Sara Beth frowned. The man sounded like a babbling psycho, but somehow every word he said almost made sense. It was on the tip of her mind, just out of reach, but so close. So close. “My greatness?”
“Once you’re back to your proper age, your tattoos should work again. You’ll be able to control all that power and use it to destroy our enemies!”
Sara Beth’s heart pounded, and her head throbbed, as if something was pushing, straining to get free. She pulled up her sweatshirt sleeves and stared at the colors. Yellow, green, silver, blue. Were they ever more than just blotches?
“This is it, Sir. We’ll take a secret route to the Order of Biology, where allies will restore your proper age. That should also restore all your magnificent power. We’ll topple the Council of Sciences, tear apart the Keepers, and destroy Simon Bloom!”
“Order of Biology? Council of Sciences? Keepers?” Part of her was starting to see. To feel how right this all was. Whatever was fighting inside her mind was winning . . . breaking free of its chains.
“We won’t go by Gateway, of course—the Union would know. We’ll use another method, not as fast, but safer. Come on, Sir—remember. Embrace the truth!”
The man’s face was bright red from his excitement. He was practically foaming at the mouth. He looked completely bonkers. And yet . . .
“I know you?” she asked, tentative at first. But then, “I do know you.” She pulled out a small mirror from her bag and stared at her reflection. It had never seemed so artificial. “You have powers? Show me.”
“Of course, Sir.” He pointed to a nearby cart filled with books. “Keep your eyes on that!” He spoke what sounded like nonsense to Sara Beth and then pointed at the cart. It started to spin around, faster and faster, its wheels squeaking as it rotated on the carpet.
The books went flying in all directions; Sara Beth had to dodge as one soared at her. Finally, the cart smashed into the far wall, clanging loudly.
Sara Beth gaped at him. Her first quick thought was about the damage to all those books. Then she realized what she’d just seen . . . how was that possible? But deep down, she knew. Whatever barrier there was in her mind was crumbling. She pushed up her sleeves and stared at the colors there. That blue blob on her right arm . . . she associated it with air expanding, making things explode. She patted at a spot on one leg, where her jeans covered another blue mark. It made her think of blazing, all-consuming heat. And that silver tattoo below the knee of her other leg gave her an image of a glowing ball of light that could shatter solid steel.
These thoughts shattered more than steel. Memories that were supposed to have been destroyed were returning, coming back from where they’d been safely stored by an old Order of Psychology trick she’d taught herself years before.
“Yes. YES. Your name . . . you are Willoughby Wanderby!” He nodded eagerly. “And I . . .” There was pain, now. A piece of her, deep inside her head, was disintegrating and beneath it—inside it—was another thing entirely. Her everything. Her self.
“I remember!” she shouted, triumphant. Her hands were clenched into fists, both held above her and shaking. Trembling with rage. “I remember everything.” She finally, truly saw. The books around her were filled with pathetically limited knowledge. The Outsider librarian rushing over, probably to investigate the noise, was a helpless fool. Her own thirteen-year-old hands were her prison. And the novel in one hand that just minutes ago had offered her such peace was only a distraction from her true purpose, from the blood and pain she’d have to dispense before she was done.
Sara Beth Doe stared at the book in her hand. Then Sirabetta tossed it aside. There was no room for peace for her now. It was time for war. And vengeance.
CHAPTER 13
MISSION: REALLY HARD (SHOULD THEY CHOOSE TO ACCEPT IT)
On Tuesday morning, Alysha and Owen met outside their school and waited for Simon.
“What’s with everyone?” Alysha asked as she gestured toward their schoolmates. There was none of the usual fun or cheeriness in the air outside Julius Henry Marx Junior High School. No boys were riding on skateboards or playing with hacky sacks. No girls giggled together or flirted with the boys. Instead, the students were standing in tense clumps and talking in hushed voices.
“I hope it’s not about what Simon did yesterday,” Owen said.
“I’m sure it’s nothing,” Alysha said, but she couldn’t hide a frown. She waved to a friend, who came over. “Hey, Jill,” she said. “What’s the deal?
Jill glanced over her shoulder. “It’s really weird; the teachers are freaking out.” She nodded to the windows of the cafeteria; Alysha and Owen followed her gaze. Sure enough, the teachers were huddled together inside and whispering. Occasionally, a teacher made a slashing motion with a hand or shook a fist in the air.
“Yup, they’re freaking out all right,” Alysha said. She turned to Jill. “See you inside; we’re going to wait for Simon.” Jill waved and walked off while Alysha pulled Owen back to their usual waiting spot.
Alysha saw Owen’s mouth open and held up her hand. “Just hold on, Speedy, we don’t know the facts yet. Save your strength for Simon-Watch, so we can stop him from accidentally blowing the whole place up or something.”
“Hey, you’re the one with the plasma problems,” Simon said from behind them.
Alysha and Owen whirled around. “Simon!” Alysha said. “I was just . . .”
Owen looked at his feet.
“Wow, you two are speechless?” Simon asked.
“We just . . . you know . . .” Alysha said. “So how are you feeling?”
Simon shrugged. “Getting over a stomachache. Indian food for dinner.”
“You know what I mean,” Alysha said with a roll of her eyes.
Simon smiled. “It’s fine. I’m fine. I think. I’m still nervous and all, but talking to Ralfagon helped a little. What’s going on?”
Alysha related what Jill said, and Owen stomped his foot. “This can’t be a coincidence! Maybe it’s something the Board’s up to, or it has to do with Ralfagon. We’re going to walk in there and find a bunch of new teachers from the Union here to gang up on Simon and us because Ralfagon had to retire.”
“Don’t be paranoid!” Alysha said. “Remember, Ralfagon chose to step down.”
“I’m sure it’s normal school business,” Simon said. “Not some Union invasion.”
There was a loud burst of static as the school’s public announcement system turned on. After a few loud thunks from someone testing the microphone, a voice rang out.
“All students please report to your homerooms immediately. Your teachers will escort you to a special first period assembly so you can meet your new principal.”
“Oh, no,” Simon and Alysha said at the same time.
“Told you so,” Owen said.
Once the assembly ended, hundreds of students and faculty members filed out of the main auditorium. It was a slow process; everyone turned back to stare at the new principal, especially those who remembered her from Martin Van Buren Elementary. Many murmured about the sudden change in school leadership and, of course, that towering column of hair.
Eventually, all but four people were gone. The only ones left in the auditorium were the new principal and the three students she’d asked to stay after. Now that the place was empty, Simon, Alysha, and Owen made their way down the bleachers to the auditorium floor, where Miss Fanstrom waited.
“That was not pleasant,” she said in her clipped British accent. “It was hard enough arranging my transfer to Martin Van Buren Elementary last May and to Enrico Fermi Junior High this September. But a third move a month later? I’ll be hearing about this from the PTA, I have no doubt.”
Miss Fanstrom clapped her hands and smiled warmly at the three friends. “No use weeping and wailing though, is there? Mr. Bloom, Mr. Walters, Miss Davis, it’s a pleasure to see you all again. I’m guessing you have questions for me, yes?”
Simon cleared his throat. “Yes. We haven�
��t seen you since you sent us to see our Narrator five months ago.”
Alysha folded her arms. “Every time—every single time—we went to your office to talk to you, you were mysteriously off school grounds or in a meeting!”
“Wait-Enrico-Fermi-Junior-High-in-Stoneridge?” Owen asked in a verbal blur.
The top of Miss Fanstrom’s hair swiveled toward Owen. “As always, Mr. Walters, your powers of observation are only outshone by your rate of self-expression.”
“Are there Union members in Stoneridge coming to get us?”
“Ah, and then there’s your capacity for needless worrying. No, Mr. Walters, though you have many dangers to face, that is not one of them. Allow me to explain.”
In her calm yet crisp voice, punctuated by the top of her hair periodically shifting its aim from one youth to the next, Miss Fanstrom recapped what they already knew—how, five months ago, the Council of Sciences was unable to remove Sirabetta’s ruined tattoos. The Board was unwilling to overlook her crimes, but since she was trapped as a thirteen-year-old girl they found it easiest to try to give her a fresh start.
The Order of Psychology erased her memories, and she was put into foster care, placed in the next town so the Order of Physics could keep an eye on her. Willoughby Wanderby volunteered to be the point person on this. His discipline as a gym teacher made him seem a good choice, especially since his battle with Simon and friends in the previous Chronicle was believed to be a complete misunderstanding.
Miss Fanstrom went on to explain how Sirabetta was treated at school, as well as how the kids’ former gym teacher freed her.
“So Mr. Wanderby was really a bad guy all along,” Alysha said.
Owen nodded. “That explains all the laps we had to run.”
Simon, again without thinking, rested his hand on the flap of his backpack. “Okay, what now? Is the Order of Physics going after them? The whole Union?”
Miss Fanstrom frowned. “I wish it were so simple. Any official Union action requires authorization from the Board of Administration. Ordinarily the Board is slow to do anything—they have so many procedures—but for several months now they’ve been positively glacial.” She paused. “In fact, I’ve noticed many rather peculiar things about them lately.” She shook her head—hair unmoving—as if to dismiss a thought. “Besides, we can’t be certain they even know. Or the Council, either.”
“What?” shouted Alysha. “Why not?”
“Because Mr. Wanderby is the one who would report such a thing,” Miss Fanstrom said. “As far as most know, all is well.”
Simon sat down on the nearest bleacher seat. “You know. You and Greygor.”
Miss Fanstrom nodded sadly. “Yes, we do. But there are rules for these things.”
“Forget the rules—our lives are in danger!” Alysha yelled, kicking the bleachers.
Miss Fanstrom wagged her finger. “Tut, tut, Miss Davis. Behave yourself! You are a young lady—I expect better self-control.” She looked away, and her tower of hair wobbled. “I understand your fury; I truly do. But everyone, even Keepers and principals, has restrictions.”
“It’s not just our lives at risk,” Owen said. “How can you not tell someone?”
Miss Fanstrom nodded solemnly. “I have, Mr. Walters. I have told you three.”
Simon locked eyes with her. “And I’m the Keeper, now. It’s my responsibility.” He looked away and shook his head sadly. An idea struck him, and he straightened, eager; he opened the backpack and put his hand on the Book. “Can I contact the other members of the Council?”
“If you’d like,” Miss Fanstrom said.
“Can I have them organize a group to go after Sirabetta and Wanderby?”
“You can ask them to.”
Simon smiled. “And, as Keeper of the Order of Physics, I can get the other Physics members to go after them, too, right?”
“Yes.”
“Wait,” Owen said. “Mr. Wanderby and Mermon Veenie were both secretly in league with Sirabetta. What if there are more traitors?”
“Owen, you’re being . . .” Alysha trailed off, a thoughtful look on her face.
“Hard to accuse him of being too cautious now, isn’t it, Miss Davis?” Miss Fanstrom said. “After all, do you know who supplied Sirabetta with her tattoos? Or whose help she seeks from the Order of Biology? In short, who can you trust?”
“Do you know who is good or bad and who we can trust?” Owen asked.
Miss Fanstrom frowned. “I face more limits than just rules, Mr. Walters. There is much going on that is beyond even my knowledge.”
Simon groaned. “Oh, that’s just great! So anyone can be against us, right?”
Miss Fanstrom just looked at him.
Simon sighed; her silence was an answer. He rubbed his forehead. “If somebody’s going to stop Sirabetta, it has to be us, then?”
Miss Fanstrom still said nothing.
“I’m only twelve,” Simon said, his voice almost pleading. “I’m not ready.”
“Weren’t you eleven when you stopped her before?” Miss Fanstrom asked.
“Yeah, and she can’t even use her tattoos anymore,” Alysha said. “And Wanderby wasn’t so tough. I’m sure we can handle this!”
Owen groaned. “You know, every time you say that, people get blown up.”
“I’m afraid I must agree with Mr. Walters. If you choose to undertake this mission, you must be prepared for threats from anywhere and anyone.”
“And if I don’t accept the mission?” Simon asked.
Miss Fanstrom nodded her head. “A wise question, Mr. Bloom. Only a fool rushes headlong into certain danger without considering his options. Unfortunately, you risk much if you do nothing. If Sirabetta is restored to adulthood, her tattoos will probably function again. She’ll likely come after you and the Teacher’s Edition of Physics or another science-based Teacher’s Edition and its Keeper. If she succeeds, she’ll abuse that power, attack other Keepers, and steal their Books. I fear her efforts to remake the Union will damage or destroy life as we know it.”
“Wait . . . what exactly is the mission you’re suggesting?” Alysha demanded.
“Another wise question, Miss Davis. You can, of course, try to contact the entire Council and see what they want to do. You can try to rally the entire Order of Physics, or as many of them as you feel you can trust. Or . . .”
She trailed off, and Simon finished her sentence for her. “... or we can go to the Order of Biology ourselves to stop Sirabetta from turning herself back into an adult.”
“That’s a bad idea,” Owen said. “She could have the whole Order against us!”
“Gilio wouldn’t side with her,” Simon said. “Neither would Flangelo.” Indeed, Flangelo from the Order of Biology had been a great source of information to the kids when they’d first found the Book. His Bio power—the ability to turn into a sparrow—was of limited use in a fight, but he still risked his life to help them.
Simon sighed. “I guess we’ll just have to wing it with the rest.”
“Wing it?” Owen groaned. “How many times do we have to almost get killed before you give up on this whole ‘wing it’ thing?”
“I’m just wondering if he meant ‘wing it’ as a joke about Flangelo,” Alysha said.
Upset as he was, Owen still managed a chuckle at that. “Fine, let’s say we go to Bio. How do we get there? And where is there?”
The kids turned to Miss Fanstrom, who cleared her throat. “What do you think?”
“Obviously, you or the Narrator could tell us if you wanted to,” Alysha said. “But if you’re going to keep this hush-hush stuff going, Simon can probably ask Gilio.”
The top of Miss Fanstrom’s hair bent forward toward Alysha, as if nodding.
“This is the dumbest idea ever,” Owen said. “What about school? It’s Tuesday morning; are we supposed to go to the Order of Biology, save the universe, and be back in time for dinner?”
“Tut, tut, Mr. Walters. I am your principal, af
ter all. I believe a special field trip aimed at furthering your science education can be arranged. You’d be amazed how much influence even a brand-new principal has with parents.”
Simon nodded his head. “That’s it, then. That’s what I have to do.”
“What do you mean ‘I’?” Alysha asked.
“I can’t ask you guys to go with me; we could get killed!”
Alysha snorted. “Yeah, ’cause last time was warm and fuzzy? It’s risky, but it’s like Miss Fanstrom said. Someone has to do it . . . and that’s us. Of course I’m going.”
Simon exhaled with relief; he was terrified at the thought of doing this alone. Then Alysha, Miss Fanstrom, and he looked at Owen.
Owen avoided their gazes. “What can you tell us about the Order of Biology?” he finally asked.
“Biology is the study of all living things,” Miss Fanstrom said. “So their domain is filled with things that are alive.”
“That tells me a lot, thanks.” He grimaced but still didn’t look up. “So we can expect huge, vicious creatures and weird, creepy plants? Oh, and Order members with powers over all sorts of life, too, right? And they’ll probably all want to attack us!”
Miss Fanstrom cleared her throat. “Tut tut, Mr. Walters. You three are hardly helpless, are you?”
Owen was silent for moments. At last he kicked the ground and looked at Miss Fanstrom. “You know, I hate it when you say ‘tut tut.’ That’s almost as bad as Alysha saying it’ll be easy or Simon wanting to figure it out as he goes along.”
The others said nothing.
“What does ‘tut tut’ even mean? Who says that?”
Still, they waited.
“Okay! You happy?” Owen shouted. “We’ll go to Biology and get turned into newts or whatever. But I am not going to have fun while we do it!”
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