Midnight Reynolds and the Agency of Spectral Protection

by Catherine Holt

  A putrid smell hit her nose, and Midnight stiffened as the long mirror that ran behind the display filled with mist. For an instant, a face flashed across the surface before disappearing again.

  Ice filled her veins.

  Was this another planodiume rupture?

  The smell increased, and Midnight tried to hold her breath as she identified the headphones that the energy was trapped in. She reluctantly picked them up and hurried to the counter. Once she’d paid, she raced from the store and through one of the many fire exits to the labyrinth of concrete corridors that wrapped around the mall, hidden by the storefronts.

  They were regularly used by security guards, delivery people, and contractors, but thankfully the one she’d chosen was currently empty.

  Thick billows of darkness raced up and down her arm, as if trying to scare her. Midnight lifted CARA out of her backpack. A shrill scream rose from the headphones, and the air turned to frost, sending a chill through her bones, while her breath hung in the air. She forced her numb fingers to tighten around CARA.

  White light poured out, enveloping the darkness. But instead of breaking up, the light disappeared, blanketed by the dark fingers of spectral energy and accompanied by a curdling scream. Blackness sprayed forward, trying to drag CARA from Midnight’s hands, while the floor beneath her rumbled, sending her crashing to the ground.

  Midnight scrambled to her feet and tightened her grip on CARA. A blast of blinding light pummeled through the dark fog until finally pale-pink sparks filled the corridor. It was over.

  She dropped her arms to her side, fighting to get her breath back, as she pulled out the small device to measure the temperature. In the last two months, she’d faced trapped spectral energy twenty-eight times. But it had never been like that before. Then again, she’d never come up against planodiume ruptures before.

  The device beeped to say the readings were complete, and she packed her equipment away.

  Peter Gallagher had warned that the more disrupted the Black Stream became, the worse things would get. Was this what he meant? Because if so, the sooner they solved the case, the better.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  “A clue, a clue, my kingdom for a clue.” Tabitha dramatically waved her banana in the air as she stared at the notebook in front of her. Thankfully, due to their remote location in the cafeteria, no one overheard them. “Gah. This is so frustrating. I spent all night researching, and I’m no closer to finding anything out.”

  “We have a button.” Midnight pushed aside her own paperwork. The downside of all the rules ASP expected her to follow was the mountain of paperwork. And normally, she was a girl who loved paperwork! But between the investigation, school, and trying not to think about the fact she had a date on Saturday, she was finding it hard to focus. “And don’t forget the planodiume rupture in the department store.”

  “A button, and the fact our villain looked at some headphones.” Tabitha snorted. “It’s embarrassing.”

  “You didn’t even want to do this investigation.”

  “I know, but now that I’ve agreed, I have my reputation to consider. What must Peter Gallagher think of me?”

  “Probably the same thing he thinks of me,” Midnight said. “Besides, it’s not like anyone else at the Agency of Spectral Protection has figured it out. Or the police, for that matter.”

  “That doesn’t make it any better. This whole thing is turning into a joke.” Tabitha broodingly glanced at the pile of local newspapers on the table. They were filled with ridiculous headlines:

  “The Case of the Golden Meltdown!”

  “Meltgate!”

  “#SaveSweetWednesday”

  “If it’s a joke, it’s not a funny one.” Midnight shuddered, hating that anything to do with spectral energy was being covered in the papers.

  The only piece of information they’d gleaned from the articles was that a small section of security footage—from five days before the robbery—had been erased. It had left police baffled, but Midnight knew it was most likely when the thief had struck, then destroyed the footage to hide what they’d done.

  She’d spoken to Peter Gallagher, and there was no disguising the concern in his voice when she’d described what had happened at the mall. He confirmed from the readings she’d sent over that it was definitely a second planodiume rupture. Which meant the person they were looking for was becoming more dangerous by the minute.

  “The agency is going over George Irongate’s diaries again in case our theory about him inventing this weapon is correct,” Midnight reminded Tabitha. “Until then, we need to find anything that can help.”

  “Help what?” Logan asked as he slid into the spare chair, causing Midnight and Tabitha to both stiffen. Tabitha was the first to recover as she snapped her notebook shut, while Midnight did the same. He looked at them both before narrowing his eyes. “Oh, I get it. You two are trying to solve the museum mystery.”

  “What? No. Huh?” Midnight yelped before realizing that she was sounding like a crazy person. “W-why would you say that?”

  Logan blinked. “Er, because you have all the newspapers sitting in front of you. Plus, I saw you at the museum on Tuesday, remember? You know, if that’s what you are doing, I’d love to help. I’ve been thinking, why did they steal Sweet Wednesday? There were other things in the museum worth more money. So, that’s my starting point. It was donated by the Talbot Trust, so I’m going there this afternoon to ask them questions, if you want to tag along.”

  “Oh, right.” Midnight gulped, suddenly wishing she was out releasing spectral energy. It might be scary, but not nearly as scary as this conversation. Because it could lead to rule breaking. And that would be bad. “S-sounds cool, though we’re not doing anything like that. Tabitha was just looking at—”

  “The obituary columns.” Tabitha scooped up the newspapers and hugged them. “Yup. I really am that creepy.”

  “Okay.” Logan glanced from Tabitha to Midnight and coughed. “So, anyway, Midnight, I’m looking forward to Saturday. I’ve been trying to avoid any reviews in case there are spoilers.”

  “Yeah, me too,” Midnight said, not wanting to admit that she’d been so busy it hadn’t even occurred to her to read the reviews. She was saved from replying by the eruption of a food fight at the other end of the cafeteria. Everyone stood up and raced over, while Midnight and Tabitha exchanged a secret look. That had been too close for comfort.

  * * *

  “Midnight, stop wriggling,” her mom said from down on the floor as she tried to get the hem the right length on the bridesmaid dress that Midnight was expected to wear. Not that anyone would be looking at the hem, on account of the fact she’d be wearing a helmet. With horns on top.

  Phil had tried to tell her that they were actually spikes, and that contrary to popular belief, Vikings didn’t have horns on their helmets. But as far as Midnight could tell, a spike the size of a horn was just as bad.

  “Yeah, Midnight. You should wear that on your date.” Taylor smirked from her spot on the sofa, where she was busy sending text after text, probably to her boyfriend. While Midnight was going to the wedding dressed as a Viking, Taylor had somehow convinced their mom to let her wear something more contemporary. The only thing that had stopped Midnight from refusing to wear the horrible dress she’d been stuck with was that her mom was looking seriously freaked out.

  “That’s enough, Taylor,” her mom chastised. “And Midnight, you need to stay still.”

  “Sorry.” Midnight took a deep breath and tried not to care that the handwoven fabric was tickling her skin, or that it smelled like beetroot.

  “It’s okay. I’m the one who should be apologizing. I just keep thinking that if I can get everything right, then it will have to stop raining,” her mom said. “The wedding is in three weeks. It’ll stop by then…right?”

  “Of course it will,” Midnight quickly said. “My science teacher heard it’s going to stop tomorrow. Sunshine for the next month.”

&nbs
p; “Really?” Some of the tension around her mom’s mouth lessened as Midnight resumed her position. “That would give the hillside time to dry out.”

  “Exactly what I’ve been trying to tell you.” Phil walked into the living room, where the dress fitting had been taking place. Then he grinned as he looked at Midnight’s outfit. “That looks amazing. Maggie, I can’t believe you made it all. You even have tooled leather bracers to protect her arms.”

  “You noticed?” Midnight’s mom let out a happy sigh. And while Midnight was glad in theory that her mom was distracted, nothing could hide the fact that the bracers were foot-long armbands that smelled really bad.

  “Of course I noticed.” Phil leaned forward and kissed Midnight’s mom. “And sorry I’m late. Jerry was supposed to book the hall for next week’s reenactment practice, but with everything going on at the museum, he totally forgot. Thankfully, I managed to get us in.”

  The museum?

  “Who’s Jerry?” Midnight swung around to face Phil, causing her mom to let out a frustrated yelp.

  “You met him at Thanksgiving. Long red beard and goes by the name Ragnor when he’s in full armor. He’s going to be my best man. He’s head of security at the museum.”

  “Are you serious?” Midnight’s mouth dropped open.

  “No, Midnight. Phil loves to go around making things up about people,” Taylor retorted from the sofa. “Dylan says that people who ask rhetorical questions show a lack of intellect.”

  Of course he did. Midnight resisted the urge to roll her eyes as she turned back to Phil.

  “Does Jerry really work there?”

  “Sure does,” Phil agreed.

  Jerry might be able to give her some answers. Midnight licked her lips and tried to stay calm. “Was he there the day it happened?”

  “Yes, though you probably didn’t see him because he’s based in the security office, monitoring the surveillance system.”

  “Wow, that’s amazing.” Midnight grinned before realizing her mom and Phil were looking at her. “Er, I mean, it sounds interesting. Does he know how the security footage was erased?”

  “No. They’re all still perplexed,” Phil said.

  “I bet,” Midnight agreed, while trying not to act too curious. “So, Tabitha and I were going to write an article on Sweet Wednesday for the school paper, and we’d love to interview him.”

  “Oh my God. You are such a freak.” Taylor’s face was a pattern of disgust. “Why can’t everyone just let this mystery go? It’s stupid.”

  “So is texting kitten emojis all night,” Midnight retorted. “At least what I’m doing is for the greater good.”

  “A school newspaper that no one reads.”

  “Taylor, that’s enough. And I’m sure plenty of people read the newspaper,” her mom said.

  “Totally,” Midnight said, even though she couldn’t remember the last time she’d seen it. Instead, she gave Phil a hopeful look. “Do you think Jerry would talk to us?”

  “I’m sure he would. Problem is that he’s out of town until next week. Poor guy, his brother was in a car accident, and his health insurance won’t pay for his rehabilitation. Jerry’s trying to find a new care facility for him.”

  “Oh, how terrible.” Midnight’s mom reemerged from the floor, her eyes full of compassion. “Poor Jerry. We must get him over for dinner when he gets back.”

  “He’d like that,” Phil said before turning to Midnight. “And he’d be happy to answer your questions when he returns.”

  “Great,” Midnight said just as her cell phone beeped. She discreetly glanced at the screen. It was an email from Tabitha.

  I know where all of William Irongate’s belongings might be!!! His landlord, Cecelia Perkins, set up another boardinghouse—and not only does her great-great-granddaughter, Elsie, still live there, but she donated Cecelia Perkin’s quilts to the museum. (Remember Alan showed them to us just before the gold disappeared?) That’s why I recognized her name! I got the idea when Logan mentioned that he was going to research the Talbot Trust.

  Midnight gasped. Two clues in one night? This was exactly what she’d been looking for. A breakthrough. Something to ensure that the freaky weather, the planodiume ruptures, and having to hide information from Logan would soon be in the past.

  “Good news?” her mom asked as she walked over to her sewing box and pulled out what looked like a bright-orange fake-fur jacket. Taylor snickered from the sofa and held up her phone to take a photograph. No doubt to send to “Dylan Says.” Still, it was going to take more than a bad costume to spoil Midnight’s mood.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  “Suddenly, I’m not sure this is a great idea,” Midnight said on Friday afternoon as they stood outside the boardinghouse where they thought William Irongate had once lived. Tabitha had called Elsie Perkins the previous night and asked if they could do a school report on the place. Elsie had immediately said yes, and now Midnight knew why.

  Because the place was creepy. With a capital C creepy.

  Elsie Perkins probably ate children for breakfast.

  “I’m sure if it was sunny, it wouldn’t look so bad,” Tabitha said, but she lacked conviction as they stared at the house. It was covered with dead vines that glistened in the pounding rain. The attic windows stared at them like eyes, and the narrow porch leaned to one side.

  “You’re kidding, right? It could be covered in unicorns and rainbows, and it would still look bad.” Midnight hugged her arms close to her chest. “And can I remind you that the last time I went to visit an old woman in her house, she turned out to be evil?”

  “Yes, but Miss Appleby’s house didn’t look creepy. Therefore, your logic is flawed. Besides, don’t forget we have this photograph. Elsie Perkins might be able to help us identify who it is,” Tabitha said as she took another glance at the photograph of the mirror in the museum. It hadn’t turned out as well as they’d hoped, but there was definitely a blurry outline of a face staring out from the mirror. It was too smudged to identify, but Tabitha was right. Elsie Perkins might hold the key.

  “Fine. But if we get killed by a freaky old woman, don’t say I didn’t warn you,” Midnight said as the rain pounded on her umbrella.

  “Wouldn’t dream of it. Anyway, if it was really creepy, our ghost apps would be buzzing.” Tabitha purposefully walked up the overgrown path. The door might’ve been black once, but it was now faded with age, and the brass knocker—in the shape of a gargoyle—was dull and tinged with green. Tabitha gave a resolute knock and then stepped back. Midnight did the same as the door slowly opened to reveal a woman in her mid-thirties with a bright smile and an even brighter red sweater.

  “Ah, you must be Tabitha and Midnight. You’re both white as sheets. Let me guess…This place freaked you out.”

  “Er…” Tabitha’s lip twitched, as if she was undecided on whether to lie or tell the truth. But the woman just grinned.

  “It’s okay. It freaks me out too. But, come in. My grandmother’s in the parlor.”

  “Grandmother?” Midnight wrinkled her nose. “Aren’t we here to see you?”

  “Nah, you only get me by default. I’m Ruth. I take care of Elsie. Well, I try to. She can be a bit of a handful at times. I mean, look at this place. It’s way too big for her, and maintaining it is a nightmare, but she refuses to move out because she’s worried that Reggie won’t be able to find her. That’s her fiancé, by the way. He died in the Vietnam War, but she keeps forgetting and is waiting for him to come home. Just a head’s-up that she talks about him a lot.”

  Midnight gulped. “If our visit is a bother, then—”

  “Goodness no.” Ruth shook her head and waved for them to follow her into the house. “She adores having guests, which is why she was so pleased when you called. I do too! I only moved back recently to take care of her, and meeting people has been hard. Come on in.”

  Midnight had to admit that the inside of the house wasn’t nearly as bad as the outside. To the left was a staircase, and
to the right was the parlor where an elderly lady with soft curls and wide green eyes was sitting. She looked up as they entered and smiled.

  “Hello, girls.”

  “Hi, Mrs. Perkins,” Tabitha said as she quickly introduced themselves. “Thank you so much for letting us visit.”

  “Don’t be silly. Ruth will tell you how much I like visitors. Though we can’t be too long. I’m expecting Reggie soon.”

  Ruth coughed and excused herself from the room.

  “We won’t take up too much of your time,” Midnight said. “We were hoping you could help us with some information about someone who used to live here a long time ago. His name was William Irongate.”

  “I’m sorry, but I don’t know him. Was he friends with my Reggie?” The old woman looked perplexed.

  “No.” Tabitha shook her head, her black hair falling around her shoulders. “He was a friend of your great-great-grandmother, Cecelia. We think he might have left some of his possessions here.”

  “You mean all the things in the attic? Like I told that nice person from the museum when they came to collect the quilts, there’s all sorts of things up there. Reggie said he’d help me clear it all out. I wonder where he’s got to?” Elsie said with a frown.

  Midnight and Tabitha looked at each other, their eyes widening.

  “Someone from the museum asked about the things in the attic?” Midnight asked. “Did you let them go up?”

  “Well, of course, dear. It would be rude not to,” Elsie said as her eyes brightened. “Would you like to go up?”

  “That would be great,” Midnight said. “Also, do you remember the person’s name?”

  “I’m sorry, dear. I don’t. I wonder if Reggie would know. We can ask him when he comes home. Anyway, the attic stairs are on the second floor at the back. When you get back, we can have a tea party.”

  “Thank you,” Tabitha said, even going as far as plastering a smile on her face. It looked weird, but it also let Midnight know her friend liked the old lady. So did Midnight. They followed Elsie’s directions up an old wooden staircase. The walls were covered in black-and-white photos, and a dusty chandelier hung from the ceiling. They reached the landing, which was covered in faded carpet. In the hall was a large glass-faced cabinet, but it was half empty, as if the contents had been sold off over time.