11

AFTER THE MEETING, AGENT MAGNUS ESCORTS ME TO an elevator named
Whispers, which surprisingly shouts out the name of every floor we pass.
It’s lucky for my ears that the Special Events floor is only a few stops up.
As I follow Agent Magnus off the elevator, a voice comes over the
intercom:
“This is your Chief Director speaking. With regard to this morning’s
unfortunate event, we are still working out the particulars of what exactly
occurred and why. Rest assured that once we have this information we will
be forthcoming with an explanation. In the meantime, Trainee Amari Peters
is to be treated no differently from any other trainee. That is all.”
“They were the ones who wanted to treat you differently in the first
place,” Agent Magnus grumbles. “Bunch of superstitious clucks. They’d
jump off the roof if someone told ’em the building was unlucky.”
“Thanks for having my back,” I say.
“Don’t sweat it, kid.” Agent Magnus strokes his beard. “No way was I
gonna let ’em throw you in jail or send you to some lab to be studied. But I
ain’t gonna lie, I’d rather the chief sent you home. I don’t say it to be mean.
I just want you to be perfectly clear on what you’re signing up for here.
Your brother’s arrest of Moreau is still fresh in everyone’s minds. And
Moreau’s awful deeds are well documented—as are the past seven hundred
years of magician crimes in our world. People are going to form opinions
and say nasty things about you based on nothing more than what you are.
You sure you’re prepared for that?”
I smile a little. Am I prepared for that? It’s kind of like how being a
Black kid from the projects makes Mr. Jenson feel the need to watch me
extra close every time I come in his store. Or how surprised my scholarship interviewers were that I could speak so well. People assume stuff about you
based on things you can’t change about yourself. So I just do my best to
prove them wrong, to be the person they’re not expecting. Amari Peters,
changing minds one person at a time.
“I’m prepared,” I say. “I’ve been practicing my whole life.”
Agent Magnus gives me a small nod and pats me on the back.
Unlike most of the other floors, the Special Events floor doesn’t have a
lobby. It’s just a wide hallway that bends out of sight. I follow Agent
Magnus down the hall past doors labeled Ballroom, Meeting Room, and
Formal Dining Room. Finally, we reach one marked Grand Theater, where
a young guy in a gray suit rushes over to tell Agent Magnus, “It’s almost
our turn.”
“I’m right behind you,” Magnus replies. Then he turns to me. “The
presentations have already started, so go on in and take a seat at the back.”
As much as I appreciate Agent Magnus’s help, I realize I need to make
something clear. “For as long as I get to stay, I’m going to be searching for
my brother. Whether you help me or not.”
Agent Magnus frowns. “Quinton would much rather you stay safe. This
is dangerous stuff.”
“I don’t care how dangerous it is,” I say. “I care about Quinton.”
“And he cares about you. Heck, you’re all he used to talk about. Amari
this, and Amari that. So before you do something dumb, I’d ask you to
consider how Quinton’s gonna feel if he manages to get himself found only
to discover something terrible has happened to his little sister because she
went looking for him. He’d be devastated.”
I don’t know what to say to that. Agent Magnus knows he dropped a
truth bomb right smack on my forehead. He’s already started down the
hallway.
Shoulders slumped, I step into a massive, darkened theater with endless
rows of seats curving around a wide stage. I’m thankful that whatever this
is has already started. Everyone’s attention is on the stage instead of me.
I’m even more thankful to find Elsie waving me over to a seat she’s saved
for me in the last row.
“Your aura’s yellow again,” says Elsie. “What happened back there?”
I shrug.
She lowers her voice. “People are saying . . . Are you really a magician?”
“I think so,” I say. “An illusionist.” Elsie thinks on this for a few seconds. “Well, if anybody gives you mean
looks you let me know and I’ll . . .”
“Not breathe fire on them?” I smile.
“Hey!” she says, giving me a playful punch. “I’m working on shifting,
just you wait.”
“Thanks for not freaking out,” I say.
“Well, if you can handle rooming with a girl who could turn into a
dragon at any time, then I can handle being friends with a baby magician.
I’m really glad they’re letting you continue on.”
“Me too,” I say, and then point toward the stage. “So what’s this all
about?”
Elsie hands me her copy of One Thousand and One Careers and says,
“It’s basically a presentation from each department explaining what they do
and why we should choose them.”
I flip through the pages. “What have I missed so far?”
“Not a whole lot,” says Elsie. “Somebody from the Department of
Supernatural Licenses and Records nearly put us all to sleep with a
demonstration of orderly filing techniques. And just now, Director RubIsh
from the Department of Half Truths and Full CoverUps invited a few kids
onstage and had them pick out their favorite historical event so she could
explain what really happened. Did you know that World War One started
because a few tiny alien ships accidentally crashlanded into Archduke
Franz Ferdinand and his wife? Everyone thought it was an assassination.
The aliens visit three times a year to apologize for the mixup.”
The departmental presentations are amazing. A man from the Department
of Hidden Places steps out of a top hat, where he claims an entire city is
kept. A woman from the Department of Dreams and Nightmares puts the
entire front row of the theater to sleep with a snap of her fingers, and then
convinces them that they’re all being chased by a giant, evil teddy bear
named Bubbles, Destroyer of Worlds. Two grumpy old men from the
Department of the Unexplained tell us absolutely nothing at all about what
they do, on principle. A girl from the Department of Supernatural Health
has us clap along as she sings a man out of a coma.
I’m about to ask if Elsie has any idea how long that poor guy has been in
a coma when shouts ring out from above us. Every head in the theater turns
upward to find men and women in gray suits running across the walls. They
leap into the air, doing flips and twirls overhead. Wow! A couple of them swing whips of fire while others twirl staffs of
glittering light. Finally, each one stops to toss a plate in every direction. Out
of nowhere Agent Fiona appears, standing upside down on the ceiling, and
draws a bow and arrow. She fires a single arrow that explodes into a flash
of lightning that branches out to destroy every plate. Eventually, they all
land onstage, bowing to thunderous applause from the trainees.
I’m clapping, too, my heart pounding with excitement. That was
amazing.
That’s when Agent Magnus walks onstage to join them, frowning harder
with every step. “I’m guessin’ you all know an agent when you see one.
And I’m guessin’ a great many of you are thinking of trying out, am I right?
Well, what they don’t tell you is that there ain’t a more dangerous job in the
whole Bureau. Agents get hurt. Good agents too. In nasty, gruesome ways. I
know I’m wasting my breath. You’ll all be after the glory and excitement
that comes with wearing this gray suit. You all want to be reallife
superheroes, am I right? Well, just don’t say you weren’t warned.”
Then he turns and stomps off the stage.
The demonstrations continue for hours but I’m barely paying attention.
I’m thinking about trying out for Junior Agent. And not just because of how
cool the Supernatural Investigations presentation was. Everything about
Quinton is there—it’s where he works, where the people who know him
work, and even where the people who are searching for him will be.
But Agent Magnus’s warning felt especially meant for me—a reminder
of what he just told me about putting myself in unnecessary danger.
Once the demonstrations are finally over, the lights come up and cards
are passed around the theater. On them, you’re supposed to write down your
top five choices. I watch Elsie scribble Department of Magical Science as
her top choice and then quickly fill in the other four slots.
I stare down at my own card and scribble Junior Agent in big letters.
I scratch it out just as fast.
“I think you’d make a great agent,” says Elsie. “You’re a Peters, you’ve
practically got hero in your genes.”
Her eyes are so full of belief that it almost convinces me. I shake my
head. “I don’t feel like a hero. Maybe Agent Magnus is right—Quinton
would want me to be safe. And besides, my supernatural ability is illegal.
They probably wouldn’t even let me in.”
“Do you want in?” Elsie asks. I nod.
“Good, because if the situation were reversed, I don’t think there’s
anything anyone could say to Quinton to convince him not to look for you.”
She’s got a point—if my stubborn, hardheaded brother decided he was
going to look for me, no one would be able to stop him.
Elsie smiles. “Now go on and get yourself into Supernatural
Investigations so we can start our own investigation.”
Did she say we? “You mean you’ll help me find out what happened to
Quinton?”
Elsie nods. “I’ll do whatever I can. Promise.”
Just having one person with me is a huge weight off my shoulders. I
instantly feel ten times lighter.
Grinning, I jot down Department of Supernatural Investigations. I’m still
beaming when I hand it to the guy collecting them at the back of the theater.
He takes a quick peek at my card and nearly drops the entire stack in
surprise.
Not only did I pick Supernatural Investigations as my top choice, I left
the other four slots empty.