18

DYLAN VAN HELSING SMILES AND WITH A WAVE OF HIS hand all traces of the
girl are gone. “Okay, maybe I should’ve warned you.”
“No way . . .”
“Yes way.” He chuckles. “Surprised?”
“But . . . I don’t get . . . I mean . . . how?”
“How do you think?” Dylan grins like it should be obvious.
“You’re a magician?!”
Dylan blows into his hand and three fiery butterflies burst into life. They
fly smoky circles around my head and then fizzle out.
A million different questions pop into my mind. They must all come out
at once because he says, “Whoa, one at a time!”
My face flushes. “Sorry. Why in the world did you call yourself
magiciangirl?”
He flushes. “It was part of my cover. I wasn’t sure if I could trust you.
The Bureau doesn’t know about me yet and I want to keep it that way. I
didn’t know if you’d report me or not.”
“Okay . . . but why didn’t your magic show up on the Crystal Ball like
mine did?”
“Because I crafted an illusion,” he says with a smile. “Made it look like I
was just another trainee. Took me months to get it just right.”
I think back to how relieved he looked when he came back to his seat. I
thought he was just nervous about his supernatural ability. He was relieved
that he’d pulled off his illusion. “Well, what about the boogeyperson? Why
couldn’t she smell you?”
“Illusions can fool any of the senses, not just sight,” says Dylan,
grinning. “I wrapped myself in an illusion that can only be smelled instead of seen. You never know what supernaturals you’ll run into at the Bureau,
so I make sure to always hide my magician’s scent.”
“That’s incredible,” I say.
“Not as incredible as your illusion,” says Dylan. “You made it seem like
the Crystal Ball filled with smoke and cracked.”
“But that was just an accident,” I say.
“Exactly!” says Dylan. “Only an extremely powerful magician could’ve
pulled off an illusion of that size without realizing it.”
I’m not sure how to feel. That MagicMeter, Moreau, and now Dylan have
all told me how powerful I am. But that’s not how I feel at all.
“Compared to you, I’m a pretty average illusionist,” adds Dylan, “but
I’m a really strong technologist.”
“What’s a technologist?”
Dylan smiles and my phone buzzes. “Answer it.”
I pull my phone out of my pocket and take a look. I gasp.
New Message from Dylan
Pretty cool, huh?
“No way!” I can’t help a smile. “That’s so cool.”
“Isn’t it?” says Dylan. “Magic isn’t the curse my dad and everybody else
at the Bureau make it out to be. I’ll bet they gave you that whole speech
about how too much magic turns you evil, blah blah blah. Am I right?”
I just nod.
“Well, nobody gave the Night Brothers their magic. They were born
magicians.”
“Moreau said I’m probably a born magician too,” I say. The idea that I’ve
always had magic seems so impossible.
“So it’s true, then? I overheard my dad talking to the chief about you
going to Blackstone to meet with Moreau.”
“Yeah,” I say. “He claims there’s some big plan to destroy the Bureau.
Kind of like what that boogeyperson was saying. Remember what you said
about Moreau’s apprentice wanting to make a trade for VanQuish? Well, it
wasn’t just to free Moreau, it was to obtain some kind of destructive power
too. Something Moreau says was taken from him.”
Dylan starts to say something but then stops himself.
“What?” I say. “Do you know what it is?”

“I . . . might,” he says. “Some magicians believe that the Night Brothers
created their own spell book—something called the Black Book.
Supposedly the most powerful spells a magician can wield. Vladimir was
probably the strongest weaver the world’s ever seen.”
“Weaver?” I ask.
“It’s a kind of magician, like an illusionist or a technologist. They weave
together new spells. It’s why the Night Brothers were so powerful. They
were a perfect team—Vladimir created the spells and Moreau carried them
out. After Vladimir’s defeat, the Black Book was supposedly locked away
in the Great Vault in the Department of Supernatural Investigations. If it’s
even real.”
From the way Chief Crowe and Agent Fiona acted, it sounds like it could
definitely be real. “Do you think it might contain spells that could destroy
the Bureau?”
Dylan shrugs. “But I can tell you one thing. They’d be far beyond the
abilities of an ordinary magician. You’d need to be incredibly magical to
even use them. Like, born magician magical. Like Moreau himself or . . .”
I look up to meet his eyes. “Or like me.”
He nods.
I shiver. “What makes a born magician so special?”
Dylan leans back in his chair. “Born magicians are really rare. The Night
Brothers are the only ones I’ve ever read about. It’s like nature itself chose
you to be a magician. The rest of us inherit our magic from another
magician.”
“But how can we be sure I’m a born magician? Couldn’t someone have
given me their magic without me knowing?”
“Not exactly,” he replies. “The Apprenticeship spell isn’t the kind of
thing you’d forget. It’s pretty intense, and it binds you to that magician
forever. You two basically share the same magic.”
“Who gave you yours?”
Dylan sighs and runs his fingers through his hair. “I’m going to trust you
with another really big secret, okay? I’m only telling you this to prove that
being a magician doesn’t automatically make you a bad person.”
“I won’t tell anyone. Pinkie promise.”
After Dylan and I lock pinkies, he says, “You know the story of how my
ancestor Abraham Van Helsing drove a stake into Vladimir’s heart, right?

Well, there’s a reason Vladimir trusted him so much. Abraham Van Helsing
was one of Vladimir’s magician apprentices.”
“Are you serious?” I ask, leaning forward in my chair.
“Totally serious. Van Helsing magicians have passed that magic down
through our family for generations, keeping it secret from the rest of the
family. The magic was passed to my uncle, who passed it to Maria before
he died. And once she made Special Agent she passed it to me—”
“Wait!” I interrupt. “You’re saying Maria is a magician too?”
“There’s a reason I knew how to beat the Crystal Ball,” says Dylan.
“Members of my family have been doing it for nearly seven hundred
years.”
It takes me a few seconds for that to sink in. “So we aren’t the first
magicians to join the Bureau . . .”
“Not even close! And not one of the magicians in my family went on any
terrible crime sprees. They were as normal as anyone else. If anything, they
used their magic to make themselves better at their jobs. It sucks that people
hate magicians so much that they had to take their secret to the grave,
though.”
“Did Quinton know about Maria being a magician?”
“I don’t think so,” says Dylan. “We really aren’t supposed tell anyone.”
That’s an awfully big secret to keep. It means a lot that Dylan told me. I
so want to believe him when he says that I don’t have to be the awful thing
people say I am. But magicians are known for their crimes. And Moreau . . .
“Then why do the bad magicians go bad?”
“Beats me,” Dylan replies. “Maybe they get tired of being automatically
hated because of the Night Brothers and they just snap. Doesn’t it make you
angry how Lara and the other Junior Agent trainees treat you? It’s one of
the reasons I took a risk and messaged you. I couldn’t stand the thought of
you believing the hateful stuff the supernatural world wants you to believe.
We’re different from every other person in the Bureau—but that just makes
us special.”
I smile. “Where did you learn all this?”
“You probably know from my sister that my family has money. Rather
than spend it on dumb shopping trips, I buy up whatever I can find about
magicians. My parents think I’m going through a phase. Or at least that’s
what they’re hoping. My dad is so paranoid about it he forbade me from
talking to you. It’s why I haven’t exactly been the most outgoing person whenever my sister is around. She’d rat me out in a heartbeat.” He pulls a
small book out of his jacket. “Bought this book of spells at a collector’s
auction last year. It once belonged to Madame Violet, one of the most
famous illusionists who’s ever lived.”
Dylan hands the book to me. It looks like one of those fancy leather
diaries. It even has a little golden key attached by a string of black velvet.
I feel nervous just holding the thing.
Dylan’s expression turns serious. “This secret is a really big deal to me
and all the magician Van Helsings that came before me. We aren’t even
allowed to tell the nonmagician members of our family what we are. And
believe me, my mom and dad would freak if they knew the truth about me
and Maria. I guess I’m asking if you’re somebody I can trust.”
I lower my eyes and think. Not until right now do I realize just how much
I’ve needed a magician friend. Someone who understands what it’s like. I
smile. “You can definitely trust me.”

Dinnertime is almost over by the time I get back to my room. Elsie is
probably still in the food court. If Mama were here, she’d tell me to get my
butt down there and put something in my belly, especially since the first
tryout is tomorrow. But there’s no way I can pass up a chance to see what
this spell book has to offer. For as much trouble as it’s caused me, I’m so
curious to know what kinds of things I can do with my magic. I practically
sprinted the whole way here.
I plop down onto my bed and pop the key into the tiny lock on book’s
gold clasp.
But the key doesn’t work.
I try again and again but the thing just won’t open. Did Dylan trick me?
There I go not trusting him again. He took a big chance telling me his
secret; there has to be a way to get this thing open.
After a few more tries, I’m about ready to throw the dumb thing across
the room, when my finger grazes the slightest little bump on the spine of the
book.
Bringing the book closer to the light, I spot a tiny, golden button. I give it
a press and the clasp unfastens. Then, on its own, the book opens to the
very first page:

WELL DONE!
The first lesson in the training of an illusionist is this: Never trust.
Take absolutely nothing at face value. In viewing anything, assume
its appearance is false until proven otherwise. To this end, the very
first spell the novice illusionist must learn is the extremely simple
spell that casts aside illusions set forth by others.
DISPEL
Once you’ve read this entire page, shut this book. Then, with only
your pointer and middle fingers extended, wave your hand in front of
it and speak the word Dispel.
This must be what Dylan used to get rid of his tattoo girl illusion. I close
the book and extend my two fingers. Slowly, I move my hand over the book
and say, “Dispel.”
A warm sensation fills my chest, like when you drink hot chocolate on a
cold day. Instantly, the book begins to tremble on my bed, and bright red
spots peek through the black leather cover. As it continues to shake, the
edges of the book expand to twice its original size, and it gets thicker too.
When it finally stops moving, I’m left with a large red leather book with a
new lock and clasp and shiny gold lettering across the cover:
SO YOU WANT TO BE AN ILLUSIONIST?
THE SPELLS AND MUSINGS OF MADAME VIOLET, FOREMOST ILLUSIONIST OF HER
ERA
“I knew you were up to something!” comes Lara’s voice from behind me.
I nearly fall off the bed before turning to find my door barely open and
Lara eyeing me through the crack. Except that’s not all—she’s recording me
with her phone too. She must’ve seen me rushing down the hallway and
followed me.
I swallow. “How much did you see?”
Lara steps into my room and kicks the door shut behind her. She lunges
for the book but I clutch it to my chest. I make a run for the door.
She easily beats me there.
With a smirk, Lara yanks the book out of my arms like it’s nothing. Her
Superhuman Athleticism ability must make her super strong too.

Lara holds the book up to her face and shakes her head. “You are in so
much trouble. They’re going to kick you out for this. I hope you know that.
They might even arrest you.”
“Please,” I beg. “Don’t tell.” How could I be so dumb as to let Lara catch
me? If I get kicked out, they’ll take my memories and there goes any
chance of finding my brother.
Lara grins. “On one condition.”
My heart sinks. “What condition?”
“I want you to quit Junior Agent training.”
“But I can’t quit!” I say, shaking my head. How am I going to search for
Quinton if I can’t even get into the Department of Supernatural
Investigations? How am I supposed to join the Bureau’s official search if I
can’t become a Junior Agent?
Lara shrugs and leans back against my door. “There are only four spots
and I won’t risk you stealing one because everyone loves your stupid
brother so much. It’s either quit or get kicked out of the Bureau. Your
decision.”
It’s not much of a choice at all.