17

WHEN I WAKE THE NEXT MORNING, THE FIRST THING I do is check my phone to
see if magiciangirl18 has messaged about meeting up. If she really has info
about Moreau, even just about being a magician, this could be major.
Unfortunately, when I click on the Eurg icon, I get this message:
Error! Please update Othernet App
And because I have the worst luck ever, Elsie’s bed is empty. She’s not
even in the food court for breakfast. Apparently the Junior Researcher
trainees all have to attend a presentation from some really old, really
famous magical scientist who’s visiting from the Bureau’s London outpost.
Which means I have to skip breakfast and go to the lobby of the
Department of Magical Science to wait for her.
Whispers the elevator shouts, “NOW ARRIVING AT THE
DEPARTMENT OF MAGICAL SCIENCE,” as its doors open to a wall of
purplishblue flames. At first, I figure he must have the floors mixed up.
Then I remember the lobby of the Department of Magical Science is
constantly changing to reflect current breakthroughs in the field.
“Whispers?” I ask. “Is it safe to walk through that?”
“YES!” Whispers shouts.
“Okay,” I say, covering my ears. I stretch one foot out through the
burning wall. Thankfully I don’t turn into Amariflavored BBQ, so I hop the
rest of me through the fire. Once I’m safely on the other side, a tiny metal
drone floats over to where I’m standing.
“You just stepped through a wall of Nightfyre. What you may not know
is that Nightfyre isn’t actually a true fire at all, but rather a convergence of naturally occurring free magick and ultraviolet light energy that combusts
harmlessly!”
“That’s great,” I say, not caring at all.
“Would you like to hear more about the scientist who discovered
Nightfyre?” asks the drone. “He’s visiting today.”
“No, thanks,” I say. The drone sighs and floats away.
The rest of the lobby is covered in giant screens showing different
experiments taking place at Bureau facilities around the world. Each screen
has a couple drones hovering nearby to answer any questions passersby
might have.
I find a bench beneath a live feed of Brazilian researchers studying the
growth rates of various grasses. It’s right next to a darkened screen flashing
the words Outpost Under Repair Due to Recent Attack. It’s not hard to
guess why no one else has chosen to sit here.
Elsie finally comes out, surrounded by a huge group of Junior Researcher
trainees. They smile and laugh as they talk, and she looks so happy—it’s the
complete opposite of how I feel whenever I’m with the other Junior Agent
trainees.
I wave her over.
“What’s wrong?” she asks, looking concerned.
“I don’t know how to update the othernet app.” Realizing how ridiculous
that sounds, I add, “I’m waiting for an important message on Eurg.”
Elsie raises an eyebrow. “Really? From who?”
I probably said too much. “Uh . . . no one you know.”
“Okay . . .” says Elsie. “Well, it’s my mistake. I could’ve sworn I set the
app to autoupdate. It can be a pain to do manually.”
She taps away on the screen for a couple minutes.
“Got it,” she says. “And don’t worry about your missed messages. They
should all come . . .” Elsie frowns. “Who are you supposed to be meeting?”
I snatch the phone and have a look for myself.
New Message from magiciangirl18:
6:00 p.m. Room 307 in the Vanderbilt Hotel.
It’s really happening then. My stomach does a flip. As exciting as this is,
I’m also terrified.

Elsie crosses her arms. “You can’t really be thinking of meeting this
girl.”
I should make up a story, I know I should. But nothing I say will erase
what she just saw. I’m caught. And besides, if I’m really going to go
through with this meeting, somebody should know where I am. Just in case
something bad happens.
“She claims she can tell me more about Moreau and about being a
magician.” I’ve been so focused on finding my brother that I haven’t even
given much thought to my magic and how it works. “Promise you won’t tell
anyone.”
“I don’t know,” she says. “There’s probably a reason this magiciangirl18
is hiding from the Bureau. What if she’s Moreau’s apprentice? What if this
is how they get to you? You could be walking into a trap.”
“She told me she wasn’t. And I’m not going to assume the worst just
because she’s a magician—I’m one too and I’m not bad.”
“I guess not,” says Elsie. “But then, we’re assuming she even is a
magician. There are probably a lot of bad guys who wouldn’t mind using
you for revenge since they can’t get their hands on your brother.”
I didn’t even think about that. There’s no way for me to know if these
messages are really from another magician. This mystery person could be
lying about everything. “I have to try. She can’t be that bad if she wants to
meet so close to the Bureau, right?”
“Maybe I should come too. Just in case.”
“You’re the only person who knows about this,” I say. “If you’re right
and I don’t come back, then someone has to let people know where I went.”
Elsie frowns. “I guess that does make sense. But be careful, okay? I mean
it. Your brother had a lot of enemies.”
I blow out a huge sigh of relief. “I’ll be as careful as I can.”

With the first tryout tomorrow, the only thing scheduled for Junior Agent
trainees today is something called Supernatural Immersion. Elsie described
it as a supernatural entity showandtell. Whatever that means.
I’m one of the first to get to the classroom so I take a seat near the front.
As the other trainees come in, they do everything in their power not to sit
next to me. Even when the seats get full, kids decide they’d rather take up spots on the floor. I just sit there in a full classroom with a circle of empty
desks around me like I’ve got some terrible disease no one wants to catch. I
don’t get it.
Dylan and his sister are the last to come in. At the sight of me sitting
alone, Lara shoots me a little smirk. They’re both about to take up a spot on
the floor next to some other legacy kids when Dylan stops, turns around,
and comes to sit next to me.
He gives me a small smile and I honestly feel like I could burst into tears,
it’s so nice. Lara looks ready to explode.
A chubby white guy in a gray suit comes in a few minutes after the class
is supposed to have started. “Name’s Senior Agent Kozy,” he says. “Before
we get started, I have a message to pass on from Agent Fiona.” He clears
his throat. “There will be a sleepin taking place in the training rooms
tonight with the goal of fostering camaraderie in the midst of competition.
Further details to be provided. Now that that’s out of the way, who knows
what today’s class is about?”
Dylan answers. “The purpose of Supernatural Immersion is to get us used
to being around supernatural entities.”
“Very good.” Agent Kozy claps. “Our first guest got spooked and
canceled on us after this most recent attack on the Bureau. But not to worry,
I called in a favor, and do I ever have a treat for you.” He dims the lights.
Shouts and shrieks go up as a pitchblack puddle slinks across the floor to
the center of the room. I jump in my seat as it passes in front of my desk.
Billy Pogo goes red and points a shaking finger. “I know what that is! It’s
a boogeyman! Had one under my bed for years!”
A boogeyman? I lean in closer as the shadowy shape of a woman
emerges from the puddle, her glowing white eyes searching the room.
“Boogeyperson,” says the shadowlady. “It’s the twentyfirst century, for
heaven’s sake.”
Agent Kozy hoots in delight. “Isn’t she grand? Well, class, this is your
chance. Immerse yourself in this experience. Have a listen to her story.”
The boogeyperson tells us that her kind resides in the deep, dark shadows
of sketchy places. She explains that certain creatures are allowed to scare
and harass unsuspecting people if they wander someplace generally
acknowledged to be spooky—like graveyards, old abandoned mansions,
dark caves, and under beds. As long as the area has a current Permission to Terrorize zoning permit from the Department of Supernatural Licenses and
Records.
Makes me wonder if that’s why Quinton always warned me about taking
a shortcut through the creepy junkyard down the street from our apartment.
There’s no sign out front and I’ve never ever seen anybody go in or out of
there.
Once the boogeyperson is done telling us about a few of her favorite
frights, Agent Kozy lets us ask questions.
I want to know more about that Permission to Terrorize stuff, but Billy
Pogo gets his question out first. “Are you related to the boogey, um, person
who haunted the upstairs bedroom at 231 Knacker Boulevard in Charlotte,
North Carolina?”
The boogeyperson strokes her chin. “I do have a second cousin I simply
adore in Charlotte. Can you describe him?”
“Well, he’s sort of shadowy and terrifying and he made these creepy
noises . . .”
“We’re all shadowy and terrifying, love. And creepy noises are in the job
description. You’ll need to be more specific.”
“Sometimes he’d make this ‘Booga Booga’ sound out of nowhere, right
when I was drifting off to sleep.”
“Oh, that was Clarence! Firm believer in the ‘Booga Boogas,’ he is.
Myself, I’m more of a ‘spooky whispers in the middle of the night’ gal.”
“Why do you scare people?” asks Brian Li. I wouldn’t mind hearing the
answer to that myself.
“Everyone’s got to eat,” she shrugs. “Boogeypeople eat fear.”
“What does fear taste like?” asks Dylan.
“I have it on good authority that it tastes like chicken, but as I’ve never
had chicken before, I can’t really say how true that is.”
“Fair enough, but why children?” asks a girl.
“Because nowadays adults just don’t fear us like they used to. They hear
something under the bed and they’re grabbing the f lashlight to have a look.
Children are far more likely to let their imaginations run wild. And that
makes for some tasty fear, let me tell you.”
“I have a question . . .” says Lara Van Helsing. “Well, really more of a
statement.”
I roll my eyes. Of course she does. Anything to get everyone’s attention
back on her. “Says here,” Lara continues, squinting at her phone, “that boogeypeople
date back seven hundred years to the war with the Night Brothers.”
Looking uncomfortable, the boogeyperson glances at Agent Kozy. “We
don’t really like to talk about those days. Dark times and such.”
Lara keeps reading. “It’s believed that boogeypeople were created by the
Night Brothers and sent into the camps of enemy armies to terrify them in
the night. The result being that armies would arrive on the battlefield
drowsy and sluggish.” Lara looks at the boogeywoman. “Such a scandalous
beginning for your kind.”
Agent Kozy steps forward. “That’s quite enough, young lady. This
boogeyperson is our guest. I don’t see how any of that is relevant.”
“But there’s a magician right here in this room,” Lara says. “Don’t you
recognize one of your masters?”
The boogeyperson sniffs the air a few times and then looks to me. She
drops to her knees. “Apologies, my lady. I didn’t recognize you.”
“Oh no, you don’t have to bow.” I hate that she sounds so afraid all of a
sudden. “Please stand up.”
The boogeyperson scrambles to her feet and looks up at me with
frightened eyes. “Us boogeyfolk know what you magicians are planning,
and we don’t want any part in it. Please don’t force us, I’m begging you.”
“I’m not—do you mean Moreau?”
“Please, just leave us be!” The lights flicker and the boogeyperson fades
into the shadows.
Her fear of me makes me sick to my stomach. Is this what it means to be
a magician?
The rest of the trainees just stare in stunned silence.
I swear I could melt right into this chair. Even though we agreed she wouldn’t come, after hearing about my
Supernatural Immersion class, Elsie begged me to at least let her take the
elevator ride with me up to the third floor of the Vanderbilt Hotel. I told her
no, for her own good—but let me tell you, no one’s overpowering a
weredragon if she wants to go somewhere.
On the bright side, without her help I never would’ve known about
Mischief, a parttime service elevator known for pranking kids with outoforder signs and selfdestruct countdowns, and for a willingness to assist
in any type of general rulebreaking. As Elsie and I are lifted up through the
Bureau, Mischief has been giggling nonstop in the background saying, “I’m
helping a reallife magician escape! It’s my crowning achievement!”
I’m so nervous I’m bouncing from foot to foot. “If I don’t come back,
you have my permission to add my moonstone badge to your VanQuish
collection. Think about the bragging rights you’ll have at the next
convention.”
“You can make all the jokes you want,” says Elsie. “You’re forgetting
again that I can see how worried you are.”
Mischief says, “Now entering the Vanderbilt Hotel.” About ten seconds
later the elevator stops and the doors open up inside the closet of an empty
hotel room. I’m confused for a second but then I realize it makes sense to
have a secret entrance like this. Our elevators aren’t exactly open to the
public.
“Be careful,” says Elsie.
“I will,” I say. “Thanks for coming with me.”
The second I step off, Mischief squeals, “Magician on the loose!”
Elsie quickly mashes the button to shut the doors and they both drop
down out of sight. I take a deep breath and dash out into the hallway before
I lose my nerve.
When I reach room 307 I spend forever standing in front of the door
trying to gather up the courage to knock. Also, how are you supposed to
greet a fellow magician? Is there a secret handshake or something?
I knock. I’m so nervous I can’t stand still.
But nothing happens—until I hear the door behind me click open.
I spin around to find a tall, pinkhaired girl leaning into the hallway.
Tattoos cover her arms.
“Hurry,” she says. “Before anyone sees.”
“Are you—”
“Yes!” she says. “Now come inside.”
I follow the girl into room 308. She waits by the door a few seconds,
peeking into the hallway. “You came alone, right?”
“I did,” I say.
“And nobody followed you?”
“I . . . I don’t think so.” “Good.” The pinkhaired girl nods, drops the fancy wooden Do Not
Disturb sign onto the doorknob, then shuts the door. She takes a few steps
backward, away from me. “I’m going to show you something, but you have
to promise not to freak out. Okay?”
“Um . . . or maybe you could just tell me what you’re about to do?”
“It’s better if I just show you.” Slowly, the girl raises her right hand. As it
passes in front of her face she whispers something that sounds like
“Misspell.” Suddenly her face begins to blur as though somebody went at it
with a giant eraser. I jump back.
The blurryfaced girl tilts her head and lets out the creepiest laugh—it
sounds like multiple people are laughing at once.
I turn and dash for the door.
“Wait!”
I know that voice.
I turn and feel my jaw drop open.