Spell Robbers

by Matthew J. Kirby

  Ronin leaned toward him over the passenger seat. “You can do this, kid.”

  “I know I can,” Ben said, even though he wasn’t sure.

  “I’ll come back tomorrow and check in.”

  Ben shut the door, and Ronin sped away. Ben turned toward the church’s back door as it opened. Agent Spear and Agent Taggart came outside to greet him, followed by Peter and Sasha. Behind them came Mr. Weathersky. Peter took a deep breath and waved.

  “Welcome back,” Agent Spear said. He shook Ben’s hand.

  “Thank you,” Ben said. He turned to Peter. “Hey.”

  “Hi,” Peter said.

  Sasha beamed. “Good to see you, Locus Boy.”

  “Good to see you, too.”

  “I’m relieved to have you back,” Mr. Weathersky said. “But formalities must come before further pleasantries. We’ll debrief in the library.” He did a military turnabout and marched back inside.

  Agent Spear motioned Ben toward the door. “After you, son.”

  Ben looked over his shoulder at Peter and Sasha. “See you guys later, I guess.”

  They nodded, and Ben went inside.

  Ben spent the next half hour telling the story he and the Paracelsus crew had come up with. It was pretty close to the truth, with a few key omissions. He told how he and Ronin had gotten Poole’s attention by breaking into his art collection. How they’d convinced Poole that Ben would spy on the League for him, making him a double agent. He left out the involvement of the other members of Ronin’s crew, and the actual location of Poole’s hideout.

  “Where is Ronin now?” Agent Taggart asked.

  “With Poole. He had to stay to maintain our cover.”

  “Have you learned anything about the portable augmenter’s whereabouts?” Mr. Weathersky asked.

  “Not yet,” Ben said. “But he mentioned it when he recognized me.”

  “Was that a problem?” Agent Taggart asked. “Him recognizing you?”

  “No,” Ben said.

  “Does he have it working yet?”

  “No.”

  “How do you know?” Agent Spear asked.

  “Right now, he’s worried about a rival in his gang. There’s somebody pretty powerful threatening his leadership. He wants the augmenter gun to take the guy out.”

  “Why would he need the augmenter for that?” Agent Spear asked. “Poole is a powerful Actuator.”

  “This rival can supposedly pull off Class Threes.”

  That got Agent Spear and Agent Taggart looking hard at each other across the table, as if thoughts were going back and forth through the air between them.

  “Who could that be?” Agent Taggart finally asked. “There’s no Class Three Actuator in the Dread Cloaks.”

  “There isn’t a Class Three in the city right now.” Agent Spear looked at Mr. Weathersky. “At least, not usually.”

  Something about what they were saying unsettled Ben. It felt familiar, like an itch that just kept coming back. It seemed like everywhere he looked, there was a mystery figure standing just out of view. Dr. Hughes had … Richter. Poole had this powerful rival. And now that Ben thought about it, there was that extra member on Ronin’s crew when they nabbed them during the jewel heist. None of them had ever talked about that guy. Why? Who was it? Who was Poole’s rival? Who was Richter?

  “So is this rival somebody we’ve missed?” Agent Taggart asked. “Or a new player in town?”

  “Or is he simply the exaggeration of a gang lord?” Mr. Weathersky asked. “That seems likely to me. You were saying, Ben?”

  “Well …” Ben put his other line of thought aside. Stick to the plan. “That’s why Poole needs the augmenter gun. I think if it were working, he would have used it by now.”

  Mr. Weathersky nodded. “I think you are right. So long as he hasn’t used it, I believe we can trust that Dr. Hughes is alive.”

  “So now that Ben’s in place,” Agent Spear said, “what should be our next move? We’re running out of time.”

  “I need to take something back with me,” Ben said. “Some kind of intel. I need to show Poole he can trust me.” So far, the plan was going just as Ronin had said it would. Next, they would ask what kind of intel Poole would be expecting.

  “All right,” Agent Spear said. “Is there something specific that Poole’s asking you to deliver?”

  Ben almost smiled. “He asked me a lot about raids by League agents.”

  “Of course,” Agent Taggart said. “He’s worried we’re going to come after the portable augmenter.”

  “That’s exactly why he’s asking,” Ben said. “So I was thinking, and Ronin agrees, what if I bring him information on a raid? Something big, lots of agents, but in the future, far enough off this will all be over by then.”

  “So it doesn’t have to be an actual raid,” Agent Spear said.

  Ben nodded. “Right.”

  Agent Spear turned to Mr. Weathersky. “We could draft a false order. With your signature of authorization. That should impress Poole.”

  “Perhaps,” Mr. Weathersky said. “Before we commit to such a course of action, is there anything else you can tell us, Ben? Anything you’re leaving out?”

  “No, sir.”

  The air stirred. A feeling of … trust washed over Ben.

  “Are you certain?” Mr. Weathersky asked. “If there is anything else, now is the time to tell us. You know you can trust us.”

  Ben looked at the director, the Old One, and he knew what was happening because he had figured out how to do it to Poole. He reached into his pocket, wrapped his hand around his Locus, and sent out waves of his own. No. You can trust me.

  “There’s nothing else to report at this time, sir,” Ben said.

  Agent Spear and Agent Taggart nodded, apparently satisfied.

  But Mr. Weathersky stared at him. “Could I have a moment alone with Ben, please?”

  Ben froze. He wondered if he’d just made a mistake, doing that. Why else would Mr. Weathersky want him alone? Had he seen through Ben’s lies?

  “Of course, sir,” Agent Taggart said. Both agents gathered their papers, got up from the table, and left the room.

  After they’d shut the door, the director sighed. “In my line of work, opportunities to speak candidly seldom come along. I’m grateful when they do.”

  This was off the script. Ben was going to have to improvise, but for now, he decided to talk as little as possible. He’d done this with his mom countless times.

  “To have done what you just did,” Mr. Weathersky said, “presumably on your own, without training is … unheard of.”

  Ben said nothing.

  “You are an exceedingly rare kind of Actuator. A master of masters. One who understands people. And as you have no doubt observed, I am one as well. When did you first use your ability? Just now, that wasn’t your first time. It was too clean.”

  Still Ben said nothing.

  “Ben, I’m not sure what Dr. Hughes taught you about quantum mechanics, but imagine you’ve taken a single electron, loaded it into a gun, and fired it. As it moves, this electron is a wave, spread out, literally everywhere at once along its path.”

  Ben couldn’t help it. “That makes no sense. It can’t be everywhere at once.”

  “Oh, but it is. This has been proven. But you are not alone in your confusion. Even Einstein struggled with certain aspects of the quantum world.” Mr. Weathersky traced his finger in a wavy pattern along the wood grain of the table. “This is called a wave function and the whole of it is the electron. That is, until you go to look for it along its path. Do you know what happens then?”

  Say as little as possible. “No.”

  “You, the observer, create the electron’s position as a particle. Right here.” He pressed the tip of his index finger against the table. “Before you look, it is everywhere, but once you observe it, the electron is in a definite place. They call this a collapse of the wave. Do you know why I’m telling you this?”

  “No.”<
br />
  “I’ve looked into your past. All the moves. The schools. Here, there, never settling. A mother you haven’t ever been able to rely on.”

  Anger flared, white-hot, barely contained. “Don’t you dare talk about my mom.”

  “Ben, what I’m telling you is this. In the wave function of your life, you must be your own observer. You must look, and find yourself.”

  Ben didn’t know what to say. Or how to improvise. This was so far off the script, he almost didn’t know what the job was anymore.

  “Did you know,” Mr. Weathersky said, “that an Actuator with an understanding of the human body could look at your X-ray and then stop your heart?” He pointed at Ben’s chest. “Or burst a vein in your head? And that would be a small thing. A Class One.”

  That was something Ben had never even thought about. “I — I didn’t —”

  “Did you know that an Actuator with an understanding of molecular bonds in metal could weaken the welds holding a building together? A few well-placed cracks could bring down a skyscraper. Again, Class One.”

  Ben’s throat dried up. He tried swallowing, but couldn’t.

  “Do you know what else is Class One?”

  Ben shook his head.

  “Tripping the detonator in a nuclear bomb.”

  This was all too much. Why was Mr. Weathersky telling him this? Was he trying to scare him? Was he threatening him?

  The director rose from his chair. “There are evil people in the world, Ben. Evil people can do great harm with very little power. The Quantum League stands against such people. We are not perfect, but we are all the world has. Give that some thought as you go looking for yourself.” He left Ben sitting at the table and went to the door. “I’ll draft the false order for a raid on Poole. You’ll take it back to him in the morning.”

  Then Mr. Weathersky was gone, and Ben was all alone.

  Ben found Peter and Sasha in the dining room eating lunch. When they saw him walk in, they waved him over. He trudged to their table and collapsed into one of the chairs.

  “Do you want to go get some food?” Peter asked.

  Ben shook his head. “Not hungry.”

  “Okay,” Sasha said. “Then talk. Tell us. What have you been doing?”

  Ben shook his head again. “I’m not supposed to.”

  “But you’re in?” Sasha asked. “You’re in with the Dread Cloaks?”

  “Yes.”

  “I have to say.” Sasha looked over her shoulder. “After everything that everyone says about him, I had my doubts about Ronin.”

  “He just wants what I want,” Ben said.

  “What’s that?” Peter asked.

  “A piece of his life back.”

  Sasha and Peter both went quiet after that, and suddenly the food on their plates seemed more interesting to them than Ben. He thought about leaving it that way. Just letting the silence grow. But he couldn’t. He couldn’t understand why they didn’t understand him. Why they didn’t feel the same way.

  “I went and saw my mom again,” Ben said.

  Sasha put down her fork, straightened her neck, and took a long and measured breath.

  “Why would you keep doing that to yourself?” Peter asked.

  Ben had wanted sympathy from them. He’d wanted understanding. “Don’t you guys miss them?” he asked.

  “Of course,” Peter said. “But this is where I belong. This is where they accept me.”

  “What about you, Sasha?” Ben asked. “Do you miss them?”

  The last time a question about Sasha’s detachment had come up, she’d gotten pretty upset. But Ben was angry, and he didn’t care if he upset her. She should be upset about it. Ben thought people should be more upset about a lot of things in the League, and if they were, maybe things would be different.

  Sasha took a long drink of water from her cup. “Look, Ben. I really don’t want to talk about this, okay?”

  “Why?” Ben asked.

  “I just don’t. You … you can’t change the past.”

  “No one’s talking about the past,” Ben said. “I’m asking if you miss them right now.”

  Sasha looked down at her lap.

  “Do you?” Ben asked.

  “Come on, Ben,” Peter said. “That’s enough.”

  But it didn’t feel like enough. “Can’t you even admit it to yourself?”

  Sasha looked up at him. She wasn’t mad like he was expecting. She was crying. He had hurt her. “To myself, all the time. Never to anyone else.”

  Suddenly, all the anger that had propped him up fell away, and Ben’s resolve collapsed under his shame. “Sasha, I’m —”

  She shook her head. “Don’t. Just don’t.” She got up, threw her napkin on the table, and walked out of the dining room holding a hand over her mouth.

  Ben fell forward, elbows on the table, covering his face with both hands. Why had he done that? Why was he taking out his anger and frustration on his friends?

  “She’s been really worried about you,” Peter said.

  That only made Ben feel worse.

  LATER that night, as Ben lay in bed, the echoes of what he’d said to Sasha sounded over and over in his head. He stared at the ceiling, thinking about her tears, and how she’d looked walking away from the table. He would apologize in the morning, before he went back to Poole.

  “I’m up to Class Two actuations,” Peter said.

  Ben looked over. His friend was awake, too. “That’s awesome.”

  “Sasha helped me. We’ve been training a lot the past couple of days.”

  “Good. I’m glad.”

  “The thing is —” Peter paused, and in the dark, his hesitation seemed longer than it probably was. “If they told me I could go back tomorrow, I wouldn’t. If they offered to reattach me, I’d say no.”

  Ben rolled to face him. “Are you serious?”

  Peter stayed on his back, looking up. “I’m serious. So I guess what I’m saying is, if you’re doing this for me at all, don’t. But do what you have to do for yourself. I’m behind you on that.”

  Ben had thought about this before, wondered if leaving the League would mean leaving Peter behind. Ben didn’t like that thought, but it was Peter’s choice. “Thanks for having my back,” he said.

  “Sasha has your back, too. You should know that.”

  “Thanks.” The guilt about what he’d said to her returned. “Has she ever talked to you about her family? What her life was like before she came to the League?”

  “No.”

  “I wonder why she won’t talk about it.”

  Peter yawned. “Just … just let it go.” He was silent after that, and snoring not long after.

  With everyone asleep, it was time for Ben to execute a new part of the job. Ronin wanted plans for the League’s prison cells to hold Poole, if needed. Ben didn’t know where to find those, but he knew where to look. He climbed out of bed, grabbed his boots, and slipped across the room in his socks. He looked back to see if anyone had woken up or noticed him, and it didn’t seem like they had. So he went up the stairs.

  The building hallways were still lit, even though everyone had gone home. Ben pulled on his boots and laced them up. He knew agents patrolled the building at night, keeping watch. He hoped he wouldn’t bump into one of them, but if he did, it wouldn’t be a big deal. He was a recruit. He belonged there. Maybe he had insomnia, and maybe a walk or some fresh air helped him get to sleep.

  Ben turned in the direction of a room he knew about, but had never been inside before. It was the file room where they kept all the dossiers and League records, and if there were schematics for the prison cells anywhere in the building, that’s where they’d be.

  He made it there without running into anyone, and peeked around the corner. The hallway was empty. He scurried to the door and tried the handle, even though he expected it to be locked. It was. But he’d seen Polly do this, so he thought maybe he could, too.

  He listened for the sounds of anyone approaching,
and got down on his knees. Like the others in the building, it was an old-fashioned lock. He focused on the cylinder where the key slid in, its shape, and with his Locus in hand, he tried a simple actuation to rotate it.

  It jiggled, but something stopped it, like Ben had inserted the wrong key.

  He didn’t have any idea what the inside of the lock looked like. He hadn’t studied them the way Polly had, so he couldn’t visualize which parts to move.

  He heard distant footsteps.

  They seemed to be getting louder. Coming toward him.

  Ben suppressed the panic that rose with each footfall. He couldn’t actuate if he panicked. He turned his attention back to the lock. He thought he could probably force it, with a strong enough actuation. But he worried the guard would be able sense it, and besides, then the lock would be broken and the League would know someone had been in the file room.

  The footsteps were pretty close now. In the next hallway. Ben had seconds, tops.

  He remembered a time when he’d accidentally locked himself and his mom out of the bathroom, and he had to go, bad. His mom had slipped a credit card into the crack by the handle and pushed that metal sliding bar in, opening the door.

  Ben didn’t have a credit card. But this door had one of those metal sliding bars, like the other doors in the building. He tried to remember what they looked like, felt like, then closed his eyes to visualize this one. Ben felt the shape and the size of the metal in his mind as if with his fingers.

  The footsteps were just around the corner. It was hard to ignore them and concentrate, but Ben held his Locus and actuated a motion that pushed the bar in.

  The door popped open.

  Ben flew inside the room and closed the door behind him. Then he held his breath and listened.

  The footsteps sounded like they were in the hallway now. They came closer, right up to the door, and kept going.

  Ben let out his breath and turned to face the room. Rows of filing cabinets stood in formation from one wall to the other. A desk near the door to Ben’s left bore a lamp. He switched it on, hoping it wasn’t bright enough to attract attention if the guard walked by again, and started down the aisles.

  The labels on the cabinets didn’t make any sense. Just numbers and letters and periods. But Ben figured schematics would be pretty big, so he went to the filing cabinet with wide, flat drawers and started digging through them. The first few drawers were full of maps: road maps, topographical maps, even what looked like a map of the city’s sewer system. The next drawers had blueprints for all kinds of structures. Then Ben opened a drawer that seemed closer to what he was after, with technical diagrams and designs with complicated labels like, Interferometer Arrangement for Two Mirrors in Quantum Superposition. Ben plowed through the rest of them, scanning as fast as he could, until he found what Ronin wanted.