by Siegel, Alex
"Will she get better?"
"Maybe," Tonya said. "You broke things that don't heal easily. You really should be a little more careful. Maybe Keene can help her, if he's willing. He specializes in fixing fractured minds."
She walked around the room and stopped in front of the sketch pad. She lifted the pages one at a time, revealing beautiful works of art. There was an exquisitely detailed sketch of a honeybee on a flower. A darker image was a self-portrait of Vivian hanging from a gallows.
"So talented." Tonya sighed deeply. "What a waste. There are so few sorcerers in the world, and yet, we insist on destroying ourselves in the stupidest ways. There is a reason the BPI doesn't trust us."
Charley noticed Andrew had a distant expression.
"What are you thinking?" she said.
He furrowed his brow. "If we worked together more, our odds of survival would be better."
Tonya snorted. "Good luck. Sorcerers have been stubbornly independent for thousands of years."
"That doesn't mean we should give up."
"I suppose you're right. One must maintain a positive attitude despite overwhelming evidence to the contrary."
"Are we done here?" Andrew said. "Did we pass our final exam?"
Tonya looked at Vivian. "I wouldn't give you an 'A+,' but yes, you passed. Your mission to kill Blake has officially begun. You'll go to Washington and wait for orders from Director Webster. I have to return to Chicago to guard my seam. The peace and quiet will be nice."
"Come on," Charley said. "You'll miss us. Admit it."
Tonya smiled wistfully. "I suppose I will."
"What about our classes?" Andrew said.
"I'll tell your instructors your mothers have cancer."
* * *
Blake smiled with pride as he looked at Phillip. Molding the boy's mind into a mirror of Blake's own had been a lot of hard work. It had felt like building the Eiffel Tower out of toothpicks, but finally, the job was done, and none too soon. Blake needed to get back to his master plan.
"How are you feeling?" he said. "Do you still have a headache?"
Phillip was sitting comfortably on a chair in Tad's Truck Parts warehouse. Dust, food stains, and drops of dried blood marked Phillip's clothes. His brown hair was a greasy, tangled mess. He had lost a little weight in the last two weeks, but he was still in good health. He was a sturdy kid.
"I'm fine," Phillip said. "The headache is gone. I haven't hallucinated all day."
"Good. Your energy flow is stable. Any tremors?"
Phillip held up his right hand, and it was rock steady. "No."
"Create an illusion as a test."
Blake was seated facing Phillip, and a seam floated in the air between them. Blake sensed the boy's energy swell as he drew power from the seam.
Suddenly, Blake was surrounded by a steamy green jungle. Birds twittered in the trees, and bugs crawled on the ground. A snake slithered along a branch.
He looked around. "Excellent. The detail is remarkable. I couldn't have done any better myself. In fact, you did exactly as well as me."
The illusion vanished.
Blake stood up. "I think we're finally ready to go. Is there anything we need?"
He looked around the interior of the warehouse. A trash can in the corner had flies buzzing around it, and he could smell the rotting food from across the room. For the last two weeks, all the meals had been delivered and eaten on paper plates. The garbage had piled up.
Luggage was on a table, but the clothes inside were still mostly clean. Blake and Phillip had changed only a few times. Personal hygiene had taken a back seat to focusing on the longest and most complicated spell Blake had ever attempted. He had stopped only to sleep and not for more than three hours at a time. Tad's Truck Parts didn't have a shower on the premises either, and the man and the boy stank.
The Russian Eye also lay on the table. Blake hadn't needed it during the long spell because the big seam in the warehouse provided far more energy. He wasn't looking forward to depending on the tiny seam inside the jewel again once he left.
The warehouse had long shelves covered in automotive parts. Blake had put them to good use as intellectual tests for Phillip. Clusters of parts were assembled on the concrete floor like three-dimensional puzzles. Phillip had put together most of a transmission by just following written directions.
"Just the luggage," the boy said, "but we should spend a night in a local hotel before flying to Arizona. We both need to sleep in real beds and take long, hot showers before going out in public."
Blake had been thinking exactly the same thing. Being with a miniature version of himself felt a little spooky. Phillip looked like a young boy but acted like an old man. He even had the same accent and mannerisms as Blake.
Blake walked over and grabbed the suitcases. "By the way, for the record, I'm in charge of this operation. I give the orders."
"Why?" Phillip said. "We're the same person. We should have equal responsibility."
"Not quite. I created you, and that counts for something. And you're just a child. People won't take you seriously."
"Thanks to you. My big mind is stuck in this little body."
"The spell wouldn't have worked on a more mature, inflexible brain," Blake said.
Phillip frowned. "I suppose a second childhood doesn't sound too bad. As long as the operation is successful and I share equally in the rewards, I'll settle for being your lieutenant."
"I'm glad you feel that way. I need to gather up my assassins. It's time for everybody to get back to work."
Chapter Seven
Andrew stared through the scope of a sniper rifle using one eye. He was lying on his belly with his elbows on the floor, but it was still hard to hold the weapon steady. The long barrel was awkwardly heavy even from a prone position. He was aiming at a paper target at the far end of the gun range, a hundred yards away.
"Inhale and hold it," Tungsten said. "No flinching this time."
I'm trying, Andrew thought.
He held his breath and pulled the trigger with a smooth motion. He was wearing ear protection, but the gun still sounded like a cannon exploding next to his head. The stock pounded his shoulder, layering a fresh bruise on top of others.
He recovered his composure and looked through the scope again. There was a new hole in the paper target, but it was high and right.
"Close," Andrew said.
He looked up at Tungsten. The ex-soldier was wearing a white shirt and black slacks. He stared through binoculars at the target.
"With that rifle at that distance, you should be within an inch every time. You're still flinching."
"I'm doing my best," Andrew said. "The gun is loud!"
"It's loud after you pull the trigger, not before."
"Technically, that's true."
"You're next, Charley," Tungsten said.
Andrew looked over at his girlfriend. Gun grease had smudged her green sweater. He liked what her snug jeans did to her legs and butt when she was lying down. Her sniper rifle was lighter than his but still big. She clenched her jaw anxiously.
Charley steadied her aim and fired. The recoil jerked her entire body. A spent shell casing flew over Andrew's head.
Tungsten looked through his binoculars. "Better than Andrew, but still not acceptable. Are you guys even paying attention to my instructions? I've explained the technique five times."
"It hurts to shoot this thing," she said through her teeth. "It's like getting kicked by a mule."
"Then you're not doing it right. I told you to pull hard against the shoulder before firing. Make sure the stock is wedged in tight so it can't move around." He frowned and looked back and forth between the two apprentices. "Take a break. Settle down and get your heads right. Be back here in an hour."
They eagerly got up, handed their rifles to Tungsten, and left the gun range.
Andrew and Charley walked into the rock tunnel outside the gun range. They were in the underground section of BPI headquarters.
"What do you want to do for an hour?" he said.
She shrugged. "I don't know. It's too early to eat lunch."
"And the cafeteria sucks anyway. You'd think a powerful government agency could afford better food. It's almost as bad as the cafeteria back at the university."
"Let's just walk around." She rubbed her right shoulder with her left hand. "Ouch! That will be sore for days. I hate guns, especially big ones."
They walked down the tunnel. Their footsteps on the cement floor echoed off the walls. The only other sound was the ventilation system, and Andrew felt like he was in a tomb.
Other tunnels branched off of the main one. The BPI agents had let the apprentices wander on their own for the most part, and Andrew had explored much of the secret underground facility. Occasionally, a man or a woman in a blue suit would appear and turn them back. Surveillance cameras were everywhere, and Andrew expected agents were watching him constantly. He knew if he caused any trouble, he would quickly attract a crowd.
He stopped at a window with a laboratory on the other side. The oddly shaped equipment had a multitude of buttons, and he could only guess at its purpose. Scientists were performing experiments or working at computers.
"Let's go in," Andrew said.
Charley gave him a funny look. "That would be rude. They're working."
"It's got to be more interesting in there than walking back and forth in a tunnel."
She had a dubious expression.
"What's the worst that can happen?" he said. "If we're not welcome, they'll send us away. Come on."
Andrew took Charley's hand. He pulled open a door, and they went into the laboratory together.
A woman with short black hair and thick glasses turned to them. She was wearing a yellow shirt and a brown skirt. He could tell she wasn't a regular agent by her clothing.
"Can I help you?" she said.
Andrew walked over to her with a disarming smile. "Yes. We were just wondering what you're doing. This laboratory looks very interesting."
She raised one eyebrow. "And you are...?"
"Andrew Kenworthy and Charlotte Lemay."
Her eyes widened. "Oh. I heard about you."
"Good things, I hope."
"I'm Dr. Plank." Plank shook Andrew's and Charley's hands. "We study sorcery in this laboratory."
Andrew looked at a white machine shaped like a giant octopus standing high on its eight legs. A steel table was underneath.
"I don't feel any sources of energy," he said. "There is no seam. How can you study something without actually doing it?"
"We analyze samples taken in the field and perform experiments. Sometimes we study live subjects."
"You mean you study sorcerers."
"Exactly." Plank said.
Andrew realized she saw him as a laboratory rat, and the image made him uncomfortable.
"Hey, do you want to participate in an experiment?" Plank said eagerly. "I asked Director Webster for a test subject weeks ago, but he hasn't provided one. You're just what I need."
"Will it hurt?"
"Not at all. We conform to the highest ethical standards here."
Andrew frowned. He glanced at Charley.
"Don't look at me," she said. "You're the one who had the bright idea of coming in here. Go ahead. Do your bit for science."
He looked back at Plank. "Fine. What do you want me to do?"
"First, empty out your pockets," she said. "Make sure you don't have any metal on you. Then sit in there."
She pointed at a gigantic machine with a door in the center. The device consisted of huge, intersecting cylinders made of polished copper.
"What will it do to me?" Andrew said nervously.
"It will just surround you with a harmless magnetic field and take some readings. You'll watch a short movie during the test to stimulate your brain."
He didn't want to look like a coward in front of Charley, so he followed the instructions. The machine contained a small booth with a plastic chair. After he sat in the chair, Plank strapped his head into a padded frame.
"So you don't move around," she said. "Are you comfortable?"
"The straps are a little tight."
"Good." She left the booth and closed the door.
A video screen in front of Andrew's face came to life. The screen showed clips from cartoons and movies, each only a few seconds long, and all the images were disturbing. One clip showed a young girl twisting her head all the way around. Another showed a man inflating until he exploded into a fountain of guts. A cartoon clip portrayed devils playing music on the bones of the dead. A man in a tuxedo vomited up live cockroaches.
In the meantime, the machine was humming and clicking loudly. Andrew felt the powerful vibrations through his chair. He wondered if the magnetic field was strong enough to loosen his fillings.
After about ten minutes, the experiment ended. Plank came back and helped him free himself from the head harness.
"What was the point of that?" Andrew said.
"We're trying to invent a scientific test for detecting whether a person is capable of sorcery."
"What was the movie for?"
"To light up specific areas of your brain," Plank said.
"It was gross."
"Yes. Let's look at the results."
Andrew, Plank, and Charley walked over to a computer. Some other scientists gathered around and watched.
Plank brought up 3-D images of Andrew's head on the computer screen. The bones were translucent white, and a rainbow of colors highlighted portions of his brain. She typed on a keyboard to rotate the model.
"Do I have brain cancer, doc?" he said in a joking tone.
"No," Plank said, "but your brain is a little odd."
The scientists made excited comments to each other. They mentioned terms like "corpus callosum," "Brodmann area 7," and "occipital cortex."
"Odd how?" Andrew said.
"Your neural activity extends into the cerebellum in a way that suggests a mutation..."
Frank Webster walked into the laboratory, and Plank immediately closed her mouth. The Director of the BPI was wearing a sharp, blue suit tailored to fit his beefy physique. His flinty features usually expressed no emotion at all, but today, he was visibly angry. Even his tie wasn't as neatly tied as usual.
"There you are!" Webster said to Andrew. "Come with me. You too, Charley."
Webster left without waiting for a response. Andrew and Charley jogged after him down the tunnel.
"What's going on?" Andrew said.
"It appears two of my agents are victims of mind-control. They're being flown here, and everybody will meet at the Manassas seam. You'll assist Richard in determining what happened to them."
"Where did the crime occur?"
"Aurora, Nebraska," Webster said. "The agents were running a special foster home for orphans with talent for sorcery. Do you remember Phillip? I think you met the kid at the survivalist encampment in Alabama."
"Sure," Andrew said.
"He was at the home, but now, he's missing."
Andrew and Charley looked at each other with alarmed expressions.
Other BPI agents joined the group. Everybody rode the elevator up to the surface level, and they left the headquarters building.
The weather outside was glorious. It was still winter in Washington, DC, but a warm front from the south had created spring-like conditions. Puffy clouds dotted a blue sky. The air was cool and moist, but Andrew didn't feel compelled to wear a coat.
Two black sedans were already waiting in front of the building with the engines running, and drivers were at the wheels. Webster, Andrew, and Charley climbed into the sedan in back. The other BPI agents rode in the one in front. As soon as everybody was seated, the caravan drove off.
"How long has Phillip been missing?" Charley said.
"At least two weeks," Webster said. "The agents were filing false reports claiming he was still at home."
"Then how did you discov
er the problem?"
"A child psychologist visits the orphans once a week. The agents were evasive about why she couldn't see Phillip. Eventually, she reported the matter to the Bureau."
Andrew sat back and tried to imagine why anybody would kidnap Phillip. The boy had talent but no skill at all. Apprentices didn't usually start their training until they were at least sixteen years-old. The mind had to be mature enough to handle the rigors of sorcery. Phillip was basically a normal kid and would be useless to somebody like Blake.
The car eventually reached a highway and drove west on Interstate 66. The BPI sometimes used helicopters, but Manassas wasn't that far away. A car was probably just as quick in the end.
"Hold on," Andrew said. "Doesn't the BPI use a blood test to detect mind-control?"
"Yes," Webster said. "The agents were sending in somebody else's blood."
"And you didn't notice?"
"The guys in the lab were just checking for the chemicals indicating exposure to sorcery."
"But they didn't also check the type or whatever to make sure it was coming from the right person?" Andrew said. "Seems like a major oversight."
Webster blushed. "We used to do that second test. Apparently, it was quietly dropped during the latest round of budget cuts. I have corrected that mistake. All the recent samples are being rechecked."
"Oh."
The car soon entered the woodlands of Virginia. Trees grew close together in the rich, moist soil, and some trees retained their leaves even in the winter. Bridges crossed a number of small rivers.
"Speaking of labs," Webster said, "what were you doing in the Science Lab?"
"We were bored," Andrew said. "The scientists scanned my brain."
Webster frowned.
"It didn't hurt," Andrew added.
"Experiments on live subjects require my pre-approval."
"How often do those experiments happen?"
"Not often," Webster said. "We usually use prisoners. They volunteer in exchange for shorter prison sentences."
Andrew stared at him. The ethics of that kind of bargain were highly questionable.
"What about dead subjects?" Charley said.
Webster looked at her. "The brains of dead sorcerers are routinely studied, of course. That's just good science. The BPI pays for the burial of the body though. The next of kin gets a free funeral service and everything."
