands erupt into silver flames. He balls them into fists and streaks of silver light pour out of Moreau and into Dylan.
“Impossible!” Moreau wails.
I scramble to my feet as Moreau does his best to crawl away from Dylan. The guy fades into dust right in front of me. The Black Book slams shut, and the skeletal figure is yanked back through the ghostly green door before it dissolves into mist.
Dylan glows with silver light. “I wouldn’t have believed I could do it until you told me about Director Horus’s vision. A non-magician wouldn’t know this, but two-headed snakes represent magicians who have stolen magic from another magician. Twice as dangerous.”
“Please,” I beg. “Let me have my brother and Maria. Let us go.”
Dylan just shakes his head slowly. “Forget about them. They’ll only get in the way.” He meets my eyes. “This is about us, Amari. We’re the born magicians of this age. I realize now that this is our time, not the Night Brothers’.”
“Y-you’re a born magician too?” I ask.
“I know I’ve told you so many lies, and you have no reason to trust me. But we share a bond that’s more powerful than anything else in the world. Why do you think I was strong enough to steal Moreau’s magic? Our magic calls to each other.”
I think back to when I created that Amari Blossom without even really trying. Or when I made my illusion throw that spaghetti at Lara. And the fire illusion at the table during the Welcome Social. . . . Even my very first illusion at the Crystal Ball—Dylan was in the front row. Every time my magic has overflowed into illusions, he’s been right there.
“Help me do what the Night Brothers couldn’t. The Bureau won’t stand a chance. We have the Black Book and the Black Key. We’ve got the power to do whatever we want. This world could be ours.” Emotion flickers across his face. “I don’t want to be alone.”
“Then you shouldn’t hurt the people that care about you,” I say. “I don’t want power. I just want my brother back.”
“You’re no better than Maria!” Dylan snaps. Tears drop down his cheeks. “I should’ve known it by your reaction to foul magick, but I guess I hoped . . .” His expression goes ice-cold. “Then I’m going to have to take your magic.”
“Even if it kills me?”
“This is your choice!” he shouts. “Defend yourself.”
I shake my head, tears welling in my own eyes. “I don’t know how.”
“Then this is goodbye, Amari Peters.”
I have to do something. My Stun Stick. I make a run for the front door but Dylan knocks me off my feet with a wave of his hand. My shoulder crashes into the wall and I get up to my knees. He really does have Moreau’s magic.
I throw open my arms. “Solis!”
I begin to glow, but Dylan puts out my light.
“You’ll have to do better than fair magick.” His hands erupt in silver flames. “Your life depends on it.”
The Magna Fobia spell is on the tip of my tongue, but I can’t bring myself to say it. I promised myself I’d never use foul magick again—that I would be a good magician, no matter what. Someone Quinton would be proud of. I close my eyes, my whole body shaking.
I’m sorry, Quinton. They were right all along. I’m not good enough.
No! I shake those doubts from my mind. That’s not me anymore. I’m not the girl who gives up.
I’m the girl who tries. The girl who fights. The girl who believes.
My eyes open with a burning realization. I’m unstoppable.
&n
bsp; Something inside me bursts and my whole body goes white hot. The Black Book flips open and dozens of Amaris appear around the office, each with their hands lifted to the sky. Finally, an Amari in glittering armor appears at the center of the room. She winks at me.
Dylan staggers backward. “How . . .”
This isn’t like the other times my magic has overflowed. Because I’m not just reacting, this is me deciding—Dylan won’t win. At that, the armored Amari lifts her hand to the sky and says, “Finis.”
Thunder booms overhead and lightning explodes through the roof and into her hand. The last thing I see is an eruption of blinding light.
33
NORMALLY I’M NOT A FAN OF MUSIC THAT DOESN’T have a beat. I mean, if I can’t bounce along to it, I’m just not interested. But there’s something about this soft little voice I hear. It’s just so nice. And the melody is so catchy.
My eyes open to the bluest eyes hovering above me. I blink a couple times and Agent Fiona leans back a little, a big grin spreading across her face. “There ye are.”
Agent Fiona turns around. “She’s awake.”
Next thing I know, Elsie is on top of me. Hugging me and kissing my cheek like I just rose from the grave or something. Wait, did I?
“I’m so glad you’re okay,” says Elsie. “If you weren’t, I don’t know what I would’ve done.”
“Let the kid breathe, will ya?” laughs Agent Magnus.
“Yeah,” I say, with a small laugh. “Let the kid breathe.”
Now that I’ve got a little space, I can see that I’m in a hospital room. It looks and feels like a hospital room anyway. My mom works at the hospital, so I’ve been in enough of them to know what it feels like when you’re inside of one. But where’s all the equipment? The only thing I see is a lady in white in front of a microphone. That’s when it hits me. She’s the lady from the departmental presentations who sang that guy out of a coma.
