Tristan strolled through the dining room. Zoey’s eyes met his for a second, and he looked down with a widening smile.
She wiped the crumbs from her face. She realized that the enormous pile of plates in front of her made her look like a pig, and that he had probably heard her burp, too.
Then another series of goose bumps riddled her skin, but she had no idea what to make of them. Was it because Aria was near? She would have to control her seventh sense. She tried to calm down, and the feelings slowly disappeared.
Aria stacked the empty plates. “Hi Tristan, can I get you anything? There are still lots in the kitchen. A growing boy like you needs to eat.”
“Smells delicious, but I’ve already eaten, thanks. I’m here to pick up Zoey for her first lesson.”
He stared at the leftovers on the table and the crumbs on her shirt. “Someone’s been busy. Did you eat all of it?”
“What?” said Zoey, wiping her shirt. “I have to catch up on fourteen years of malnourishment. Thought I’d get an early start.”
“I can see that,” laughed Tristan.
“I couldn’t help myself,” said Zoey as she sipped the last of her orange juice and smacked her lips loudly. “It was the best food I’ve ever tasted in my entire life.”
Aria beamed.
“Well, our first class starts in fifteen minutes,” said Tristan.
“We better get going. Agent Ward is really strict about punctuality. She’s always giving extra duties for being late. I think she secretly enjoys it. You don’t want to start off on her bad side—trust me.”
She swallowed. “Right—the operative’s program—Okay. Well, I’m as ready as I’ll ever be,” She knew she didn’t sound very convincing, even to herself, and she doubted Tristan bought it.
Leaving the Wander Inn behind, Zoey followed Tristan across the grounds and into the agency. Throngs of humans and mystics stepped out of the mirrors, and even though she had seen them the night before, she still jumped when a hairy man with four legs scurried out of a ruby-red mirror on her right.
Tristan chuckled, and she pushed him playfully.
As they passed the front desk, Zoey could see that Mrs. Andrews and an older woman with short white hair were in deep conversation. The two women looked up as they neared, and Mrs. Andrews waved desperately to get Zoey’s attention. But Zoey pretended not to see them and kept moving. Mrs. Andrews probably only wanted to boast to her friend that she knew the Drifter. Besides, Zoey suspected that Mrs. Andrews was only going to say something very rude to her, so it was best to avoid them all together.
She let out a shaky breath and inhaled deeply. She tried to breathe normally, but she could tell she was on the verge of hyperventilating. Why was she so panicked? She was as tough as they came. But even as she tried to convince herself so, it only seemed to increase her nerves. She had to force herself to think of something else.
“So, do you have a girlfriend or something?” she blurted out. She regretted it as soon as she said it. She felt stupid and forward, but the words were already out there.
Tristan’s face darkened to a deep shade of burgundy, and he looked embarrassed. Zoey felt even more uncomfortable. Great, now he thought she was a freak. Her ears burned, and she wanted to kick herself for being so dumb. How could she say something like that?
The main hall branched out like a T with two corridors on either side. Tristan turned to the left and stopped before large double doors with Sevenths’ Academy, Room 1D written in bold black letters on the front.
“I don’t know how they teach at the Mutes’ schools,” began Tristan, “but here the operative program is divided into two sections—theoretical and practical. The theoretical part is from nine to noon. We have a break for lunch, and then it’s practical from one to three. I prefer practical—it’s when the fun really starts—it’s when we learn to use weapons and go out on field assignments. You’ll see—you’ll get your chance pretty soon.”
Zoey just nodded. She still felt like an idiot because of what she had said moments before.
Tristan lowered his voice. “We can’t talk during class, so we can meet after and go for lunch, if you want.”
He started forward and then turned, “Oh—and the answer is no.”
“Sorry?”
Tristan scratched the back of his neck awkwardly, his ears reddening. “I mean that I don’t have a girlfriend.”
Zoey stood wide-eyed, blood draining from her face. “Oh, right. Okay, thanks.” Thanks? She repeated in her head. I’m such a moron.
Tristan smiled at her and then turned. Zoey hesitated and then followed him in, feeling more and more like a fool.
The room was large, about the size of three regular classrooms in one. It was divided into two sections. The right side was lined with desks and computers. The opposite side looked like a gym with floor mats, hanging ropes, bean bags, and circular colored target stands on wheels like she had seen before at an archery competition. The far wall was lined with shelves of weapons. There were daggers, batons, swords, sledge hammers, axes, metal nets, and a large variety of sharp looking weapons she didn’t recognize.
And then her heart stopped. All eyes were on her. She had been so enthralled with the room that she had temporarily forgotten where she was.
The other eighteen students in the room had turned around and were staring at her with shocked expressions. She could hear them whispering. She met their curious stares head on, and one by one the students turned back around and faced the front.
A woman with gray chin-length hair sat behind a desk at the far end of the room facing the students. Zoey imagined it was Agent Ward. She sat very straight and watched Zoey through black-rimmed glasses. Even at a distance, Zoey could see the severe expression on her face. She understood right away what Tristan had meant about not wanting to get on her bad side. The woman had the permanent scowl of a sergeant major.
Tristan made his way over to an empty desk at the back and sat down. Zoey followed his example and seated herself at the desk next to him. She folded her hands in her lap and waited. The classroom was as still as a tomb, the only sound was her heart thumping rapidly in her ears.
“Zoey St. John.” Agent Ward’s voice blasted through the eerie silence like a bomb. “Please stand.”
Reluctantly, Zoey pushed her chair back and stood. She looked nervously at the old woman.
“Please introduce yourself to the group—tell us a little about yourself,” said Agent Ward in a commanding voice.
Zoey’s throat was dry, her heart started to drum louder in her ears, and her arms felt unnatural hanging by her sides, almost like they didn’t belong to her. Speaking before a group of people wasn’t new to her, she had done this many times before in front of new foster families. But this time was different—she was facing a new environment. The speech that she had practiced the night before wouldn’t work, so she decided to wing it.
She cleared her throat. “Hi, uh…my name is Zoey St. John…uh…but I guess you already know that.”
Giggles and snorts filled the room, but she ignored them and continued. “I’m fourteen years old, and I’m from Toronto. But I don’t know where I’m really from ‘cause…well, I’m an orphan, see—I’ve never known my real family. Agent Barnes found me yesterday and brought me here, because I’m a Seventh like you—”
“You’re not like us,” said a boy.
He turned around in his seat, glowering at her. He had perfectly groomed wavy black hair and piercing blue eyes, like a husky’s. He wore expensive designer clothes, and Zoey noticed a ruby ring in the shape of the letter O around his pinky. His porcelain skin made him look more like a vampire than a student.
“We come from good families, ancient families. We’re not from the streets like you, so don’t try to compare us. You’re nothing like us, Drifter.” He nearly spit as he said the last word.
“That’s enough, Stuart King,” said Agent Ward. “I will not tolerate rudeness in my class.”
&nbs
p; Stuart gave Zoey a menacing glare and then turned around in his seat.
It took all of Zoey’s inner strength to stay where she was, because she wanted to leap over and punch him in the face.
Agent Ward eyed her darkly. “Let’s make one thing clear, Zoey St. John. You are here as a result of Management’s decision, not mine. I for one would have never permitted a Drifter to share my classroom, but again, it was not my decision to make. Understand this. You will not get any special treatment from me. If you cannot keep up with the rest of the class, you will fail, and you will be forced to repeat the program next year—if there are enough students to start a new program. My job is to make agents out of this group, and if I feel you are a distraction to the others, if your presence affects their studies—I will fail you. I will keep failing you until I feel you have proven yourself capable. Am I clear?”
Zoey didn’t answer right away. Her nervousness was suddenly replaced by anger. “Perfectly clear.”
“Agent Ward.”
Zoey lowered her eyes. “Perfectly clear…Agent Ward.”
Agent Ward raised an eyebrow. “Good. I look forward to observing your special talents. I’ve heard so much about you from Agent Barnes.”
The students laughed, and she raised her hand to silence them.
“Now, each program starts in January, which means you are six months behind this year’s group, Miss St. John, so you’ll need to work very hard to catch up—if you can.”
More students laughed. “We are studying the rank two mystics. We have already covered all of the rank ones—you will have to learn them on your own. Please sit and login to your computer. Your username is your first and last name without a space.”
Zoey sat down in front of her computer. Her cheeks burned, and she knew she was probably as red as her hair. In the corner of her eye she could see a blond boy on her left trying to get her attention, but she ignored him. She needed to concentrate and prove to Agent Ward and everyone else that she belonged.
Breathing in, she logged on. She had to type her name three times for it to work. Her fingers trembled, but finally the screen flashed and writing appeared on a blue background. She read:
Mystics Theoretical, Group 1 – Division 416
She pressed enter. A window opened, and the following folders appeared.
A Mystic way of life: Philosophy behind the Mystics
Management rules and regulations
The Mystic Manual, Ranks 1 - 12
Mystic Treaty
“Let’s continue. We were identifying rank two mystics and groups before we were interrupted,” Agent Ward said. “Leah, please name me the first ten mystics from that rank.”
A girl of about sixteen with a long brown ponytail stood up. “Adaro, álfar, bathin, caliban, cyclops, dain, duineach, hobgoblin, goblin, and griffin.”
“And which group do they belong to?” asked Agent Ward.
“The ally group, except for the hobgoblins and goblins which are in the hostile group,” answered the girl.
“Good. I expect everyone to know the first one hundred by heart, by the end of the month.” She stared at Zoey for a moment. “Everyone open your Mystic Manual, rank two folder, and go to page thirty-five.”
Zoey had no idea there were so many monsters—mystics, she reminded herself. There were several hundred, just in the second rank folder. Every mystic had its own file, like a police record, with a photo, a description of what it looked like, and a brief history of the creature. Half of the mystics in this folder had the word ‘hostile’ written in bold red letters. Not all the mystics were friendly—she knew this—and she would have to learn to distinguish friend from foe very quickly.
After three full hours of studying, Zoey’s eyes hurt from looking at the screen. She was grateful when Agent Ward announced it was time for lunch.
When she stood up, she caught the boy Stuart glowering at her again. She wondered if he ever used another face. He was joined by three other boys and two girls, all of whom gave her evil you-don’t-belong-here looks. They were the same looks she used to get from the kids back at her old high school. Foster kids were troublemakers—so everyone used to say—she’d been labeled a freak from early on. The agency seemed to have the same kind of cliques.
She noticed that some of the other students wore the same ruby rings on their fingers. It meant something, and she was going to find out what.
“Ignore them,” said Tristan as he challenged Stuart with a dark look. “He thinks because his last name is King, that he can boss everyone around like he’s royalty or something.”
Zoey watched Stuart put his hand on one of the other boys’ shoulders and whisper something.
“What’s up with those rings? The ones they’re wearing with the red circle.”
Tristan followed her gaze. “They say it’s a symbol of the Originals, those who wear them think they’re like their descendants.”
“And what exactly are the Originals?” asked Zoey.
“The original Sevenths,” answered Tristan. “The first people like you and me—people with our abilities that existed in this world centuries ago.”
Somehow Zoey didn’t want King Stuart to have such a significant part in the Sevenths’ ancestry. It gave him airs that he didn’t have any proper claim to.
“So, Stuart and them are really descendants of these Originals? Well, that’s too bad, I was hoping to steal his ring and feed it to him later,” she said.
Tristan laughed softly. “The truth is, it’s a bunch of made up stories if you ask me. No one can really tell who the real descendants are. The Originals existed centuries ago. I don’t think anyone can trace that far back because no one knows who they really were. This whole thing started years ago when a group of Sevenths decided to do some DNA testing. Next thing you know, they started to wear these rings and claimed to be descendants of the long lost Originals.”
Zoey looked back to Stuart. “Now I get why he’s so thick. He treats people like scum because he does think he’s royalty. He thinks he’s one of the Originals, and the rest of us are peasants.”
“Who cares about him anyway? Come on, let’s get lunch,” said Tristan as he made his way towards the door.
With a final glower in Stuart’s direction, Zoey followed Tristan out of the class. She tried to forget how unwelcome he made her feel and strained to think about how fortunate she was to be in the program—but she couldn’t. Her hatred for the boy was growing. While she had found a new friend here at the agency, she had also gained an enemy.
Lunch was at the Wander Inn. The dining room was set up with a buffet lunch where everyone helped themselves to plates of food and drink. A bulbous purple mystic with four eyes and small mouth like a button was wearing a chef’s hat and stained apron and served behind the counter. The thing squealed in delight as it packed their plates with spoonsfuls of spaghetti and meatballs.
The room was crowded with operatives and agents. Apparently, everyone ate there, including Stuart and his cronies. They stared at Zoey from the end of the buffet line, whispering and laughing.
After they had served themselves with two slices of pizza, fries, and two bottles of water, Tristan and Zoey took a table near the window where they’d be out of earshot.
“So, Agent Ward wasn’t half as bad as I thought she’d be,” said Tristan as he popped a handful of fries in his mouth. “I thought it went pretty well.”
Zoey stared at him. “Are you kidding? The woman nearly bit my head off. She hates me.”
“She hates everyone,” said a voice.
Zoey looked up from her plate. The voice belonged to the boy who had tried to get her attention earlier. He was lanky with a goofy kind of face, blonde hair, freckles, and large pleading blue eyes.
“Can I sit with you guys?” he asked, and before either of them could answer the boy sat at their table and stuck out his hand. “Simon Brown at your service.”
Zoey laughed and shook his hand. “Nice to meet you, Simon.”
She liked him immediately.
“Everyone’s talking about you, you know,” said Simon as he angled a large slice of greasy pizza towards his mouth.
“You’re like the main attraction around here. People haven’t been this excited since Cameron clogged all the toilets on the second floor. It must have been a real shock for you when you came here, right? Yeah, must have been. I would have been shocked. I mean—if I were you. But I’m not—but I would have been—you know what I mean?”
Grease rolled down the sides of his mouth as he chewed happily.
There was something Zoey had wanted to ask Tristan since they had rescued her, and she figured there was no better time than right now.
“What’s an interloper?” she blurted out.
Simon choked on his pizza, and Tristan’s fries fell on his plate. The entire dining room froze, and all eyes were on Zoey.
“Agent Lee said that one was stolen yesterday in Boston,” she continued. “So I’m thinking that you must have seen it or something, right?”
Tristan and Simon looked at each other but said nothing.
Zoey leaned forward on the table and lowered her voice.
“What did I say?” She looked at them both. “What’s the big deal? Why is everyone staring at me?”
Tristan waited until everyone went back to their meals before answering. “Don’t say that word so loud.”
“What word? Interloper?”
“SHHH!”
Zoey covered her mouth. “Okay,” she whispered and lowered herself even closer to the table, getting pizza grease on her sleeves and hair.
“But what is it? And why do I have to whisper about it?”
Tristan and Simon looked at each other again, and then finally Tristan said. “It’s a top secret device that only a few Sevenths and mystics have ever laid eyes on. It’s used to travel through and back from the Nexus.”
“The Nexus,” repeated Zoey. She remembered that both her foster mother’s demon and the agents had mentioned it.
“Is that like where the monst—mystics live, or something?” She caught herself.
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