6

MR. WARE LEAPS OUT OF HIS CHAIR AND SHAKES MY hand fiercely.
“Congratulations! A fantastic decision. Always a pleasure to bring a fresh
face into the Bureau of Supernatural Affairs.”
My hand is half numb by the time Mr. Ware releases it. But I have a
much bigger worry. “Bureau of Supernatural Affairs?”
Mr. Ware grins. “Go to any corner of the world and you’ll find tales of
beings and creatures that only seem possible in our imaginations. What if I
told you that living among us are all the beings we’ve come to pass off as
myth? Trolls and sphinxes, mermaids and oddities you could see with your
own eyes and still not believe—these and countless more dwell in our
towns and walk our streets. One might be your neighbor or even your
favorite teacher. And not only that, many supernaturals have vast cities of
their own hidden just off the beaten path. The Bureau of Supernatural
Affairs is the link between the known world and what is hidden. We are
charged with keeping the secret.”
I’m not totally sure I buy all that. An odd suit is one thing—hearing that
creatures from books and movies might actually be real is something else.
“Okay . . . so if that’s true, don’t people have the right to know if a
werewolf is sitting next to them on the bus?”
“Thankfully, werewolves tend to be train people. But, yes, there is much
in the supernatural world that is dangerous, and we do our very best to
protect the innocent. As to your point about why, the supernatural world is
kept secret for one very good reason. Peace of mind. People tend to fear
what they don’t understand. And fear can far too easily become hatred.
Why, the Great Bug Conflict of ’69 comes to mind. The Society of Sentient
Insects had gone and invented ‘people repellent’ spray. You’d think a reasonable person would understand that turnabout is fair play, but you’d be
surprised how quickly reason goes out the window when the bugs start
spraying back. A particularly rough year for the Bureau, that one.”
I cross my arms and lean back in my chair. “That’s not in any history
book I’ve ever read.”
“We’re very good at what we do.” Mr. Ware smiles. “And we have been
for a very long time.”
I’ll see for myself soon enough. Right now, there’s something that
interests me more than myths or magic. “My brother is missing. Is there
anything you can tell me about him? His name is—”
My recruiter jabs a finger into each ear. “The Bureau is not always the
safest place to work. It’s likely that your brother worked in one of the more
dangerous fields. I can’t say I know of anyone that’s died or gone missing. I
very purposefully keep away from that sort of news. I’m the one who brings
them in, you see. I’d take the news too hard.”
“I understand.” I remind myself there are probably lots more people I can
ask about Quinton.
Mr. Ware reaches behind him and pulls a briefcase out of thin air. “An
InvisiTote,” he says with a wink. “Never leave home without it.” Inside the
briefcase is a stack of books. He tosses one onto my lap. I try to read the
long title on the cover, but the words are some other language. French
maybe? But then the letters f licker and fade, reappearing as One Thousand
and One Careers.
Mr. Ware reaches over and starts flipping through the pages. “You’ll train
in the summers until you’re eighteen, at which point you’ll become a full
adult member of the Bureau. So long as you pass the tryouts, you’ll receive
a scholarship to any school in the country, no matter how exclusive, and no
matter the cost. If you wish, you can change your specialty at the start of
next summer’s session, but you’ll have to go through the tryout process
again to keep the scholarship.” He finally settles on a page. “This is my job
during nomination season. This publication lists every job classification the
Bureau has to offer. What positions you are allowed to pursue depends on
both your potential and your ability.”
I nod and look down at the page he’s selected.

DEPARTMENT OF SUPERNATURAL LICENSES AND RECORDS
Recruiter

Minimum badge allowed to perform this job: Wooden
Chief Responsibilities: Meets with nominated children to offer a
spot in the summer training sessions in preparation for a
career at the Bureau of Supernatural Affairs.
“What’s it mean by ‘minimum badge’?” I ask.
“That would be our next order of business—badge testing. Badges, you
see, represent your current potential—intelligence, bravery, curiosity, all
those kinds of things. If I had to guess, I’d say you’re a cardboard badge.
There’s a chart on the very first page.”
Cardboard? I frown and flip back to the opening page.

Badges
Gold
Silver
Bronze
Iron
Copper
Stone
Glass
Wood
Plastic
Cardboard
Aluminum Foil
Notebook Paper

My shoulders sag. Cardboard is all the way at the bottom, just above
aluminum foil and notebook paper. Of course the Black girl from the
projects would have an awful badge. Why would I think the supernatural
world is any different from my own?
“I suppose you know how to use one of these?” Mr. Ware hands me a
long, very thin plastic tube. “Works like a thermometer.”

Except I notice there aren’t any numbers. Welp, here goes nothing. . . . I
blow off a piece of lint and stick the thing into my mouth. It’s only under
my tongue for a second before Mr. Ware asks for it back.
He holds it up for me to see. The red liquid rises all the way to the top, so
fast it shatters in his hands. We lock eyes and he frowns. “Interesting . . .”
“Good interesting or bad?” I ask.
He doesn’t answer. Instead he pulls a small metal box with the words
Starter Kit scribbled across the top from his InvisiTote and pushes it into
my stomach. “Be at this address at six p.m. tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow? But—”
He practically shoves me out of his office.