by Lija Fisher
“Before you kill me, I have something to show you,” Clivo said as quickly as possible.
“You were warned never to come back here, Clivo,” Tim’s familiar voice said from behind him.
Clivo slowly stood up and turned, his arms still held up, to find Tim’s sword pointed menacingly at his throat. “Well, you kinda lied to me, which is super rude, FYI, so I had to come back.”
Tim’s eyes flicked to the Salawa, which was sitting comfortably at Clivo’s feet. “I didn’t lie to you. Salawa, tati!”
“Uh, yeah, you pretty much did. Albaqa’, Salawa,” Clivo replied. The Salawa looked back and forth between Clivo and Tim, but ultimately decided to stay by Clivo. “See, you promised that the vial of blood I took was the Salawa’s blood, when obviously it wasn’t.”
Tim smiled, though his eyes kept darting to the beast at Clivo’s feet. “If I remember correctly, I told you it was the blood of the beast. I never said it was the blood of the Salawa.”
“So whose blood was it?” Clivo asked, grateful that Tim was giving him time to talk before running at him with the sword.
Tim smiled more broadly. “Mine. I am quite a beast, wouldn’t you say?” Tim’s face dropped and his eyes narrowed. “So you see, my persistent American, I did not lie to you. But you have disregarded my warning about staying away from this place, which means I obviously haven’t been firm enough in my request.”
Tim tightened his grip on the sword and the Salawa let out a little whine. Clivo dropped his arms and motioned to his backpack. “Hang on! Please, just let me show you one thing. I really think you’ll want to see this.”
“Make no mistake, Clivo, this will be the last request I shall grant you. Then prepare yourself for death.”
“Okay, that’s really ominous, but I don’t think you’ll want to kill me after this.” Clivo slowly reached into his backpack with one hand and pulled out a thin photo album. He opened it up and held it so Tim could see the photos.
With each passing page, Tim’s eyes got wider and wider, his mouth repeatedly opening as if to ask a question and then snapping shut again. When they reached the end of the album, Tim whispered, “I … I don’t understand.”
Clivo flipped back to the front of the photo album, which had pictures of Douglas’s underground lair with the cryptids wandering around, freed from their cages. “This is where someone from the evil resistance was holding a bunch of cryptids.” Clivo pointed to a photo of the Ugly Merman back near its river in Russia, its long tongue giving Clivo’s cheek a lick goodbye. “That’s the Ugly Merman after I returned it to its home. Same with the tatzelwurm, the chupacabra, the Otterman, and all the others.”
Tim lowered his sword and stared more closely at the Otterman’s photo. “Is it eating chocolate?”
Clivo laughed. “It is. It loves it, particularly if it has peanuts in it.” He handed the album to Tim so he could turn the pages himself.
“Extraordinary,” Tim said quietly, his eyes darting in awe from photo to photo. “Who’s that?”
Clivo looked at the photo Tim was indicating, one of Dayea holding her belly and laughing hysterically as Aunt Pearl pointed to her during one of their daily salsa dancing lessons. “That’s the aswang.”
“The aswang?” Tim asked with a guffaw. “She looks harmless!”
“She does, but during the full moon she turns into a very impressive monster bat, trust me.”
“Just incredible,” Tim said, his eyes soaking up the rest of the pictures.
Clivo pointed to a group photo of the Blasters with Jerry and Clivo on either side. Everyone was smiling and some were punching their fists in the air in celebration after the last cryptid had been returned home. It was one of Clivo’s favorite photos, save for the fact that Adam was ripping his shirt in two like the Hulk. “And this is my team. We’ve been working together on a very important mission.”
“And what is that mission?” Tim asked. He whistled and the Salawa finally came and sat by him. Still brandishing his sword, Tim moved between Clivo and the beast.
“To keep the immortal’s identity a secret,” Clivo said pointedly, nodding at the Salawa. “You know it’s the immortal; that’s why you protect it so fiercely. But if that blood I took really was your blood, then you haven’t used the gift on yourself, which is really cool.”
Tim eyed Clivo for a long moment, as if unsure how much information to divulge. Finally he spoke, though he did not lower his sword. “My people discovered the immortal three hundred years ago. One man took the gift of everlasting life for himself before the community could decide what to do with the Salawa. Immediately he turned into a tyrant, stealing lands and riches to create a kingdom all for himself. Our people discovered very quickly that it is better to believe in gods than to try and become them.”
“Someone used the blood to turn themselves immortal?” Clivo asked incredulously. “Where is that person now?”
Tim shrugged. “Who knows. My people rose up against him and banished him from this place. He may be immortal, but he still has the human desire to be loved, so the greatest punishment we could hand down was to strip him of his friends, family, and home. His need for ultimate power left him ultimately and completely alone. One legend says that he fled to Paris, where he sat for ages on a bench with his hand outstretched as if begging for friendship. He waited for something that would replace his lost family for so long that he eventually became a statue. But nobody knows for sure. As long as he isn’t trying to take over the world, the Wasi leave him be.” Tim tilted his head. “Is this what you and your team desire? The gift of the eternal?”
Clivo shook his head. “Not at all. That’s why I showed you those pictures. So you’d see that we want to protect the cryptids, the immortal and the mortal ones. But the evil resistance is growing and they’ll keep searching for the immortal, and someday you might need our help.”
Tim laughed. “Your help? You’re a child.”
Clivo raised a finger. “I’m a teenager, and the last time we fought it wasn’t me who ended up tied to a pillar all night.” Tim glared at Clivo, so Clivo quickly continued. “I know you said that we come from different worlds, so we could never work together. And I used to think that, too. This whole time I thought that I would be the one to protect the immortal. But you’re already doing that, and really well, too. But I’ve discovered that I’m much stronger when I have people helping me. People I trust. So I’ve come all this way again to ask you … Can we be part of your team?”
Tim finally lowered his sword and his eyes took on a faraway look, as if calling up a memory. “Many years ago, a man passed through here looking for the Salawa. He pretended to be an archaeologist, but from the questions he asked, we knew immediately that he was searching for something more. At first we were going to scare him and then fight him if necessary. But there was something different about him. He spoke reverently about myth and legend and the importance of keeping mystery alive. He also spoke about his son, about how much he wanted to protect him, but feared he couldn’t with all the evil in the world.” Tim turned his eyes to Clivo. “We told the man a story that the Salawa could be found many miles away from here and sent him on his way. But before he left, I gave him an Egyptian rattle to shake over his son to protect him from the god of storms.”
Clivo’s throat was so tight he could barely speak. He pictured his mom passing the rattle over him every night to shroud him in safety. “I think you met my dad. He’s gone now—the evil resistance killed him—but he was a good person.”
Tim nodded. “I know this to be true.” Tim sighed and looked at the Salawa, whose tongue lolled out of its mouth before it gave a happy bark. “It seems as though fate keeps bringing me back to you. The Wasi do things alone, we always have, but perhaps you are right. Perhaps it is time for us to band together. No matter how many are in this evil resistance, they will never outnumber the righteous.”
Clivo smiled and held out his hand. “Teammates, then?”
Tim st
ared off into the desert, as if he was searching for a deeper wisdom to guide him. The moonlight bounced off his dark eyes. Finally, he grabbed Clivo’s hand in a firm grip. “Better than that—friends.” Tim suddenly pulled Clivo close and spoke directly in his face. “But the Salawa stays here.”
Clivo nodded his head fervently. “Believe me, if anyone should be protecting the immortal, it’s you. Honestly, I don’t think I could handle the stress.”
Tim eyed Clivo for a moment longer, then clapped him on the shoulder. “Good. I’m glad that as friends, we are in agreement on this.”
Clivo looked at the sand and kicked a pebble with his foot. “As friends, any chance you could fly me back home? I kinda spent all my money on a truck ride across the border to get here.”
Tim laughed and put his arm around Clivo’s shoulder, leading him toward the village, the Salawa happily trotting behind them. “I was wondering how you got around our passport check! Come, let’s drink tea together to seal the alliance between the Wasi and the children.”
“We’re teenagers,” Clivo corrected. “And we’re determined to save the world.”
Epilogue
Mr. Cooper stood in front of a steel door that looked strong enough to withstand a missile. He peered into a small scanner that ran a laser up and down his eye, pressed his thumb against a digital reader, and spoke a few words into a tiny microphone.
“I hate banjos.”
The combination of Mr. Cooper’s eye and fingerprint scans along with voice recognition did the trick, and the sounds of sliding locks suddenly echoed up and down the long, dimly lit hallway. The massive door swung open, revealing a vast underground warehouse carved into the bedrock.
The room was at least as big as a football field, and filled with rows of stacked boxes and crates that stretched into the darkness. Bare lightbulbs hung from the high ceiling, and the place smelled like damp earth.
“All right, kids, welcome to Thunderdome,” Mr. Cooper chuckled.
Clivo, Jerry, and the Blasters walked into the enormous room, taking in everything.
“What’s kept in here, Mr. Cooper?” Stephanie asked, running her finger along a crate stamped with the words METEOR WITH ALIEN FOSSIL.
“A lot of secrets from space, that’s what,” Mr. Cooper said, leading them through a maze of crates that were stacked high overhead.
“I love space secrets!” Charles said, punching his fist in the air.
Adam raised his hand in a question. “Like what? The bodies of aliens you’ve dissected over the years?”
Mr. Cooper chuckled. “We don’t dissect aliens, Adam. As I told you, we’ve found four actual aliens after they crash-landed on Earth. We got them up and going as soon as possible by repairing their spacecraft.”
A loud thud sounded behind everyone, and they all turned to see Hernando picking himself up off the floor. “Apologies. The thought of seeing an alien made me swoon.”
“So, if aliens aren’t in the boxes, what is?” Amelia asked.
Mr. Cooper pushed his glasses up his nose. “A lot of it is space junk that comes through our atmosphere. Although it’s not junk junk—it’s parts of alien spacecraft that have floated around and found their way to our planet. We need to keep them a secret because if people knew how many UFOs are floating near us—and I mean close—there’d be quite the little freak-out.”
“Is that all? Alien space junk?” Clivo asked.
“Oh, there’s some other stuff here, too,” Mr. Cooper said, eyeing Clivo sideways, as if wondering how much he should share. “We keep things here for other people who find earthbound treasures that are best kept secret.”
“Like what?” Charles asked, pushing forward so he was walking in step with Mr. Cooper.
“Now, that, I can’t tell you, ’cause those are other people’s secrets,” Mr. Cooper said with a wink. “Just as I won’t tell anybody else what secret you’re storing here.”
“Is there anything dangerous in here, Pops?” Jerry asked as he passed a crate that read DR. JONES—ARK—DO NOT PUT IN MUSEUM!
Mr. Cooper looked around the warehouse, his eyes taking on a faraway look. “Oh, yes. Dangerous stuff, wondrous stuff. Magical stuff that we don’t quite know what to do with yet.” He pointed to a closed box that Clivo was holding. “Much like you have there.”
Clivo looked at the box. “Yeah, I can’t believe I forgot about the blood sampler in my backpack. Good thing it wasn’t confiscated at the airport, or our alliance with the Wasi would have been off to a very poor start.”
“Totally,” Adam snorted. “Speaking of which, I can’t wait to have our first Skype meeting with them to mobilize our forces.”
Amelia raised her hand. “And we still need to discuss bringing in everyone else, too, like the Oracles and even McConaughey.”
Charles moaned. “McConaughey, too?”
Stephanie chuckled. “Yes, Charles, even McConaughey. We don’t need to tell them everything about the immortal, but the more people we have with eyes on the evil resistance, and Douglas, the easier it will be to track them.”
Charles shook his head. “It’s a whole new world.”
“I like this new world of togetherness,” Hernando said softly.
They rounded another corner and Mr. Cooper stopped in front of a crate with a sideways 8 engraved on it. “Here you go. I had a little something carved on the box so you’ll always know which one is yours.”
“The infinity symbol,” Stephanie said with a smile. “Very clever, Mr. Cooper.”
Mr. Cooper opened the wooden crate’s front, and inside was a small safe. “One by one, you kids step up and let it scan your eye and thumbprint, then say your magic words into this microphone here. Make sure you remember the words, because they’ll be your pass code. The only way this safe can ever be opened again is if four of you are here and repeat the process. It’s the best method I know of to keep your secret safe. The majority of you have to agree to open the safe again—no one of you can do it alone.”
One by one, they stepped forward for their scan and said their words into the microphone.
“Coops, over and out,” Jerry said.
“This is Hernando, thank you,” Hernando said quietly.
“Yeti master,” Charles said.
“Can’t hack this,” Stephanie said.
“Blasters forever,” Amelia said.
“This is Adam Lowitzki, servant to none, master of my own destiny, king of many kingdoms.”
Amelia rolled her eyes. “Are you sure you’re going to remember that, Adam?”
“I say it to myself every morning in the mirror,” Adam said with a nod. “I’ll remember it.”
Stephanie looked at Clivo, her blue eyes sparkling. “It’s your turn, Clivo. Let’s finish this.”
Clivo stepped forward and put the sampler in the safe, the silver blood that could grant eternal life still floating in the chamber. He pulled the Egyptian rattle his mom had shaken over him to protect him from the god of storms from his back pocket and put it on one side of the box, and on the other he laid the beaded bracelet he wore to remind himself of his father.
He scanned his eye and thumbprint, then leaned into the microphone and said the words that felt right to him.
“Believe in the myth and the magic.”
Acknowledgments
First and foremost, I’d like to thank you, lovely reader, for reading this book. Because perhaps that means you also read the first book, The Cryptid Catcher, and liked it enough to want to continue with this story, and that makes me so happy.
I’d really like to thank the teachers and librarians I’ve had the pleasure of corresponding with who are so passionate about getting books into the hands of kids. Namely, Jarrett Lerner and the folks at Nerd Camp and MG Book Village, and all the champions of literacy who belong to #BookExpedition, #BookOdyssey, #BookPosse, #BookExcursion, #BookVoyage, #BookTrek, and #Collabookation. Thank you so much for all you do.
Thank you to all my friends who have been
so supportive of me on this journey. I was trying to thank you all by name, but I just knew I’d forget at least one of you, and that would haunt me. I don’t like the term “you know who you are,” but my friends really do know who they are. At least, I try to make sure they do, and you guys all make my life so rich and crazy and delicious, and I thank you.
This book was written during my dreamy month-long writing residency provided by Aspen Words and the Catto Shaw Foundation. Thank you to Isa, Daniel, Fiona, and Duncan for welcoming me to your incredible artist’s retreat. And thank you to the ladies at Aspen Words—Caroline, Marie, Jamie, Nicole, and Adrienne—for being so amazing and taking me out hiking so I didn’t turn into a statue at my writing desk.
To Mark, my sweetie. You kept me giggling by peering over my shoulder to see what I was writing about you. Our story has gone through many genres, and I look forward to many more years of eating your homemade pizza while planning our next sandwich. Love you.
As always, thank you to Mom, Wayne, Joel, and Papa, who are the most loving family I could hope for. And to my Auntie Zaiga: I hope you’re having a wonderful adventure beyond the clouds. I miss you.
Thank you to Loren Coleman for his expert knowledge on all things cryptid and for re-launching the Junior Cryptozoologist Club through the International Cryptozoology Museum. And thank you to Kirsten Cappy and Curious City for all of your creative marketing ideas that are always out of this world. I flail my muppet arms in your direction!
To my agent, Jason Anthony, who was the only agent to respond to my query letter for what would become The Cryptid Catcher. Success comes down to hard work and luck, and, boy, were you my luck.
Huge thanks to the magicians at FSG BYR and Macmillan Children’s Publishing Group who continue to amaze me with their talents—including editorial staffers Wes Adams and Melissa Warten, copyeditor Nancy Elgin, designer Aimee Fleck, illustrator Lisa K. Weber, production manager Celeste Cass, and publicist Madison Furr.
