8

THE INSIDE OF THE VANDERBILT HOTEL IS EASILY THE fanciest place I’ve ever
been. The lobby is huge, probably bigger than most people’s houses. The
floor glistens like it’s permanently wet and tall paintings hang on the walls.
The hotel guests all look like really important people—men and women
lounge on plush chairs, sipping drinks brought to them by waiters in clean
white uniforms as music from the string quartet set up in front of the large
fountain fills the lobby. My stomach knots. And here I thought I didn’t fit in
at Jefferson Academy. This looks like the kind of place the royal family of
another country might stay if they were visiting America.
I feel like a speck of dust on a beautiful painting.
“The Vanderbilt Hotel is one of many cover businesses the Bureau uses
both to fund and conceal our organization. The building rests on a natural
magic wellspring, which allows us an everlasting power source for much of
what we do here. The hotel’s a bit froufrou for my tastes, but they have a
killer cigar selection.”
I keep my head down as Agent Magnus leads me through the bright
lobby to a small hallway marked Authorized Personnel Only. At the end of
the hall is a big metal door with a keypad in the center. I try to see what
code Agent Magnus types in, but his fingers move too fast. After a series of
clicks, Agent Magnus twists the handle and pushes open the door to . . .
Another door. This one is even bigger, with a combination dial. Magnus
turns it back and forth, like, ten times before the thing finally clicks and the
door slides out of view. “Welcome to the Bureau of Supernatural Affairs.”
An enormous hall greets us, and I gasp—it’s filled with all kinds of
strange sights. A flock of fairies twinkles past like floating Christmas lights,
their laughter like tinkling bells. They all wave to me in unison. A bit dazed, I’m about to lift my hand to wave back when a loud shriek rings out.
Witches zip by overhead on brooms, cackling madly and firing plumes of
black smoke at one another. I look to Agent Magnus, wondering if maybe
somebody should do something about the witch battle going on above, but
he doesn’t seem the least bit interested. What in the world have I gotten
myself into?
“Follow me,” says Agent Magnus, moving into the crowd.
I do, my head twisting in every direction trying to see everything at once.
On my left, two hulking giants have a very polite discussion about the
literary merits of Hemingway. It starts out polite anyway. Soon they’re
growling and stomping, and we make sure to give them plenty of space to
avoid getting stepped on.
Just when I think this day can’t get any weirder, I nearly bump into three
dripping wet green . . . somethings, with a whole lot of eyes. They’re
flipping through “Places to See Away from the Sea” brochures.
It’s not until we reach the clear elevators at the back that I realize I’ve
been holding my breath this whole time. I wrap my arms around myself
tight, my emotions all over the place. Is this real life?
“You all right, kid?” Magnus asks with a grin.
I nod stiffly and he laughs.
“We’re all a bit shellshocked in the beginning. Not to worry, you’ll get
used to it.” Agent Magnus takes hold of my shoulder and gently turns me
back around to face the lobby of supernaturals. “Now, one of the most
important purposes of this here Bureau is to ensure that scenes like this one
continue to exist. A safe place within human cities and towns for
supernaturals to meet and gather and conduct business—no glamours or
disguises necessary. Heck, they barely even have to behave within these
walls.”
I think about the supernaturals I saw on the ride here and how Mama
couldn’t see any of them. They all must’ve been wearing glamours and
disguises.
He continues. “Supernaturals decided a long time ago that they’d be
much safer hidden away from humans. And yet, outside of this place, the
known world and the supernatural world are constantly slamming into
contact in a thousand different ways every single day. So, for the privilege
of remaining a part of their world, we here at the Bureau ensure these
interactions occur in a way that keeps the supernatural world secret. Heck, we’ve got a whole department that does nothing but make up convincing
stories to cover up some of the wacky things that happen.”
Agent Magnus leads me to an open elevator and we step inside. Once the
door closes, a warm female voice says, “Welcome to the Bureau, Special
Agent Beauregard Magnus and Trainee Amari Peters. It’s so good to see
that you’ve trimmed that hideous beard, Agent Magnus. It was truly
becoming an eyesore.”
What the—? I glance around for the source of the voice. It seems like it’s
coming from all directions.
Magnus frowns. “Weren’t you telling me how great it looked just the
other day?”
“No,” the voice answers. “If I remember correctly, my exact words were,
‘you’ve certainly looked worse.’ That hardly constitutes a compliment.”
As Magnus chuckles, I have to ask. “Just to be clear . . . you’re having a
conversation with the elevator?” I mean, sure, I talk to my laptop
sometimes when it’s not working, but it’s never spoken back.
“That’s right,” Magnus says. “Amari, meet Lucy. She’s the only elevator
for me.”
I raise an eyebrow and add talking elevators to my fastgrowing list of
things that are actually things. “Um, Lucy . . . are you supernatural?”
“Not in the slightest,” she replies. “I’m what you’d call artificial
intelligence. You’ll find the Bureau operates on either advanced technology
or magical objects. Whichever works best for the job.”
“Cool,” I say.
“Agent Magnus,” asks Lucy, “I presume you’re taking Trainee Peters to
the youth dormitories?”
“That’s right,” he replies.
“Then down we go!” Lucy says.
We drop into the floor, descending through the clear tube. The elevator
goes dark.
“Now approaching,” says Lucy, “the Department of Supernatural
Licenses and Records.” A waiting room rises into view. Curious, I press my
face into the glass to get a better look. Seated in the chair closest to the
elevator is a cloud of smoke flipping through a newspaper. Next to it is a
very boredlooking cyclops; it glances down at its ticket and rolls its large,
bulging eye. An electronic sign at the center of the room flashes Now Serving C26, and behind it is a long counter with people stationed at little
windows.
The elevator goes dark again.
“Now approaching the Department of Creature Control.” Flashing red
lights fill the elevator as another room comes into view. Something large
and scaly is coiled a few feet from the elevator. People in plastic suits sprint
back and forth with fire extinguishers. A wide, snakelike head emerges. The
thing’s cold yellow eyes find us in the elevator and it spits a whirling ball of
fire in our direction.
With a shout, I jump to the back of the elevator just as flames reach it.
“No worries,” says Lucy. “I’m fireproof. That’s not the first Flame
Serpent to get loose, I’m afraid.”
Magnus laughs. “Kid, if you could’ve seen your face.”
The elevator picks up speed.
“Now approaching the Department of Magical Science.”
I only get a glimpse of the enormous room, but what I do see is amazing.
Everyone floats, some upside down, like they’re all in zero gravity or
something.
“Showoffs,” Magnus grumbles. “Tomorrow they’ll all be invisible, just
for the heck of it.”
“Now approaching,” Lucy says quickly, “the Department of Supernatural
Investigations.”
It goes by in a blur. Lucy keeps calling out names, but we’re dropping so
fast now that it becomes a garbled mess.
The elevator stops suddenly at a floor that looks like a hotel hallway.
Crimson doors are spaced out every few steps, matching the rug that runs
down the center of the hardwood floor.
“We’ve arrived at the youth dormitories,” says Lucy.
A tall, muscular woman in army fatigues steps into view. The doors open
and she salutes Agent Magnus.
Agent Magnus returns the salute. “Got a late arrival, Bertha. See to it she
gets a room and a good night’s rest. Big day tomorrow.”
Bertha nods stiffly. “I’ll do my best to look after her while she’s in my
care.”
“Kid,” he says to me, “this is where you get off.”
Quinton had a rule for whenever you find yourself in a new place: Fake it
until you make it. That means doing your best to look confident even if you don’t feel confident. I step off the elevator and give the lady a smile, even
as my insides are doing flips. The lady returns a smile so forced it looks like
she’s in pain.
“Good luck,” says Agent Magnus as the elevator doors close.
“Wait!” I shout. With everything there is to see in this place, I almost
forgot about the reason I’m here. Agent Magnus holds open the elevator
doors. “I want to ask you—”
“I know whatcha wanna ask me about,” he interrupts. “Or rather, who.
All information surrounding your brother’s disappearance is classified.
Nothing we’re allowed to discuss with a trainee. It involves extremely
dangerous matters you shouldn’t concern yourself with.”
“What do you mean?” I ask. “He’s my brother.”
“And he wouldn’t want you in harm’s way on his behalf. Focus on
getting settled in.”
His expression tells me he’s not going to change his mind, so I set my
face to show him I’m not budging either. If he won’t tell me what I want to
know, then I’ll just have to find out on my own.
Agent Magnus frowns as the elevator whisks him away.
“Allow me to make one thing perfectly clear,” says Bertha. Her forced
smile is now a sneer. “I don’t care who your brother is. I am your dorm
leader and you will address me as ma’am and you will like it. Understand?”
I don’t see that I have much of a choice. I nod.
Bertha continues her speech as she leads me through a maze of hallways.
“It’s bad enough I have to rearrange things because you’ve upped and
decided to exist. I’ll not tolerate any nonsense, do you hear me? Put one
foot out of line and you’ll find your stay here a short one. . . .”
The lady doesn’t stop talking until we arrive at a door and she gives it a
knock. No answer. She gives it another try, harder this time. Still no answer.
Bertha takes both hands and beats on the door so hard it rattles on its
hinges. Finally, the door opens. A lanky girl with light tan skin, curly black
hair, and thick glasses leans into the doorway, yawning.
“Elsie Rodriguez, this is your new roommate,” Bertha says.
The girl squints, her sleepy eyes going back and forth between me and
Bertha. Then, like somebody flipped a switch, her eyes get big. “You’re
you! Come in, come in! Tell me all about you.”
“An early start tomorrow means early bedtime tonight,” Bertha cuts in.
“There will be plenty of time for bonding tomorrow. Lights out! The door slams shut behind me. It’s pitchblack in here.
“What’s her problem—”
“Shh!” Elsie whispers.
I take Elsie’s advice and keep quiet. After a few seconds I hear Bertha’s
loud shoes pound away. Once the footsteps fade completely, a small green
flame pops to life, flooding the room with light. Elsie’s face glows above a
twisty little candle.
“She’ll see the light under the door,” I say.
Elsie shakes her head. “It’s a sneakandle. Anyone more than three feet
away can’t tell it’s lit. Invented it myself.”
“That’s pretty cool.” I glance around the shimmering green room and
notice two more beds. “Do we have any other roommates?”
Elsie’s wide grin fades. “There were two other girls assigned to this room
but they both requested transfers.”
“You don’t snore, do you?”
She lowers her eyes. “It’s worse than that, actually.”
“Okay,” I say, a little off guard. “It can’t be that bad.”
She takes a slow, deep breath. “So . . . I’m kind of . . . a dragon.”
“You’re . . . a dragon.” I repeat. I almost want to laugh but the look on
Elsie’s face tells me this is no joke. “You’re serious?”
“Well, not a dragon dragon,” she answers. “A weredragon.”
“Like a werewolf?” I ask. “Like, you can turn into a dragon?”
Elsie’s shoulders slouch. “I was supposed to have my first shift years
ago. But it just hasn’t happened. And since I’m the last of my kind, there
isn’t anyone I can ask for help.”
“Oh, then your parents are . . .”
“Both dead,” Elsie finishes. “Weredragons were considered extinct like
five hundred years ago. At least until my egg was found in a deepsea
shipwreck off the coast of Mexico. We can’t hatch without sunlight. A
dragon expert from the Department of Creature Control became my legal
guardian and took me in.” She sighs. “But once my twelfth birthday passed
without a single shift, the Bureau declared me ‘essentially human’ and now
I’m here.”
“What’s it like? Being the last of your kind?”
“Lonelier than you can imagine.” She gestures to the two empty beds.
“They told Bertha they didn’t want to wake up one night to find a dragon snacking on their legs.” She sighs. “Not an unreasonable request, all things
considered.”
“Well, I’m not afraid.” I’m surprised by how much I mean those words.
Maybe it’s because I know how it feels to have people judge me before they
even get to know me.
“Really?” she asks, beaming.
Nervously, I extend a hand. “Friends?”
She grabs hold and shakes it fiercely. “Absolutely!”
“Friends don’t eat friends. Dragon or not.”
Elsie gets a good laugh out of that. “Words to live by!”
It’s then that I notice the wall above Elsie’s bed. It’s covered in pictures.
Elsie follows my eyes. “Ohmygosh, I am the biggest VanQuish fan on the
planet. I’ve got all six of their action figures, even the super rare Junior
Agent editions, a whole drawer full of Tshirts, a blanket, three coffee mugs,
and like twenty posters.”
“VanQuish?”
“Oh, that’s right!” Elsie’s eyes go wide. “You wouldn’t have known
anything about the supernatural world until your nomination. VanQuish is
the nickname for the two most famous agents of the last fifty years—Maria
Van Helsing and your brother, Quinton Peters. The Van is from Maria’s last
name and the Qui is from Quinton’s first name—with a sh on the end. Get
it? They ‘vanquish’ the bad guys? How cool is that?”
I double over laughing. There’s just no way my dorky big brother is some
celebrity. “Seriously?”
Elsie nods enthusiastically. “VanQuish singlehandedly defeated the last
surviving Night Brother. It was the biggest arrest in centuries.”
Before I can ask what a Night Brother is, Elsie holds up the sneakandle to
show me her collection of magazine covers, centered around a small
Mexican flag, stretching up to the ceiling. The magazines have names like
Elf Magazine and Harper’s Bizarre and DeadBook: A Ghoulish Fashion
Guide. There’s even a very stickylooking Slime Magazine beside a
Supernatural Geographic. Whatever the title, each cover shows a picture of
the same pretty blonde girl next to my grinning big brother.
“Wow.” There’s a whole side to my brother that he kept hidden from me.
I mean, while I was spending my summers doing cannonballs at the
community rec center pool, Quinton was out saving the world.
“Can I ask you something?” I say.

“Sure,” says Elsie.
“This might sound weird, but do you have any idea what happened to my
brother? It’s been six months since we’ve heard from him.”
Elsie frowns. “No one knows. They vanished without a trace.”
“Nobody went looking for them?”
“Sure,” says Elsie. “Plenty of people did, from all over the supernatural
world. The Bureau even set up a special hotline for tips. You wouldn’t
believe the kinds of rewards that were offered for information leading to
their whereabouts.”
“Did the Bureau find out anything?” I ask.
“If so, they didn’t make it public. The last press report only said that
VanQuish is considered missing in action and that all details surrounding
the investigation are confidential.”
My shoulders droop. I thought for sure that coming here would finally
give me some real answers about Quinton, but it’s just as big a mystery in
the supernatural world as it is back home.
But I can’t give up just yet. Not until I talk to everyone who knew him
here. Somebody has to know something.
“Maybe some music will cheer you up.” Elsie sets the sneakandle on the
floor beside her bed and crawls underneath. She returns with a small black
box covered in dials and buttons. Two long antennae rise out of the top.
“A radio?” I ask.
“Yep. Built it using spare parts.”
I shake my head. “You’re brilliant, you know.”
My roommate grins. “Want to test it out?”
“Definitely.”
Elsie sets it down on the floor and presses a few buttons. Suddenly a
man’s voice blares from the speakers: “HOT 159.7 FM. THE STATION
THAT’S ALWAYS KEEPING YOU INFORMED ON THE LATEST
NEWS FROM ALL CORNERS OF THE SUPERNATURAL WORLD—”
Elsie slams down on the large red button at the center of the radio, killing
the sound. She blows out the sneakandle, and we both crawl into bed as fast
as possible.
If Bertha is anywhere nearby, we’re in trouble. I cringe at the idea of
having to explain to Mama that I got kicked out an hour into being here.
Please don’t let this cost me the chance to find Quinton.
A few minutes pass but no one comes.

“That was close,” says Elsie in the dark.
“Too close,” I say.
“Want to try again?”
Now that my heart has stopped pounding, I have to admit—I am still
curious. There’s so much about this world that I don’t know. “Only if
you’re sure you can get the volume right this time.”
The sneakandle pops on again, and Elsie fidgets with the dials. The voice
returns, quieter:
“. . . Bureau has yet to release a statement regarding the string of
incidents believed to involve monstrous humananimal hybrids occurring in
both the United States and Europe over the past few months. These
creatures, known for their extraordinary size, speed, and strength, as well as
their disturbing ferocity, are perhaps the most devious product of
magiciancraft—a forced, unnatural fusion of man and beast. But with Raoul
Moreau locked away in Blackstone Prison and his brotherinarms, Count
Vladimir, long deceased, the Supernatural World Congress has begun to
express concerns that a new magician has surfaced—”
“A new magician?” says Elsie with a shiver. “That’s a scary thought.”
“Really? What’s so scary about a magician?” I ask.
“Magicians in the supernatural world aren’t like stage magicians in the
known world,” says Elsie. “They have real magic. Lots of it too—much
more than the Supernatural World Congress allows humans to have.
Remember what I said earlier about VanQuish being famous for capturing
the last surviving Night Brother? Well, that’s the same Moreau. The Night
Brothers were two of the most powerful magicians there’s ever been. They
waged war on the entire supernatural world ages ago and almost won—”
“LIGHTS OUT MEANS GET TO SLEEP!”
Bertha’s voice is like a crack of thunder outside our door and we
scramble to put everything away and climb into bed.
But as soon as our dorm leader leaves again, Elsie says, “I can’t wait to
get my badge tomorrow. My overall potential rose really high on the Badge
Tester, so I feel pretty good.”
I think back on my own Badge Test and swallow. “What’s it mean if the
Badge Tester decided to selfdestruct?”
In the dark, I hear Elsie gasp. “It means you’ve got so much potential the
Badge Tester couldn’t contain it all! Amari, I bet you’re getting a
moonstone badge tomorrow!”

“Moonstone? I didn’t see that on the chart.”
“They’re extremely rare,” she replies. “It means something about you is
special—legendary. Quinton got one too.”
Me, legendary? No way. What happens when they discover I’m not like
Quinton at all?
“Hey, it’s nothing to worry over,” says Elsie. “You could be a hero, just
like your brother.”
I try to play it cool. “Who says I’m worried?”
“Um, I probably should’ve mentioned that I can see people’s emotions,
even in the dark. If you were a dragon, we could communicate
telepathically, but with humans it’s like an aura of different colors. And
your yellow haze tells me you’re plenty worried.”
“Yeah, well, you should’ve been upfront about that too,” I say angrily.
“You’re right. I’m sorry.” A moment passes and she adds, “I really do
think you could be a hero.”
“I didn’t come here to be a hero,” I say, still annoyed. “I’m here to find
out what happened to my brother.”
My roommate doesn’t say anything to that.
I know immediately I should apologize. That I’m too quick to get upset
sometimes. Truth is, I am worried. Nobody would want me for a hero.
But she’s already snoring.
Me, I don’t sleep much at all.