by Bret Schulte
“And what evidence is that?” Agent Rosenberg asked politely.
A smug, victorious grin spread across Chief Constable Albion’s face as he withdrew a glittery silver box from his robe. It looked like an elaborate jewelry box with images flashing on every side like tiny movie screens stuck on fast-forward. Without a single word he opened the box.
“Samantha, don’t move!” Agent Rosenberg yelled.
Everything went white.
He had blinded her with some magical flash of light. Sam was sure of it. She could be blind for the rest of her life.
Then the whiteness blew away.
It wasn’t white light at all. It was snow.
As the snow cleared, Sam found herself on the edge of an icy cliff overlooking the ocean. Large chunks of ice smashed violently against the jagged rocks below. Instinctively Sam huddled over for warmth, doing her best to wrap her still magically cuffed arms around her self, and backed away from the edge.
“Samantha, stop,” Agent Rosenberg’s voice cut through the wail of the wind.
Sam looked up to see the others standing exactly where they had been standing in the food court. None of them seemed the slightest bit worried that they were perched on the edge of a cliff in the middle of frozen nowhere. In fact, Deputy Colver was stifling a laugh.
That’s when Sam realized she wasn’t cold. Not even a little bit. She couldn’t even feel the wind swirling the snow around her. Cautiously she straightened up.
“I know it looks like we are in the Arctic right now, but we’re not,” Agent Rosenberg said.
“Arctic?” Sam was very confused.
“We are still in the mall. Honest.” Agent Rosenberg laughed a little. “Can’t you smell it?”
Sam had been too concerned with all the snow around to worry about the smell. She took a deep breath. The familiar scent of pizza, egg rolls, grease, and stale pop flooded her nose.
Agent Rosenberg waved her arms. “This is not real. It is called a glamour; sort of like a magical hologram.”
Chief Constable Albion cleared his throat loudly.
“It is a security recording.” His angry eyes fixed on Sam. “Of your theft.”
“Of her alleged theft,” Agent Sampson corrected.
“Whatever,” Agent Rosenberg said dismissively. Both Albion and Sampson took offense. She pressed on anyway. “You can’t see it, but we are still standing in the food court so you don’t want to move around too much and run into a table or a person.”
Sam nodded in agreement.
She casually pushed her right foot forward, gently kicking at a chunk of ice. Her foot passed right through it. She pulled it back quickly.
“The evidence speaks for itself,” Chief Constable Albion said gesturing to something behind Sam.
Sam spun on the spot to see four people she somehow hadn’t noticed before. They were all dressed head to toe in thick, puffy, black cold-weather gear, complete with fancy goggles. Four sets of sled dogs played in the snow behind them. Two of the guys (she assumed they were guys, even though it was impossible to tell with all the impressive Discovery Channel-level gear they had on) were anchoring a machine to the ground.
“Can they see us?”
“No,” Agent Rosenberg said reassuringly. “They are part of the recording.”
“Sort of a Ghost of Christmas Past kinda thing?” Sam asked.
Agent Rosenberg chuckled. “Sure, that’s a good way to look at it. Although this happened less than an hour ago.”
“What is that machine?” It looked like some sort of futuristic laser cannon, and it was being aimed right at her.
“As if you don’t know,” Chief Constable Albion said.
“It is an electromagnet,” Agent Rosenberg explained. “Although I’ve never seen one this small with so much power.”
“What does it do?”
“You’ll see.”
The other two Arctic adventurers trudged up to the cliff’s edge. Sam could have reached out and touched them-- if they were solid, of course. It was an awkward feeling being so close to someone who didn’t know you were there.
Even though they wore winter masks and goggles that completely hid their faces, up close the differences between the two were startlingly obvious. She mentally nicknamed the taller one Big Guy. He was well over six feet tall and had the V shape of a professional wrestler, although the puffy coat probably added a bit. The smaller one was about her height and skinnier than the others.
Most likely a teenager, Sam thought.
“Wait! You think this is me don’t you?” she asked Chief Constable Albion.
“We know it is you,” he said matter-of-factly.
“That’s insane!”
“Let’s just keep watching,” Agent Rosenberg said calmly.
The Fake Sam adjusted her goggles. They were clearly far more impressive than Sam had originally thought. The lenses changed colors and little mechanisms wiggled and whirred on the sides. Sam didn’t know what any of that meant, but the goggles were obviously meant for more than just protection from the elements.
Sam jumped as Fake Sam bent down and picked up the very chunk of ice she had earlier tried to kick. Fake Sam flung the ice over the cliff, watching as it tumbled all the way down to the ocean below. Satisfied Fake Sam and Big Guy stepped away from the edge and Fake Sam gave the electromagnet guys a thumbs-up.
The magnet hummed to life. It was pointed at the edge of the cliff, facing a vast emptiness. Sam had no idea what they thought they were going to attract.
A few seconds of nothing passed. Then the whole machine began to shake with slight vibrations at first, followed by violent thrashing as it tried to leap right off the cliff. The anchors struggled to hold it in place.
The air began to wiggle and wave like heat lines on a hot summer highway. With a loud pop the wavy air vanished, revealing a train car-sized block of roughly chiseled granite with a large steel door similar to a bank vault. The block hovered in the air just a couple feet from the cliff.
“The Vault of the Blue Flame,” Agent Rosenberg said as if it was something important Sam was supposed to know about.
Before she could ask any questions Sam noticed that the great steel door was vibrating wildly. Cracks cobwebbed their way across the face of the stone as the door strained against its hinges. The next thing she knew a dark gray mass rushed toward her, and her ears ached with the squeal of twisting metal followed by a loud crunch.
The steel door flew right through her body, leaving her stunned and staring into a dark vault.
“Whoa!”
Sam turned around to find that the door had completely smashed the electromagnet. Bits of scattered machinery glittered across the ice and snow. The guys operating the magnet had run for safety just in time and were now slinking back to survey the damage.
Agent Sampson chuckled. “The fabled Vault of the Blue Flame, one of the ISG’s most secure secrets, cracked in under a minute. You might have tried something a little more creative than just an invisibility charm.”
“We did,” Chief Constable Albion said darkly.
A series of loud thumps drew Sam’s attention. The thumps came from inside the dark vault and they were getting louder. Something in the darkness emitted a deep gargled growl like gravel in a mixer.
A large stone gargoyle leaped out of the vault, slamming onto the icy ground in front of Big Guy and Fake Sam. The gargoyle slashed at Fake Sam with its clawed hand, knocking her to the ground. Fake Sam rolled away from the gargoyle until the stone beast pinned her to the ground between its talon-like toes. Flames erupted from the gargoyle’s gaping mouth and poured down on Fake Sam.
Sam didn’t even know that gargoyles could breathe fire. Then again, she didn’t know that stone gargoyles could walk around either. It looked like her fake counterpart was also quite surprised. Fake Sam tried desperately to pat out the flames on her winter gear.
The gargoyle raised up its hand to squash Fake Sam when Big Guy leaped onto its back. It tri
ed to shake him off, but Big Guy had looped his left arm over the creature’s wing, anchoring him in place. He brought his free hand up to his face.
Sam couldn’t believe it; Big Guy had a grenade and he pulled the ring out with his teeth like an action-movie star. Despite the fact that it was still spitting flames, Big Guy jammed the grenade into the gargoyle’s mouth before jumping free. The creature staggered back, clawing desperately at its head. Its stony hands were too large to fit between its long jagged teeth.
Big Guy threw himself onto Fake Sam just as the gargoyle’s head exploded. Pieces of stone flew everywhere. The remains of the beast’s body fell in a heap on the ice.
Big Guy rolled Fake Sam over the ice smothering the flames. Her coat was still smoking as she stood up. She gave the gargoyle’s body a powerful kick, snapping off the left wing. Satisfied, Fake Sam faced the vault once again as if daring it to try something else.
The vault obliged with a torrent of molten lava accompanied by a green mist with a very angry face. Even though Sam knew she was watching a recording she felt the mist creature looking at her. She took an instinctive step backward smacking into something behind her--most likely a table, judging by the sounds of toppling and splashing soda cups behind her. Fake Sam, however, didn’t waver at all. As the lava approached she stood her ground, calmly removing her right glove to reveal a large gaudy ring, an opal set in silver. Fake Sam then produced a digital recorder from her pocket.
“Excelsior,” spoke a recorded man’s voice.
The ring turned a vivid purple. In an instant the lava and mist evaporated. The face looked very disappointed as it faded away.
“That ring is only worn by members of the ISG High Council,” Chief Constable Albion interjected. “Councilman Tobias Longfellow’s tomb was found defiled three months ago.”
“Eww.” So far everything Fake Sam had gone through was pretty impressive to Sam, but wearing a dead guy’s ring was beyond gross.
Sam figured “Excelsior” must have been the literal magic word that, along with the ring, disabled the vault’s traps because Fake Sam and Big Guy marched directly into the vault without any hesitation. The interior of the vault was no longer dark. A beautiful blue light flickered within. The light grew brighter until Fake Sam emerged carrying a gorgeous ancient Chinese lantern. Blue flames danced majestically inside the delicate lantern.
One of the guys from the magnet rushed up to Fake Sam with a small crate. As Fake Sam carefully lowered the lantern into the crate and closed the top a whooping noise caught Sam’s attention. A black cargo helicopter was approaching.
In a flash the scene disappeared, shrinking back into the elegant box in Chief Constable Albion’s hand.
“I believe you know what happens from here,” Albion said.
Sam shook her head. She had no idea whatsoever.
“That was quite the show Albion,” Agent Sampson said. “But what makes you believe that Samantha here was involved in any way?”
Albion blew a long burst of frustration out his nose before he spoke. “We also found several hairs at the crime scene. We immediately scryed for their owner, which led us to her. There is no doubt that she is our thief.”
“According to the information provided by your superiors, the thieves struck less than an hour ago,” Agent Sampson said matter-of-factly. “How could she have possibly traveled all the way from the Arctic to Illinois in that amount of time?”
“That is something I am very interested to find out. No doubt she had access to some form of transportation that the BEA has not seen fit to inform us about,” Albion said with an angry sneer.
“Sam, were you in the Arctic at anytime today?” Agent Rosenberg asked.
“What? No,” Sam said. She could barely get to the mall on time for work; how was she supposed to get to the North Pole?
“Can anyone verify that?”
What a ridiculous question, Sam thought.
“I got to work two and a half hours ago. You can check.” Sam raised her cuffed hands to point at the Cookie Emporium.
“Lies.”
“The Arctic to the Presley Mall in an hour? That would be pretty impressive.” Agent Rosenberg pointed a finger at Albion. “How long did it take you to get here?”
Albion just sneered in response.
Agent Rosenberg turned to Colver. “I think we can remove those cuffs now.”
“She is still a prisoner.”
“She is a suspect,” Agent Rosenberg corrected. “And a pretty unlikely one at the moment.”
”We found her hair inside the vault. You cannot deny this. You know the Hathaways’ history of sneaking into places where they do not belong.”
“I also know that the Hathaways acquired a number of enemies over the years, within both the magical and non-magical communities. Does it not seem likely to you that someone is trying to use her family’s rather famous history to frame Samantha in order to cover their own crime?” Agent Sampson asked.
“Nonsense!” Constable Albion shouted. A tiny dribble of saliva flew out of the corner of his mouth. “You just want the lantern for yourselves.”
“Your own superiors have agreed to let us take her into custody, for her own protection,” Agent Sampson said. “If you have a problem with that then I suggest you speak to them. I would hate for this situation to turn into an unfortunate incident. An unfortunate incident that some people might mistakenly believe was caused by an overzealous ISG agent who was transferring his pent-up jealousy of an old rival onto an innocent teenage girl.”
“Ridiculous,” Albion spat.
Agent Sampson shrugged. “It doesn’t matter, really. Orders are orders. And yours are to turn her over to us.”
“Oh, don’t forget to remove the handcuffs,” Agent Rosenberg added with a playful snap of her fingers.
Colver snapped his fingers and the blue energy around Sam’s wrists disappeared.
“Thanks,” Sam said to Agent Rosenberg. She rubbed her wrists happy to be free.
For a second Albion looked like he was ready for a fight. He looked at the two smug agents and then at his wide-eyed young partner. He sighed angrily.
“I am going to have a long talk with my superiors, and if that lantern falls into the wrong hands in the meantime, the outcome will be on your head,” Albion said with grim certainty.
Deputy Colver withdrew a silver pocket watch from his robes. “One minute left.”
“I’ll be seeing you again soon.” Albion pointed an angry finger at Sam as he and Colver walked away towards the rear exit by the movie theater.
“What is happening?” Sam asked.
“Wait a moment.” Agent Rosenberg held up her hand to pause Sam.
A moment later Sam was struck by the sudden sounds of people moving and talking again. Everyone was going about their business as if nothing had happened. A few people gave the agents curious looks, but no one seemed too surprised they were standing there.
“Time-stopper watches freeze selected targets for ten to twenty minutes. Only members of the ISG Enforcement Squad get them,” Agent Sampson said before Sam could even ask. “And no, you can’t have one.”
“Ow! What’s wrong with my eyes?” Courtney yelled somewhere behind Sam. “Hey! How did you get over there?”
Sam spun around to find Courtney marching straight at her, the shopping bag swinging from her clenched fist while she rubbed her eyes with her other hand.
“You can’t just walk away from me like that. I should let your boss know how you treat customers.” She flashed her evilest grin as she tossed her long, silky black hair over her shoulder.
“You are still not a customer,” Sam replied dryly.
“Not now, that’s for sure. You know what? I think I’ll go tell your boss that right now,” Courtney’s eyes turned from Sam to the two agents standing next to her. “Uh, wait. Who are these people?”
Agent Sampson produced a badge from his pocket. “Agent Sampson, Agent Rosenberg, FBI.”
The ba
dge was in fact an FBI badge. Or at least it looked like one to Sam. She wondered how many other badges he was carrying.
Courtney’s mouth fell open in pure rapture. “Are you under arrest?”
Sam looked at Agent Rosenberg, who gave the faintest of shrugs and somehow managed to smile with just her eyes.
“Yep. I’m heading to jail. Probably won’t see you for a while,” Sam said.
“Really? What did you do?”
“I stole this lantern thing. Turned out to be really important. I probably shouldn’t have done that,” Sam said as casually as she could muster.
“I knew you were a loser, but I never figured you were a thief too. You’re going to jail--that’s awesome!” Courtney was shaking with joy.
She whipped out her cell phone. “I am so going to tell everyone.”
Courtney dashed off with her cell phone glued to her ear.
“Okay, everyone she’s ever met will know I’m going to jail. Which is going to make me the most famous person in town in, like, ten minutes,” Sam said.
“Come on, we need to get you home. We already contacted your godparents and they are waiting for us,” Agent Rosenberg, said putting her hand on Sam’s shoulder.
Sam’s heart sank into her stomach. Hadn’t she ruined her godparents’ lives enough already? There had to be some way out of this.
“Wait, I don’t get off work for another three hours.”
“That’s all right, I’ll clear everything up with your boss,” Agent Sampson, said waving his FBI badge.
Chapter 3
Slow Ride Down Memory Lane
During the seemingly endless car ride to Sam’s apartment her mind was racing with questions about her parents. She knew that her parents had lived very interesting lives before she was born. Her father had been an archaeologist and her mother had been an anthropologist. They had traveled the world together studying ancient cultures, digging up old pots, and hunting for mythical hidden treasures, some of which that had actual magical powers.
