"I don't know!"
"Was it a man or a woman? What costume were they wearing?" I asked impatiently.
"A man! An alien!"
“Describe him.”
“Silver spacesuit and boots, blue makeup, bald.”
I released Jordan and quickly scanned the room. No sign of either an alien or Maryanne.
"Crazy witch," Jordan muttered, nursing his wrist. He was definitely going to complain to Maryanne about me. If this was a false alarm, Maryanne would be ticked. Too bad. I'd warned her and warned her not to leave the room without me.
I took a step toward the washroom, but Jordan moved in front of me. Resentment burned in his brown eyes. “You think you’re so smart, attaching yourself to the rich girl. Just you wait. You’ll get what’s coming to you.”
The ugly look on his face promised revenge, and he’d all but admitted knowing who Maryanne was. Any other time I would have followed up, pressed harder to see if he’d blabbed Maryanne’s real identity to anyone else, but I didn’t have time now.
I ducked past him and made a bee-line for the washroom. Four minutes now since I'd last seen Maryanne.
To my surprise, Brad jogged along at my elbow. "Is everything okay, Angela? Maryanne's dress got a little wet, but she seemed fine. She went with the box."
I stopped dead. "What box?"
"Hey, don't hurt me!" Brad held up his hands, grinning. "I'll tell you. Big box with a red bow. The box bumped into the alien, that’s why he spilled his drink. Anyhow, Maryanne seemed to know the box. They headed for the washroom together."
"Thanks." I meant it. My nerves stopped jangling for the first time since Maryanne had gone missing.
Back in the 1980s, when we were all in high school, Mike had come to Maryanne's seventeenth birthday party in a box with a big red bow.
My steps quickened. Mike might be here! But—how had he snuck into the Historical Immersion Project? It was a lot of trouble to go to for just for one party. Or, my heart beat faster, had he finally given up his get-rich scheme and decided to do something worthwhile with his life? To join me and be a team again?
If he was here, it explained why Maryanne had left the room without checking in with me. They were probably hiding in one of the rooms giggling over the joke—
Except Mike had seemed pretty set on his plan. Our last argument had been a doozy, neither of us budging an inch. I couldn't imagine him abandoning the fall baseball season when his hopes of being scouted were so high.
My blood chilled. What if it hadn’t been Mike inside the box? Maryanne hadn't heard his voice in two years, she could have been fooled. And the box had caused the spill on her dress that necessitated leaving the room.
I didn't like this.
Once in the hall, I broke into a run, dodging around a wrestler and a pixie making out. The bathroom was down the hall at the bottom of a flight of stairs.
Five girls lined the hall outside the bathroom—there were at least eighty people crammed into the frat house and only one dinky bathroom.
"Emergency! I'm going to throw up!" I yelled. They all cringed back out of the way as I made convincing about-to-ralph noises.
"Just a minute!" the voice inside yelled. I didn't think it sounded like Maryanne, but I couldn't be sure. I pounded on the door until it opened, revealing another witch with a green wig.
"Well, aren't you going to throw up?" The witch rolled her heavily glittered eyes.
I moved away, not bothering to explain. And then I saw it. The box with the bow lay abandoned at the bottom of the second flight of stairs in front of the entranceway.
Mike wouldn't have taken Maryanne out of the building. He would want to tease me, not scare me to death.
The kidnapping was real; it was really happening.
I tried to tell myself there was still a chance that Maryanne had just wandered off on her own, gone back to our dorm room to change, but I didn't believe it. Maryanne had lived most of her life with bodyguards. She wouldn’t have left the building without me.
Had they drugged her with Knockout? Threatened her with a gun? Hurt her? Rage built inside me. I was supposed to stop this from happening.
Six minutes since I'd last seen Maryanne. Time to alert Kenneth Jones that I’d lost his daughter. It grated my pride—I hated looking incompetent—but I couldn’t risk Maryanne’s safety. I pulled out the locket I wore around my neck, opened it up and hit the recessed button.
Most of Kenneth Jones’s millions had come from master-minding the Historical Immersions. Everyone who worked here got their pay cheque from him. I believed him when he told me if I hit the button the whole Immersion would go into lockdown.
All highways were now closed. All vehicles would be thoroughly searched.
Part of me wanted to head down to the gate and help with the search, be the one to find Maryanne, but they were experts, used to finding small smuggled antiques. I’d just get in their way.
I frowned, something in what I’d just thought bothering me. In a moment I had it. Even without the lockdown, car trunks were regularly searched for antiques. What if the kidnappers had planned a different way out?
My heart thrashed in my chest. Aircars were illegal in the Historical Immersion, but it wouldn’t be impossible to sneak one in.
I mentally called up the map of "Kennedyville" that I'd pored over before arrival. I couldn’t remember any wide fields, but an aircar with Vertical Takeoff and Landing didn't need much space. It could land on a side street in the dark and probably not be noticed.
Except tonight was Halloween. The trick-or-treaters would be in bed by now, but the older boys would still be out in search of pumpkins to smash and houses to toilet paper. House owners would be alert for the sounds of vandalism and would notice an aircar.
Unless you made it part of Halloween...
I charged back up the stairs. "Brad!"
I spotted him by the punch, demonstrating to a wide-eyed Raggedy Ann doll how to flip quarters off his elbow and catch them. He stopped showing off his biceps and looked slightly alarmed when he saw me. "Hey, Angela. Did you find Maryanne?"
I cut him off. "The UFO, where is it?"
Anyone else would have asked why, but Brad, bless him, had a straightforward mind. "In the quad beside the Engineering Building." He looked pleased at being able to provide the answer.
An alien had spilled the drink on Maryanne, the box's accomplice.
"Is the rest of your football team here?" I asked. "I need to talk to them." I focused on Brad's square face, meeting his gaze. Frumpy Angela never looked boys in the eye. She giggled and whispered things to Maryanne and blushed.
Once again, Brad didn't ask questions. He gave a loud, piercing whistle and held up his hands. "Yo, Wildcats! Huddle!"
Within moments six husky football players had gathered around Brad. "The lady has something to ask us," Brad told them.
“Lady?” Jordan said from the sidelines—he hadn’t made the cut to be on the team. "I can’t believe you’re listening to Angela."
Brad punched his shoulder. "You're just mad because she whupped you. Okay, everyone listen up!"
The Wildcats obediently fell silent. My respect for Brad rose a notch.
I smiled at them, an electric Angel smile, not Angela's simper. "How would you like to get one back on the Engineers?" There was a long-standing tradition of pranks between the jocks and the fiendishly-clever-but-nerdy engineers at the college.
"How?" one of them asked.
"Have you seen the UFO on the quad? Rumour is it actually flies and you know what that means.”
They nodded eagerly. If the engineers were caught with an illegal aircar, they would be in trouble.
“They’re trying to make you look bad. They’ve captured an earth girl and they’re going to take her back to their home planet, Zelbar,” I invented. “Are we going to let them get away with this?”
“No!”
“Who’s up for a rescue mission?”
A roar of approval
. As easy as working a pep rally.
Brad yelled, "Charge!" and the Wildcats rushed for the stairs. I barely stayed in the lead. I had my mob: now I just had to figure out what to do with them.
People scattered out of the way as we poured out of the frat house. I veered off the sidewalk, running full speed down the narrow shortcut between the frat house and the brick Biological Sciences building. The football team milled around for a moment, then Brad whooped, and they all took off in pursuit.
Can't let a girl outrun a Wildcat. Wouldn't be manly.
"This way!" I sprinted down a gravel alley parallel to the cafeteria building.
I glanced back and saw that only Brad and one other Wildcat were keeping up. The other ones were too full of beer. It hurt me like a physical pain, but I made myself slow down. I couldn't lose them yet. I would need them when we reached the UFO/aircar.
I used the breather to reach into my pocket and pull out an illegal Knockout patch. I slipped the thread loop over the index finger of my right hand, but left the protective covering in place.
A quick zag to the right, and I reached the quad, recognizable in the dark by the spongy grass underfoot and the crackling leaves. I ran toward the ominous, looming shadow of an oak tree. The Engineering building should be to the left; where was the UFO?
Ten minutes since I’d last seen Maryanne. Was I too late?
There. Metallic silver paint gleamed through the tree branches.
I sped up—then skidded to a halt in a soggy film of leaves at the edge of the small grove. I peered around the oak’s thick trunk. In addition to the paint job, the UFO had three spooky blue lights and a cardboard or plywood skirt that obscured the aircar’s wings and made it look like a flying saucer from old movies. The mockup must be designed to fall away once they were airborne.
The engines suddenly roared to life. Crap. Maryanne must be already on board, in the kidnapper's hands...
"Tackle it!" I yelled and sprinted toward it.
Brad gave a Wildcat yell, and they all charged after him. Wonderful maniacs.
The aircar lifted slightly off the ground just as six football players tackled it. One fell back in the grass, but the others clung, and the aircar whoomped back onto the ground.
Before the pilot could try again, I pulled off the silver spray-painted cardboard covering and wrenched open the aircar door beneath it. On instinct I ducked low, and someone fired two shots over my head. I reached in at ankle level and grabbed a foot.
I'd been hoping for Maryanne's high-heeled sandals, but found a man's duct-taped running shoe instead. I yanked him off the passenger seat.
"Hey!" His bald wig went askew as he instinctively clung to the doorframe with both hands. Which meant he couldn't use his gun.
"Maryanne!" I screamed, still pulling with all my strength.
If she answered, I couldn’t hear it over the roar of the motor. The pilot tried to lift off again even with the passenger door hanging open.
Please don't let Maryanne be unconscious. That would ratchet up the rescue from difficult to near impossible.
"You're not supposed to be here," the kidnapper panted. "Go away." He kicked out with the foot I was holding, but I'd been waiting for just this opportunity. I threw my full body weight sideways, out of the aircar. The move pulled him after me. His head cracked against the door before we both hit the ground.
Whining, the aircar rose three feet off the ground. Four Wildcats jumped off, but I sprang forward, caught the bottom door frame and chinned my head and one elbow inside. The pilot spun the aircar in a tight circle. I heard yells as the rest of the Wildcats either fell or jumped. The door swung in with wicked speed and clipped me between the shoulder blades. Ouch. That was going to bruise.
I clung grimly to the aircar as the ground dropped away, then laboriously pulled first my torso, then my dangling legs, inside the aircar. I crouched on the floor in front of the seat.
"Don't try anything," the pilot warned. In the green glow of the dashboard lights, I saw that he, too, had blue makeup and a bald wig. "I've locked out both the autopilot and the copilot controls, and I'm flying without lights, skimming the treetops. One wrong move, and we all crash."
"Fair enough. Mind if I close the door?" I asked politely.
"Please do."
The door flopped wildly. I leaned way out into space to catch the handle.
The pilot seized the opportunity and yawed the aircar into a vicious tilt that would have spilled me outside if I hadn't braced myself in expectation of just such a move.
"Nice try," I said cheerfully.
He scowled and straightened the aircar’s flight. I slammed the door and sat on the seat, but didn't buckle myself in. "Where's Maryanne?"
"I'm here," Maryanne said breathlessly from behind me.
I turned and saw her lying on the floor of the cargo area, her hands bound in front of her. A huge tide of relief swept over me. "Are you okay?"
"I'm sorry, Angel," Maryanne said miserably. "I shouldn’t have left the room without you. But I thought the box was Mike!"
"Yeah, I figured that out.” How had the kidnappers known to try that approach? A thought for later. “Never mind whose fault it is. Are you hurt?"
"She's fine," the pilot grumbled.
"I bit him," Maryanne whispered. She seemed both aghast and a little proud of herself.
"Really?" I laughed in delight. "With your vampire teeth?"
"No, they fell out. And I broke one of my high heels," Maryanne said.
I'd only been waiting to find out if Maryanne was injured. While she talked, I’d peeled the protective covering off my Knockout patch. “See this?” I held it closer to the dashboard light. “Land the aircar right now or I’ll knock you out.”
"You’re bluffing. Touch me and we’ll crash,” he said confidently. “I’ve locked out the AutoPilot; it’s on manual controls.”
“Angel never bluffs,” Maryanne said glumly, a here-we-go-again expression on her face.
“I don’t believe you.”
I shrugged. “Have it your way." Lightning fast, I slapped the Knockout patch on the bare skin of his neck.
Chapter Three
ANGEL
The pilot’s eyelids slid shut, then jerked open. His nerve failed. He pulled up on the yoke, giving us an extra five meters of clearance, before slumping in his chair. His seat belt prevented him from falling forward onto the controls.
I reached across and leveled out the yoke—unlike a car's steering wheel, an aircar's yoke would stay steady without being held in place.
Of course that left us flying blind in the dark. I doubted the two kidnappers had filed a flight plan; Air Traffic Control didn't know we were here and by now we’d probably passed out of the No Fly Zone around the Immersion. We should be low enough to avoid most other aircars, but little things like hills could still kill us.
"Computer, exterior lights on," I said.
"Voice: unidentified. Access denied," said the computer.
Great. So much for my plan of turning the aircar's controls over to Air Traffic Control.
I tried again. "Computer, this is an emergency. The pilot is sick. You must contact Air Traffic Control."
"Emergency protocols have been disabled. Voice identification is required to reactivate them," the computer replied.
That was illegal, but no surprise. The kidnappers wouldn't have wanted to risk the aircar computer sending out an S.O.S. if Maryanne yelled for help.
Every second that ticked by made me more nervous about hills. I edged us up another ten meters, but now we would start to encroach on regular airspace, where other aircars might be flying along oblivious to our presence.
I sighed. "Maryanne, can you help me get him out of this seat? It looks like I’m going to have to land this thing manually."
Silence for a beat. "Uh, actually, Angel, I'm tied up."
“And I don’t have a knife with me,” I lamented. I’d wanted to carry a knife in a discreet sheath, but Kenneth
Jones hadn’t approved, saying its presence risked giving away my bodyguard status. “But your hands are tied in front of you, right?"
"Yes."
"Good. Kneel down and push your hands through the gap between the seats." I peered anxiously out of the windshield at the black-on-black scenery below, until Maryanne squirmed into position.
While Maryanne held the unconscious pilot upright, I undid his seatbelt and eased his hips sideways, taking great care not to bump the control yoke. Awkwardly, with me pushing and Maryanne pulling, we slid the pilot onto the floor on the passenger side.
I heaved a sigh of relief when I finally seated myself behind the controls. After a little hunting, I located the manual switch for the headlights and flipped them on. As an afterthought, I even put on my seatbelt.
“Should we tie him up?” Maryanne asked nervously.
“You can if you want, but the Knockout patch will last for another fifteen minutes. I ought to be able to find a place to land by then.”
“Okay.”
"So where to? Back to Kennedyville or will the closest town do?"
She sighed. "Any town, I suppose. No point in hiding in a Historical Immersion anymore, if my cover identity is blown. And just when I thought Jordan might ask me out, too!" A tragic sigh.
I bit my tongue to keep from expressing my opinion of Jordan and my suspicion that he might have blabbed her true identity. She did not need to hear that right now.
I saw lights in the distance, laid out in a neat grid. I gently banked the aircar, turning toward them.
"So who came with you?" Maryanne thought to ask. "I heard yelling before you jumped onboard."
"Brad and his Wildcats." I explained briefly. "I owe him big time. What kind of thank-you gift do you get a football captain? Chocolates? Red roses?"
"My stepmother says men deserve to receive flowers, too," Maryanne said seriously.
We were both silent for a beat, then we cracked up at the thought of Brad taking delivery of a dozen red roses.
The aircar radio crackled. “Low-flying vessel, please identify yourself.”
“Good. Air Traffic Control has finally noticed us. Computer, please identify us to Air Traffic Control.”
Angel Eyes Page 2
