by Brandon Mull
“Like remote control,” Nate said.
“Exactly,” Mrs. White said. “You’ll want somebody with you, because while you’re inhabiting the doll, you won’t be aware of anything going on around you.”
“Weird,” Trevor said.
“To get into the room, you’ll vanish the window above the door and toss the doll through the opening. Controlling the doll, make your way to the cabinet in the far corner of the room.” She tapped a finger on the blueprint to clarify which corner she meant. “Do what you must to get inside the cabinet and retrieve both the pocket watch and the book. Feed some string through the broken window to recover the doll and the desired items. Break the connection with the doll by opening the eyelid of the person controlling it and blowing on the eyeball. Then bring me the memoir and the timepiece the next day, wrapped in a towel inside one of your backpacks.”
“Should we walk through the museum today?” Nate asked. “To get our bearings?”
“Studying the blueprint will suffice,” Mrs. White said. “I would rather you not be associated with the museum anytime this week. They do not get many visitors, and I would prefer there be no way to implicate any of you.”
“Should we wear gloves?” Summer asked.
“I’ve tested, and the Melting Pot Mixers will alter your fingerprints,” Mrs. White said. “I suggest you visit the museum around one in the morning. Wear dark clothes. Stay out of sight. Any questions?”
“You said we get reward candy?” Nate asked.
“Always,” Mrs. White said. “Do you kids have any enemies?”
“There’s some sixth graders who love to pick on us,” Pigeon said. “They threw Nate’s backpack down the hill today.”
Mrs. White grinned. “I have some trick candy you might enjoy.”
Nate, Trevor, and Summer shared excited looks. Pigeon giggled and clapped his hands.
*****
When Nate got home, a police car was parked in front of his house. He quickened his pace, worst-case scenarios playing in his mind, and hurried through the front door. His mom was in the entry hall talking to a black female police officer.
“Is everything okay?” Nate asked.
They both turned to face him. “Our Explorer was stolen,” his mom said.
“When?” Nate asked.
“Just over an hour ago, right out of the garage.”
“No way!” Nate said.
“You haven’t seen anyone suspicious hanging around your house?” the tall police officer inquired.
Nate thought about it. “Nobody in particular.”
“I think I have the info I need,” the officer said. She handed his mom a card. “You can call me if you think of anything else.”
“Okay, thanks for coming so quickly.”
Mom let the officer out through the front door.
“How did it happen?” Nate asked as his mom shut the door.
She tossed up her hands. “I was in the kitchen and heard the garage door open. I thought maybe your dad had come home early. I went to greet him and saw the Explorer driving away, with the garage door closing. I ran out through the front door just as the Explorer vanished around the corner—I couldn’t see the driver. I called Cheryl, but she was at a friend’s house, and your dad was still at the office. Want to hear the scariest part? The keys weren’t on the peg by the door. Whoever it was came into the house, took the keys, opened the garage door, and drove away.”
“That’s freaky!” Nate said. “Sounds like it could have been somebody we know!”
“That’s what the police officer said. But who do we know? We just moved in, we have no relatives in the area. Most
likely, some thief cased our house, waltzed right in under my nose, and drove away in our car. Doesn’t make you feel very secure, does it?”
Nate could see that the experience had left his mom feeling frazzled. He gave her a hug. “At least nobody got hurt,” he said.
“Not this time,” she said, biting back a sob.
“It was just some idiot who liked our car,” Nate said. “It creeps me out too, but the last thing he’ll do is come back here.” Nate gave her a hug. “We should do something to take your mind off it. How about a treat?”
His mom held him away from her, looking at him with teary, grateful eyes. “I did pick up some more of that white fudge.”
“Yeah, some fudge.” Nate felt a little guilty with her gazing at him like her knight in shining armor. After all, the fudge was mostly meant to distract her so he would be free to use magic candy. But he was hoping maybe that very quality of the fudge really would calm her down about having their SUV stolen.
His mom took a deep, cleansing breath. “You want some too?”
“I’m more thirsty,” Nate said. “I’m going to have some chocolate milk.”
Chapter Five
The Museum
Nate sat at the family computer playing a video game called Grim Reign, waiting to be told to go to bed. In the game, he was a paladin exploring a desecrated temple full of fearsome creatures. Currently he was locked in combat with a pair of mummies. It was a role-playing game, so the fighting was handled automatically—he simply selected from a menu of spells and attack options.
He kept an eye on the time in the corner of the screen. By 11:15, he began to wonder what had happened to everyone. His mom never allowed him to play on the computer for this long, plus it was more than an hour past his Friday bedtime.
Pausing the game, Nate roamed the house. The lights in the other rooms were off. Cracking his parents’ door, he saw the lumps of their covered bodies in bed. His sister was in her bedroom as well, door locked, no light showing underneath.
Since when did his parents go to sleep without checking on him? For that matter, since when did they go to sleep before him at all? Friday was their date night—on the rare occasions when they stayed home, they were usually up late watching a rented movie. Tonight they had retired early without a word.
Nate returned to the computer, finished off the mummies, and found some treasure behind a sarcophagus. Feeling tired, he retreated to the nearest chamber where he could save the game, defeating a giant spider en route, and shut down the computer. After visiting the kitchen for a glass of ice water, he switched off the remaining lights and went to his room.
At his bookshelf, Nate selected a comic he had not read in a while and plopped onto his bed. As his eyes moved from panel to panel, taking in the narration and the dialogue, he began to find it difficult to focus. Having read the comic several times, he found everything too familiar. He skimmed instead of read, and could not retain the meaning of the words. He experimented with laying his head down on the bedspread for just a moment . . .
. . . and awoke with something tapping at his window. He looked around the room, disoriented, eyes settling on his clock radio. It was 12:54 a.m. He was way late.
Nate rolled off his bed and crossed to the window, where he found Trevor crouching on the roof, wearing a dark blue hooded sweatshirt. Nate unlocked the window and pushed it up. “Sorry, I dozed off,” he whispered through the screen.
“No big deal,” Trevor said. “So did Pigeon. I was already on his roof. Does this screen come off?”
“I’ll just meet you downstairs,” Nate said.
Trevor nodded. He jumped gently, gliding beyond the roof and dropping slowly out of sight. Nate quickly pulled on a black sweatshirt. Deciding that the jeans he was wearing were dark enough, he hustled down the stairs and out the front door, leaving it unlocked.
Summer and Pigeon waited on the driveway. Trevor stood in the street. Summer wore a dark jacket and black pants, and carried a backpack. Pigeon wore his studded leather jacket. Nate had not seen him in the jacket since the first day of school.
“Should I spit out this Moon Rock?” Trevor asked. “I don’t want to float around while we’re walking to the museum, but I have a decent amount left, and I’d rather not waste it.”
“Don’t spit it out,” Nate said. He
tapped Summer on the arm with the back of his hand. “Bring the backpack.” She followed Nate across his lawn to where a whitish rock shaped roughly like a football sat between two low bushes. Grunting, Nate picked up the rock. Summer unzipped the backpack, removed the plastic surgeon doll, and held the backpack open on the grass. Waddling over, Nate dumped the rock into it.
Trevor soared over from the street, landing near them. “Is it going to be too heavy?” he asked.
“It’s not that bad,” Nate said. “Mainly awkward to hold. It should be fine in the backpack.”
Trevor scrunched his eyebrows. “But I’m so much lighter, what if I’m not strong enough?”
“Just because gravity is pulling on you less doesn’t make you weaker,” Pigeon noted. “If you were weaker, you wouldn’t be able to jump so high. I think Nate is right—the rock won’t be too heavy to carry, but should keep you weighed down.”
Nate picked up the backpack and helped Trevor slip his arms through the straps. “You’re right,” Trevor said. “This isn’t too bad.” He jumped, and although he didn’t go very high, the weight of the rock twisted him around in midair and whipped him roughly to the ground. He ended up flat on his back. “On second thought, maybe I’ll just lose the candy,” Trevor said, spitting out the remains of the Moon Rock.
“I didn’t think about how top-heavy it would make you,” Nate apologized.
“Neither did I,” Trevor said.
They dumped the rock back between the bushes and set off down Monroe Circle toward the creek. When they reached the jogging path that paralleled the creek, they halted. “Do we eat the Melting Pot Mixers now?” Trevor asked, fishing the chocolate balls out of his pocket.
“Okay,” Summer said.
“Mrs. White said they last only about an hour, so we need to be quick,” Pigeon reminded them.
Trevor handed each of them a little ball of chocolate. They peeled off the wrappers. Nate sniffed his. It smelled like regular chocolate with a trace of mint. “All together?” Summer asked.
The four kids popped the chocolate into their mouths in unison. “Pretty good,” Pigeon said. They stared at each other, waiting, the expectant moment stretching longer than they had anticipated.
“Here it comes,” Trevor finally said.
Tingles raced through Nate’s cheeks and sparked through his hands. His muscles began to twitch involuntarily, gently at first, then with greater intensity, until the tissue between his skin and his bones seemed to liquefy and start boiling. Despite the bizarre sensation, Nate managed to stay on his feet. Of the four, only Pigeon collapsed to the jogging path.
As the sensation subsided, Nate marveled at the new appearance of his friends. Their heights and builds remained the same, but their new features made them almost unrecognizable. Summer was now Asian, with sliver eyes and black hair. Trevor had fiery red hair, pale skin, and a swarm of freckles. Pigeon, getting to his feet, was now black. Looking at his own hands, Nate saw that he was a dark brown. “Am I Mexican?” he asked.
“You look like you’re from India,” Trevor said. Pulling back his sleeve, he held up a pallid arm. “I’m all freckly.”
“You’re a redhead,” Summer said, feeling her features. “Am I Chinese?”
“Something like that,” Nate said.
“Cool,” Pigeon said, examining himself. “I was kind of hoping for black.”
“We better get moving,” Nate said. “We’ve got only an hour in our disguises.” They followed the jogging path to Greenway, then took Greenway to Main, where the Sweet Tooth Ice Cream and Candy Shoppe stood, the darkness inside making the windows opaque. With Nate in the lead, they ran across Greenway and hurried along Main. The museum was on the same side of Main as the candy shop, a couple of blocks down.
The stores and offices along Main were all dark, except for a bar on the far side of the street with neon signs glowing in the window. Antique streetlights shed a peach fluorescent luminance at regular intervals. A single car zoomed along the street, going well over the speed limit. The wooden sidewalks, carved hitching posts, and barrel garbage cans contrasted with the electric guitars in the window of the music shop Nate was passing.
With no other pedestrians on the street, Nate felt conspicuous. He noticed the silhouette of a man in an overcoat standing in front of the bar, apparently staring at them. The man had every reason to be watching them—they were a group of fifth graders walking along an empty street at one in the morning! Nate stole covert glances at the man until he turned and wandered into the bar.
Soon they arrived at the William P. Colson Museum. A hundred years ago, the two-story building might have housed the richest people in town. The sizable structure had a single turret and a covered porch. On the far side of the museum ran a side street. The neighbor on the near side was a small, old-fashioned post office. A narrow, shadowy alley ran between the post office and the museum.
Nate, Trevor, Summer, and Pigeon slipped into the alley. A cardboard box jiggled as a scrawny brown cat darted away from them. “I don’t feel good about this,” Pigeon whispered.
“It’ll be fine,” Nate said, although he had similar misgivings. Why did witnessing the fear of others tend to boost his courage? “We need to do what we planned. In and out. Pidge, you and Summer wait in the alley. You have the whistle?”
Summer unzipped a side pocket of her backpack and removed a plastic whistle, looping the string around her neck. “I’ll give it one long blow if you need to abort,” she said.
“Look,” Pigeon said, pointing at a high corner of the alley. “The bubble.”
The kids all looked up and saw a bubble the size of a baseball hovering near the roof of the post office. The bubble wobbled, drifted a bit higher, and floated out of the alley and out of sight.
“It looked the same as the bubble I saw outside the Nest,” Pigeon reported.
“Weird,” Nate said.
“What do you think it means?” Trevor asked.
Nobody had an answer. “I don’t like it,” Summer said.
“Me neither,” Nate agreed. “But we can’t do much about it now. We have to keep on task.”
Trevor and Summer started portioning out candy. Everybody got three Moon Rocks and a small handful of Shock Bits. Nate accepted the slender tube of Proxy Dust and the surgeon doll. “Remember to spit out your Moon Rock before using the Shock Bits,” Pigeon cautioned. “Mrs. White said the Mixers can be used with other candy, but that most of her sweets don’t combine well.” The others nodded.
“I want to come inside with you guys,” Summer complained.
“It only takes two,” Nate said quietly. “Keeping watch is just as important.”
“And way more boring,” Summer said. “Next time I’m doing the fun job.”
“I’ll keep watch again next time,” Pigeon volunteered.
Nate and Trevor crept to the front of the alley. Trevor held a short, rusty rod they had found at the creek. The street was quiet. Stepping into the street in front of the museum’s covered porch, Nate and Trevor each put a Moon Rock in their mouths. Nate recognized the familiar lightening sensation.
Trevor took a small hop and drifted mildly up toward the roof. Nate jumped as well, quickly passing Trevor and rising much higher than necessary. Nate was level with the second-story roof before he started descending. He landed lightly on the porch roof a little ways ahead of Trevor.
Two second-story windows opened onto the porch roof, just as the blueprints had indicated. Trevor glided to the window on the left, and Nate followed him, stepping carefully so he would move low and slow over the wooden shingles. At the window, Trevor spit out his Moon Rock, as did Nate, shingles creaking underfoot as they became heavier. Nate crouched low, eyes scanning the street, wishing they had more cover. At least the street looked empty.
Trevor removed a plastic bottle from his pocket and squirted a pane of glass with the clear solution Mrs. White had given him. The pane almost immediately disappeared. He reached his hand through the vaca
nt square, unlocked the window, and opened it. He and Nate entered, shutting the window behind them.
The room was dark, illuminated only by light filtering in from the streetlamps outside, and it contained a female mannequin positioned as if she were weaving wool yarn into cloth on a large loom. A spinning wheel stood in the corner. A velvet rope spanned the doorway opposite the window.
Trevor and Nate walked across the room and ducked under the velvet rope into a dark hall. Trevor produced a small flashlight, and it took only a moment to find the door with the narrow window above it. “Boost me,” Trevor said.
Nate laced his fingers, and Trevor stepped into the impromptu stirrup. Nate held him as high as he could. Reaching up, Trevor squirted the window with the fluid and it vanished. Trevor jumped down.
