The Candy Shop War, Vol. 2: Arcade Catastrophe

by Brandon Mull

  Trevor crossed the mostly vacant parking lot to the street. Gazing up and down the sidewalk, Trevor saw plenty of vehicles, but no van and no twins. He started paying more attention to the surrounding rooftops and businesses. Where were they? Could they see him?

  A plain white van pulled around a corner a couple of blocks down the street. Trevor watched as it pulled over to the side of the road. It was still well over a block away. They were probably worried about being spotted by Arcadeland employees.

  Trevor walked briskly to the van. When he arrived, the side door opened and he climbed inside.

  Ziggy sat at the wheel. Victor had opened the door.

  “Trouble?” Victor asked.

  “Cleon took Nate through a door marked for employees,” Trevor explained.

  “Did Nate go willingly?” Ziggy asked.

  “Seemed like it,” Trevor said. “Summer and Pigeon are still watching the door. Pigeon has a walkie-talkie.” Trevor held up his.

  “I wonder what they’re up to?” Victor mused.

  “They noticed the kids earning tickets too easily,” Ziggy said simply. “These guys are players. No player likes getting played.”

  “This could help us,” Victor replied, his large fist bumping against his forehead. “Nate could learn something.”

  “The kid could be in trouble,” Ziggy said.

  “We need to be ready to act,” Victor said.

  “I’m worried about him,” Trevor said.

  Ziggy and Victor gazed at each other.

  “Should we get ready?” Ziggy asked.

  “Sure, just in case,” Victor replied.

  “My turn, right?”

  “Your turn.”

  Victor bowed his head. He started to sag. His coat was fitting looser. Trevor watched Victor’s hand transform, the fingers getting subtly shorter and slimmer while the back of the hand expanded slightly, swelling with fat.

  When Victor raised his head, Trevor gasped. Victor’s cheeks drooped flabbily. His eyelids seemed heavier, the creases around his mouth more pronounced. Blubbery jowls dangled unhealthily. Despite his looking fatter and older, his clothes seemed baggy, as if he had shrunk. Victor had wilted from robust to sickly in a matter of seconds.

  “That’s the stuff,” Ziggy said from the driver’s seat, his voice heartier. He turned and gave Trevor a cocky smile. His face appeared more chiseled and masculine. Not only did he look younger, but his neck bulged with muscle, new veins suddenly prominent. He loosened his tie, apparently trying to accommodate his thicker build.

  “You good?” Victor asked, his voice a bit wheezy.

  “That’s plenty,” Ziggy answered. “Any more and I’ll pop the seams on this suit.”

  “What just happened?” Trevor asked. He had an idea, but he wanted confirmation.

  “Victor loaned me some of his vitality,” Ziggy said. “I gained a few inches in height, a bunch of muscle, more endurance—the works. Sometimes one really strong guy is preferable to a pair of pretty strong guys.”

  “It leaves me feeling wiped out,” Victor said. “Not completely worthless, but certainly worth less.”

  “We take turns,” Ziggy explained. “He got to be superhuman last time.”

  “It’s the only fair way,” Victor said.

  “This is in case we need to take action?” Trevor asked.

  “You’re catching on,” Ziggy said with a wink. “I kind of hope Pigeon calls.”

  “No you don’t,” Victor said. “It would mean Nate is in trouble.”

  “I don’t mean the kid any harm,” Ziggy apologized. “You know how it is, Vic. I itch to be in motion. I feel like a sports car in the slow lane. I want to run, climb, maybe knock some heads together.”

  “Patience,” Victor said. “Nate might be acquiring important intelligence. We wait for the call.”

  *****

  Cleon escorted Nate to an office, opened the door, and stepped aside. Nate entered. The door closed behind him. Cleon had not followed him in.

  An Asian woman sat behind a large desk, typing on a laptop. The office was nothing fancy. A bulletin board on one wall displayed shift schedules along with some charts and graphs. Piles of paperwork cluttered the desk, spread among a few knickknacks, including a tiny hula girl and a fancy snow globe. Two chairs were positioned in front of the desk, facing the woman.

  “Are you the director?” Nate asked.

  She held up one finger, eyes down, still typing briskly with one hand. Her fingers rattled against the keyboard so quickly that Nate wondered if she might be typing nonsense. Then she looked up, stood, and smiled. Her hair was short and tidy. She was fairly tall. She wore a blouse with a blazer over it.

  “I’m Katie Sung,” she said professionally, extending a hand to Nate over the desk.

  Nate stepped forward and shook it. Her skin felt cool, her grip limp. He noticed that her nails were short.

  “I’m Nate.”

  “Nathan Sutter,” she agreed. “Have a seat.” She indicated one of the chairs.

  Surprised and perplexed that she knew his full name, Nate sat down. “You own this place?”

  “I wish,” she said, her smile widening. She sat. “I’m the director here, appointed by the owner.”

  “Am I under arrest?”

  “A peculiar question. Should you be under arrest?”

  “Not unless it’s illegal to be good at arcade games.”

  Her smile faltered. She brushed her fingertips together. “Uncommonly good. Your friends too. Supernaturally good. Are you chewing gum?”

  Nate froze mid-chew. Busted.

  “Did I say something to upset you?” she pressed.

  “I just felt like I was back in school for a minute. My teacher last year wasn’t a fan of gum chewing.”

  “You were in fifth grade?”

  “Yep.”

  “I don’t mind the habit,” Katie said. “Not unless it allows kids to sink hundreds of free throws in a row.”

  “Performance-enhancing gum?” Nate asked, trying to sound incredulous.

  Katie settled back in her chair. “You tell me.”

  Nate shrugged. “Sounds ridiculous.”

  “As ridiculous as hitting the ten toughest targets in the shooting gallery over and over again? As ridiculous as winning the Shooting Stars jackpot at will?”

  Nate rubbed the wooden arms of his chair. “Is this arcade for losers only?”

  “We don’t mind winners, Nate. We like winners. Actually, we adore winners. But we prefer winners to use their natural abilities.”

  “Felt natural to me.”

  Katie closed her laptop. “Why are you here, Nate? You and your three friends. What are you after?”

  “You could probably guess.”

  “You won nearly ten thousand tickets in just over an hour. Humor me.”

  Nate folded his hands. “If you don’t want people to go after your stamps, don’t offer them as prizes.”

  “And why would you want a stamp?”

  “Because I’m curious. Anything worth so many tickets must be amazing.”

  “Indeed,” she said. “Enough prattle. I know who you are, Nate. I know you were involved with Belinda White, and you’re now involved with Sebastian Stott. Did he send you to spy on us?”

  “Belinda who? Sebastian what?”

  “Don’t play dumb. You’ve insulted us enough by taking our tickets.”

  “Mr. Stott would rather I wasn’t here. He thinks you guys might be dangerous.”

  Katie leaned forward. “And what do you think?”

  Nate knew he could be in trouble if he didn’t play this right. He grinned. “I think I like magic candy. And I think you might have some.”

  “Magic what?”

  “Exactly.”

  Showing a hint of a smile, Katie regarded Nate silently for a moment. “I don’t know what sort of operation Sebastian is running, but this isn’t a game.”

  Nate snorted. “You have games all over the place.”


  “We have games, yes. We know games. This isn’t one.”

  “You’re recruiting.”

  She gave no answer.

  “I’ve been through this before,” Nate said. “Different magician, same drill. Don’t you want good people? The best? What’s wrong with me and my friends doing our best to win?”

  “We’re not eager for candidates with divided allegiances,” Katie said.

  “Is that another way of saying you don’t want anyone with experience? With proven skills?”

  “We don’t want to draw too much attention,” she said. “Your antics out there have to stop. It’s one thing for us to know how you’re scoring so well. It’s quite another for the general public to start catching on.”

  “If you don’t want us putting on a show, you could just give us each a stamp. Or just give us the tickets.”

  Her eyes flashed. “You want easy tickets?”

  “We want tickets. You want us to stop winning so many. I’m thinking up possible solutions.”

  Her demeanor predatory, the director stood and leaned forward, her palms on her desk. “Nathan, you tell me the truth or this will not end well for you. Did you break in here and steal tickets last night?”

  The accusation startled him. “No.” He didn’t have to lie.

  Her eyes narrowed. “Where were you last night?”

  “At home, mostly. After I left here I didn’t come back until this morning.”

  “You realize that we have cameras. We know exactly how many tickets you four have earned.”

  “Are you missing some tickets?”

  She kept staring at him like she suspected he was hiding something. “No.”

  “That Cleon guy doesn’t seem very—”

  “I’m not worried about our employees,” Katie snapped. She sat down. “Let’s get back to you and your friends. The stamps must be earned. Giving away tickets would defeat part of our purpose. We’re looking for a certain kind of person. We don’t want to disrupt our little contest.”

  “But you don’t want us winning so many tickets in front of your customers.”

  “You’re catching on.”

  “But we need tons of tickets quickly in order to get the stamps.”

  Katie fingered her slim gold necklace. “Quite the dilemma.”

  “Even if there were such a thing as magical candy that would make winning easy, I don’t see any rules against it.”

  “It’s hard to post rules against the impossible. Some rules are quietly understood and are therefore quietly enforced.”

  Nate stretched his legs and stared at the floor. The carpet was not particularly nice. “Are you threatening us?”

  “Are you taking advantage of us?”

  “I want a stamp. If you try to ban us, we could get pretty loud about it. We could make a much bigger scene than by winning lots of tickets.”

  Katie gave Nate a challenging look. “Now are you threatening me?”

  “Only if you discriminate against us. I just want a chance to win like everybody else.”

  “But you’re not like everybody else. We can’t afford the attention.”

  Nate nodded. “How about a compromise? If you can’t give the tickets away, but you don’t want us earning them in front of everybody, why not open up early for us? Give us a few hours before the crowds arrive. Just a few hours each day, until we earn enough.”

  Katie considered him. “Five to eight?”

  “All the machines open. No point in limiting us if we’re working in secret.”

  “I have no desire to prolong the process.”

  “We’ll already be pretty limited. Other people will be able to play twelve hours per day. We’d only have a quarter of that time.”

  “Once I start agreeing to your terms, you can stop selling.”

  “Right,” Nate said, a little embarrassed. “Five to eight would work. We’ll stay away otherwise. You can reset our records after we go.”

  “We have a side door.”

  “We’ll be sneaky,” Nate assured her. “Nobody will know.”

  “They better not,” Katie said. “Word of this gets around, the deal is off.”

  “We’re good with secrets.”

  “Okay. Tomorrow at five in the morning.”

  “Thanks,” Nate said.

  Her eyebrows lifted. “Don’t thank me yet. Once you earn a stamp, you become part of us. We make sure of that. We can’t have outsiders interfering. You might be getting more than you bargained for.”

  “I’ll take my chances,” Nate said, trying to act confident even though the warning concerned him.

  “Don’t make trouble for us,” Katie warned sternly. “Don’t try to mess with us. Do this right, and you might end up more satisfied than you can guess.”

  Katie started shuffling some papers. While her eyes were averted, Nate removed the small digital camera from his pocket. He held it on his lap. He had not yet seen Katie in the arcade. She might not be the owner, but she must be part of the inner circle. A description would be worth little. Same with her name, since it could easily be fake. But a photo might prove useful to Ziggy and Victor.

  “I have high hopes,” Nate said.

  She stood. “Anything else?”

  Nate rose, holding the camera near the side of his waist, attempting to be subtle. He tried to keep it pointed at her. Should he risk taking a shot? Her eyes were on him again. “I think I’m good.”

  “Did you want a picture?”

  Nate froze. He hadn’t snapped a shot yet. “My friends and I are big on recon,” he explained sheepishly, holding up the camera.

  “We have cameras too. We’ve noticed you taking photographs. Might as well get a good one.” She came around the side of her desk and smiled, one hand on her hip.

  Nate aimed a shot and snapped it. “Thanks. Although the pose takes the mystery out of it.”

  “Well, I doubt the low angle together with the poor aim would have been very flattering. I do have my pride.”

  “See you tomorrow.”

  Her smile changed. “I doubt you’ll see me, but I’ll be watching.”

  Chapter Eight

  Stamps

  We believe her true name is Suyin Chen,” Victor said, staring at the image on the digital camera. “You were right to feel nervous. She’s a ComKin—a Combat Kinetic.”

  Nate leaned against the inner wall of the van. Ziggy was currently driving away from Arcadeland along with Trevor, Summer, and Pigeon. When Nate first saw Victor, the man had looked terrible, but then he and Ziggy had evened things out, so now he was back to normal.

  “A ComKin. Which means what?” Pigeon asked.

  “You remember the dwarf?” Ziggy asked.

  “The one working for Mrs. White,” Summer said. “He was a Kinetic. He could store up energy, then release it all at once.”

  “A mighty throw,” Victor said. “A tremendous jump. A devastating punch. The dwarf was dangerous, but in bursts. His energy was volatile. ComKins have learned to harness a similar ability in a different way. They store up a larger reservoir of kinetic energy, and, instead of unleashing it in a single burst, they release it in a focused stream that can go on for minutes.”

  “They’re usually trained in a variety of fighting techniques,” Ziggy said. “Martial arts, wrestling, boxing—you name it. They’re a pain in every sense of the word.”

  “Do you know what magician Suyin works with?” Summer asked.

  “Yusiv in Poland, right?” Victor checked.

  Ziggy nodded. “And Kwan in Singapore. And Villaroel in Peru. Anyone else?”

  “That nut on that island? The one who loves water?”

  “Right. I forgot about him.”

  “Don’t you guys have a computer to run her name through?” Trevor asked.

  Victor tapped his temple. “We keep our data in here. We’re all frequently briefed. Pictures, bios, mission reports. Magicians mistrust technology.”

  “Suyin Chen has gone by other names than
Katie Sung,” Ziggy said. “She’s a mercenary, taking jobs contract by contract. She could be working for anyone.”

  “Not anyone,” Victor corrected. “She’s expensive.”

  “We already know her employer is well funded,” Ziggy reminded him.

  “True,” Victor replied. “Did you kids learn anything else?”

  “I’m concerned about their nachos,” Pigeon said.

  Ziggy rubbed his belly sympathetically. “You need me to find a restroom?”

  “Not because I ate them,” Pigeon explained. “I noticed lots of people buying them. Who stops by an arcade in the morning for nachos to go? I saw seven or eight people. And several more eating them there.”

  “Could you get us a sample?” Victor asked.

  “I meant to,” Pigeon said. “Then Nate returned, and it seemed more important to come talk to you guys right away.”

  “Think they’ll be on sale in the morning?” Ziggy asked.

  “When they open early for us?” Nate said doubtfully. “I wouldn’t hold my breath.”

  “Don’t worry about it,” Victor said. “I’ll find somebody to buy us a sample.”

  “We did background checks on those kids you met,” Ziggy mentioned. “Roman Cruz, Marisa Fuentes, and Chris Hughes. On paper they’re good kids from regular families. Excellent students. Some minor discipline issues with Chris, but no criminal history.”

  “We’ll learn plenty more about them if we earn stamps together,” Nate said.

  “How is the hunt progressing?” Victor asked.

  “Together we’re almost to 45,000,” Pigeon said.

  “By tomorrow we’ll easily have enough for a stamp if we combine our winnings,” Trevor noted.

  “We should get somebody a stamp as soon as possible,” Summer asserted.

  “Nate should get a jet stamp,” Pigeon said. “Those are the closest to running out, and he’s already getting to know those kids. They’re expecting him.”

  “It would be good to have one of us on the inside,” Trevor agreed. “Who knows what might already be going on? The rest of us could keep earning tickets. Maybe one of us can join each club.”

  “That’s ambitious,” Victor said dubiously. “Having all of you in clubs would increase the risk, and it might not yield more info than we’d get from a single insider.”