15

IT’S ALMOST TIME.
I’m sitting in the lobby of Chief Crowe’s office, watching a whole bunch
of adults rush in and out of conference rooms in preparation for my meeting
with Moreau. When I agreed to it, I didn’t think they meant right away. But,
as Agent Fiona explained, the Bureau has no clue when the next attack
might come. The quicker they find Moreau’s apprentice, the safer we’ll all
be.
Agent Magnus and Agent Fiona gave me a list of questions that Director
Van Helsing typed up himself, and I prepped with them all afternoon.
“Moreau is wicked smart,” said Agent Fiona. “He’ll try and mess with your
head if ye let him.”
“He’ll also try to distract you with his illusions,” said Agent Magnus.
“Remember, no matter what he claims, you’re completely safe. His magic
can’t penetrate the enchanted glass that holds him.”
“It’s important to show confidence,” said Agent Fiona. “He’ll be able to
sense if you’re scared. Ye won’t be alone down there—we’ll be keeping an
eye on the whole thing through the security cameras.”
“That being said,” added Agent Magnus. “If at any point you do get
scared and feel like you need to leave, you are free to do so, understand?”
“I do,” I said. “I won’t let you down.”

I put on the slippers and step into Lord Kensington alone, trying not to let
my nerves show as the elevator doors shut and the adults wish me luck.
“Apologies for my earlier behavior,” says Lord Kensington. “Trainee or
not, what you’re doing is very brave.

“Thanks,” I say. “But I don’t feel very brave.” My knees feel wobbly just
standing here.
Lord Kensington zips me down to a floor I’ve never seen before. It’s not
even really a floor, just a solid wall of black metal.
“Could you tell me more about where I’m going?” I’m realizing I didn’t
ask Magnus or Fiona nearly enough questions.
“There are a number of walledoff floors in the Bureau—typically quite
dangerous or very secret places. Blackstone Prison is both. To earn a place
there you must be found guilty of truly vile acts. All visitors must be
approved by the Chief Director herself. Thus, I am the only way for you to
enter. Are you ready?”
I try to stand a little taller. “Ready.”
“Now entering Blackstone Prison,” says Lord Kensington. “I’m afraid
there’s a speed limit while traveling through here.”
As the elevator lurches forward, a gap in the metal wall slides open.
Everything goes dark as we pass through the thick wall; the shimmer of my
moonstone badge is the only light. My heartbeat booms in my ears.
And then we’re inside. Curious, I press my face against the glass.
Turns out, Blackstone Prison is just one long hallway with giant glass
walls on both sides. The floor and ceiling are so black I’d think we were
floating if I couldn’t see the metal rails that guide Lord Kensington through
the center of the space.
The prison is like those indoor exhibits at the zoo, with long walls of
glass cages, only a thousand times scarier. Scary creatures slither and skulk
about; some scream constantly, while others have laughs so cold I can feel
it in my bones. A pack of drooling beasts claws at the glass. Some things
are so awful they’re kept in complete darkness. But their fiery eyes follow
me down the hallway.
“There’s no harm in covering your eyes,” says Lord Kensington.
“Good idea,” I squeak out.
It feels like a whole hour passes before Lord Kensington finally says,
“We’re here.”
Trembling, I open just one eye and glance around before opening the
other. We’re in a different section of the prison now. There is only one glass
cage here, and inside it is a grayhaired man in a rocking chair facing away
from me.
“Find your courage,” says Lord Kensington. “You can do this.” I take a slow deep breath. I can do this.
The doors open and it’s deathly quiet—the kind of quiet where you can
hear yourself breathing. I take a shaky step onto the glossy black floor of
the prison. It’s pitchblack everywhere, like Moreau’s cage is floating in an
ocean of shadow. My eyes dart to Moreau in his chair, expecting him to turn
around to face me at any moment. Only he doesn’t.
Not even when I come right up to the glass.
“Moreau?” I say in a small voice, wishing I sounded braver.
Suddenly Moreau and the chair vanish and a different scene emerges
inside the cage—a fancy living room with plush chairs and a large fireplace.
I blink, and Moreau is facetoface with me, so close that he could reach
out and grab me if not for the glass.
I yelp and stumble backward.
A wide smile reaches across Moreau’s face, and he watches me for a
moment before placing his palms against the glass. “No need to be
frightened. Hardly any of my power reaches beyond this cursed fishbowl.
Besides, why would I harm someone I’ve looked forward to meeting so
very much?”
“Why do you care about meeting me?” I ask.
Moreau doesn’t answer. Instead he closes his eyes and drums out a beat
on the glass using the tips of fingers. “Do you hear that? It’s your song,
child. The magic in your blood, it sings such a strong melody. Can you hear
my magic as well?”
I shake my head.
“You don’t possess any blood magic then.” Moreau frowns and steps
away from me. “A pity. There are blood spells that allow one to live
forever.”
I remember what Chief Crowe said about the Vampir spell and how the
Night Brothers used it to conquer death. “I don’t want to live forever if it
means I have to hurt people. It’s wrong.”
“Right and wrong are relative, my dear. For instance, is it right to keep
another human being trapped in a cage? Of course not. And yet I doubt
you’d agree with me that I should be set free. Remember this—there is only
weakness and strength. The strong have imposed their will on the weak
since the beginning of time. ’Tis the way of the world. Because your
Bureau was stronger on the day they raided my island, I now find myself
here.” “I have questions,” I say. Let’s get this over with.
“As do I.” Moreau turns and begins to pace beside the glass wall. “But
we mustn’t forget our manners. I am Raoul Moreau.” He dips into an
elaborate bow. “And you are?”
“Um, Amari . . .” I lift my chin. “Amari Peters.”
He flinches at my last name, then laughs. “How very . . . unbelievably . .
. ironic. It all becomes clear now. Yes. How could the Bureau ever justify
locking up the sister of the famous Quinton Peters?”
I swallow and ask, “Do you know where he is?”
He smirks, his voice mocking. “Of course not. How could I lay hands on
your brother from inside this cell?”
Agent Magnus and Agent Fiona warned me that would be his answer. I
take another look at the paper in my hands. “I’m supposed to ask you some
questions.”
“And I have questions for you too,” he replies. “Whatever will we do
about this little conundrum?”
I think for a moment. “You and your apprentice like to make trades,
right?” I ask bitterly. “Well, let’s trade questions. We’ll take turns.”
Moreau strokes his chin. “Very well. But you must promise to be truthful
in your answers. There shall only be one lie between us, and I’ve already
told it. Agreed?”
He’s already lied to me? “Does that mean you really do know where my
brother is?”
Moreau frowns. “It means what it means.”
I set my jaw. “That’s not fair!”
Moreau snarls, and the cage becomes a tempest of swirling black clouds.
“I am not some inconsequential lackey the Bureau can bully for
information. You can either accept or you can leave emptyhanded whilst
utter chaos is wreaked upon your precious Bureau.” And then the man
smiles, the scene returns to a cozy living room, and he’s pleasant again.
“Now then, shall we begin?”
I shudder and close my eyes. Be confident. “Fine.”
“First question.” Moreau turns to pace a few steps before meeting my
eyes again. “When the day comes that you have to choose a side—and that
day will come—will you join your fellow magicians or would you side with
this Bureau that hates everything we are?”

Fellow magicians? The question catches me off guard. “How many other
magicians are there?”
“Hundreds, I’d wager.”
Hundreds? Are there really that many?
Moreau laughs at my surprise. “Come now, you didn’t think yourself so
special as that, did you? Though I’ll admit you are unusually strong. And so
very young. Now then, for my second question—”
“Wait, it’s my turn.”
“No, you asked me about the current number of magicians and I
answered to the best of my knowledge. That was our agreement.”
I kick the glass in annoyance. I’ve wasted an entire question.
“Quite the temper.” Moreau smiles darkly. “Don’t be angry, child. Be
better.”
I ball my fists at my side. “Ask your next question.”
Moreau narrows his eyes at me. “Has anyone claimed you?”
“What do you—” I catch myself and start again. “I don’t know what you
mean by that.”
“In the world of magicians, there are masters and there are apprentices.
One to offer the power, the other to receive it. One to possess the wisdom,
the other to need it. Whoever gave you such powerful magic should have
claimed you by now. Unless . . .”
“Unless what?” I ask. “No! Don’t answer that. That isn’t my question.”
Moreau lets out a low snicker. “That I shall answer for free. Only a very
powerful magician could bestow the kind of magic you possess, the likes of
which no longer exist aside from myself. It is far more likely that you were
born a magician. And if that’s true, then you are quite special indeed.”
As much as I want to know what being special is supposed to mean, I’ve
got to remember why I’m here. I look down at my list of questions and
decide to ask one of my own. Before he can trick me again. I meet
Moreau’s amused stare. “You said you don’t know where Quinton is. So tell
me what you do know about my brother’s disappearance . . . please?”
“Clever girl. If only your brother had been smarter in his choices. You
might think his being taken was a simple matter of revenge, but I can assure
you that we have far more substantial schemes at play. What I can tell you
is that Quinton was looking into things he shouldn’t—things your precious
Bureau would frown upon. I suppose he found something we wanted.”
“Like what?” I ask desperately.

“I’ve answered your question. You now know far more than you did
when you came down here.” Another dark grin. “Earlier, you asked me a
question. . . . You wished to know why I wanted to meet. Care to offer a
guess?”
My mind is still spinning. “I don’t know.”
“Then by all means,” he says. “Allow me to explain. There is a plan
being carried out that is many years in the making. A plan so perfect that
not even my capture has prevented it from coming to pass. When the dust
settles, this wretched Bureau will be destroyed and magicians shall take
their rightful place in the world. I had been content to wait out the
destruction here in my cell. But then I felt your magic awaken, like a clap of
thunder that vibrated my very bones.”
Moreau waves his hands and the scene inside the cage changes again. I
see myself covered in expensive jewels, a shimmering moonstone crown
atop my head. “You could be great, my dear. Truly special. With the proper
guidance, you could have anything your heart desires. Anyone who has ever
wronged you would bow and scrape at your feet. You need only join us,
Amari Peters. Join your fellow magicians.”
I just stare, unable to find my words. “I . . .”
He bares his lengthening canines in a grin. With a twirl of his fingers a
hulking beast suddenly fills the space, tenfeet tall and as wide as a truck,
with the growling head of a tiger and the muscular furcovered body of a
man. It stalks right up to the glass and lowers its snarling jaws to flash
razorsharp teeth. A low growl rattles the glass cage.
Is that what hybrids look like? I’m backing away before I even realize it.
I’ve never seen anything scarier in my whole life.
“This is what your Bureau is up against, child. Do you imagine that
anything could stand against an army of these deadly creatures? But what if
you didn’t have to? What if creatures such as these were yours to
command? What would you do with such power? What could you do?”
His voice drops to a whisper. “With magic as strong as yours, I could
teach you to create your own.”
For a moment, I imagine myself back at Jefferson Academy surrounded
by Emily Grant and her friends. Then I imagine those taunting smiles
fading away as a pack of scowling hybrids show up to help me. I’ll bet
they’d wet their pants at the sight. As much as I hate to admit it, a part of
me likes that idea.

I shake those thoughts out of my head. What am I thinking? I turn to run
back to Lord Kensington before Moreau can mess with my head anymore.
Still, I stop short of the elevator and make myself stand my ground, even
though I feel like I could throw up. “I’m on the Bureau’s side—on my
brother’s side. Always.”
Moreau sighs heavily and the illusions fade away until only he and his
rocking chair remain. “The Bureau has long believed themselves beyond
our reach. That arrogance will be their downfall. The hour draws near when
we shall regain what was taken from us.” His voice hardens into a snarl.
“Remember that I gave you a chance, little magician. In the end, we are all
bound by our choices.”