# THE SEVENTH SENSE

## Mystics Book 1

## Kim Richardson

The Seventh Sense, Mystics Book One:

Copyright © 2013 by Kim Richardson

* * *

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system without the written permission of the author. The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead is coincidental and not intended by the author. Thank you for respecting the author's work.

* * *

www.kimrichardsonbooks.com

  Created with Vellum

# Contents

1. Zoey

2. The Sevenths

3. Hive # 416

4. Management

5. The Sevenths' Academy

6. Mirror-Port

7. Attack of the Killer Fairies

8. Dino-Fairy

9. A DSM Malfunction

10. Boomerang

11. The Krakenite

12. A Leap at Midnight

13. Troll City, Louisiana

14. Gangsters and Leprechauns

15. Suspended

16. Attack of the Fat Vampires

17. Basement Level

18. A Mystic Brawl

19. Parrods Department Store, London

20. The Alpha Nation

21. Interloper

22. Payback

23. Resolution

THE ALPHA NATION

Prologue

1. Dust Devils

Books By Kim Richardson

NEWSLETTER

About the Author
1

# Zoey

Zoey rounded a corner in the alley, and something moved along the wall in front of her. She could see green and red scales glinting like jewels in the soft light as the head and body of a giant snake crossed the alley behind Poo Ping Palace Thai Cuisine, blocking her way. It had a second head, instead of a tail, and both heads licked the air with their gray forked tongues and spoke together.

"We are _not_ going back. You can't make us. We will rip your heart out if you try, _human_."

She had no idea what it was talking about. It was the third creature that she had seen today, and the nastiest. Foamy white venomous spit puddled on the ground below its heads.

Zoey swallowed her fear.

"I don't know what you mean," she answered, her voice steady. She measured the alleyway for an escape and made sure no one else was watching her.

"I'm just on my way home," she continued, "and I don't want any trouble, Mr. Snake—or is it, Mrs. Snake? I can't really tell since your back-end has a head—or is _that_ the head, and your _other head_ is your back-end? How do you even go to the—"

"It lies!" Hatred flashed in its yellow eyes.

Both heads opened their maws to reveal teeth like rows of kitchen knives.

"It wants to kill us! It's trying to trick us."

The heads spoke to each other, "You can never trust a human—they are all liars and tricksters! It wants to send us back! But we won't go. No—we will never go back!"

It turned both heads back toward Zoey, "We won't let you!"

Zoey wasn't about to be squeezed to death by the Mr. and Mrs. Snake Freak Show—she had big plans for her future. She had to do something right now.

The snake recoiled to strike.

She didn't even have enough time to rummage through her backpack for a weapon when the giant snake shot up in the air, just like a jack-in-the-box, and soared towards her.

A door burst open, and a dark-skinned man in a stained apron rushed out. "Hey! What are you doing there?" he yelled angrily.

The creature slumped to the ground and retreated into the shadows with a hateful hiss, faster than Zoey thought possible for such a large snake.

The man tossed two large black garbage bags on the ground and waved his fist furiously at Zoey. "You're the one who's been spraying graffiti on my walls, aren't you? Get out of here kid, before I call the police!"

Zoey smiled and sprinted away down the alleyway, but not before she caught a glimpse of the giant snake disappearing through a basement window.

With the angry man's voice still ringing in her ears, she reached the end of the alley and turned right onto Wade Street. The old maple trees that lined the street on either side were the only visible vegetation. She ran through the orphan district and passed a series of rundown buildings and boarded up factories, relieved to have escaped.

It would have been too good to be true—to have had an entirely uneventful day. The monsters always found her.

Number 85 Wade Street was a ghost-gray, crumbled old house with a lopsided roof, a large, rotten wooden porch, peeling window panes, and a chipped beige door that had once been painted white. The front lawn was a mess of dandelions and knee-high straw grass. Zoey ran up the stairs, pushed through the front door, and dashed straight through to the kitchen at the opposite end of the house. She slipped her backpack off her shoulders, and it dropped to the floor with a soft _plop_.

"You're late."

Foster mother number 28 had a huge, purple vein that throbbed on her forehead as she spoke. She reminded Zoey of a gorilla in a tight workout outfit. She was thick and beefy, with a mess of black hair on the top of her large head and dark facial hair that sprouted from her chin like grasses. She could easily have passed for a man. Although she usually frowned like this, there was something different about her today. Her eyes were dim, as though she was in a trance.

Zoey's skin prickled with icy goosebumps.

"How many times have I warned you, Zoey? Late means _no_ supper. You'll just have to starve until tomorrow."

Zoey forgot about the eerie feeling she had just felt in an instant.

"But it's only ten past six," she protested as her stomach gave a rumble.

She looked down at herself. Her shapeless sweater hung loosely over her skinny frame, and her blue jeans were two sizes too big. The only things that fit properly were her black and white _Converse_ sneakers.

Foster mother number 28's upper mustache twitched as she examined Zoey.

"It's your own fault, rules are rules. If you'd pay more attention to them and spend less time in that library looking up God knows what on the Internet, you'd be on time like the rest of us." Her voice rang out in the small kitchen like a bullhorn.

"You can sit beside Thomas and watch him and the other children eat. Sit!" she ordered.

Zoey staggered towards the kitchen table, pulled out a chair, and sat. She knew arguing was a losing battle, so she looked around the table instead.

Thomas was an eleven-year-old boy with large front teeth and a nervous laugh. His brown eyes widened, and he gave her a quick smile before returning to his supper. Isabelle and Andy sat across the table. Isabelle was a thirteen-year-old girl with a sponge cake of curly, brown hair, and a fondness for makeup and large costume jewels. Andy sat beside her. Although he hid his face behind layers of black hair, Zoey could see red around his eyes. She guessed he was about ten. He had only been with them for a few days and hadn't said a word yet.

"How you feeling today, Andy?" whispered Zoey.

She edged closer trying to get a better look at his face.

"You haven't touched your supper. Aren't you hungry?"

But Andy didn't answer. Instead, he stared gloomily into his bowl of stew, not really seeing it. His sad eyes were somewhere far away.

Zoey knew that look. The foster system had that effect on children. They were lonely and abandoned, never to be found or loved again. It was a horrible prospect. They were society's rejects, throwaways—even their own families wouldn't take care of them. Every foster kid she had known had counted the days until their eighteenth birthday—the day when they would be considered adults when they would be free.

Zoey had four more years to go.

"What were you doing in the library?" whispered Thomas, careful not to attract foster mother number 28's attention. And when Zoey didn't answer, he sighed heavily and went back to his stew. He seemed to be the only one interested in eating the gluey, brown clumps.

It's not that Zoey didn't _want_ to tell Thomas what she'd been reading on the net; she just couldn't bring herself to tell him. Relentless research on the Internet about demons and the occult wasn't a normal thing for a fourteen-year-old girl to do.

And Zoey was far from normal.

In fact, she was the complete _opposite_ of normal. Instead of drooling over boy bands, makeup, and clothes—like normal teen girls—she'd use every free moment to investigate supernatural phenomena. She'd be all over anything to do with monsters and the supernatural. It was like an addiction. She was a walking supernatural Wikipedia.

Zoey was afraid of how people would react to her if they knew that she could see monsters. She knew she wasn't normal. And she was desperate to find the truth about who she was. She'd kept her abilities a secret and had done her best to blend in with the normal kids. The problem was, trouble always seemed to find Zoey.

She slouched in her chair and sighed. "Well, I guess I'm not missing much. I've eaten so much beef stew in my life, it's a miracle I haven't grown a pair of hooves."

Isabelle looked over at Thomas, and both were suddenly overcome by fits of giggles.

"BE QUIET!" Foster mother number 28 slammed her fist on the table, sending cups, knives, plates, and spoons spinning on to the floor.

"I've had just about enough of you, you little delinquent. Think you're above the rules, don't ya? Well, you're not! You ain't nothin' but trash, Zoey; miserable leftover trash."

She gripped the sides of the kitchen table, and beads of sweat rolled down her fat face. "We should have left you to rot in that orphanage," she said with a nasty smile.

"Well, maybe you should have."

Zoey glanced casually at her dirty finger-nails. She picked at them and shrugged. "But I guess the government's checks helped you make that decision. I mean—let's be real here—it's the only reason why we're all here, isn't it? All of us cramped up in one room? I don't know about the rest of you, but I don't feel any _love_."

Her foster mother frowned sourly and examined Zoey as if she were contagious. "With that cheeky attitude, no one will ever want you. You'll never belong anywhere. You'll never have a _real_ family. You'll be stuck in this system forever."

Although Zoey felt a pain in her chest, her expression remained stone cold. "Not forever. I've got four more years to go, and then I'll be kissing this system _good-bye_."

"They told us you were _different_ back at the orphanage—"

Her foster mother pointed her stew-coated spoon at Zoey as though it were a sword. "—but except for that awful red hair of yours that looks like a forest fire and your disregard for rules, I've never seen anything different or special about you. You're just like every other foster kid that comes through here...nothin' but garbage that won't amount to nothin'."

Zoey saw the pain flash on each of the other children's faces. She cracked her knuckles under the table and wanted nothing more than to punch the smile off the woman's face.

"If you'd been pretty like Isabelle here," said foster mother number 28 as she licked the spoon, "then maybe we'd have something to work with—"

"She can see _monsters_ ," interrupted Isabelle innocently.

She smiled at Zoey like she was doing her a favor and twirled her large, green necklace around her wrist. "She said there was a monster in the backyard last night. I couldn't see anything, but she said she could. So I guess that makes her special."

Zoey's secret was out.

All eyes rested on her. She could already see them making up scenarios in their heads. She'd seen that nervous look before.

Isabelle met Zoey's angry stare and lost her smile. As her face paled, tears brimmed in her eyes, and Zoey immediately felt ashamed. It wasn't Isabelle's fault. She was just trying to help.

Foster mother number 28 stepped forward triumphantly, as though she'd been waiting to hear this all her life. A weird noise escaped her throat, like the growling of a wild animal. Sweat dripped from her nose and onto the table.

Zoey looked away and shifted uncomfortably in her seat. Why was her foster mother staring at her like that? Usually, when people learned of her ability, they _avoided_ her.

And then she felt the goosebumps again.

An uncontrollable shudder rippled through her, as though thousands of ants were crawling all over her skin. She always reacted like this around demons and monsters. She had felt it when she had first stepped into the kitchen. She called it her _creeps_. It was like a warning, and she had no idea where it came from, but it had kept her alive.

But why was she feeling it now?

When she looked up, foster mother number 28's eyes had gone completely black, like the eyes of a shark. Her clothes had become soaked in sweat, and the smell of body odor intensified. The woman started to tremble and scratched at her arms feverishly until blood oozed from the deep gashes she had made in her flesh.

"Uh...maybe you should stop doing that," said Zoey.

She watched her foster mother without blinking, preparing herself for any sudden moment. A strange smell came off the woman, like rotten eggs mixed with wet earth. Then she grunted hungrily, as though something inhumane lived in her throat.

Zoey felt a chill roll down her back.

_Great, here we go again,_ she said to herself. _And I didn't even get to eat anything._

The woman leaned forward on the table, her black eyes gleaming with spite and hatred. "You thought you could hide in this place, away from the others, so we wouldn't know who you were."

Her hoarse voice sounded like a different person.

"Clever—but not clever enough. You _Agents_ are all the same—meddlers—control freaks."

Zoey straightened in her seat and readied herself.

"I don't know what you're talking about. I'm not hiding from anyone—and I'm too young to be an FBI agent. I just turned fourteen last week."

An evil smile materialized on the woman's face.

"Do you imagine that we mystics would ever obey your rules? Ha! You creatures are made of soft flesh and blood—you are not _our_ leaders. You are too weak. We will _never_ go back to the Nexus. We enjoy living here amongst you humans," she hissed.

White foam formed at the corners of her mouth like a rabid dog.

"I will kill every last agent that tries to send me back!"

A string of spit flew out of her mouth, landed on the table and immediately burned holes into the wood.

Zoey jumped to her feet and turned to the others. "Get out of here! Now! Quickly!"

The children scrambled to their feet, terrified, and started to move away from the woman. But they froze at what they saw next.

Foster mother number 28 howled like an animal. Her fingers and toes began to transform into gleaming black talons. Her skin cracked and broke apart like shattered eggshells. As her body shook, her skin peeled away and fell in clumps to the floor in a pool of black liquid.

Before they had a chance to move, a seven-foot creature with dripping black sores and raw bubbling skin stood in the kitchen in front of them. Six blunt spikes protruded from its back, and long, slender arms and legs protruded from its rounded, fleshy body. It glowered at Zoey with four large, red eyes. It opened its maw as it wailed and revealed rows of jagged, glass-sharp teeth. It was about to slice her to pieces.

Zoey recognized the creature as the one she had seen the night before. Somehow it had used foster mother number 28's body as a host, like a giant parasite.

"What's happening to her?" whimpered Thomas, his blue eyes wide with fear. "She's acting crazy, should we call 911? Maybe she needs a doctor?"

Zoey knew that _normal_ children couldn't see the horrors that she saw. They didn't see or smell the repugnant creature that stood in the kitchen—they only saw their foster mother, mad with hatred, like a deranged serial killer.

Zoey grabbed the edges of the table.

"Guys, you need to get out of here right now! Do as I say! Go back upstairs and lock your doors. Do it now!"

The monster cackled in laughter and lunged at her.

"RUN!"

In a flash, Zoey threw the kitchen table onto the creature, pinning it against the counter for a few seconds. She leaped sideways and ran to her backpack. Isabelle, Thomas, and Andy disappeared up the stairs in a mad panic.

With a crack like thunder, the monster lashed out and split the table into an explosion of splintered wood.

Zoey turned with a salt bag in her hand and gripped it tightly.

"I'm going to kill you, _Agent_ ," the demon snarled.

Drools of acid-spit burned the floor beneath her.

"I'm going to rip your heart out and eat it!"

The creature soared through the air directly at Zoey.

But Zoey ripped open the bag and showered the demon with salt.

The salt hit the creature in an explosion of white dust. It wailed and thrashed around the kitchen, crashing into the cabinets and appliances. Steam rose off the monster's body, and the air smelled of putrid burned flesh.

Zoey gagged as the vapors burned her eyes.

The creature stopped thrashing and turned its red, accusing eyes back on her. It came at her again.

But Zoey was ready. She threw another volley of salt at the demon's head.

It stopped in midair and crashed onto the floor in convulsions. Black boils burst on its body, and a nasty secretion oozed onto the floor. Finally, the demon exploded into black ash, leaving nothing but the smell of sulfur and a dying screech that rang in Zoey's ears.

She wiped the last of the vapors from her eyes and brushed her shoe against the black ashes to make sure the creature had been utterly destroyed. Her foster mother's skin had dissolved into nothing more than a puddle of water.

Why had the creature called her an _agent_? And what the heck was the _Nexus_? She didn't have any answers.

"Zoey?" Thomas poked his head down from up the staircase, and his mouth fell open at the scene below.

"What happened to the kitchen? Where's the foster mother? Who's going to make us supper now?" Isabelle and Andy peered out behind him, using him as a human shield.

Zoey wiped the salt from her hands on her jeans.

"She...she wasn't herself. And now she's gone, and she won't be back. You need to pack your things and call the emergency foster number on the fridge. They'll send someone to pick you up. Isabelle, you're the oldest, so you should do it."

Isabelle stood up behind Thomas. "But why did she attack you? Why would she do that? It's like she wanted to kill you or something?"

Isabelle wiped her runny nose on her sleeve. Her eyes were red.

Zoey shrugged. They would think she was mad if she told them the truth. "Sometimes grownups go crazy. I don't know. Listen, I need to go and figure out some stuff. Just call the number and sit tight, they'll send someone; I promise."

She packed the rest of the salt into her backpack, swung it over her shoulders, and started for the front door.

"Wait!" screamed Isabelle. "Don't leave us, please! What if she comes back?"

Zoey stopped in front of the door, but she didn't turn around. She stood there for a moment before answering. "She'll never come back. Everything is fine now—don't worry. Just call the number and don't try to follow me."

And she added in a low voice. "Death and monsters follow me."

Zoey didn't wait to hear Isabelle's answer. She pulled open the front door and raced out into the street.

There must be a reason she could see monsters when the rest of the world was blind to them. And she was determined to find out why. She needed to go back to the library and use the Internet. There must be something about the _Nexus_ online—there had to be.

The local library loomed over the other buildings like a concrete mountain. A large sign carved into the stone read "Toronto Public Library, Gladstone/Bloor Branch _._ " __ Soft, yellow light poured out from the rows of windows, and Zoey could see shadows of people moving inside.

Doing her best to avoid landing in puddles, she crossed the street in a dash. It was deserted except for an elderly woman with a yellow umbrella. A taxi rushed past her and soaked her with water.

"Hey!" Zoey screamed, outraged. It would take forever to get dry now. Water seeped into her shoes as she rushed by the old lady.

She heard a grunt, and it didn't sound human.

Zoey skidded to a stop and whirled around. The old woman shuffled forward in the rain. Where had the noise come from? Thinking it was probably the old woman clearing her throat, she turned and started again towards the library. As she quickened her pace, she felt goosebumps again—her creeps.

A screech echoed behind her. Then she heard a flap of wings, and a spine-chilling moan.

With her heart in her throat, she stopped and turned.

Something landed behind the elderly woman. It was the size of a horse and looked like a gargoyle from a medieval castle. It had a human shape with scaly, black, oily skin and long, clawed fingers and toes. Large membranous wings stretched out behind it and cast a dark shadow over the woman. Spikes protruded from its back, and a long, barbed tail lashed threateningly. It had horns like a bull's, and a large mouth full of needlelike teeth. But it was the face that was most unsettling—the creature had no eyes.

Zoey's pulse raced.

The old woman couldn't see it. She stopped walking and stood staring ahead with a confused expression on her face. Her umbrella fell from her hand. The demon spread its wings and opened its mouth. A brilliant white mist flowed out from the woman like a transparent veil and was sucked directly into the creature's maw. The woman's skin turned gray, and she started to tremble uncontrollably. The creature was sucking the life force out of her.

A mixture of fear and hatred surged through Zoey as she stared at the eight-foot-tall monster. The old lady's eyes rolled back into her head. She was going to die.

"Stop!" Zoey's voice reverberated in the street louder than she had expected and sounded more confident than she felt. Her mouth was dry with fear.

"Let go of her! You're killing her!"

It worked. The demon let the old woman go.

She slumped to the ground on her knees, her life holding on by a thread.

The creature turned its lifeless face towards Zoey.

Its tail lashed out behind it, and Zoey felt its hunger, like a dog drooling over a treat. It lifted its head in the air as though it was searching for a scent. It glanced down at the old woman one more time, and then crept towards Zoey, as though it were choosing the better prey.

Zoey gagged on its pungent stench. The air had turned foul, like sewer gas.

Adrenaline pumped through her veins. She planted her feet firmly, reached inside her backpack, and threw a handful of salt at the advancing creature.

The white crystals showered the beast like a heavy fall of snow. It stopped, surprised, shook itself, and then kept coming.

A little cry escaped Zoey's lips. The salt had no effect.

With a beat of its wings, the demon soared through the air and came directly at her.
2

# The Sevenths

Zoey grabbed her backpack and ran. The drumming of her heart in her ears drowned any other sounds. It felt almost like a dream; it had to be a dream. The winged demon was going to tear her to shreds.

She could hear the flap of the demon's great wings like the wind in the sails of a great ship. She could feel its warm breath on the back of her neck. Why hadn't the salt worked? It had _always_ worked before! Any second now the demon would rip off her head with a swing of its massive talons, and she would be a headless running chicken.

But she wasn't ready to die. Not today.

Running full speed, fueled by desperation and fear, she tore down the street, pushing her legs with every ounce of adrenaline she could muster. The library building disappeared behind her. She ran until every step made her wince, and her legs screamed at her to stop. She became a running machine.

An ear-splitting shriek cracked the air—it was laughing at her. The air from its wingbeats pushed aside the rain, and its rasping breath grew louder. She felt a tug on her backpack and pulled a sharp turn to the right. The creature's hold on her released.

She bolted a few paces straight, and then she took a sharp left. Blinking to see through the rain, she sprinted down the street eluding the demon's grasp with each zig and zag. Although the demon had no eyes, it was still on her like a giant angry wasp—Dracula's dino-bat was using echolocation to detect her!

Her legs burned as she ran. Every breath was like swallowing buckets of acid into her lungs. Her throat was raw. She couldn't keep on like this. She would have to face the demon and fight eventually, but with what? Not knowing how clever the demon was, she couldn't risk thinking it was stupid. She needed to figure out a plan to stay alive.

Another piercing screech echoed in the street behind her. Cars raced passed her, honking angrily, missing her by a millimeter. She turned right onto a narrow lane to get out of the traffic and sprinted down the next block.

She could see a large gray stone building up ahead. Its boarded-up windows were decorated with primitive graffiti. The words _Cinema_ _Déjà View_ were etched in black above the double red doors. A crooked We're Closed sign was nailed to them. She made a beeline for the front doors.

She felt a gust of wind on the back of her head and heard the giant flap of wings very close behind her. And at the last minute, she faked to the left and tore towards the right side of the building. A crash thundered behind her, then an angry wail.

Without stopping, Zoey ran down the side of the theatre, through a small courtyard, and slipped inside a side emergency door. In complete darkness, she ran blindly down a hallway that branched out into more corridors. Her foot caught on something, and she tumbled down a flight of steps. She pushed herself up, but excruciating pain like liquid fire burned on the inside of her right ankle bone. She cursed her own stupidity.

As her eyes adjusted to the darkness, she saw that she stood in the main seating area of the theatre. The only source of light came from the antique fixtures that lined the walls and cast an eerie gloom around the rows of seats. Her skin tingled—the demon was near. She resisted the urge to cry out because of the pain in her ankle, clenched her jaw, and bounded down the remaining steps. She grabbed at the seats to keep the weight off her ankle and moved towards the stage—

The theatre shook as though a bomb had detonated at the front entrance. Glass shattered and fragments of the front doors exploded through the main lobby and landed in the aisles. Debris rained down from the ceiling. Zoey coughed blindly in the dust and mold, but she finally reached the bottom of the stairs and hauled herself up the platform. Bent double from the cramp in her side and the pain of her ankle, she took a moment to catch her breath.

The demon soared from the lobby with another terrible screech. Its bat-like wings flapped in cadence, sending dust all around as it landed gracefully on the opposite side of the stage. It bared its gnarled teeth in an ugly smile

Zoey watched transfixed. The creature was more hideous up close, although it looked almost human when it folded its wings. It smelled of decay.

It cocked its head to the side and spoke in a rasping voice, "You cannot hide from me, _Agent._ Your stink is the smell of arrogance and deception. It follows you wherever you go. You reek of it."

"Here we go again with the agent thing," said Zoey, her throat was raw and dry, but she was glad her voice was even. "And by the way, _I'm_ not the one who smells."

The creature watched her with its eyeless face.

" _This_ world does not belong to you. You are fools in feeble bodies. You are easily killed. My mission is to kill as many agents as I can, and I am going to continue with you."

"Well, I'm not so _easily_ killed," said Zoey. "I'm a lot stronger than I look."

The demon shook its sightless head.

"Your lot always makes it so difficult for the rest of us. This world will be better without you agents—you _pollute_ it."

Zoey adjusted her weight on her left leg and felt the pain lessen on her right ankle. She might be able to make a run for it after all—but she needed a diversion for a head start—otherwise, she was demon-kibble.

The demon's tail slashed eagerly behind it.

"I will enjoy killing you. I will drink your blood simply for pleasure. I enjoy a hot drink. But we demons do not simply feast on the mere blood of humans—your essence is what we crave. Your life force empowers us and perpetuates our stay in this world. The more we feed—the more powerful we become—and we will soon kill every last agent and make this world our own."

"I doubt it." Zoey frowned.

"I've never seen a monster like you before. What are you anyway? Some sort of dragon experiment gone wrong?"

She needed to keep the creature talking to give her time to plan her escape. She couldn't fight it—the only thing she could do was limp _really_ fast. But where? Light seeped in from behind the lobby. It was one way out. Could she make it that far before the demon tore her to shreds like grated cheese?

"I am a Duyen demon," answered the creature. "I have existed long before the time of men, when your world was merely wasteland."

The demon moved its head from side to side like a snake. "You are different from the other agents, you seem...unprepared."

Zoey faked a laugh. "Well, it's been a crazy day you know—papers to file—bad guys to catch." She stole a look behind the creature, searching for a weapon or anything she could use to fight with, but she couldn't see anything useful.

"Has your team abandoned you?" asked the demon. "Where are the rest of your despicable agent friends?"

A wicked smile spread across the blind creature's face. "Unless you are here all on your own. I can smell your fear. I can almost _taste_ it—you _are_ on your own, aren't you?"

Zoey pressed her mouth shut. The situation was getting worse by the second.

"Now why would they leave such an innocent little girl on her own?" said the demon leaning forward. "How very curious..."

"Maybe I'm suicidal," said Zoey. She took a step back.

The creature laughed. "No matter, I'm going to kill you now, little girl. Agent or not, it's your time to die!" The demon spread its wings and leaped forward—

A blinding blast of orange light shot through the air like a firework and hit the creature in the chest. The demon shot back as if it had been hit by cannon fire. It wailed as it fell to the ground in a ball of fire, flailing its limbs in a desperate attempt to extinguish the flames.

A teenage boy and two men raced towards the flaming creature. They hauled themselves easily up onto the platform. The teen had a V-shaped weapon in his hand that looked like a modernized slingshot. The two men held red weapons that looked like jumbo-sized water cannons with glass barrels on the top. Orange liquid fire glowed from inside the glass. They ignored her completely and trained their weapons on the demon as they approached it carefully.

"You're in violation of the Mystic Treaty," said one of the men, with a business-like expression on his face. He looked like a young bank manager on casual Friday, not overly handsome, with trimmed brown hair, polished black boots, jeans, and a smart-looking black leather jacket.

"Article number 6-A," he continued, "trespassing through another dimension without authorization from the agency and the killing of humans is punishable by death. You are well aware of the laws, Duyen."

Black steam rose from the demon's scorched body, smothering the theatre with a rotten flesh stench.

"Your laws, not mine!" it growled. "I care nothing for your treaty, _Agent_. Contracts conceived by humans mean nothing to us. I will rip the flesh off your bones!"

With a flap of its singed wings the demon shot up in the air and came down at the man with destructive force.

"Now why did it have to say that?" said the same man with a smug expression. "Agent Lee, some assistance."

Just as the creature was about to rip out the man's throat with its talons, both men raised their weapons and fired at the same time. Two balls of liquid fire engulfed the winged demon. It hit the wall and slumped to the ground, howling in pain and anger. Within seconds the fire consumed it like a piece of paper. The demon disappeared and ashes fell to the ground like blackened snow. The Duyen demon was no more.

Zoey was mesmerized. The man called Agent Lee slipped his gun back into a fold in his long black trench coat. With his shades, he looked ready to walk the runway for the new clothing line of FBI outfits. He was younger than the other man and appeared to be Asian. Although he was a few inches shorter than the other man, Zoey saw that he compensated with an over-the-top spiked black hairdo.

"You know, Barnes, we should put a tighter leash on the Duyens," said Agent Lee. "That's three this week. You'd think they'd get the idea and stay in the Nexus. Oh great, now my coat's all dirty. I just had it dry cleaned!" He started to pat down the dust on his trench coat and looked utterly appalled at his appearance.

Zoey wasn't sure whether to laugh or stay quiet. Who were these people? But she was glad about one thing—they had given her answers to one of her questions—the Nexus was a place where the monsters came from.

"I'm just glad we fried it before it killed anyone else," said the man called Barnes. "Hey, anyone in the mood for fried chicken...?"

"What about her?" said the teenage boy.

Zoey began to blush.

He was tall for his age and athletic, like a hockey player. He wore a plain white T-shirt under a khaki jacket and jeans. His thick, brown hair framed his perfectly chiseled face. His olive complexion and high cheekbones implied that his ancestors could have been native Indian. His dark, almond-shaped eyes bore into hers, and she quickly looked away. Something was unsettling about his eyes.

"I'm on it." Barnes pulled out a cell phone from his jacket. "I'm calling in the Erasers—"

"No, wait!" urged the teen. He stood facing Zoey with a puzzled expression on his face. "She was talking to it just before we got here. I'm positive that she could _see_ it."

Zoey's heart was in her throat. The rotten smell still lingered, and every breath was like sucking in toxic waste. The room began to spin, and she strained to keep still. She couldn't faint now, in front of these people, and worse—she didn't want anything called _Erasers_ near her either.

"She did, did she? Well, that's gotta be a first," said Barnes as he dropped his phone in his jacket pocket.

The three strangers watched Zoey intensely without speaking for a moment. A cold sweat dripped down her back. It was the first time in her life she had met other people who shared her ability. They could see monsters, too, just like her. She had waited and prayed for this moment all her life, but it wasn't happening quite as she had imagined. They didn't seem very _happy_ about it. In fact, they seemed a little unnerved that she could see monsters, too. Was this a mistake? What were they going to do with her? Should she run?

Finally, Barnes moved towards her until he was looming over her like a teacher about to reprimand her. "You there, kid, what was it that you saw? Did you _see_ anything unusual?"

Zoey fidgeted on the spot. "Apart from seeing you people burn a giant bat to smithereens—I guess nothing that unusual. Of course, I could _see_ it. It was standing right in front of me. It was about to kill me, and then you three showed up."

The boy gave the other two a _told-you-so_ look. But their shared expressions were grim, not at all the joyous reception she had imagined. Zoey had been waiting all her life to meet people like her. She wasn't alone. But their third degree was making her nervous. Maybe they were going to vaporize her like they did the demon.

"Well, slap me silly and call me Susan! We've got ourselves a _Drifter_. I'm Agent Barnes," he said and then pointed to the others, "this is Agent Lee, and our young fellow here is Tristan. We've been tracking your so-called giant bat for two days. It killed three people."

Agent Barnes' hazel eyes measured her, and close up Zoey could see a scar on his chin that was surrounded by days-old stubble.

"So, what's your name, kid?"

"Zoey St. John."

"Well, Zoey St. John, do you think we could speak to your parents?" asked Agent Barnes.

Zoey swallowed hard. "My parents are dead. I live... _lived_ with a foster mother."

"What do you mean by _lived_?" asked Agent Lee, and he slid his hand inside his jacket. "Did you do something to her?"

Since it looked like they were about to shoot her, Zoey decided to tell them the truth. "She turned into a monster. I think it used her body as a host—I killed her with a bag of salt."

Tristan snorted but was immediately silenced by a dangerous look from Agent Lee.

Agent Barnes measured her. "Must have been a Skin demon, they're really hard to detect—and when you do, it's usually too late. Tell me, how did you know to use salt on it?"

Zoey took a moment then spoke. "I'd read that the occult use salt to kill demons. I've been using salt for years, and so far it's worked for me, except for tonight."

"Not all demons are the same; you need _fire_ to kill a Duyen demon," said Agent Barnes as he sized her up.

"Well, you're a very strange girl, Zoey. How is it that you've managed to avoid being put into an asylum or killed by illegal mystics?"

"I've learned to keep my mouth shut," she answered shortly, confused by his last words. "I did what I had to, to survive."

"Hmmm." Agent Barnes shared a sidelong glance with Agent Lee, and then he lowered his eyes. He was eyeing Zoey as if she were some criminal.

"Well, we can't leave you here now, can we? It's not safe for you. You'll have to come with us back to the hive. Management will need to do some digging, but ultimately they'll decide what's to be done with you."

He reached out and steered Zoey towards the edge of the platform.

Zoey wiggled out of his grip. "Just a second! What's _management_? What do you mean by _what's to be done with me_? I'm not some dog to be put in a cage. It sounds a lot like the foster system to me. Why should I come with you anyway? I don't even know you—you could be serial killers for all I know. I don't need anyone. I've been alone all my life, and I can take care of myself."

She folded her arms against her chest with a defiant look on her face. It was too late to tell them that she had nowhere else to go—she didn't want them to think she needed them. "I'm not going anywhere."

Agent Lee grabbed her from behind. "You have no choice. You're going to get killed unless you come with us."

"Let me go!" Zoey kicked his kneecap with a satisfying crunch. He howled and let her go, staggering backward.

"Wait!" Tristan came in between Agent Lee, who had a murderous look in his eye, and Zoey. He turned towards her with his hands up in surrender.

"Listen, I know this must sound crazy to you, but you have to trust us. We're the only ones that can help you."

"I don't need any help," grumbled Zoey.

"Really? That's not what it looked like ten minutes ago."

Tristan gave her a cheeky grin. "You'd be dead if it weren't for us. Truth is, there are a lot more and deadlier illegal mystics out there. They'll do anything to stay here in this world, and I mean _anything_. They don't want to be caught and sent back. Once they recognize that you can see them—adios—you're dead."

"I'm not an _agent_."

"To them you are."

Zoey looked confused.

"—because you're one of us," answered Tristan. "You're one of the Sevenths."

Zoey's mouth felt like it was full of cotton balls. "I'm a what?"

"A Seventh, a human born with the _seventh_ sense."

"There's a seventh sense? Seriously?"

"Yes," answered Tristan. "Sight, hearing, taste, touch, smell—are the five. The sixth sense is your gut feeling, your intuition. But the _seventh_ sense is the ability to _see_ and _feel_ the supernatural."

Zoey wasn't sure how to react to this new piece of information. But somehow she knew it was the truth. She had the seventh sense. She'd always had it.

"Did you get cold goosebumps right before you saw the Duyen demon?" asked Tristan.

"Yes."

"That's part of your Seventh sense," said Tristan, and she noticed that he was doing his best not to meet her eyes. "It'll all become clearer, but first you have to come with us. Trust me, you'll be a lot safer with us—I promise we won't hurt you."

Zoey studied Tristan's face; she could always tell when someone was lying, and he wasn't. She let out a long sigh and said, "Okay, I believe you. All I own is in my backpack, so you could say that I'm already packed for the trip. Where are you taking me?"

It was Agent Barnes who answered. "To the hive."
3

# Hive # 416

After a brief conversation on his cell phone, Agent Barnes ordered everyone out of the theatre. He told Zoey to sit tight while they waited for their ride. The rain had stopped, and bright stars winked from a dark blue sky. Agent Lee leaned on the theatre's front wall, eyeing her suspiciously from a distance. He stood with his right hand on his hip like a cowboy ready to draw. He hadn't forgiven her for the blow to his kneecap. Since she had made up her mind to join them to go to whatever this hive was, she sat on the edge of the sidewalk and tied her wild red mane into a ponytail and waited.

Tristan came and sat next to her. "So, how long have you been a foster kid?"

At first, she was taken aback by the question. Her skin tingled at his nearness almost as though there was another monster nearby. But the sensation soon vanished, as though it had never happened.

After a moment, she answered. "Since I was four, so about ten years."

"Do you remember your real parents?"

Zoey stared at her shoes, a heavy weight on her heart. "Not really. I get images sometimes. I know my mother had red hair like mine, but that's it. I don't remember my father at all."

"Do you know what happened to them?" asked Tristan, his voice soft and full of compassion.

Zoey shook her head. "No. All they could tell me back at the orphanage was that I was dropped off without a name at one of the facilities. I don't know who they were, or if they're alive or dead. Without a real name, it's not like I can look for them either."

Tristan threw a pebble into the street. "So who gave you the name Zoey St. John?"

"The orphanage did."

She felt a sting in her chest as she always did when she spoke of the orphanage—it always made her uncomfortable, like she was a second-class citizen. Seeing her name written down had made it seem more real to her, even though she knew it wasn't her _given_ name. One day she would discover her real name, she promised herself.

"I was named after the St. John's orphanage in Toronto," she continued, "that's how they name the nameless kids. They chose names for kids alphabetically, and when I was dropped off they were up to the letter Z. They gave us easy names to remember I guess. I'm just glad they didn't call me _Jane Doe_."

"I think Zoey St. John is a cool name."

Zoey felt the heat rise on her face.

She thought it was best to change the subject before she began to sweat and before her face turned the same color as her hair. "So, how long have you been an agent?"

Tristan scratched the back of his neck, his face reddening as well. "I'm not an agent. I'm just an operative."

Zoey noticed the dimples on his cheeks when he smiled. It was a very handsome face, and she felt herself drawn to it. "What's an operative?" she asked, still staring.

"Well I guess you could say it's what we call _agents in training_ ," he answered.

He avoided Zoey's stare. "You need to be accepted in the operative program first—it's a very selective program amongst our people. Not everyone has what it takes to become an agent."

He was very interested in his sneakers.

Somehow, Zoey felt more at ease seeing his own discomfort, and she took comfort it in. "So how long until you become an agent, then?"

"Three to four years," he told her brightly. "You have to be at least fourteen years old to be considered for the program. I started six months ago with a few others. It's always been a dream of mine, to become an agent."

Something was nagging her. "Why did Agent Barnes call me a _Drifter_? What is that exactly?" She had a feeling it wasn't a good thing.

"A Drifter is a Seventh who's been on their own for a very long time and lost to the agency," answered Tristan. "Like you, they have no idea that there are others like them in the world. Usually, if the agency hasn't found them when they're really young, they start to believe they're crazy. They eventually go insane."

Zoey looked away. "Sounds great." A shiver rolled down her back. She couldn't help but wonder if that might have happened to her.

"So...how many more operatives are there? Are there some at this hive place where we're going? Is that where you train, at the hive place?"

"Yes, there are a few of us."

Zoey couldn't help but be fascinated.

"So if you don't become an agent, what else is there?" She imaged herself as an agent battling monsters like a ninja.

Tristan laughed softly. "You ask a lot of questions."

Zoey did her best to hide her excitement in her voice.

"I've been waiting all my life to ask them. I feel like my head's going to explode if I don't ask them—you have no idea."

Tristan watched a car roll by and disappear around the corner. "Well, it depends on the Seventh. Some try to live _normal_ lives, away from the agency, but even they get basic combat training to protect themselves from dangerous illegals. It's really up to each Seventh to decide what he or she wants to do. There're loads of opportunities for them. They could teach, own a business, do research, or even work in management."

"Am I going to be an operative, too?" she asked. She knew that her eagerness showed on her face. Just the thought sounded too good to be true. How could _she_ be anyone important? Her stomach twisted.

Tristan didn't answer right away. "I'm not sure exactly. Management will decide, I guess. Sorry, but I really don't know."

Before Zoey could ask more questions, Agent Lee moved towards them, holding up his cell phone.

"Just got a call from the agency," he said, and then he lowered his voice. "You won't believe this—an _interloper's_ been stolen at the Boston hive. Sounds like the thieves put up a pretty big fight, too—lots of casualties, very violent, eight agents were killed. They're sending reinforcements."

Agent Barnes' face darkened, and he stood silent for a moment. "There's only one reason why _someone_ or _something_ would want such a dangerous device. The interloper was securely bound. Nobody should have been able to get it. How did they get past security?"

"I don't know," answered Agent Lee, perplexed. "I've been asked to investigate."

"The interloper's location was a heavily guarded secret," Agent Barnes said. "It was well hidden and protected. Whoever is behind this had inside knowledge. I'm sure of it."

Agent Lee looked grim but said nothing.

Zoey wondered what an interloper was. It had to be something of great importance. She longed to know what it was. The situation sounded really serious. People had lost their lives because of it. She was itching to know more about this device.

As she opened her mouth to ask Tristan, a black SUV with tinted windows pulled up to the curb. Agent Barnes walked up to the vehicle and opened the back door.

"In you go, Little Red," he said and gestured to Zoey. He still looked angry. "It's getting late, and we have a long drive out of the city."

Agent Lee snapped his fingers at Tristan. "We should go. I hate these kinds of things—now everyone's a suspect. Keep your eyes open for anything unusual, even if you think it's minor."

Tristan got up. "See you later, Zoey," he said and started to walk away.

Zoey jumped to her feet. "What? You're not coming?"

The idea of being alone in a car with Agent Barnes wasn't exactly a pleasant one. She preferred the company of someone her own age. The anxiety was choking her, she hated not knowing where they were going or what these Sevenths were going to do with her.

Tristan turned around, and Zoey could see he was holding a round metal compact the size of his palm. On the top was a ring dial with a series of engraved numbers around the edges like the face a clock. And in its center was a needle that pointed to locations on a map. She could see it had mirrored surfaces on the inside.

_A compass_ , thought Zoey. _A very fancy compass._

"Can't," answered Tristan as he continued to manipulate the device.

"I have to go with Agent Lee to Boston—it's part of my training as an operative—to work with an agent out in the field. I got lucky today."

He smiled at her. "But don't worry. Agent Barnes is a big teddy bear—he doesn't bite, not always."

Agent Barnes cleared his throat awkwardly. "Hey, I do bite when I have to."

Agent Lee pulled out a similar mirrored compass from the folds of his trench coat. He flipped it open, stared at himself through it, and after adjusting his hair he folded the two sides together just as Tristan had done.

Zoey watched as they both held out their mirrors in front of themselves, angling them as though trying to catch the best reflection. They stood still for a moment, and then suddenly their bodies started to shimmer like a mirage until they were no more than glowing shadows. She could see right through their bodies to the other side of the street, as though they had turned into translucent and eerie ghosts. Then, with a small _pop_ , they disappeared.

"You can close your mouth now," laughed Agent Barnes, seeing the utter disbelief on Zoey's face.

She ran to where Tristan and Agent Lee had stood seconds before. "But...but it's impossible! They're gone? Disappeared? They just vanished? People just don't vanish? What happened? How is this possible?"

"It's called traveling by DSM," said Agent Barnes.

He pulled out an identical round compact and flipped it open for Zoey to see.

"Feast your eyes on this baby. _This_ , my dear girl, is the only smart way to travel. Can't leave home without it," he said and laughed at his own joke.

But he stopped laughing when he saw Zoey's confused expression. "This baby is a DSM—double-sided-mirror. It can take you anywhere in the world. I'm sure you'll have your chance at it, too—once we figure out what to do with you. It'll all make sense once we get to the hive. In you go, come on now."

Reluctantly, Zoey climbed into the back seat of the SUV. Tristan had said they'd meet up back at the hive, and she was curious to see if he'd still be in one piece, or if his legs had stayed in Boston.

Agent Barnes sat in the front passenger's seat and whispered something to the driver, a man with white hair and glasses that covered most of his face. As they drove away, the orphan district disappeared, and Zoey's stomach lurched. But it wasn't from leaving her old life behind—it was from the excitement of the unknown that lay ahead.

Zoey was quiet during the drive out of the city. Agent Barnes and the driver were deep in conversion, keeping their voices low, but she caught the word _interloper_ at least five times. It was clear that this device was on everyone's mind, whatever it was.

After about an hour's drive, the SUV pulled onto a dirt road.

"Cold Creek," announced Agent Barnes, and he turned around in his seat. "It's a wildlife and forest conservation area, nobody around for miles. It's the perfect location for a hive. It's always best to be away from prying eyes—wouldn't want any Mutes in our backyard—if you know what I mean?"

_No?_ Zoey wanted to say, but she didn't. She had no idea what Mutes were.

"I was around your age when I first came here. I remember it like it was yesterday. It was the best day of my life. I'd always wanted to be an agent, you know. My parents are retired now, but they both worked for the agency. Ah, enough about me. I'm sure you'll like it here. For one thing, the air's a lot better than that filth you were breathing before in the city."

Green forests ran for miles on the opposite sides of the narrow road. Rolling hills loomed in the distance, and she could see a river snaking through acres of swamp. Zoey had never been in the country or so far north. She had lived surrounded by dirty concrete buildings and smelly paved streets for as long as she could remember. She had never seen anything so beautiful. It was like stepping into a National Geographic magazine.

The SUV climbed a short rise and then descended into a circular valley surrounded by mountains. A giant building made of metal and glass rested in the middle of the valley. As they got closer, Zoey could see it was made in the shape of a capital A, lying flat. _A_ _for_ _Agency_ , she realized. It sparkled in the moonlight, and yellow light seeped out through rows of windows. It stood alone and proud—set back from the forest—keeping the wilderness at a respectable distance. It looked out of place in the rough country, like an alien spacecraft that had just landed.

They drove around a circular driveway and parked the SUV in front of the building. The driver kept the motor running.

"Let's go, Little Red," said Agent Barnes cheerfully as he clambered out of the car.

He opened Zoey's door for her. "There's a boardroom filled with important people waiting to see you. I think they're still in shock, to tell you the truth. It's been a while since anyone's seen a Drifter. You're quite the mystery to all of us. I can't wait to see the look on Director Martin's face when he sees you. I just might take a picture."

Zoey climbed out of the back seat and stood on a stone walkway at the entrance of the building.

They were all a mystery to her as well. She clenched her trembling fingers into fists so that Agent Barnes wouldn't see how nervous she felt. The building looked like a research facility or a giant laboratory, imposing yet cold and probably super clean—nothing like the foster homes she'd lived in before, with her friends the cockroaches and Mr. and Mrs. Rat.

Grand double glass doors stood at the entrance, like the gateway to some other world. She could see shapes moving inside, and her stomach did a summersault. The ground began to waver, and when she realized she was holding her breath, she exhaled and did her best to breathe normally, even though she could feel a panic attack on its way. She couldn't decide it if was from the excitement or the fear in the back of her mind. This was still new territory. Agent Barnes was nice enough, but he was a stranger. This whole thing could still be a trap.

Agent Barnes drew himself up proudly and said with a smile, "Welcome to the hive number 416, the best darn place on earth, if you ask me. It is the only place where mystics and humans work together...and don't _kill_ one another." He tapped his gun, and Zoey could see a glint of mischief in his eyes.

"Come along, Red. They're waiting for us. Be prepared to be amazed." He strolled up to the front entrance with a hop in his step and held the doors open.

Bracing herself, Zoey walked through the front doors and stepped into a vast marble hall.

At first, it looked like the normal lobby of a government building with high ceilings, windows, and a comfortable seating area with brown leather sofas and plush chairs. But the further she went, the more obvious it became that this was no ordinary government establishment. She had never imagined such a peculiar and wonderful place.

Tall mirrors lined the walls on either side of the great hall in the same way that important portraits of past officials lined the walls of government buildings. The mirrors were round, square, rectangle, some were even triangle-shaped, and they all hung low to the ground. They were made of gold, silver, bronze—every metal imaginable. Some were even dressed with multicolored jewels and looked as though they belonged in some make-believe castle. Some of the mirrors were old fashioned, with brass frames and blackened mirrors—marked with age as though they were hundreds of years old. Others looked new, with no traces of wear. They reflected the light like a river catching the rays from the sun in the early morning.

Two men in green uniforms were delicately removing a large cracked mirror and leaving a large rectangular stain on the wall as though the mirror had been there for ages. Another man with a broom was sweeping up the pieces.

As she strolled past, Zoey leaned forward for a better look. Above each mirror were two light bulbs, a red one and a green one. Most of the red lights were on—all except for one.

She could hear a low humming, and a sudden draft brushed her cheek as though a gust of wind had rolled by. But there were no open windows nearby. Then the only mirror without a red light shimmered as though the mirror itself was made of water. The green light bulb flickered on, and a man in a yellow raincoat stepped out, leaving a wet trail behind him.

Zoey's jaw dropped.

The man smiled as he passed Zoey and said, "The rain is really coming down in Bangkok." She closed her mouth, embarrassed when she realized she had been staring at him.

_Did he just say that he just came from Bangkok_?

There was a sudden loud buzzing from the opposite side of the hall. The light bulb on another golden mirror flashed green, and a woman walked out. Her body covered in orange smoke like she had just stepped out of a volcano. The woman dusted herself off and walked calmly away with her chin in the air, as though everything were normal.

"Keep moving, Little Red," said Agent Barnes with a smirk. Zoey moved along, but she kept turning around, trying not to miss anything.

And then she saw something that made her gawk even more.

An impressive glass panel on the right wall was a directory for the building. The large black lettering read:

* * *

THE AGENCY

North American Branch No. 416

* * *

SUPERNATURAL AFFAIRS, Room 4A

MYSTICS LAWS AND REGULATIONS, Room 3B

CREATURE CONTROL, Room 2C

INTER-DIMENSION TRADE, COMMUNICATIONS & TRANSPORTATION, Room 2A

MILITIA AND DEFENSE, Room 1B

SEVENTHS' ACADEMY, Room 1D

ILLEGALS, DETAINEES, OR ANY UNLAWFUL AND HOSTILE MYSTICS _,_ Basement level

* * *

A small note at the bottom added:

"For all other matters, please see Ms. Andrews at the front desk."

* * *

Zoey was mesmerized. As she passed, she could see her own astonished face reflected in the countless mirrors that lead off the main hall. It reminded her of the one time she had sneaked into the circus's funhouse, where the mirrors distorted your face and body. But these weren't ordinary carnival mirrors, these were much more unusual.

Suddenly the entire hall buzzed, and masses of people stepped out of mirrors all around her—people and monsters.
4

# Management

Blood pounded in Zoey's ears. A kangaroo-like creature with a flat, human-like face and a very long feathery tail hopped along the corridor. A dog with the face of an ax trotted alongside a man with four legs in a navy suit. A woman with thick green and orange striped skin and red eyes like burning coals carried a pile of important-looking papers. Striding next to her was an enormous man with bulging muscles, a pronounced forehead, and a single piercing blue eye. Zoey's creeps stung her skin like a nuclear goosebump attack. The sensation wasn't cold this time, though—it was unusually _warm_. Subconsciously, she reached for her backpack, but let it go when she caught Agent Barnes' warning scowl.

Zoey's attention was quickly diverted when a beautiful steed galloped by. Its body blazed like a wildfire in red and orange flames. She felt the heat from its body on her face. She had never seen anything so beautiful, but she resisted the temptation to reach out and touch it lest she burn her fingers. She wasn't sure if the fire was real.

"Get back here you insubordinate animal!"

A skinny bald man in overalls and a plaid shirt whose knees cracked as he struggled to run after the horse called out, "You're not allowed on the main floor. Come back here! I'll hose you down, horse!"

The horse neighed loudly and left only a fiery-red trail behind as it disappeared through the main doors.

The strangest beasts Zoey had ever seen passed her by without even a glance in her direction. With her heart hammering in her ears, she strained to calm down—if Agent Barnes could be so cool, then so could she. But she turned her head in every direction as they walked through the hall as she tried to absorb everything at once.

A tall, thin woman flailed her hands in the air as she spoke to another group of agents. "Rank six mystics took the Paris subway system hostage. It took us five hours to neutralize the situation. I don't get paid enough for this kind of work..."

Agent Barnes grinned at Zoey's amazement. "Told you it was awesome."

Zoey wasn't sure if she would call this awesome just yet—every single monster she'd ever faced before had wanted to harm her.

But it was different here—the monsters almost seemed _nice_. It was like a whole new world had opened up to her. Monsters and humans walked and talked together like it was the most ordinary thing in the world, as though they were one big happy family.

She followed Agent Barnes to where a woman scribbling in a large ledger sat behind a long, polished counter.

"I see they're working you to the bone, Mrs. Andrews," he said with a smile. "Do you ever get time off? I hope you're getting paid time and a half for your trouble."

Mrs. Andrews appeared to be in her late fifties. She wore thick glasses and pinched expression as though she had never smiled in her entire life. Her hair was done into a long blond braid, which fell over her light blue suit. Her thin lips were pressed in a hard line.

"It's late. I was on my way out," she said without looking up. Her voice dripped with contempt.

"You're lucky you caught me, Agent Barnes. May I remind you that office hours are from nine to _seven_? It's half-past eight, and the night watch doesn't begin until nine o'clock."

"So why are you still here then?" said Agent Barnes playfully. "Were you waiting for me?"

"Don't flatter yourself, Agent Barnes. I was just tidying up for tomorrow morning. Now, what is it that you want? I don't have all night."

"I'm here to see Management, my dear woman. They're expecting us," he said importantly and threw out his chest.

At the mention of _us_ , Mrs. Andrews raised her head and gazed at Zoey. Her gray eyes were magnified by her glasses and looked like giant crystal balls.

"And who might this be? I've never seen the likes of her before? Her looks are certainly nothing to be considered, and those awful clothes—dear God, her hair's as red as carrots!"

Zoey glowered.

Mrs. Andrews didn't seem to notice. "Well, she's too young to be an operative. You can't just bring in _any_ stray Mute, Agent Barnes, we have strict rules about that you know—even if she looks half-starved and in desperate need of a bath. The agency won't approve."

Agent Barnes leaned over the counter and whispered, "She's not a Mute—she's a _Drifter_."

Mrs. Andrews's eyes quadrupled in size.

"A Drifter! You don't say? Well, I must say—this is a surprise. I haven't seen a Drifter in over thirty years. Well, well, well. This will be the talk of the hive! Wait till Mrs. Crawley hears—I can't wait to see the look on her face. Ha! The Wilson's divorce is _nothing_ compared to this bit of news, and I'm the one who saw her first."

Mrs. Andrews clapped her hands excitedly, with a jubilant expression on her face like someone who had just won the lottery.

Zoey caught several curious looks from people passing them. Her face burned, and she wished Mrs. Andrews would stop fussing and stay quiet.

Zoey ignored the woman's stares and looked around for Tristan. Maybe he wasn't back from Boston.

"Just tell them that we're here and that we're going up. Come on, Red, let's go." Agent Barnes steered Zoey away from the counter.

She was glad to be away from those big, creepy eyes. Halfway down the hall Zoey turned around and caught Mrs. Andrews still staring—an odd smile covered her face, as if she were plotting something evil.

"So, where are we going now?" she asked, looking away from the creepy woman.

Two large staircases led up to higher levels. Agent Barnes walked up to the staircase on the right. The words "Floors 1 - 4, BL" were written in black on the wall at the base of the stairs.

"Up to the third floor," he answered. "That's where Management is waiting for us—well, waiting for _you_ , mostly."

Zoey became uneasy again. What were they going to do with her? Had this been a huge mistake? Were they going to fry her, after all?...lock her in the basement like some criminal? Or worse—perform unconventional experiments on her?

Running was an option—she was very good at running away. If she made a run for the woods she could probably make it. But how would she sneak past that dreadful and unsettling Mrs. Andrews? Zoey's legs felt like cement blocks.

She followed Agent Barnes up three flights of stairs, through a doorway on level three, and into a hallway with light gray walls and a tan, polished floor. Doors lined the corridor on either side, and tubular chrome sconces lit the walls at intervals. Their treads resonated in the quiet hall and echoed the beating of Zoey's heart.

Agent Barnes stopped in front of the second door. Zoey read the inscription: "Mystic Laws and Regulations, Room 3B _._ " The muffled voices from the inside sounded like they were arguing.

Zoey's insides churned.

"What does this Agency _do_ exactly?" she asked, her voice dry and cracking. She didn't want to go in just yet—she needed a little bit more information first—like what tools they were going to use to torture her.

Agent Barnes turned and looked at her.

"The agency is a secret force that protects most major cities around the world," he answered. "Think of us as supernatural peacekeepers. Our mandate is to protect the human world from evil mystics that don't respect the treaty. We're charged with keeping a balance between humanity and the mystics. We patrol the borders between the two worlds."

_Mystics_ , Zoey repeated in her mind. "What about this Management organization? I get that they're probably _your_ boss, but are they everyone's boss?"

"Management is _our_ government, so to speak. Each hive is governed by a group of seven directors. And each director is in charge of a different division in the hive. Tonight _you_ get to meet some of them. Young Sevenths don't normally meet so many directors on the same night—you're very lucky."

Zoey thought she was going to puke.

"Don't look so panicked. They don't bite," said Agent Barnes gently. "Well, maybe just director Martin...but the others seem to be fairly decent people."

Zoey kept her eyes low to the ground. "You don't sound very convincing."

She swallowed. "What's going to happen to me?"

"Nothing that's worth you fretting about like this." Agent Barnes put his hand on Zoey's shoulder. His voice was compassionate.

"Listen kid, _we're_ the good guys, and we're going to do what's best for you. It's lucky we found you when we did. _You're_ one of _us,_ and we take care of our kind. You'll have a real home here, with kids your own age and people who care about you. You belong here with us, not with the Mutes."

Zoey screwed up her face. "I'm lost—what are _Mutes_?"

"Mutes are persons that are deaf and blind to the supernatural around them. Their seventh sense has been turned off, muted, so to speak. Like us, some are born with the gift, and some are not. Sometimes kids will have the seventh sense, and then it will go away as they age. Then they become Mutes like the majority of the human population."

"So how many of us are there in the world?" asked Zoey.

"About 0.5 percent of the human population," said Agent Barnes.

"Mutes and Sevenths don't mix very well. In fact, most of them would probably have us all locked up. Since they can't _see_ what we see, they think we're crazy. We should keep to ourselves and go about our business. Mind you, some Mutes have married Sevenths, but that's really rare. It's not encouraged to lie to your spouse about your job, or who you are. We just stick to the program."

"So do all the people like us live here at the hive?"

"No, some of us work here," said Agent Barnes. "Out-of-towners sometimes stay here, too. But you see, Zoey, there are also small communities all over the world with only Sevenths in them. Humankind has enough to worry about without having to deal with a subculture that could be seen to threaten their very validity. It is our job to protect the outside world from truths that they are not yet ready to know."

"Right," said Zoey.

He gave Zoey a questioning look. "Any more questions before we go in?"

Of course, she had more questions, but they would have to wait. She just shook her head and kept her mouth shut for the time being.

Agent Barnes gave a nod and turned towards the door. He knocked twice, and they went inside.

The room was large and square with rows of windows on the opposite side. Twenty chairs framed a great oak table in the middle of the room. Four important-looking people sat on the opposite side of the table, three men and a woman.

"Ah, at last, Agent Barnes," said one of the men as he waved them in. "Please come in and introduce us to our newest guest."

He had a round, cheerful face, a neatly trimmed white beard, and smiling eyes under a mass of thinning white hair. He looked like a retired professor whose large girth was exposed because his plaid suit was two sizes too small. His small red bowtie finished his look.

Agent Barnes walked up to the desk. Clasping his hands behind him, he stood tall and proud. "Thank you, director Hicks."

He nodded to the others, "director Johnson, director Martin, and director Campbell. I'd like you to meet Zoey St. John." He turned and motioned for Zoey to move forward.

Obediently, she stepped in beside him. In the moment of silence, she was afraid they would hear the loud thumping of her heart. She tried to breathe normally, not sure what to do or say. Everyone was staring at her like she had just landed from Mars.

One of the men had dark skin and a face that showed no emotion, almost as if he were a wax figure, maybe he _was_ a wax figure. The other man was younger with a pale face and dark eyes that never blinked—he reminded Zoey of an android. The only other person who showed an ounce of emotion was the woman. She looked bored. Her blond hair was cut square across her pointy chin, and she was dressed in a bold, patterned jacket that looked as if it had been made from old curtains.

Zoey's nerves danced. She smiled at each director as she was introduced, but only director Hicks returned her smile. She felt like she was standing in front of a prison parole board—and they weren't keen on letting her out.

"Pleased to meet you, Zoey," said director Hicks, still smiling. "Welcome to the agency. Please sit down."

Zoey blushed. "Thank you," she managed to say.

She pulled out a chair and sat next to Agent Barnes.

"So this is the _Drifter_?" said the youngest director. His raspy voice sounded as though he had smoked a million cigarettes. Zoey didn't like that way he emphasized the word drifter. His pale face had wrinkled prematurely, and he looked much older than he probably was. He had dark hair with splashes of gray, dark eyes, and a sunken face that looked like he hadn't eaten in months. His striped, gray suit was tailored to perfection.

"She doesn't look like much. She looks half-starved and dirty, like one of those street kids," he said with disdain.

Zoey disliked him immediately.

"I don't see how that's relevant, director Martin," said director Hicks.

He turned his blue eyes to Zoey. "So, Zoey, Agent Barnes tells us that you are an orphan and that you have no idea who your real parents are. You were given to the St. John's orphanage without any sort of identification, without any birth records. Is that correct?"

"Yes, sir." She saw the woman and director Martin exchange a dark look.

"And how old are you?"

"Just turned fourteen, sir—director, sir," answered Zoey, and then she added, "They gave me the sixteenth of May as my birthday, but I don't know my real one."

Director Hicks nodded and laced his fingers on the desk.

"And you've been living in foster care this whole time, fighting off dangerous mystics on your own to stay alive. What's even more remarkable to us is that for fourteen years you've managed to keep the Mutes from discovering you—discovering what you _are_ to be more precise. For someone so young, that's quite extraordinary."

"She's an extraordinary girl," said Agent Barnes, and he winked at Zoey.

She had to force herself not to smile.

"I did what I could to survive," she said, feeling her voice stronger. "Until now, well, from what I've seen here, I didn't even know that there were friendly monsters—"

"We prefer the term _mystics_ , if you please," interrupted the woman, spite coated her voice.

"The _M-word_ is so very discourteous to our friends and colleagues. It is forbidden in these parts, and if you wish to remain here with us, you best remember that." She stared at Zoey accusingly.

Zoey shrank back. Why were these people so displeased with her? They didn't even know her.

"Let's give her a chance to learn our ways, director Campbell," said the man with the dark skin. "She has only just arrived. There will be time for her to learn the laws of her people."

Director Campbell continued to eye Zoey suspiciously. "If you say so, director Johnson. She has lots to catch up on. Are we certain having her here is the right decision? Perhaps one of the Sevenths' foster families will take her in? It might be less of a _shock_ for her to live with them. It might make her transition to our world a little easier."

"She is one of us. She belongs here," said director Hicks impatiently. "From what Agent Barnes has told us, she could do well in the operative's program, but it is too early to determine her fate."

He turned to Zoey. "For all our sakes, and yours, it would be best to put you on a trial basis for now and see how well you do. Would that suit you?"

Zoey felt her spirits rise. "Yes. Yes, it would."

"But she's a Drifter!" Director Martin raised his voice. "She's had no knowledge of our people or our ways since today—she's practically a Mute! Without _basic_ education and training, she'll be years behind the other operatives. It'll take her forever to catch up, if by a miracle she _is_ able to manage. But even then, is it fair to introduce her to the program so early? And what about the other operatives? Will she drag them down? We've never had a Drifter join the program before. I say she should be sent to one of our foster families—"

"She can manage," interrupted Agent Barnes, his voice rising as well. "All Seventh children are schooled in our ways and are taught to fight, why shouldn't she learn to do so as well? She's already fought a Skin demon on her own, and many others like it. She's ready. She should be with the other kids. It makes no sense to put her back into a foster home."

"Will you vouch for her then?" said Agent Johnson, his voice even.

Agent Barnes gave a nod of his head. "I will. Little Red here's got a lot of spunk. She has street smarts, and she's proven that she's capable all on her own. I think she'll be a great addition to the program—the other kids could learn from her. I would be glad to have her on my team."

Zoey stared at Agent Barnes. Her heart swelled with respect and admiration for him. No one had ever spoken so highly about her before. She wanted to hug him.

"So it's settled then," said director Hicks.

He smiled warmly at Zoey. "Zoey St. John will join the operative program on a trial basis. She can board with the out-of-towners at the Wander Inn. All in favor?" He raised his right hand and looked to the other directors.

Slowly, director Johnson and director Campbell raised their hands, but director Martin's hands stayed flat on the desk. He glowered at Zoey.

"Majority wins," said director Hicks. "Welcome to your new home, Zoey St. John. I hope you'll enjoy it here and make lots of new friends."

Zoey sat silently for a moment.

"Really?" she said finally, trying hard to hide her excitement, although she wanted to jump up from her chair and start dancing.

"Really," said director Hicks.

Zoey grinned widely. "Thank you, thank you very much. You won't be sorry, I promise." And when she looked over to Agent Barnes, he gave her two thumbs up and looked very pleased with himself.

"Agent Barnes, please escort our newest member to the Wander Inn. They have already prepared her room."

"Right away, director Hicks."

After Agent Barnes had acknowledged the last of the directors with a nod of his head, he steered Zoey out the door—but not before she heard director Hicks call out, "Good luck, Zoey!"

As they made their way down the hall, Agent Barnes laughed. "Thought you were going to faint in there—you were as white as a sheet."

Zoey felt a weight leave her as she stepped out of the room. "I was more worried about being sick than fainting. I don't think director Martin would have liked that very much."

Agent Barnes laughed. "No, I don't think he would have."

The outcome was better than Zoey had expected, and her memories of life with foster mother number 28 began to fade. But even as she walked back she was still worried by the uncertainty in the faces of some of the directors. It was almost as if they felt she wasn't _good_ enough to be there—as if somehow her presence would taint the rest of the Sevenths like a bad apple. Being a _Drifter,_ it seemed, was very similar to being an _orphan_.

Tainted by association.

They descended the stairs, passed the lobby, and went out the front doors. Zoey followed Agent Barnes across a smooth lawn. The moon shone down and cast long and looming shadows.

About fifteen yards behind the agency stood a white stone building the size of a large cottage. It had black shutters and a welcoming wraparound porch. Lights shone from the inside, and a hand-painted wooden sign on the front post said The Wander Inn _._

Agent Barnes walked up to the front door. "This is where the out-of-town Sevenths stay when they're visiting. It's your new home. It's not as fancy as a hotel, but it's real cozy. Just what an inn should be."

Zoey followed him in.

They walked into a living area where a man reading a book sat comfortably in a large chair facing a fireplace. Two sofas faced each other on a plush, deep red Persian carpet, and the room had a cozy feel. A large staircase led to the upper floor, and on the opposite side was a dining area with a variety of small wooden tables and chairs. It reminded Zoey of the little café shops she used to go to back in the city. The smell of cooked food brought water to Zoey's mouth. Only then did she realize how hungry she was.

"Hello again, Agent Barnes," said a voice.

Zoey looked up. A six-foot-tall woman with shark-gray skin and long, silky white hair came towards them. She was so thin, just skin and bones, that she looked as though she was drowning in her clothes. While she had odd, cat-like, yellow eyes, what made Zoey flinch were the woman's four arms. Zoey's skin tingled with a warm rush, similar to what she had felt in the main hall when the mystics had first stepped out of the mirrors, but the sensation was subtle and vanished as fast as it had appeared.

"Hi, Aria," said Agent Barnes. "I'd like you to meet your newest boarder, Zoey St. John. Zoey, this is Aria, the owner of the Wander Inn."

Aria held out one of her right hands. "Hello, Zoey. Everyone here calls me Aria."

Zoey shook one of her hands a little awkwardly, trying not to stare at the woman's other arms, which hung at her sides like rubber hoses.

"Thanks for having me," mumbled Zoey, not knowing what else to say.

"I'm glad to finally meet you," said Aria. "Everyone's been talking about you tonight. We're all very excited to have you here with us, and I'm very happy to have you stay here with me. The hive being such a small community and all—you're like the newest celebrity."

She stood with her four hands on her hips and looked grim. "You haven't eaten in a while. Let me fetch you something to eat. I'll bring it up. Agent Barnes, could you show Zoey to her room—top of the stairs, it's the last one on the left."

"Sure thing, Aria. Come along, Little Red."

Zoey watched Aria disappear through the dining room. She then climbed the stairs behind Agent Barnes, who guided her to her room. A single bed was angled under a large window with soft white linen curtains, and a large dresser stood beside a closet on the opposite wall. Another door stood ajar and revealed a shower, a toilet, and a pedestal sink—her own master bathroom. She felt like she was staying in a fancy hotel.

"This is _my_ room?"

Agent Barnes lost his smile. "What's wrong with it? You don't like it?"

Zoey's face lit up. She had never had a room to herself before. She'd always had to share smelly old mattresses and stained sheets with the other foster kids. This room smelled like lavender and lilacs. She had never imagined a bedroom could be so wonderful. And it was hers. "No, it's perfect. I love it. I couldn't have imagined a more beautiful room. It's really amazing."

"Good." Agent Barnes turned towards the door. "After you eat, you go straight to bed. You can do your exploring tomorrow. Tonight you'll need all the rest you can get."

Zoey frowned, tearing her eyes away from her new room.

"Why's that?"

"You have a big day tomorrow," he said. "Tomorrow, you start your training."
5

# The Sevenths' Academy

Zoey hardly slept a wink. She had kept her _exploring_ to the confines of her bedroom. She tried on all her new clothes which, for the first time in her life, were miraculously her size. She jumped on her bed and flushed the toilet, just because she could. The excitement of the day still rushed through her. After a quick shower, she had fallen asleep in her bathrobe. She awoke to a soft tap on her bedroom door the next morning.

"Time to get up, Zoey, breakfast is ready." Zoey recognized Aria's voice through the door. Her seventh sense reacted with the subtlest of warm prickles on her skin, as though she somehow recognized that the mystic was not a threat.

"Come down when you're ready."

"Okay," mumbled Zoey, "I'm getting up."

She swung her legs off the bed, her eyes puffy with a lack of sleep. She felt a pain in her arm from sleeping in an awkward position, but she didn't let it dampen her spirits. At first, when she woke up, she had thought it had all been a dream, that the hive and the agency weren't real. But now—sitting on her lovely bed at the Wander Inn and staring out at the rolling hills outside her window—and not at a concrete jungle—she knew it was all _real_.

She pulled on a new pair of jeans, T-shirt, laced up her sneakers, and brushed her hair into a static mess of a ponytail. She closed her bedroom door and went downstairs.

She was greeted by the same man she had seen the night before. He was sitting in the living area, and another man in his thirties sat by himself. Zoey sat at a table near the windows. As soon as she had taken her seat, Aria rushed towards her, holding four plates piled with food.

"Nothing like a good breakfast to start the day."

She placed the plates carefully in front of Zoey and watched her eagerly with her yellow, cat-like eyes.

"Hope you like a big breakfast. I wasn't sure what you liked, so I made a little of everything. I'm afraid I got a little carried away. But _please_ don't feel pressured to eat _everything_ , I don't want to make you sick on your very first day."

Aria's yellow eyes and four arms still made Zoey a little uncomfortable, and she did her best not to stare. And yet, something was comforting about the gray-skinned woman. Like a real aunt or close relative, Aria made Zoey feel safe.

Zoey had never seen so much food so early in the morning. It was a breakfast buffet for her alone, and she was ravenous.

"This is great. It smells amazing. Thank you, Aria."

Aria beamed and wiped her four hands on her apron. "Well, let me know if you want anything else. I'll go and fetch you a nice big glass of orange juice. Be right back."

There was bacon, scrambled and poached eggs, eggs benedict, pancakes, French toast, potatoes, sausages, fruits, breads, oatmeal, three different types of cereal, and baked beans. She had two servings of everything and washed it all down with a giant glass of orange juice. It was the most delicious breakfast Zoey had ever eaten. Aria was a master chef. She burped when she had finished, and Aria giggled.

"Morning, Aria."

Tristan strolled through the dining room. Zoey's eyes met his for a second, and he looked down with a widening smile.

She wiped the crumbs from her face. She realized that the enormous pile of plates in front of her made her look like a pig, and that he had probably heard her burp, too.

Then another series of goosebumps riddled her skin, but she had no idea what to make of them. Was it because Aria was near? She would have to control her seventh sense. She tried to calm down, and the feeling slowly disappeared.

Aria stacked the empty plates. "Hi, Tristan. Can I get you anything? There are still lots in the kitchen. A growing boy like you needs to eat."

"Smells delicious, but I've already eaten, thanks. I'm here to pick up Zoey for her first lesson."

He stared at the leftovers on the table and the crumbs on her shirt. "Someone's been busy. Did you eat _all_ of it?"

"What?" said Zoey, wiping her shirt. "I have to catch up on fourteen years of malnourishment. Thought I'd get an early start."

"I can see that," laughed Tristan.

"I couldn't help myself," said Zoey as she sipped the last of her orange juice and smacked her lips loudly. "It was the _best_ food I've ever tasted in my _entire_ life."

Aria beamed.

"Well, our first class starts in fifteen minutes," said Tristan.

"We better get going. Agent Ward is really strict about punctuality. She's always giving extra duties for being late. I think she secretly enjoys it. You don't want to start off on her bad side— _trust_ me."

She swallowed. "Right—the operative's program—Okay. Well, I'm as ready as I'll ever be," She knew she didn't sound very convincing, even to herself, and she doubted Tristan bought it.

Leaving the Wander Inn behind, Zoey followed Tristan across the grounds and into the agency. Throngs of humans and mystics stepped out of the mirrors, and even though she had seen them the night before, she still jumped when a hairy man with four legs scurried out of a ruby red mirror on her right.

Tristan chuckled, and she pushed him playfully.

As they passed the front desk, Zoey could see that Mrs. Andrews and an older woman with short, white hair were in deep conversation. The two women looked up as they neared, and Mrs. Andrews waved desperately to get Zoey's attention. But Zoey pretended not to see them and kept moving. Mrs. Andrews probably only wanted to boast to her friend that she knew the Drifter. Besides, Zoey suspected that Mrs. Andrews was only going to say something very rude to her, so it was best to avoid them altogether.

She let out a shaky breath and inhaled deeply. She tried to breathe normally, but she could tell she was on the verge of hyperventilating. Why was she so panicked? She was as tough as they came. But even as she tried to convince herself so, it only seemed to increase her nerves. She had to force herself to think of something else.

"So, do you have a girlfriend or something?" she blurted out. She regretted it as soon as she said it. She felt stupid and forward, but the words were already out there.

Tristan's face darkened to a deep shade of burgundy, and he looked embarrassed. Zoey felt even more uncomfortable. _Great_ , now he thought she was a freak. Her ears burned, and she wanted to kick herself for being so dumb. How could she _say_ something like _that_?

The main hall branched out like a T, with two corridors on either side. Tristan turned to the left and stopped before large double doors with "Sevenths' Academy, Room 1D" written in bold black letters on the front.

"I don't know how they teach at the Mutes' schools," began Tristan, "but here the operative program is divided into two sections—theoretical and practical. The theoretical part is from nine to noon. We have a break for lunch, and then it's practical from one to three. I prefer practical—it's when the fun really starts—it's when we learn to use weapons and go out on field assignments. You'll see—you'll get your chance pretty soon."

Zoey just nodded. She still felt like an idiot because of what she had said moments before.

Tristan lowered his voice. "We can't talk during class, so we can meet after and go for lunch, if you want."

He started forward and then turned, "Oh—and the answer is _no_."

"Sorry?"

Tristan scratched the back of his neck awkwardly, his ears reddening. "I mean that I don't have a girlfriend."

Zoey stood wide-eyed, blood draining from her face. "Oh, right. Okay, thanks." _Thanks_? She repeated in her head. _I'm such a moron._

Tristan smiled at her and then turned. Zoey hesitated and then followed him in, feeling more and more like a fool.

The room was large, about the size of three regular classrooms in one. It was divided into two sections. The right side was lined with desks and computers. The opposite side looked like a gym with floor mats, hanging ropes, bean bags, and circular, colored target stands on wheels like she had seen before at an archery competition. The far wall was lined with shelves of weapons. There were daggers, batons, swords, sledgehammers, axes, metal nets, and a large variety of sharp-looking weapons she didn't recognize.

And then her heart stopped. All eyes were on her. She had been so enthralled with the room that she had temporarily forgotten where she was.

The other eighteen students in the room had turned around and were staring at her with shocked expressions. She could hear them whispering. She met their curious stares head-on, and one by one the students turned back around and faced the front.

A woman with gray, chin-length hair sat behind a desk at the far end of the room, facing the students. Zoey imagined it was Agent Ward. She sat very straight and watched Zoey through black-rimmed glasses. Even at a distance, Zoey could see the severe expression on her face. She understood right away what Tristan had meant about not wanting to get on her bad side. The woman had the permanent scowl of a sergeant major.

Tristan made his way over to an empty desk at the back and sat down. Zoey followed his example and seated herself at the desk next to him. She folded her hands in her lap and waited. The classroom was as still as a tomb, the only sound was her heart thumping rapidly in her ears.

"Zoey St. John." Agent Ward's voice blasted through the eerie silence like a bomb. "Please stand."

Reluctantly, Zoey pushed her chair back and stood. She looked nervously at the old woman.

"Please introduce yourself to the group—tell us a little about yourself," said Agent Ward in a commanding voice.

Zoey's throat was dry, her heart started to drum louder in her ears, and her arms felt unnatural hanging by her sides, almost like they didn't belong to her. Speaking before a group of people wasn't new to her, she had done this many times before in front of new foster families. But this time was different—she was facing a new environment. The speech that she had practiced the night before wouldn't work, so she decided to wing it.

She cleared her throat. "Hi, uh...my name is Zoey St. John...uh...but I guess you already know that."

Giggles and snorts filled the room, but she ignored them and continued. "I'm fourteen years old, and I'm from Toronto. But I don't know where I'm _really_ from 'cause...well, I'm an orphan, see—I've never known my real family. Agent Barnes found me yesterday and brought me here, because I'm a Seventh like you—"

"You're _not_ like us," said a boy.

He turned around in his seat, glowering at her. He had perfectly groomed, wavy black hair and piercing blue eyes, like a husky's. He wore expensive designer clothes, and Zoey noticed a ruby ring in the shape of the letter O around his pinky. His porcelain skin made him look more like a vampire than a student.

"We come from good families, ancient families. We're not from the streets like _you_ , so don't try to compare us. You're nothing like us, _Drifter_." He nearly spit as he said the last word.

"That's enough, Stuart King," said Agent Ward. "I will not tolerate rudeness in my class."

Stuart gave Zoey a menacing glare and then turned around in his seat.

It took all of Zoey's inner strength to stay where she was, because she wanted to leap over and punch him in the face.

Agent Ward eyed her darkly. "Let's make one thing clear, Zoey St. John. You are here as a result of Management's decision, not mine. I for one would have _never_ permitted a _Drifter_ to share my classroom, but again, it was not my decision to make. Understand this. You will not get _any_ special treatment from me. If you cannot keep up with the rest of the class, you will fail, and you will be forced to repeat the program next year—if there are enough students to _start_ a new program. My job is to make agents out of this group, and if I feel you are a distraction to the others, if your presence _affects_ their studies—I will fail you. I will keep failing you until I feel you have proven yourself capable. Am I clear?"

Zoey didn't answer right away. Her nervousness was suddenly replaced by anger. "Perfectly clear."

" _Agent_ Ward."

Zoey lowered her eyes. "Perfectly clear... _Agent_ Ward."

Agent Ward raised an eyebrow. "Good. I look forward to observing your special talents. I've heard so much about you from Agent Barnes."

The students laughed, and she raised her hand to silence them.

"Now, each program starts in January, which means you are six months behind this year's group, Miss St. John, so you'll need to work very hard to catch up—if you can."

More students laughed. "We are studying the rank two mystics. We have already covered all of the rank ones—you will have to learn them on your own. Please sit and login to your computer. Your username is your first and last name without a space."

Zoey sat down in front of her computer. Her cheeks burned, and she knew she was probably as red as her hair. In the corner of her eye, she could see a blond boy on her left trying to get her attention, but she ignored him. She needed to concentrate and prove to Agent Ward and everyone else that she belonged.

Breathing in, she logged on. She had to type her name three times for it to work. Her fingers trembled, but finally, the screen flashed and writing appeared on a blue background. She read:

_Mystics Theoretical, Group 1 – Division 416_

* * *

She pressed enter. A window opened, and the following folders appeared.

* * *

_A Mystic way of life: Philosophy behind the Mystics_

_Management rules and regulations_

_The Mystic Manual, Ranks 1 - 12_

_Mystic Treaty_

* * *

"Let's continue. We were identifying rank two mystics and groups before we were interrupted," Agent Ward said. "Leah, please name me the first ten mystics from that rank."

A girl of about sixteen with a long brown ponytail stood up. "Adaro, álfar, bathin, caliban, cyclops, dain, duineach, hobgoblin, goblin, and griffin."

"And which group do they belong to?" asked Agent Ward.

"The ally group, except for the hobgoblins and goblins, which are in the hostile group," answered the girl.

"Good. I expect everyone to know the first _one_ _hundred_ by heart, by the end of the month." She stared at Zoey for a moment. "Everyone open your Mystic Manual, rank two folder, and go to page thirty-five."

Zoey had no idea there were so many monsters— _mystics_ , she reminded herself. There were several hundred, just in the second rank folder. Every mystic had its own file, like a police record, with a photo, a description of what it looked like, and a brief history of the creature. Half of the mystics in this folder had the word 'hostile' written in bold red letters. Not all the mystics were friendly—she knew this—and she would have to learn to distinguish friend from foe very quickly.

After three full hours of studying, Zoey's eyes hurt from looking at the screen. She was grateful when Agent Ward announced it was time for lunch.

When she stood up, she caught the boy Stuart glowering at her again. She wondered if he ever used another face. He was joined by three other boys and two girls, all of whom gave her evil _you-don't-belong-here_ looks. They were the same looks she used to get from the kids back at her old high school. Foster kids were troublemakers—so everyone used to say—she'd been labeled a freak from early on. The agency seemed to have the same kind of cliques.

She noticed that some of the other students wore the same ruby rings on their fingers. It meant something, and she was going to find out what.

"Ignore them," said Tristan as he challenged Stuart with a dark look. "He thinks because his last name is King that he can boss everyone around like he's royalty or something."

Zoey watched Stuart put his hand on one of the other boys' shoulders and whisper something.

"What's up with those rings? The ones they're wearing with the red circle."

Tristan followed her gaze. "They say it's a symbol of the Originals, those who wear them think they're like _their_ descendants."

"And what exactly are the _Originals_?" asked Zoey.

"The original Sevenths," answered Tristan. "The first people like you and me—people with our abilities that existed in this world centuries ago."

Somehow Zoey didn't want King Stuart to have such a significant part in the Sevenths' ancestry. It gave him airs that he didn't have any proper claim to.

"So, Stuart and them are descendants of these Originals? Well, that's too bad, I was hoping to steal his ring and feed it to him later," she said.

Tristan laughed softly. "The truth is it's a bunch of made-up stories if you ask me. No one can tell who the real descendants are. The Originals existed centuries ago. I don't think anyone can trace that far back because no one knows who they really were. This whole thing started years ago when a group of Sevenths decided to do some DNA testing. Next thing you know, they started to wear these rings and claimed to be descendants of the long lost Originals."

Zoey looked back to Stuart. "Now I get why he's so thick. He treats people like scum because he _does_ think he's royalty. He thinks he's one of the Originals, and the rest of us are peasants."

"Who cares about him anyway? Come on, let's get lunch," said Tristan as he made his way towards the door.

With a final glower in Stuart's direction, Zoey followed Tristan out of the class. She tried to forget how unwelcome he made her feel and strained to think about how fortunate she was to be in the program—but she couldn't. Her hatred for the boy was growing. While she had found a new friend here at the agency, she had also gained an enemy.

* * *

Lunch was at the Wander Inn. The dining room was set up with a buffet lunch where everyone helped themselves to plates of food and drink. A bulbous, purple mystic with four eyes and small mouth like a button was wearing a chef's hat and stained apron and served behind the counter. The thing squealed in delight as it packed their plates with spoonfuls of spaghetti and meatballs.

The room was crowded with operatives and agents. Apparently, everyone ate there, including Stuart and his cronies. They stared at Zoey from the end of the buffet line, whispering and laughing.

After they had served themselves with two slices of pizza, fries, and two bottles of water, Tristan and Zoey took a table near the window where they'd be out of earshot.

"So, Agent Ward wasn't half as bad as I thought she'd be," said Tristan as he popped a handful of fries in his mouth. "I thought it went pretty well."

Zoey stared at him. "Are you kidding? The woman nearly bit my head off. She hates me."

"She hates everyone," said a voice.

Zoey looked up from her plate. The voice belonged to the boy who had tried to get her attention earlier. He was lanky with a goofy kind of face, blonde hair, freckles, and large pleading blue eyes.

"Can I sit with you guys?" he asked, and before either of them could answer the boy sat at their table and stuck out his hand. "Simon Brown at your service."

Zoey laughed and shook his hand. "Nice to meet you, Simon."

She liked him immediately.

"Everyone's talking about you, you know," said Simon as he angled a large slice of greasy pizza towards his mouth.

"You're like the main attraction around here. People haven't been this excited since Cameron clogged all the toilets on the second floor. It must have been a real shock for you when you came here, right? Yeah, must have been. I would have been shocked. I mean—if _I_ were you. But I'm not—but I would have been—you know what I mean?"

Grease rolled down the sides of his mouth as he chewed happily.

There was something Zoey had wanted to ask Tristan since they had rescued her, and she figured there was no better time than right now.

"What's an _interloper_?" she blurted out.

Simon choked on his pizza, and Tristan's fries fell on his plate. The entire dining room froze, and all eyes were on Zoey.

"Agent Lee said that one was stolen yesterday in Boston," she continued. "So I'm thinking that you must have seen it or something, right?"

Tristan and Simon looked at each other but said nothing.

Zoey leaned forward on the table and lowered her voice.

"What did I say?" She looked at them both. "What's the big deal? Why is everyone staring at me?"

Tristan waited until everyone went back to their meals before answering. "Don't say that word so loud."

"What word? Interloper?"

"SHHH!"

Zoey covered her mouth. "Okay," she whispered and lowered herself even closer to the table, getting pizza grease on her sleeves and hair.

"But what is it? And why do I have to whisper about it?"

Tristan and Simon looked at each other again, and then finally Tristan said. "It's a top-secret device that only a few Sevenths and mystics have _ever_ laid eyes on. It's used to travel through and back from the Nexus."

"The Nexus," repeated Zoey. She remembered that both her foster mother's demon and the agents had mentioned it.

"Is that like where the monst—mystics live, or something?" She caught herself.

Tristan took a sip of his water. "The Nexus is where the mystics came from thousands of years ago. It's another dimension—a world filled with millions of mystics."

A slice of pepperoni fell from Simon's mouth. "I think I'm going to be sick."

The pieces to Zoey's puzzle were all coming together now. She was getting the hang of it. "So why is it so special...this interloper?" she said and lowered her voice on the word _interloper_. "Why is it kept secret?"

"Because it's one of the _few_ devices that actually work," said Tristan, looking serious.

"Guys, I think I'm lactose intolerant," interjected Simon. "It's the cheese—I think maybe that's why I'm afraid of cows."

Tristan ignored him. "The mystics built the devices thousands of years ago and used them to cross over to Earth, to colonize our world—"

"—Like an alien invasion," said Simon as he took another bite of his pizza.

"But then the hostiles massacred hundreds of thousands of humans," continued Tristan. "They wanted to annihilate the entire human race—"

"—Until there was nothing left of us but dust," added Simon, still chewing.

"The Mutes didn't understand what was happening to them. They couldn't _see_ their threat, so they couldn't fight back. That's when the Sevenths got together and destroyed most of the interlopers, to keep the hostiles from crossing over to Earth again. And that's when the Agencies and the treaty were created."

Simon licked the grease from his fingers. "We patrol the dimension's borders. We keep tabs on the hostiles. Can I have a sip of your drink?" he helped himself to Tristan's drink.

Zoey watched Aria pouring water into empty glasses.

"So why do they stay here? Why don't they go back to their world? Don't they like it there?"

"Because to most of them _this_ is their world," said Tristan.

"They were born here on Earth and have been here for generations. Their home is here, just like you and me, and they have the right to stay. Besides, from what I've heard, the Nexus isn't all that great. The hostiles use the weaker mystics as slaves, and there are ongoing wars between races. It's pretty bad."

"Guys, I think I'm going to become a vegan," said Simon as he belched. "Hey, I feel better now!"

"So they prefer to stay here because they don't want to go back." Zoey remembered that the Skin and Duyen demons had been determined to stay here on Earth. They were prepared to do whatever it took to avoid going back to the Nexus.

"I get it, it makes sense."

She looked back at Aria and imagined her as a toddler with her siblings as her own mother ran after them and picked them up with her four arms.

Simon wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "It's all there in the treaty. The mystics _must_ respect our world and us, 'cause if they don't—well, that's when the agency steps in and things get ugly."

Zoey looked at Tristan. "You said they didn't destroy all the interlopers, so where are they now?"

Tristan stared at her. "All I know is that there are only a few left. They are hidden in major cities around the world. They're all heavily guarded—it's not like you can just walk in and take one. You'd be killed. You'd be insane to try."

"But someone did," said Zoey, her curiosity growing by the minute.

She felt Stuart's creepy blue eyes on her but ignored him and turned her attention to Tristan again.

"Did Agent Lee find out who took it? Do they have any leads and theories as to why they took it in the first place?"

Tristan hesitated then shook his head. "No. It was really bad. There were bodies everywhere, mystic and human. It was horrible. Whoever took it must have had an army or something—they got through the agency's toughest security. We don't know how they found out where it was."

"But _why_ would someone steal it?" asked Zoey, aware that Stuart was slowly making his way closer to their table. It was so obvious he was trying to hear what they were talking about.

"To travel without being detected," answered Tristan. "To let the hostile mystics who hate us _in._ There's no way we could keep track of all the mystics traveling to Earth if someone had their own interloper."

Zoey frowned. "You mean like, _illegally_?"

"Yup," said Simon. "I mean we do get illegals from time to time. They slip through the cracks, so to speak. Usually, they use other transporting devices, but those things don't work very well, and most of the time the mystics die trying to get across. But a single interloper could let thousands of undetected mystics through at one time—thousands of _big,_ ugly ones."

"So who would want to do something like that?" asked Zoey.

"Hostiles, probably," said Tristan.

An uneasy feeling grew in the pit of Zoey's stomach. "So whoever stole it has big plans for it, like something really bad, right? I mean, that's the only thing that would make sense, right?"

"Yup," agreed Simon. "Like a nuclear explosion of hostile mystics. They'd come here and destroy every last human being. They would probably eat us, too."

Agent Barnes had said that whoever had stolen the interloper must have been an insider. Someone with Agency connections must have stolen the device. But who had it now? And why did they take it in the first place?

When they were finished eating, Zoey pushed her seat back and got up.

"Okay, what's next?" she asked.

"Now the fun _really_ begins," said Tristan excitedly, sharing a look with Simon. "Now it's time to see if you've really got what it takes to be an operative."
6

# Mirror-Port

Zoey hadn't expected to see a Viking when she returned to class with her new friends, Tristan and Simon. A giant of a man with angular features and muscles that bulged through his white shirt stood at the front of the class in place of Agent Ward. He looked to be in his late fifties, but still as fit and strong as an ox. His long, blond hair was tied in a neat braid. She had read that horned Viking helmets were a myth, but she couldn't help picture one on his head. It seemed to fit him.

He stared at Zoey without blinking.

"You must be the Drifter, Zoey St. John," he said in a deep commanding voice. Stuart and his gang laughed.

Zoey stood frozen in the doorway; she suddenly felt very small and insignificant. She saw Tristan and Simon take their seats, and she willed herself to her place and sat down, doing her best not to look at the Viking.

But then something happened that changed everything. The Viking smiled.

"Welcome, Zoey," said the Viking.

"You may call me Agent Vargas. For your practical training, I'll do my best to teach you the art of combat, weapons training, and self-defense. I will teach you how to _catch_ and _restrain_ illegals. If you are not physically fit, then you cannot do your job. You can know everything there is to know about hostiles and the mystic world, but if you can't fight or defend yourself—you're just as good as dead. Might as well quit while you still can, and go work in the kitchen. Quiet down, everyone. I'm going to make agents out of you, if it's the last thing I do."

He winked at her, and she felt her face get hot. She felt even better when she saw the disappointment on Stuart's face.

Agent Vargas smacked his great hands together, making everybody jump. He rubbed them eagerly. "Well, today's your lucky day, my little colts. I have a special treat."

He surveyed the classroom. "I just got a report that there's a major power outage in Broken Hill, New South Wales, Australia, and we've been assigned the job."

The classroom erupted in cheers, as though the fact that Broken Hill had no power was very _good_ news. Zoey was a little confused. Were they going to learn how to become electricians? Australia wasn't around the corner—she figured they would have to fly. She looked forward to a group trip—it might be fun. She had never been in an airplane before.

Agent Vargas stood up. "I want everyone ready downstairs in the main hall in ten minutes. Don't forget your sprays."

Zoey watched as everyone jumped from their seats and ran to the collection of weapons and tools that filled the shelves along the wall. Not sure if she should join, she stood up but remained close to her desk.

Agent Vargas walked over to Zoey. He was even bigger up close, and his bulging muscles were distracting. "There's no better way to assess a new operative than to throw them into the lion's den. I believe in hands-on training, so you will participate with the rest of your comrades today. I hope you're ready for a little excitement."

Zoey's face brightened—she was going to become an electrician with the rest of them. It wasn't what she had dreamed about, but it was a start.

"But first," continued the agent, "you must come with me. We need to scan you."

Zoey stared at Agent Vargas as he headed towards the door. _Did he just say scan_? Her heart pounded in her ears. _Did he mean a brain scan_?

Her excitement started to wane. She looked over to Tristan and Simon, who was happily conversing with one another as they stuffed their pockets with what looked like hair spray canisters.

Tristan caught her eye and frowned when he noticed her panic. He started forward, but Zoey looked away. She didn't want him to think she was a scared little girl. Whatever this _scan_ was, the others had probably gone through it already, so she would too. It was part of the program after all and she was determined to see it through no matter what, even if it meant to have a few brain cells fried.

Resolute, she followed the big man out of the room and down the hall. As she marched behind him, her legs felt like metal posts and didn't want to move forward. She had to concentrate on putting one foot in front of the other to keep up with him. Despite the heat, a cold sweat gathered on her forehead as she imagined a group of mad scientists poking and probing her brain with glistening tools as they lobotomized her.

Before her panic could choke her, Agent Vargas stopped in front of a great metal door and waited for her to arrive. She put on her best poker face and joined him. The sign in black letters at the top of the door read "Militia and Defense, Room 1B."

Leaning forward, she strained her ears but she couldn't hear anything from the inside, which was even more unnerving. Her mouth was painfully dry.

"Every operative needs to be scanned," he said. "You can't travel unless you've had a full-body scan these days."

He reached inside his pocket and withdrew two miniature beige cylinders.

"Put these in. You're going to need them. I wouldn't want you to go deaf on your very first day." He smiled, but Zoey wasn't reassured.

She stared at his palm. "Earplugs? Why do I need earplugs?"

When he didn't answer, she twisted them in. The world around her dulled immediately, like when you stick your head underwater. She noticed that Agent Vargas didn't use any earplugs.

He turned the doorknob. Zoey braced herself and followed him in.

The noise hit her first, even with the earplugs. It was like stepping into a war zone. Explosions, like firecrackers, detonated at the far end of the room, and purple and red toxic-looking smoke clouded the air. A red light flashed, then a sonic boom thundered, and another volley of smaller explosions resounded in the air. She coughed as smoke filled her lungs. Her eyes stung and watered.

"FIRE IN THE HOLE!" someone shouted, and another shower of explosives ignited. The room shook like an earthquake.

Zoey blinked through the smoke. The room was large, twice the size of the academy homeroom 1D, and crowded with people. To her left, ten men and women stood with weapons ready and shot laser guns at moving holographic targets that looked a lot like the Duyen demon that had tried to kill her.

"Did you see that, Andrew?" said a young woman in a helmet and goggles that covered most of her face. She held a giant gun. "It exploded with just one shot! God, I love my job!"

In one section of the room, agents appeared to be defending themselves from a mystic attack upon a mock house. Their guns were fake, but a real group of dwarf furry mystics seemed only too happy to be harassing them. Zoey realized that the agents were playing Mutes, and the mystics were actually rescuing them.

There were even more weapons in this room than back at the academy room. Shelves were stacked with swords, handguns, rifles, grenades, flamethrowers, and more medieval-looking weapons such as spears, staffs, battle axes, crossbows, and spiked clubs. One section was full of bags of salt. It was a massive library of weapons.

Agent Vargas looked at her.

"This is where we test new weapons," he raised his voice over the explosions. "It's not always this busy, but due to certain recent events, we're doubling our defenses. All our agents have been called back to duty to test new artillery and to freshen up their skills."

Zoey knew exactly what he was talking about—the interloper—if the agency was this worried, the situation was even worse than she thought. She was itching to know more, but Agent Vargas didn't elaborate any further.

"Come along, Zoey." Agent Vargas walked through the explosions as though it were merely a walk in the park. He didn't even flinch at the explosions right next to him.

He took Zoey to the far right of the room where the largest mirror Zoey had ever seen was hung on the wall. She thought it was a miracle it had not been damaged by the explosions. The rectangular, white oak frame had an arched top and was highly ornamented. The mirror itself was made of some sort of crystal, and it gleamed in the room like liquid diamonds.

Next to the mirror was a cubicle made of glass and metal. It was like the screened-off area radiographers stood behind to protect themselves from radiation. Someone sat in the cubicle with his back turned to them, typing with spaceman-like gloves.

"Agent Franken," said Agent Vargas, and then louder, "Agent Franken!"

The man turned. He was wearing a silver, full-body HAZMAT suit, complete with hood and visor. He looked ready to work for the Center for Disease Control or walk on Mars. With a little difficulty, he slipped off the seat and stood up. He was only about four feet tall, and he looked like an old hobbit on his way to the moon. The suit restricted him from any fast movements, so he moved like a puppet with half its strings cut.

Finally, he stood before them and removed the headgear. He had a mass of white, stringy hair and thick glasses that magnified his eyes to the size of grapefruits. His bushy white eyebrows topped the rim of his glasses like caterpillars. He waddled over to Zoey and inspected her carefully. He stood so close that she could smell the coffee on his breath. After a moment he broke into a grin, and Zoey noticed he only had four front teeth.

It wasn't so noisy at this end of the room, so Zoey removed her earplugs and stuffed them in her pocket.

"Is this the new recruit?" said Agent Franken in a squeaky voice, still examining her.

"Sure is," answered Agent Vargas. "Came in last night with Agent Barnes."

Zoey felt uncomfortable being discussed in the third person, like some post office parcel.

"Well, well, well," said Agent Franken. "It's been a while since I've laid eyes on a Drifter. So this is her, huh—where do you come from, girl?"

Zoey shifted uncomfortably on the spot. "Toronto."

"Toronto!" Agent Franken tried to throw his arms in the air but only succeeded in a jerky motion like a robot. "Never liked that city—too many buildings, too many people. One could get lost just walking down the street. No, no, no—I don't like big cities."

Zoey tried to hide her smile.

"Oh, you think that's funny, do you?" said Agent Franken. "Let's see how brave you are, _Drifter_."

He pulled out a syringe-like instrument and grabbed her hand. Before she knew what he was doing—he had stabbed it into her index finger.

"Ow! What was that for?" Zoey pulled her hand away. Blood seeped through a small needle incision on her finger.

Agent Franken put the syringe in his pocket. "Matter backup, just in case."

"Just in case of what?"

"Never you mind," said Agent Franken.

He raised his arm with difficulty and pointed to the mirror. "Face the mirror. Let's go. Come on now—there's no time like the present. I'm a very busy man. I don't have time to waste on little girls. Hurry up!"

Zoey's legs were glued to the floor. She looked at Agent Vargas, who gave her a nod of his head.

"Do as he says, Zoey," he said. "Face the mirror."

_How scary could a mirror be? It was just a mirror_.

She couldn't see how it could hurt to stare at her own reflection. Still, she walked carefully towards the giant mirror, studying the frame and examining her own reflection. What a mess. She tried to flatten the top of her hair, but it was useless. It looked a million times redder and crazier in this mirror.

And then something strange happened.

The more she stared at herself, the weirder she felt and looked. Strangely, she looked _like_ herself, but _different_ at the same time. It was like trying to remember a face that kept changing and fading in a dream. Could that be possible?

She stepped closer and inspected herself more carefully. She _did_ look different. It was like her reflection was pixilated on a large television screen, with millions of different tiny dots of herself. She waved her hand in front of the mirror, and the hand moved, too—but slower, as though her reflection was catching up to her real self. Goosebumps riddled her skin. She took a step back and watched as her reflection stepped back a second later. She was suddenly very frightened of this mirror.

"Stay where you are, please," said Agent Franken.

He made his way back to his seat. After some effort, he sat and replaced his hood over his head. "Voont Moo!"

"What did he say?" Zoey's mouth was dry. Her stomach lurched, and she was tempted to bolt.

"VOONT MOO!" repeated Agent Franken. His visor began to fog up, and he waved his arms around in a weird motion, like he was trying to swim backward against the rapids.

Agent Vargas walked over to the old man and lifted his hood. "We can't understand you—what did you say?"

"Oh, sorry," laughed Agent Franken. "Can't hear a blasted thing with this on. What I said was, _don't move_. If you move we have to start again, so don't move. I'm powering up the mirror now, so stay where you are."

"Agent Vargas, please stand behind the glass protector. We don't want to have a _matter_ mix-up again. It was a _very_ messy business the last time that happened. It took months to find all the pieces of Agent Jones—may her soul rest in peace."

"What?" said Zoey, and she felt a tide of fear cascading up from deep inside her.

"What? Nothing, nothing." Agent Franken pretended not to hear her. "Stay where you are. Don't move."

Agent Vargas positioned himself behind the part of the cubicle with the metal wall.

"What exactly are you going to do to me?" she said, her fingers trembled and she curled them into fists. She fought the urge to look at herself in the strange mirror again.

" _I'm_ not going to do anything—the _mirror_ is," said Agent Franken.

Zoey watched as he pressed more buttons on his computer. There was a sharp _click_ and then a loud humming came from the mirror, as though millions of bees were trapped inside. The mirror vibrated, and then a light appeared in the middle. It was faint at first and gradually became brighter until the mirror was completely covered in blue light. It looked like blue energy.

"So, what's the mirror going to do to me?" asked Zoey, trying to sound braver than she felt.

"It's going to scan your genetic makeup first—your matter—then I'll convert it to an energy pattern," answered Agent Franken.

"Everyone has their own unique pattern, like fingerprints, and the mirror will always remember yours. The mirror dematerializes your matter—saves it to memory—and then rematerializes it at a specific target location or _anchor._ Anchors are usually other mirrors or reflective surfaces. It's called mirror-port matter transfer, or just M-Mat. It's mystic technology at its best, and we've been borrowing it for centuries."

Zoey stared down at herself, "Is it going to hurt?"

"A little, yes."

_Of course it will, what a stupid question,_ thought Zoey. "So, this is like a teleport device, like in Star Trek and other science-fiction movies, right?"

Agent Franken shrugged. "It's a form of teleportation, yes. Now, no more talking and be still—we don't want a mirror-port __ accident."

Zoey was afraid to ask but asked anyway. "What happens when you get a mirror-port accident?" She could easily imagine something horrible, like her body exploding in a soup of red mess.

"It's when a person does not rematerialize correctly, some of their _parts_ end up elsewhere."

"And that's what happened to Agent Jones, isn't it?" said Zoey.

Agent Franken pressed his lips together tightly and didn't answer.

Sweat trickled down Zoey's forehead. "I'm not sure I want to do this anymore—"

"All operatives must get scanned. If you don't move, and stop talking you should be fine—but I can't give any guarantees. Now, please, no more talking. I mean it." Agent Franken lowered his hood and started to punch buttons on his computer screen.

"EDDIE?" said Agent Franken through his visor. Zoey understood _ready_.

"No," she whispered and stood as still as she could.

Through the haze of blue, she could see Agent Vargas in the mirror. He smiled and gave her a thumbs-up. She strained to stop shaking, but the mirror terrified her. It was going to hurt.

Just as she was beginning to feel like she might pass out, the humming from the mirror intensified, and a blue beam blasted from the mirror and hit her. Stunned, she couldn't move even if she had wanted to. She couldn't even blink.

The blue beam stretched until her entire body was covered in a semitransparent blue energy. She watched her eyes in her own reflection, which looked as petrified as she felt.

A sudden coolness washed over her like a cold shower, and her skin bristled as if millions of insects were running over her. Her eyes burned, and she wanted to blink, but she couldn't. Then the coolness became a hot, stinging pain.

Her body was on fire. She watched as her reflection was pulled and warped like a gob of pre-chewed gum. She stretched abnormally long, then her face elongated, deformed, and her eyes bugged out like a fly's. She tried to scream, but her mouth was like lead. She couldn't open it. Her vision went dark, and she couldn't breathe—she was going to die. And then all at once, her matter broke apart—the mirror sucked it in like a vacuum—and everything around her disappeared.
7

# Attack of the Killer Fairies

Zoey opened her eyes. She was standing on the same spot, as though nothing had just happened—as though she had not just been eaten by a giant freaky mirror. The mirror looked as it did before, but without the traces of the blue light energy around it. It was still humming, but it was dimmed and looked almost peaceful. She checked herself out in the mirror, and her reflection moved with that same eerie one-second time delay. She moved her arms, feet, and wiggled her fingers—all still functional. It appeared that there had been no mirror-port accident. She hoped there hadn't.

"Can I move now?" she asked, feeling a little dizzy.

Agent Franken removed his hood. "Yes, you can move away from the M-Mat if you want."

Zoey turned away from the mirror and walked over to the cubicle faster than she had anticipated.

"Did it work? I mean, did the mirror-port work properly on me? Is all my matter intact? There are no pieces of me somewhere in Africa?"

She checked herself again. She looked normal enough.

"More or less," answered Agent Franken, matter-of-factly.

Zoey couldn't tell if he was joking or not. "What? What does that mean?"

Agent Franken ignored her. "Off you go now. I'm a very busy man. I've got many pressing _matters_ to attend to." He giggled at his own joke and began typing on his computer, one finger at a time.

Before Zoey could ask more questions, Agent Vargas swung a duffel bag over his shoulders and steered her away from the cubicle.

"You did just fine, Zoey," said Agent Vargas. "It takes lots of courage to face the M-Mat the first time, and you did well. Now, we need to get a move on. Your fellow operatives are waiting for us in the main hall," he said and pointed to her pocket. "Earplugs in."

Zoey complied and twisted her earplugs back in. She and Agent Vargas crossed the room through a variety of explosions and blasts and made for the exit.

All the students were waiting for them, including Tristan and Simon.

Tristan ran up to her with half a smile, and Zoey felt her face go red. She still couldn't believe she had asked him so bluntly about having a girlfriend.

"So...how did it go? Not too painful I hope?" he asked, his smile widening. His dark eyes searched her. She looked away quickly and pulled out the earplugs.

"It hurt a little, and for a moment I thought I was going to die," she said. "But it was more weird than painful. It was the weirdest thing I've ever experienced."

"If you thought that was weird, it's going to get a whole lot weirder now," said Simon as he joined them. He stood chewing a mouthful of gum with his hands in his pockets.

Zoey frowned at them both. "What do you mean?" She didn't want to have to go through another M-Mat again; one time was enough, at least for the day.

Simon opened his mouth to answer, but he was cut short by Agent Vargas.

"All right people," the agent's voice boomed through the hall. "Into positions—you know the drill. Hurry up, hurry up, you can do better than this."

The students scurried and formed a line in front of a large golden mirror. A flashing neon sign above the mirror read __ Australia. A small computerized panel to the right of the mirror looked like an alarm control.

Following the example of the other operatives, Zoey stood last in line behind Simon and Tristan. She tried to act like this was totally normal for her, too, even though she had no idea what was happening. She eyed the golden mirror suspiciously, a feeling of dread growing in the pit of her stomach. She knew she could never look at a mirror the same way _ever_ again—not after her mirror-port experience.

Agent Vargas checked his watch. "Five seconds too long. Marks will be deducted, ladies and gents." The disappointed students groaned.

He strolled along the line of students, observing them intensely, and then he stopped beside Zoey. "Here...this is your DSM."

He handed her a round metal compact. She immediately recognized that it was the same type of compact she had seen Agent Lee and Tristan use before they disappeared.

She took it carefully and inspected it. Its silver edges gleamed in the light. It had the same ring dial with the engraved numbers on the surface, and a needle pivoting above a map. It was surprisingly light and felt cool against her palm.

"It's like a compass," she said.

Agent Vargas smiled. "In a way yes, it is very much like a compass, but better. The DSM, or double-sided mirror, is like a smaller portable version of the M-Mat. Operatives and agents use them for transport. It reflects your _true_ self on one side, and your _final_ destination on the other. It uses the mirror-port's energy pattern, and your own fingerprint, to mirror you to and from the hive. It takes years to make one DSM. They are very valuable so don't lose it."

Zoey clasped her DSM tightly. "I won't."

She saw Stuart turn around at the head of the line and give her an evil grin, like he was planning something. She glowered back at him. She pocketed her DSM securely, in case he tried to steal it. Maybe he would give her a reason to smack that smile off his face...

"Good," said Agent Vargas with a contented smile.

"Each major city around the world has mirror-port anchors, which are just like area codes. Just as Agent Franken explained, mirror port anchors can be any reflective surface—a glass window, a lake, a pond, or just another mirror—any reflective object in a fixed location can be prearranged to be an anchor point."

He raised his arms and pointed to the wall of mirrors. "Each mirror here in the main hall is a port to a country around the world. Within these countries, you'll find their major cities. If we need to mirror-port to a small town or a new location, then the hive in the nearest location will conjure up a new or temporary anchor for the job. You following me so far?"

"Yes." Zoey was aware that everyone's eyes were on her. She nodded her head, even though some of the information was still a little cloudy.

"Please remember," Agent Vargas raised his voice, "—and this goes for all of you—be as _still_ as you can when you use your DSM. Movement can cause you to mirror-port to an all-together _different_ location. More importantly, be careful not to _mix_ your image in the DSM with reflections from other _normal_ mirrors. That can be catastrophic. This is not a toy. Use it responsibly."

He walked over to the golden mirror and typed something into the small side panel. There was a loud buzzing. Then a green light above the mirror lit up, and Zoey heard a click. Agent Vargas stepped away. "Let's go, operatives—we have a job to do."

One by one the operatives stepped into the mirror and disappeared. The green light flashed each time, as though it was giving them the okay to pass. Agent Vargas had positioned himself near the front of the line and said, "GO! GO! GO!" as each operative next in line came to the front.

Zoey watched Stuart step easily into the mirror. He didn't even flinch, and for some reason, it made her angry. When it came to Tristan's turn, he turned around and said to Zoey, "See you on the other side." And with that, he walked into the mirror. It rippled for a moment and then swallowed him whole.

When it came to her turn, she halted in front of the mirror. She was still frightened. She forced herself to look at her reflection. Her movements were seconds off, just as they had been in the great mirror in room 1B. She was still not comfortable with the eerie time lag. She could feel Agent Vargas's eyes on her. The other operatives had all stepped through like it was nothing. She couldn't back down now.

Bracing herself, she closed her eyes, lifted her right foot, and stepped into the mirror.

Immediately, she felt her body was being pulled every which way like an elastic band. Then her feet left the ground, and she was floating. She twisted horizontally and vertically. Air flapped against her face. She smelled the ocean, then wet earth and hay. She strained to keep her eyes shut—she didn't dare open them, for fear of being sick.

And then as fast as it had started, it stopped. Her feet touched solid ground again. Her heart beat widely in her ears. Did someone call her name?

She opened her eyes. The world around her was spinning. She recognized Tristan's face. His lips were moving, but she couldn't hear him. Her ears rung as though an explosion had gone off inside her head. Her surroundings spun faster and faster. Her stomach twisted—she was going to be sick. She couldn't be sick in front of Tristan. She turned around quickly, took a few steps, and puked.

As she was hunched over, a pair of black shiny boots appeared next to her.

"Here, rinse your mouth with this," said Agent Vargas. "And don't worry, everyone's sick the first time, even the best of agents—even me."

He was smiling and holding out a bottle of water. She was horrified that everyone had seen her be sick, but she felt much better. A cold sweat trickled down her back, and she gladly rinsed her mouth.

They stood in an open field. The low moon cast gray light over everything, and a cool breeze refreshed her. Tall power lines like giant metal T's were arranged neatly in a single row that spread out for miles on either side of a great valley and melted into the darkness. She could hear pops and zaps in the distance as a sequence of miniature blue lightning bolts from the top of one of the power lines illuminated the night sky. Then they stopped, and the sky was absolutely dark.

A lopsided old barn stood open under the shadows of the power lines. Its doors lay on the ground in rotten wood planks. Half the roof had caved in. All the windows were smashed, except for one, which glinted in the moonlight. Zoey recognized the glass as the reflective surface of the anchor point. They had just mirror-ported through the old barn's window. She felt amazed and lucky to be part of something so extraordinary. Normal kids didn't travel the world using mirrors. She smiled. This beat any fancy airplane ride. This was _awesome_.

"Take this," said Agent Vargas. He took the empty water bottle from Zoey and gave her a large canister instead.

Zoey took the canister. It looked like a large hairspray can. The label read, "Skedaddle Anti-Fairy Spray, your # 1 repellent."

She chuckled as she shook the canister. "Seriously? We're going to _spray_ this on fairies? _Actual_ fairies?" She shook the can again. "Does this stuff actually work?"

Agent Vargas looked up towards the power lines. "Of course it works! It's the best fairy repellent there is. You're going to need it."

"No way." Zoey started laughing and only stopped when she realized that he wasn't kidding. She looked around. Everyone else had canisters in their hands, too.

Stuart smiled at her confusion, and she did her best to ignore him. Even though she had _no_ idea what was going on, she wasn't going to give him the satisfaction of thinking that he knew more than she did. Whatever the canisters were used for, she would use them just like the others. She kept her mouth shut and waited.

Agent Vargas had seen her confusion as well. "Fairies are hostile mystics, Zoey. They sneak across into our world illegally and plague us with mischief—nothing worse than fairies, if you ask me. Nasty creatures."

"What do they do that's so terrible? Aren't fairies small and cute with colorful wings?" Zoey tried to imagine evil fairies, but she couldn't imagine beautiful creatures with butterfly wings being evil. In all the stories she'd read, fairies were _good_. Every girl wanted a fairy, even her.

Agent Vargas looked up towards the power lines. "Have you ever experienced a blackout? A power outage when nothing electric works?"

Zoey remembered when they lost power at the orphanage. It was always a treat. They would light up candles and read spooky stories to each other until late at night. They were her favorite memories.

"Yes," she said finally. "Lots of times."

"Well, that's fairies' work," said Agent Vargas. "Although Mutes might think that power outages are caused by storms or animals accidentally short-circuiting the fuse box, that's not the case. Fairies love to cause power outages. Fairies feed on electricity you see, and we need to stop them. They can destroy an entire city's main powerhouse in only a few hours. They could wipe out a whole country's power system in a week. Can you imagine a world without power? Don't be fooled. Fairies are hostiles and extremely dangerous. It's our job to spray them and bag them."

"Bag them?"

Agent Vargas dropped his duffel bag, unzipped it, pulled out a large black garbage bag, and threw it to Zoey.

She caught the bag easily. "Bag them with this?"

She stood with the bag in her hand, not really knowing what to do with it.

"That's right. We bag them and take them back to the hive with us. Everyone, grab a bag." He stepped back and waited until everyone had a black bag.

"Operatives, we need to move fast. The fairies are already _mutating,_ and we all know what happens when they do. Spray cans at the ready, boys and girls. There's a prize for the one with most bagged fairies. Move!"

He marched across the field towards the power lines. With their spray cans in one hand and bags in the other, the operatives traipsed across the field after the big man.

Zoey walked alongside Tristan and Simon. "Have you guys done this before? Spray and bag fairies?" She noticed that Tristan had two more cans in his front jean pockets.

"This is our third time," answered Simon. "I bagged three, but Tristan's the real champ—holds the academy's record for _Most Bagged Fairies_ ever on one assignment. Stuart wasn't happy at all. You should have seen how his ugly face went all twisted. I thought he was going to cry. I bet he cries like a girl."

"Hey!" said Zoey, with mock anger.

"Sorry," laughed Simon. "But I bet he does. Today it's going to be me, you'll see. I'll get them all! Whoa!"

He waved his spray can like a weapon. He used awkward martial arts moves, like someone with no real experience who'd watched too many Kung Foo movies.

Zoey caught Tristan staring at her. She smiled at him, but he looked away. Perhaps he was still embarrassed because she had asked if he had a girlfriend. He didn't look offended or put off. In fact, he had a tiny grin on his face that hadn't been there before, like he was _pleased_ about something. And she thought she knew what that was...

Zoey focused on the task before her. Tristan was obviously very good at spraying and bagging fairies—whatever that was—and she wanted to be just as good as him. So, even though she was a little self-conscious, she tried to stay close so she could learn from him. She'd always been very good at standing back and observing.

They reached the base of power lines and the operatives spread out. Blue electricity winked at Zoey from one of the power lines. She looked up. Even in the night's black sky, she could see fairies. There were hundreds of them. At first, they looked like birds sitting on the power lines, but the closer she got and inspected them, it was clear that these were not birds.

They were the ugliest creatures she'd ever seen. These were not the beautiful fairies she'd imagined. They were the size of house sparrows and were covered in filthy brown fur. They had veiny, bat-like wings, pointy ears, and large, wet, yellow eyes. They glared at her from above with hairless, gray-colored faces that were twisted and wrinkled like dried up raisins. Some had tails, while others did not. Some clung upside down like bats with sharp talons, while others sat cross-legged. They were all biting and tearing apart the electric wires. They ripped at the lines with sharp, pointy teeth, and chewed and swallowed the electricity like it was a spaghetti feast.

Transfixed, she watched as a little fairy the size of a hummingbird ate away at a large wire. It swallowed the wire-like slurping a noodle, burped loudly, and then it grew, doubling in size. It was now as big as a crow.

"Hey, did you see that?" said Zoey as she pointed to the fat fairy. "That one just grew! I saw it, it like got twice as big!"

Tristan stood at her side. "Quick, use the spray before they get too big for us to manage them."

"Huh?"

Tristan covered the fairy that had just grown with a blast of semi-transparent mist. It froze instantly, as though it had been squirted with liquid nitrogen. It fell to the ground like a rock. Immediately, Tristan picked it up and was about to put it in the bag when Zoey grabbed his hand.

"Is it dead? Are we killing them?"

Zoey felt sorry for the little furry creature, even if it was unbelievably ugly. "It feels wrong to kill them. I mean—they are just eating."

Tristan held up the frozen fairy for Zoey to see. "We're not killing them—just temporarily immobilizing them. They don't feel any pain. Trust me. It's the only way to remove them without hurting them."

The fairy's horrid little face was frozen in a grimace, but its eyes moved from Tristan to Zoey. If it _could_ move, she was certain it would spit in their faces.

"Wait till they bite you—you won't be feeling any _love_ for them after that."

Simon sprayed an unsuspecting fairy and threw it in his bag happily. "Fairy that, you sucker."

"They're really stupid, too. So they're fairly easy to catch. _Usually_. But there's always one with a bit more fairy brain cells than the rest of them, and those can be a real pain to catch."

The night air was filled with sounds of sprays like a large sprinkler system had been turned on. The operatives held their cans high above their heads and sprayed the fairies like they were giant mosquitoes. Some were smarter and flew off just before a shot of spray would get them. But then they stupidly fluttered back to the same exact spot. The fairies fell off the wires in a shower of brown clumps.

A girl screamed.

Zoey turned to see a dozen fairies retaliating against one of the operatives. They attacked the girl savagely, biting and tearing at her face and neck. Her anti-fairy spray can lay uselessly at her feet. Blood spattered her face as they scratched and pulled her hair out in tufts. She flailed her arms in a panic, trying desperately to get them off her. But they clung to her like Velcro, piercing their teeth and talons deeper into her skin and making her cry out in more excruciating pain.

Without thinking, Zoey ran to the girl. She sprayed a cloud of anti-fairy in front of her as she ran. She held her breath and circled the girl, spraying furiously in a zigzag motion. The fairies' faces froze in stunned expressions, and they dropped like flies around the crying girl. Blood oozed from the many deep cuts around the girl's face, and her bottom lip quivered as she tried to smile at Zoey.

"Are you okay?" Zoey coughed the spray from her lungs. She had a horrible taste in her mouth, like she had just chewed on some soap.

"You're bleeding. You should put something on those scratches before they get infected."

The horrified girl stared at Zoey, then covered her face with her hands and ran to Agent Vargas. He attended to her wounds with a first aid kit.

The ground in front of Zoey was littered with frozen fairies. Technically, these were hers— _she_ had sprayed them off the girl—but before she had picked any up, something hit her in the small of her back. She went sprawling to the ground. She felt a searing ache in her ribs. Slowly, she turned and looked up.

With a grin on his face, Stuart was happily bagging all the fairies. He gave her a wide self-satisfied smile.

As much as she hurt, she felt a tide of anger welling up from deep inside. She wanted to hurt him.

"Hey!" said Zoey angrily. "Those were mine! I sprayed them off the girl! You can't do this! That's stealing!"

Stuart looked down at Zoey and sneered. "Really? I didn't see your name on them, _Drifter_. Finders keepers, isn't it what they say? Besides, you're not even a _real_ operative—you shouldn't even be here. Nothing you do makes a real difference. You'll never be one of us."

Blood gushed to Zoey's face. She pushed herself up and raised her fists at him. "You're going to get what's coming to you, _King_. I don't mind hitting girls like you, either _._ "

Stuart's face darkened. "Why you little—"

"Is there a problem? What's going on here?" Agent Vargas stormed up to them, looking livid.

"Stop this at once! We're here on a very _serious_ assignment. We don't have time for your foolish, adolescent scuffles. The fairies are getting stronger, and if they do our cans won't be of use anymore. We _don't_ want that to happen! Am I understood? Do you understand?"

"But Agent Vargas, he bagged the fairies I sprayed—"

Agent Vargas raised his hand to silence her. "It doesn't matter who sprayed them, what matters is that we get them _all_ before they feed too much. I don't want any unfortunate incidents."

He lowered his eyes. "This is not a rivalry; you're supposed to work as a team."

He turned to Zoey. "Remember—you're being evaluated. This isn't the time to pick a fight."

Zoey opened her mouth to protest, but she closed it when she saw the look on the agent's face.

"If I have to separate you again, there's going to be trouble. Everyone, back to work!" Agent Vargas walked away, but Zoey felt worse—now he thought that _she_ had started it.

"Later, _Drifter_." With a smile, Stuart swung his bag of fairies over his shoulder and sauntered towards his gang at the next power pole. Zoey stared angrily after him.

Tristan glared at Stuart as he and Simon passed him on their way towards Zoey. With his jaw clenched tightly, Tristan looked like he was about to give Stuart a beating. He kept walking instead, his hands curled into fists.

"Hey, King!" yelled Simon suddenly, "you dropped your _crown_." Simon threw the spray can at the back of Stuart's head. It hit with a satisfying _smack_. Simon smiled at Zoey, clearly impressed by his own aim.

Stuart turned with a murderous look. Simon stared up at the sky, whistling innocently with his hands in his pockets and looking a little too smug.

"You're dead!" hissed Stuart as he stormed towards Simon, but one of his minions grabbed him and pointed to Agent Vargas who was eyeing them carefully.

Stuart glowered at Simon. "You're dead, Brown. I'll get you for this. You're dead!" He turned and walked away.

It wasn't much of a victory, but seeing the red mark on the back of Stuart's neck made Zoey smile.

"You're crazy, you know that," said Zoey to Simon as he strode towards her with an equally large smile.

"Crazy's my middle name," said Simon proudly. "And it's _not_ Esther, no matter what anyone says."

Zoey watched as Stuart opened his bag and showed his friends his stolen fairies. They all laughed overdramatically, and then turned and looked at Zoey with triumphant expressions.

Her eyes stung, and she felt a pain in her chest. This wasn't fair.

"Forget him, he's not worth it." Tristan took Zoey's hand, and for a second she forgot all about Stuart and his minions.

"Come on. I bet we can still bag more fairies than Stuart and his gang."

Tristan's hand was warm and comforting, and she let herself be dragged away to a neighboring power line.

Simon followed behind them.

"Hey, look over there," he pointed to a large gathering of fairies munching on a low power pole a few yards away. "We can easily break the record with these. Hurry, before his highness and his court inflict their plague of stupid upon us!"

The three of them ran together.

Tristan held two cans in his hands like guns.

"Get ready—a group this size can do some serious damage. The trick is, when they come at you, you want to spray in an arc like this." He waved his arms around in a semicircle. "Protect yourself and especially your eyes; they always go for your eyes first. You saw what happened to Anne. If you get hit in the eyes, panic sets in, and you forget all about your training. Then it's all over."

Zoey held her can in front of her.

"I'm ready. Let's do this." She felt surprisingly strong and capable, having forgotten her sore back in the rush of excitement.

With a grin, Tristan kicked the pole. The fairies stopped eating and bared their pointy teeth. They were not happy about having their lunch interrupted.

"Get ready!" Tristan jumped back.

The fairies soared in the air with a loud screeching noise like a high pitched siren and came at them like a bomb raid. At least fifty angry fairies shot towards them like a swarm of angry wasps. The fairies split into three groups and launched their attack.

The closest and largest group of fairies hit Tristan first. He spun around in a circle, spraying as he went. He spun himself into a protective layer of mist like in a cocoon. The fairies charged the walls of mist but were immobilized immediately and fell to the ground. Piles of immobilized fairies lay at Tristan's feet.

In the corner of her eye, Zoey saw Simon dive under a fallen tree trunk. He screamed like a girl, but in between screams she heard him shout, "Take that! And that! And then some! And then some more! You nasty little critters—ouch!"

The third swarm came at Zoey.

She planted herself firmly, with her feet apart. They came at her in a straight line. Just as Tristan had shown her, she threw her arm out and sprayed in an arc. The first ten fairies dropped like rocks.

But then they split apart. Before she knew what was happening, they had attacked her back. She screamed as their sharp claws ripped into her skin. She reached back with her left arm and tried to pull them off. But it was no use. They were glued to her. Pain and then panic started to overwhelm her. She felt their teeth puncture the back of her neck, and then warm liquid ran down her back. They bit into her arms and her legs, until she was completely covered. They weighed her down until she couldn't move. They were going to tear her apart.

And then something clicked inside her. As the adrenaline raced through her body, her instincts kicked in. She closed her eyes and began to spin around and around like a top. Slowly at first, and then faster, she sprayed all around herself. She didn't stop spraying for at least twenty seconds. Immobilized fairies started to fall to the ground at her feet and her pain stopped.

When she stopped spinning and opened her eyes, fairies littered the ground at her feet like a furry carpet.

"That was awesome!" said Tristan as he came up beside her. "I thought you were in trouble for a second, but you totally nailed them. You're a real natural. I knew it."

Zoey reached to the back of her neck. Her fingers were stained with red. "Not that much of a natural—they got me pretty good."

"No pain, no gain," Tristan smiled.

"That was _so_ cool." Simon dragged his bag behind him. He looked around at Zoey's feet. "Holy guacamole! How many do you think you got there? Looks like twenty. Man, I only got six! I totally suck at this, don't I? Thank God I'm heavenly handsome."

Zoey couldn't hide her satisfaction as she bagged her fairies. When she was finished, she had twenty-one of them in her bag. Maybe she'd break Tristan's record tonight.

"Think that no one can top that?"

Stuart strolled towards them with a beautiful girl with long, flowing brown hair. She looked like a model. Zoey felt instantly self-conscious, and she was glad the gloom around them hid her burning face. The model was accompanied by another boy who looked like a gorilla in jeans and a T-shirt. They all wore the same ruby rings on their fingers.

"I've got thirty already, and the night's only just beginning," said Stuart. " _I'm_ getting the record this time."

"Go away, Stuwie," said Simon lazily. "We don't care how many your _friends_ bagged for you. Don't you have an appointment for a pedicure or something? Your cuticles are like _way_ too big."

"Shut up, frog—no one's talking to you," snapped Stuart.

Simon laughed softly. "I've been called many things, but never a frog. Is that supposed to be insulting?"

Stuart gave Simon a dirty look and turned to Zoey. "You want to prove that you're one of us?" he dared

Zoey looked into his face. There was an unsettling coldness in his faded blue eyes.

"What's on your mind?" She knew he was up to something.

Stuart smiled and pointed down the field. "See that big rock down there? Well, there are at least forty fairies behind it, waiting to be sprayed. Think you can handle that? Or are you scared?"

Zoey followed his gaze. She could see the rock, but it was too far and dark to see any fairies.

"I don't get it—why don't _you_ go?" she said. "You want the record? Why are you telling me this?"

"See? I told you she wouldn't do it," said the girl, batting her long eyelashes at Tristan. "She's not one of us. She's scared. Why don't you go back home and cry to your mama, oh wait—I forgot—you don't _have_ a mother." She and the boy gorilla laughed.

"Shut up, Claudia," said Tristan. "You don't even know her. She's the bravest person I know. She's not scared of anything."

Zoey felt the blood rush to her face.

Claudia's cheeks blushed. "So why does she need _you_ to defend her?" teased the girl. "Are you her boyfriend or something? I would have thought you'd have better taste than that, Tristan. She's not even pretty."

Zoey glared at the girl with what she hoped was her best crazy impersonation.

"Beauty isn't everything, _stick_. At least I like to eat."

Before Claudia could counter, Zoey turned to Stuart. "I'm not scared. I just figured everyone wanted the prize, including you."

Stuart smiled. "Since you're not scared, let's see how well you do against forty," he taunted.

"If you're truly one of us, then it shouldn't be a problem. Fighting mystics should be in your blood."

His face was stone cold. "You say you're one of us. Then prove it."

Zoey didn't know what to say. He made her blood boil and her skin crawl all at the same time. She hated how he made her feel so useless and unworthy. Would he and his friends accept her if she bagged all those fairies? She doubted it.

She charged down towards the big rock without saying a word. She knew Stuart couldn't be trusted. She hated him more than anyone she'd ever known, but he wasn't going to ruin everything for her.

"Zoey!" Tristan ran up beside her. "Wait! Something's off—it must be a trap. You can't trust Stuart! Everything out of his mouth's a lie."

"He's right," said Simon as he jogged alongside them. "Never trust a King. I'd rather dig my own kidneys out with a spoon than trust a King."

"He dared me, so I'm going."

Zoey wanted nothing more than to prove to everyone that she belonged. She'd get all those fairies, if it were the last thing she did. She could do this.

Zoey turned around and raised her hands. "You guys have to stay here. I have to do this alone." She wouldn't give Stuart a chance to say that they had helped her in some way.

"Something's off, I can feel it," said Tristan, "Stuart's bad, Zoey. You don't know him like we do. He wouldn't just give you an opportunity likes this. He's planning something."

"I think he was born evil," agreed Simon.

"Doesn't matter," said Zoey. "If you don't let me do this alone, I'll never hear the end of it. Besides, it can't be that bad, just a few more fairies. Trust me, I can do this."

Zoey marched towards the large rock, brandishing her spray can before her like a gun. She tossed her bag on the ground—she was going to need all of her limbs.

The rock was about the size of a large shed, and above it, forty fairies sat on a long strip of wires gnawing away at the power lines like famished rats. They ignored Zoey completely. She needed to get their attention somehow.

"Hey, you there! Hey, fairies!" she called. But it was as though the fairies couldn't even hear her. They just kept eating without even a glance in her direction.

"Hey, ugly little critters!" she tried again louder, and waved her arms.

"Yeah, I'm talking to you! Wanna come down here and play? Hey, fairies!"

But it was as though she didn't even exist. The fairies kept feasting, swaying back and forth on the power lines in a drunken stupor.

_So much for that_ , Zoey said to herself. Frustrated, she searched the ground for something to throw at them.

And then something happened that she hadn't expected.

The big rock moved and opened its eyes.
8

# Dino-Fairy

Zoey shrank back, transfixed.

Under a patch of moonlight was a giant beast. The creature turned slowly towards her, raising itself on two massive legs the size of tree trunks. Its skin was gray and hairless, coarse like stone. It unfolded a pair of giant veiny wings. It was a twelve-foot tall dino-sized fairy, with talons like machetes. Sparks of blue electricity coiled around its body, and, even from where she stood, Zoey could smell a mixture of rotten eggs and pig manure. Its eyes were not yellow but blue, and they watched her with a mixture of hatred and wanting. It emitted a low grunt and looked at the spray can she held in her hand. Then it snarled from a mouth full of razor-sharp yellow teeth.

Zoey held her breath.

It lunged.

She whipped out her spray can, but the dino-fairy knocked it out of her hand with a powerful blow that threw her into the air and landed her on the ground with a painful crunch. She managed to push herself up and turn around just in time to see a giant fist smash the ground where she had stood a second ago. She scrambled further away and turned. The dino-fairy's eyes glowed blue as if there were flame inside. Then it stretched and grew another five feet in diameter. It smiled at the shock on Zoey's face.

"That's _so_ not fair," said Zoey, "that's like _cheating_!"

She searched the ground for a weapon, remembering something she had read earlier at the academy about fairies. What was it again—something about how to protect oneself—but what was it? She yelled out in frustration. She couldn't remember. Fear of the dino-fairy was clogging her memories.

"Ich gruthic se matvis, homen," said the fairy, in a guttural voice. It pointed to Zoey with its massive hand and then gave her a toothy grin.

"I don't speak Fairy," said Zoey, wishing that she could understand it so that she could talk it out of killing her. "Do you speak English? Does the fact that you're not answering mean no? If we could just have a normal conversation, I'm sure we would all laugh about this later."

The dino-fairy kept grinning. And then she thought of something and raised her hands.

"I won't harm you, I promise. How about we call this quits, and you can join your furry friends. Truce?"

She was hoping it was a stupid mystic, and that it hadn't noticed that her bag was full of its frozen kin.

The fairy frowned and made a fist with its massive hand and then pointed to her bag. "Ich tactuc se vitan, homen!" growled the creature.

Zoey swallowed back her fear.

"Okay, so you saw the bag. Guess you're not as stupid as you look. Now what?"

She didn't have to understand its language to know that it meant to kill her. Just one blow from the dino-fairy's powerful fists, and she would be nothing more than a pile of red jelly. She watched the large fairy carefully.

"And now you're _drooling_. Well, that's just great. You want to eat me too. _Before_ or _after_ you kill me?"

With a beat of its wings, the dino-fairy crouched down, and using its weight as momentum it pushed itself in the air, hovered for a moment, beating its wings furiously—and then fell back down.

It was too heavy to fly.

"Guess you should have stayed on that diet, huh?" said Zoey, and then regretted saying it as soon as the words escaped her mouth.

The dino-fairy beat the air in a rage.

"Toi homen!" it said, and then the ground shook as the fairy charged at her like a mad rhinoceros.

Knowing the odds were against her, Zoey stood still until the very last second—and faked to the left. The dino-fairy stormed past her, too heavy, and with too much momentum to stop suddenly. Zoey ran in the opposite direction. She raced across the field and prayed that she wouldn't trip in the semi-darkness. The dino-fairy galloped behind her like an earthquake. She could almost feel the beast's warm, rancid breath on the back of her neck.

Something pulled at the back of her shirt. Her feet left the ground, and she soared through the air and crashed into a wood fence. She gasped for air as she struggled to get on her feet, but she tripped over her own legs and fell flat on her face in the mud. Her legs were tangled in wires from the fence. They wrapped around her legs like metal cobwebs. She was trapped.

"Ich tactuc se vitan, homen!"

Zoey turned her head.

The dino-fairy stood in front of her with its fists clenched, and an ugly satisfied smile on its face.

Zoey held its gaze without blinking. She wasn't about to let herself become a fairy's midnight snack. She struggled with the wires around her wet muddy legs.

Green drool dripped from the corners of the dino-fairy's mouth like melted cheese. It was only two feet away from her now, and its warm, rancid breath was choking her like hands wrapped tightly around her neck.

A wet laugh escaped from its throat—it was going to enjoy ripping her to shreds.

Tristan and Simon called out to her, but she couldn't see them. They were too far away. It was too late. They would never reach her in time.

The giant fairy reached out and grabbed Zoey by the throat. It lifted her so savagely that the force ripped away the tangled wires around her legs, cutting through her skin like hot knives. The searing pain blinded her for a moment. She felt blood seeping down her legs, but she couldn't even cry out—she couldn't breathe. Then the creature's grip around her throat lessened, and it threw her down against the ground.

Zoey took dry grasps of air into her lungs, coughing as the tears rolled down her face. The blood pounded in her ears, and her heart hammered in her chest as though she had just run a marathon. Her lips quivered as she took another shaky breath. She had almost died.

The fairy smiled and laughed at her broken frame, its eyes full of hatred and excitement. It wanted to play with her before the kill, like cats did with mice.

She realized that her jeans were soaking wet with water, not with blood. She had stumbled into a stream. And then it hit her. Water was a protective agent against fairies.

She remembered—she remembered it all.

She gathered what strength she had left, picked herself up on shaky legs, and faced the giant beast.

"You want me troll-breath?" she taunted, the words burning her throat. "Then come and get me."

With an adrenaline rush, Zoey turned and ran towards the water in a desperate last attempt to save her life. She plunged into the stream.

She heard a loud splash behind her and turned around.

The dino-fairy was charging at her like a bull through the water.

Why hadn't the water worked? Had she remembered it wrong? The blood drained from her face—her plan had failed. The last of her strength escaped her and she halted.

There was no point in running anymore. She stood her ground. She would fight until the end.

Suddenly, the dino-fairy staggered, and its expression changed to confusion and fear. It turned and tried to run, but some invisible force deep in the water caught its legs, as if it were in a bog. It howled in excruciating pain. Blue vapors steamed around its body as the water burned its skin like acid. It thrashed and wailed as its skin peeled off like thick orange rinds and exposed the pink tissue underneath.

With a series of _pops_ and _zaps_ , the dino-fairy began to shrink in a haze of blue steam. The stream boiled and sizzled like a pot full of oil. And then there was nothing left of the giant creature but a little blue bubble that popped and dissipated in the stream.

"Now that's what I call _deep-fried fairy_."

Simon stood at the edge of the stream with his cell phone aimed at the remains of the dino-fairy. "Got it all on film," he said proudly.

"Too bad I can't put this on the net, it would have gone viral in seconds—I would have been famous."

"Zoey! Are you all right?" Tristan jumped into the water and lifted her as though she weighed no more than a feather.

"You're bleeding—and it did a real number on your throat. You're lucky to be alive you know. I'm going to _kill_ Stuart."

Zoey coughed when she tried to speak. Finally, she was able to mutter. "No. Don't. Not worth it." Her throat was raw, like she had just swallowed a handful of razors.

"This isn't over, Zoey." Tristan's expression darkened. "I've always said there was something _off_ about him, but I never imagined that he would stoop this low."

The other operatives were all standing at the edge of the stream now, looking bewildered. All but one. Stuart looked like he had bitten into something sour. Even in the dark, Zoey could see he was flustered and frustrated. Zoey smiled—his plan to kill her hadn't worked after all.

Agent Vargas came thrashing into the stream. He looked so angry that Zoey thought she could see steam rolling off the top of his head. He stood looking at the spot where the dino-fairy had melted and then gave Stuart a piercing look.

"Why wasn't I notified of the Nitro-fairy?" he asked furiously. "You were working the west side of the lines, Stuart. You _must_ have seen it. Why didn't you tell me?"

"I'm sorry Agent Vargas, but I didn't see anything, honest," said Stuart innocently. "It's dark; I must have missed it. My eyesight's not the best at night—"

"Liar!" shouted Tristan. "You knew it was there, and you dared Zoey to go—to prove that she was one of us. You tried to get her killed!"

Stuart gave Tristan a blank expression. "It was an honest mistake. I didn't see it. Promise."

"I'm disappointed in you, Stuart King," said Agent Vargas. "It's not like you to _miss_ something this big."

He stared at Stuart for a moment before turning to Zoey.

"Well, she surely has proven herself as a _very_ capable operative today, if I do say so." He smiled at her.

"The more electricity fairies feed on, the more powerful they become, and the _bigger_ they grow. Once they reach the Nitro size, it's very hard to contain them. The fellow you _obliterated_ had probably been feeding for days before the others arrived here. He would have been a mighty opponent for an experienced agent. You're lucky you weren't killed. It takes a great agent to battle a Nitro-fairy, especially one that size."

"Guess I was lucky," said Zoey, although she winced with the pain of her injuries.

Agent Vargas beamed. "Agent Barnes told me you had what it takes—that you had mastered skills beyond your years. Now I've seen it with my own eyes. Good work, Zoey St. John."

"Thank you." Zoey pressed her lips tightly together as she tried to reduce the giant smile that threatened to take over her face.

"Everyone," called Agent Vargas, "bag the rest of the fairies. We're moving out."

As Tristan helped Zoey out of the stream, she stood back and watched as all the remaining fairies were sprayed and bagged until not one was left on the ripped and torn power lines. With their bags over their shoulders, the operatives circled Agent Vargas.

"Apart from a _minor_ disruption, we managed to stay on target and on time," said the agent. "Get your DSM's out! Let's leave the great outback." He pulled out his double-sided-mirror and flipped it open with a flick of his wrist.

Zoey was nervous about the voyage home. Would she throw up again on the other side? She pulled out her silver compact and popped it open with her finger. Even in the moonlight, she could see her reflection stare back at her anxiously.

She wondered if the stolen interloper was also a mirrored device. It would make sense if it were, since it was also used for teleportation. But maybe it was something entirely different.

"On my mark!" announced Agent Vargas. "DSM's ready! Into positions, nobody move. Let's go!"

Zoey watched as the operatives stood still, looking into their DSM's. The operatives' bodies started to shimmer like ghosts in a breeze until they were no more than wraithlike silhouettes. With a small _pop_ , they disappeared one by one, like dominos. Tristan smiled at her before he disappeared.

"Yah, hoo!" said Simon, and his ghost body rippled and was gone.

Zoey readied herself for her turn. She tipped her DSM slightly to get all her reflection inside the mirror first. Holding her breath, she stood as still as she could.

She didn't see the cold blue eyes or the arm that reached out and pushed her until it was too late.

Her reflection shifted, and she vanished.
9

# A DSM Malfunction

The second time Zoey used the DSM was just as terrifying as the first.

Her body was stretched like an elastic band, as though she had no bones and was just a bag of blood and guts. She floated as if she were swimming without water. And finally, she spun dizzily, before light exploded all around her, and her feet met solid ground.

At first, she could see only gray shapes. Slowly her vision cleared and her motion sickness lifted. She was still in once piece. She took a moment and looked around.

She stood in a dark room, like some sort of storage unit. What light there was seeped in between heavy old curtains that hung on the only window. Tables and chairs were stacked in piles against the walls. Boxes were piled on top of one another. The air was stuffy and smelled like old socks and the musty carpets from the orphanage. Her nose itched, and she felt the sudden urge to sneeze. She had no idea where she was, but one thing was for sure, this was not the hive.

An old mirror on carved lion's feet stood behind her. It was round, and its silver frame was a snake chasing its tail. It looked ancient, older than any mirror she had seen back at the hive. She was sure that it was a mirror-port anchor, but why was it hidden away in a storage room? Zoey's intuition told her that there was something very wrong with this picture. There was only one reason a mirror-port anchor would be kept hidden—to be used in secret. The question was, who was keeping it secret, and why?

Voices came from behind the walls, and her heart leaped into her throat. There was more than one voice, and they were arguing. She pocketed her DSM, tiptoed across the room and pressed her ear against the wall. It was definitely a heated discussion.

"It will never work," said a man's voice angrily. "It can't be done. It can't."

"It must—and you _will!"_ shouted a woman's voice.

Zoey tried to melt against the wall to hear more clearly. Most of the conversation was muffled by the walls, as the two people moved around in the next room. She heard a crash, like a chair hitting the floor. She strained to listen.

"...now is our chance, we have the _interloper_ ," said the woman.

Zoey froze. She couldn't believe what she had heard.

The woman continued, "We will begin the necessary preparations immediately. I have been waiting patiently for fourteen years. Now we must play our cards right. The plan has been set in motion—nothing can stop us—not even the agency."

Goosebumps riddled Zoey's skin. She had heard it, clear as rain, _interloper_. They were arguing about something to do with the stolen interloper. And this woman had just told Zoey that _she_ had it. Maybe she had it on her right now? What did it look like?

Zoey knew that she should use her DSM to report back to the hive as soon as possible. Agent Vargas and her friends would be worried that she'd had a mirror-port accident and that her parts were scattered to the ends of the world. Moreover, she wanted nothing more than to punch Stuart in the face for bumping her arm just as she had used her DSM.

But she couldn't bring herself to make the jump back. Something kept her where she stood—she couldn't go just yet—she _needed_ to know more.

She had read enough about police work to know that she had to figure out where she was. And after that, she knew that she needed to identify these people. She needed to _see_ their faces. It wouldn't do any good to return without proof. A quick look was all she needed. She knew that if she could do this, the agency would have no more doubts about her—she would truly belong. Better yet, if she _found_ the interloper and _brought_ it back...

She could see a door behind a mountain of boxes. She made for it.

The handle was cool against her skin. She took a deep breath, pulled it open, and peered through the crack. She could see a dark passageway with rounded walls like a tunnel. A single light flickered from the ceiling. The smell of mildew was heavy, and Zoey could feel the damp against her skin as she crept inside. By the looks of the decrepit limestone walls, she was in some sort of old cellar. Water trickled down the walls. The concrete floor was cracked, and water seeped through the crevices. This was definitely horror movie material. Was this what a castle's dungeon looked like?

Zoey could hear the voices more clearly now. The light increased as she slowly crept towards them. Cobwebs stuck to her face. She pulled them off and wiped her hands on her jeans. As silent as a cat, she made her way forward.

She reached the end of the passageway, and from what she could see it opened up into a dimly lit chamber. She couldn't see them, which meant they couldn't see her. She flattened herself against the wall and listened.

"...You've already accepted your part in this," the woman was saying. "You can't back down now—it's too late. You've made your choice and you _will_ see it through. We still expect lots from you..."

There was a pause, and then the man spoke. He was clearly rattled, and his voice was high pitched and desperate, as though he had inhaled some helium.

"I should have never let you talk me into this! It's only a matter of time before the agency finds out what I've done—and they _will_ find me out! I can feel their eyes on me already. They suspect me already, I know it—I feel it. And then what will I do! There's no place for me to hide? It'll be all over for me."

"Stop crying like a little girl," the woman breathed, in a bored kind of voice. "I told you I would take care of you—"

"How? How are you planning on doing that?" said the man.

Zoey heard his footsteps pacing around the room. "Do you know what the punishment is for treason? A trip to the Nexus—never to return to our world—that's the fate that's waiting for me! Do you know what mystics do to agents over there?"

"I can imagine," said the woman calmly.

"How can you be so calm about this?" shouted the man. "I've put my life on the line!"

"Because nothing is going to happen to you, my dear man."

Zoey heard the sound of heels on concrete. "Now sit down. You're giving me a headache with all that deplorable crying."

Feet shuffled and then Zoey heard something heavy sit in a chair. She leaned a millimeter forward.

She heard heels scratch the floor again.

"We know how much you've given up for us," continued the woman, "and you will be paid handsomely for your help."

"I don't care about the money," said the man. "I care about my _life_. What's the use of money if I can't spend it because I'm dead?"

"We will keep you _safe_. Do not underestimate us, or our power. There are things which you still do not understand, but for now, you must stay at the agency—until the time is right."

"I don't know if I can keep this up," said the man, his voice wavering. "I feel like I'm going crazy with all the lies."

"You will," said the woman after a moment. "You must. This is still an ongoing operation, and you still have a part to play. It is not over—not yet. Soon you will have nothing to fear from the agency ever again. I promise you that."

Zoey frowned. The couple stopped talking. If she didn't chance to look at them now, she feared she'd get caught. They only had to move slightly, and they would see her. She had already wasted too much time eavesdropping.

With her heart thundering in her ears, she leaned forward.

The man sat with his back to her. His head was in his hands, and his shoulders shook as if he were crying. All she could make out was that he had thinning gray hair, wide shoulders, and hardly any neck.

But the woman was staring straight at her.

Zoey stopped breathing. It was the most disturbing face she'd ever seen. It was chalk white, and the skin was pulled back severely. She looked constantly surprised. She had small black eyes like buttons that peered out below a hairless brow, and her nose was flat with tiny slits for nostrils. Her large pronounced cheekbones looked out of proportion. It was the face of too many plastic surgeries gone wrong—she had the face of a cat. Her short, slick, white hair was the only seemingly normal looking thing about her. Her large red lips were puffed out like sausages. She opened her mouth in wonder when she caught sight of Zoey.

"Who do we have here?" said the woman, her voice as soft as silk. "A little girl? Come here, little girl. Don't be afraid. I won't harm you. Come here into the light so I can see you better."

Zoey tried to take a step backward, but her legs wouldn't move. She couldn't take her eyes off the woman's face.

The cat-faced woman walked towards Zoey. Her bursting lips were twisted in what looked like a smile, something that took her a lot of effort to make.

"How did you get in here? Did someone let you in? Don't be afraid. You can tell me. I'm your friend."

From the corner of her eye, Zoey saw the man get up.

"Get her!" Hissed the woman suddenly. "She's one of those kids like you!"

Zoey broke free from her paralysis. She stumbled back and fell as she reached for her DSM.

"Quickly, before she escapes," yelled the woman. "She's heard too much. Don't let her get away!"

With the adrenaline kicking in, Zoey jumped to her feet and sprinted down the passageway from which she had come. She heard the man panting close behind her. She didn't want to think of what they were going to do to her. There was nowhere to hide at the end of the passageway.

It was now or never.

She flipped open her DSM with trembling hands and tried to stand as still as a statue, even though her heart threatened to burst from her chest. Her DSM trembled in her grasp—her reflection was moving too much—she strained to keep steady.

The only light in the passageway went out. Zoey was left in complete blackness.

She could hear his footsteps and heavy breathing right behind her. She felt the air move. She kicked out low with her right leg and felt it connect. She heard the man growl in pain. Her eyes adjusted to the blackness, and she saw him make a grab for her. She ducked at the last moment and kicked at him again. He went down, but swung his fist viciously and caught her on the leg.

She crashed to the ground, and before she could register the pain, his hands were on her, around her neck, choking her. She tried to break his hold, but he was too strong. He hurled her into the wall. Her head crunched horribly into the stone, white light exploded in her vision, and she tasted blood in her mouth.

"You're dead, little girl," said the man. "Shouldn't have been eavesdropping. And now I'm going to kill you."

Zoey still couldn't make out his face. He was going to come at her again.

Somehow she had held on to her DSM.

The shadow of the man came at her, swinging.

She held her DSM steadily, and just as his arm reached out to hit her, she shimmered and disappeared.
10

# Boomerang

"Why don't you believe me?" Zoey looked hopefully at Agent Vargas and Agent Ward. Her debriefing back at the hive wasn't going as Zoey had expected—she had expected them to _believe_ her.

"And you're sure you heard them using the word _interloper_?" asked Agent Ward for the third time. His hypercritical tone was causing Zoey to doubt the agent's desire to trust her at all.

He continued, "From what you've told us, they were in the room next to you. Is it possible that you misunderstood them?"

"I didn't _misunderstand_ them," said Zoey exasperated.

She tried to control her temper. She wiped the blood from her lip with a cloth. "I heard them say it more than once. I'm telling you the truth. Why won't you believe me?"

"Calm yourself, Zoey," said Agent Vargas. "We're just trying to make sense of it all. It is a lot of information to process—and you only just started today. I know you're desperate to prove yourself to everyone—you just might be a little overzealous. After your fight with the nitro-fairy, and then mirror-porting somewhere else, it's no wonder you're a little _confused_. That's a pretty large bump you have on her head. Perhaps what you heard was not, in fact, what you believe you heard."

Zoey's face burned. "What I _heard_ was that you have a _traitor_ in the agency—a man. It was dark, and I didn't see his face, so I can't identify him. But he is the one that made it possible for that woman I told you about to steal the interloper. Maybe if you check the Boston hive—"

"The one with the cat-like face—" said Agent Ward shortly. She crossed her arms over her chest. "—the gang leader in your opinion, correct? A woman with a severe disfiguration who, according to you, was able to waltz right past the heavy security and into the Boston hive, murder the agents protecting the interloper, and then walk right back out without anyone seeing her. Is that about right?"

"Well, I don't know how she did it, but yes," said Zoey, sounding less and less confident by the minute.

"The woman said she had it. She has the interloper, I'm telling you she does."

The words felt heavy in her mouth, and even she had started to second-guess her story. The way Agent Ward eyed Zoey made her realize it was hopeless. She had felt so important just moments ago. She felt proud that she had acquired intelligence for the agency, but now she felt deflated.

It didn't make sense—why didn't they believe her? Was it because she was a Drifter? As soon as it came into her mind, she started to believe it herself. It had to be the reason. She doubted they would have treated Tristan or Simon like this.

Agent Ward eyed her suspiciously. "Overzealous indeed. Fabricating stories to elevate oneself is a serious offense at the agency. I don't know much about how orphanages operate, but here, we don't take too kindly to liars."

Zoey's mouth fell open. "You don't believe me? You think I made it all up, don't you? You think I would actually lie about this? I'm bleeding. How did I fake that?"

She felt her eyes sting and forced them to stay dry. She would not let them see any of her angry tears. Not now. She lifted her pant leg and showed them the nasty purple and red bruise the man had left on her leg.

"What about this? How do you suppose I got that?"

"Children get bruises all the time," said Agent Ward, and she raised an eyebrow. "It doesn't prove anything, my dear."

Zoey felt the color drain from her face. Her lips trembled. Her voice stuck in her throat. She should have known they wouldn't believe her—after all, she was the _Drifter_.

Agent Vargas shared a look with Agent Ward, and then he looked at Zoey. "You're safe with us now and that's what matters most. We are very happy to have you back here in one piece."

He gave Zoey a kind smile. "You can go now, Zoey. We've heard what you had to say, and now Agent Ward and I need to have a moment to discuss the matter further. We'll let you know if we need further assistance from you."

Zoey swallowed hard and turned without another word. She felt that the world around her had closed in and was suffocating her. She couldn't breathe. Her hands were clammy, and she wiped them on her jeans. She felt so humiliated—the agents thought she was a liar. How could they believe that she had made this up to bring more attention to herself—like that was something she lacked.

Tristan and Simon were waiting for her outside the door.

"And?" asked Simon eagerly as he and Tristan walked with Zoey down the hall. "Is the agency going on a mission-impossible to sniff out the DA?"

Zoey wrinkled her face. "The district attorney?"

"He means _double agent_ ," answered Tristan. "The traitor. The man that attacked you."

Simon emptied a bag of chips in his mouth. "You're totally going to be upgraded to full agent status," he said with his mouth full. "Man, you're so lucky. I wish it could've been me. I mean, all I got going for me is my flawless skin and perfect hair—you're going to be involved with top-secret stuff, you know. You're the only one that can identify him and the plastic lady."

Zoey stopped walking. "It's not going to happen. Sorry to disappoint you—but they didn't believe me."

Simon spit out his chips and nearly tripped. "What? Are you serious?"

Tristan lowered his eyes. "I don't believe it."

"Believe it. I'm very serious," said Zoey. "According to Agent Ward, I made the entire thing up to get attention."

Tristan shook his head, looking angry. "The old woman's senile, forget about her. What about Agent Vargas? What did he say?"

"I don't think he believed me either," said Zoey.

The whole experience was feeling more and more like a bad dream. Part of her wished it never happened. "Let's just forget about it, okay."

"But he _has_ to believe you," pressed Tristan, his voice rising. "What's wrong with them? They have to report every piece of information that threatens the agency—it's their job! They can't just pretend it didn't happen. What you told us is too important to ignore—they have to warn management before it's too late."

"I don't think they're going to say anything to management," said Zoey. "I could just tell by the way they were looking at me, like I was a total spaz."

Tristan was silent for a moment. "Then we have to tell Agent Barnes. He'll believe us. I know he will."

"Yeah, let's tell him," said Simon. "He'll believe us for sure."

Zoey doubted that Agent Barnes would believe her, but seeing how much her friends believed that he would, she decided to tell him. "Okay, if you say so."

"Cheer up, Zoey," said Simon. "We still have to get back at Stuart for messing with the mirror-port."

He smiled mischievously. "If he wants to be treated like royalty, then I'll just have to _throne_ him a few punches."

Zoey laughed, she could always count on Simon to make her laugh. At least her friends believed her, and that was something. She had never had real friends before.

Following her friends' advice, Zoey approached Agent Barnes the next morning. Tristan and Simon stood beside her for support as she recounted the events. After she was done, she stood and waited for him to laugh at her. But he didn't.

"You did a good thing telling me," he said. "I've been saying all along that it was an inside job. Now they're going to have to listen." And then he stormed away.

None of the agents brought up the subject of the interloper again, but Zoey couldn't shake the feeling of dread that lingered in her mind. She knew it was there, like a hand in front of her face in the dark, she couldn't see it, but she felt it was there.

She hadn't expected the rumors. Somehow, the other operatives had gotten wind of her experience with the mirror-port, and it had become a running joke.

"Hey watch out! The cat lady is right behind you!"

"Meow! Meow!"

"Yo, catnip."

Tristan and Simon had to pull her away kicking and screaming a few times. Although she was still furious, and her pride was hurt, she had willed herself to ignore their taunts. She had really wanted to start a fight, but she couldn't afford to get into trouble.

The agents watched Zoey constantly. It wasn't just Agent Ward or Agent Vargas—all the agents at the hive appeared to be on watch duty for Zoey. She got looks from everyone. Even Mrs. Andrews at reception gave her questionable looks. The way they kept eyeing her suspiciously—it was almost as though they thought _she_ had something to do with the stolen interloper. But how could she?

Being watched constantly put a damper on her plans to avenge herself on Stuart. Instead of telling the agents that Stuart had pushed her, she had told them that it was her fault—she had tripped and caused the DSM to malfunction.

Zoey wasn't a rat, and she preferred to settle her battles her own way. Stuart had not realized that Zoey was waiting for an opportunity to get back at him, and he strolled the agency's hallways as if he owned the place, confident that he was untouchable. That was his first mistake. She would get her revenge one day. Stuart was going to pay.

* * *

As they entered September, the nights became cooler and Zoey slept with her windows open. With lots of work, dedication, and ongoing help from Tristan and Simon, she had finally caught up with the rest of the class. She could recite all the mystics in the first rank by heart and was now halfway through the second rank. She had also grasped the art of mirror-porting, and could make ten jumps in one day—all without throwing up. She beamed when Agent Vargas had told her she was a natural.

She could hardly believe she'd been at the agency for over three months. The hive felt more like home than any foster home ever had. Her lessons had also become more exciting now that she had mastered the basics. She liked belonging to something more important and bigger than she was.

Even Agent Ward hadn't failed her. Agent Ward had smiled at Zoey one morning and congratulated her on her essay, _Ogres, Big and Small_. Agent Ward had never smiled at her before.

Zoey, Tristan, and Simon were just returning to the Academy after lunch when they were mustered with the others outside.

"Everyone outside—wait by the main entrance!" barked Agent Vargas as he escorted everyone outside with him.

He wore a big stopwatch and a whistle on a string around his neck.

"Off you go, all of you. You need to be physically fit to be good agents. Around the hive four times."

"Come on, Stacey, you need to be faster than that," he called to a pudgy girl with a red face. "Nela, James, hurry up—off you go now!"

Zoey ran alongside Tristan and Simon. She was grateful that she hadn't had the cheeseburger and fries, and had stuck with the house chicken salad for lunch. Simon tripped a few times, and lied that he had asthma so he could avoid the last lap. Zoey thought her lungs were going to burst, but she made it to the end and collapsed on the ground with the others.

"He means to kill us by exhaustion." Simon collapsed on the ground beside Zoey. "I think I've lost a lung."

A whistle blew. "Everyone back to class!" With a smile, Agent Vargas strolled back through the front entrance.

Tristan laughed. "Don't be a baby. It's all part of the training."

He offered his hands to both Zoey and Simon and lifted them to their feet. He let go of Simon right away, but clung to Zoey's hand a little longer. Their eyes met, and there was an uncomfortable silence between them. She looked into his eyes, and she felt something deep within her that caused her entire body to stiffen.

"Guys, I think I'm allergic to air," said Simon, as he held the cramp at his side. "Seriously, I think I am—look—" He wheezed overdramatically and pointed to his mouth. "That's not normal! I think I'm dying!"

Zoey's throat still felt like she had swallowed razor blades after the run, but she wasn't making a big thing of it.

Tristan rolled his eyes and let go of Zoey's hand.

He nudged Simon playfully. "Come on freak," he said and made for the front entrance.

Simon still pretended to be suffocating.

Zoey hesitated. Why did Tristan make her so nervous? No one ever made her nervous—she hated the feeling. He was just another boy—her friend—that was _all_. It was her fault he was looking at her in _that_ way, her and her big mouth.

She followed Tristan and Simon back to class. As they entered room 1D, most of the operatives were already there, breathing hard and sweaty. They were all hunched over the back table, talking excitedly. She wasn't the only one looking forward to the weapons training session they were going to have today.

The table was covered with a collection of sparkling black slingshots, crossbows, dartlike weapons, ninjalike stars, silver daggers, and boxes that overflowed with metal balls the size of marbles.

A single golden boomerang caught her attention. In the shape of a slightly curved V, it winked at her from under a pile of daggers. She couldn't explain it, but somehow she was drawn to it. Excitement fluttered inside her and she had to restrain herself from reaching out and grabbing it. The other operatives drooled over the slingshots—they looked really cool—but her eyes kept going back to the boomerang.

Tristan only looked mildly excited. She knew he had used a slingshot before. She had seen it on him on the very first day she had met him, but she had never asked him about it.

The classroom's door closed with a bang.

"Good, you're all here," Agent Vargas strolled across the room.

"This, my little operatives," he said proudly, "is the new S9 series Pro slingshot, the latest model. It's not unlike the S8 you were using before, but it's lighter and more precise. It's built with mystic technology—you're not supposed to _miss_ with this one."

The operatives laughed, but Zoey's insides stirred.

"In today's class we're going to freshen up your aim," continued Agent Vargas, "and then we'll move on to shooting at moving targets. It's important to note that the slingshots, and all the other weapons that you see on that table, are only used to _immobilize_ hostiles—not to _kill_ them."

Stuart and Claudia laughed at some inside joke, and then they both stared at Zoey with evil grins on their faces. She hoped they'd try something—it would give her an excuse to fight Stuart.

Agent Vargas surveyed the operatives intensely. "Weapons training is a major component of our operative physical training programs. You must pass marksmanship tests, and you need at least _ninety_ percent accuracy with slingshots, handguns, crossbows, and all the other projectile arms.

"Don't forget, you'll be paired with an agent for a field assignment at the end of the term."

His eyes wandered over to Zoey. "They will be assessing you, and their grades will determine fifty percent of your final grade—so no messing around if you want to continue in the program."

"Everyone—pick up an S9 slingshot, or any other weapon of your choosing, and line up in front of the target zone."

Agent Vargas moved towards the front of the room where a round board fixed with a tripod was mounted. It looked like the typical archery target with the colored circles around a middle red dot.

Zoey turned back to the table. Stuart and Claudia each grabbed an S9 slingshot, as did most of the other operatives. The boy named James grabbed a crossbow, and a girl with short black hair, whom she knew as Stephanie, took three silver daggers.

Zoey reached out and grabbed the golden boomerang. It was cool and smooth in her hand. It weighed no more than a large kitchen knife and was about twelve inches long. Its golden surface glimmered, and she caught her reflection in it. Both sides of the wings were curved slightly upwards, and there were finger grooves for a firm grip. Swirl-like designs were etched into the metal. She had never held a boomerang before, and this was by far the coolest one she'd ever seen.

As she turned to join the others, Tristan held a gold bracelet in front of her.

"This goes with it," he said as he gave it to her.

"It does?" Zoey took the bracelet and examined it. It was a cuff bracelet, flat and wide, and made of the same gold metal and with the same swirl designs on the surface. "How do they go together?"

"You put it on your throwing and catching arm—the boomerang knows to come back to it—always. You'll never lose it."

Zoey put the bracelet on. "But I thought the whole purpose of a boomerang was to come back to the person who threw it?"

"Yes, but there's this also." Tristan took the boomerang from her. He pressed on it, and it folded in on itself like a pocketknife. Then he placed the folded boomerang on top of the bracelet where it stuck, as though it was magnetized.

Zoey moved her arm around. "This is totally awesome. So, how do I take it off?"

"Like this." Tristan pressed on the tip of one of the wings, and the boomerang popped off.

Zoey couldn't help but be impressed. "Wow. Why aren't there any others? This is the coolest weapon."

Tristan gave her back the boomerang. "Because it's probably the hardest weapon to use. It's a lot easier to use a crossbow or a slingshot. I don't know anyone who has mastered it."

"Well, the thing speaks to me. I don't know—I love it actually. Call me crazy, but I feel better with this than with a slingshot."

Tristan smiled. "It doesn't matter what you use, as long as you can handle it." He walked away leaving Zoey in admiration of her new toy.

"Let's go, operatives," said Agent Vargas.

"Pick up your weapons and line up, please. You'll each have a go. Let's see how many of you can hit the bulls-eye on the first try.

Tristan laughed at Simon who was aiming at invisible foes and making a spectacle of himself.

All the operatives lined up in front of the target. Zoey stood at the end of the line, behind Simon.

As Zoey twisted the boomerang with her wrist, she caught Stuart eyeing her.

"What a joke—she'll never be able to throw it properly," she heard him say to Claudia. "No one uses those anymore. They're like practically extinct. They don't work well—the agency stopped producing them _years_ ago."

"Who cares? She's going to fail anyway," said Claudia with a bored expression. Her eyes kept moving to Tristan.

Zoey pretended not to hear them. Besides, the boomerang was having a strange effect on her, like she was meant to have it. Somehow she felt empowered by it.

Agent Vargas stood on the left side of the targets. "Pay attention, I don't want anyone losing an eye today—and please—try not to _shoot_ me."

He brushed his braid behind his shoulder, and Zoey noticed how he took a second step to the side. "Now, who's up first?"

A boy named Billy Beaumont was the first one up. He placed a single metal ball firmly in the pouch of his slingshot. Even from the back of the line, Zoey could see sweat trickling down the sides of Billy's face. He stuck his tongue out the side of his mouth as he raised his slingshot and aimed. He pulled the pouch back steadily and released it.

It missed Agent Vargas's head by a millimeter and hit the wall far to the left of the target and rolled on the floor.

"I see that your aim hasn't improved, Billy," said Agent Vargas. He raised his eyebrows, and the entire class laughed.

"Sorry, Agent Vargas," said Billy looking utterly horrified at nearly blinding the agent.

"Back at the end of the line, please, Billy," said Agent Vargas. "And that goes for everyone. You can't leave today until you've _hit_ somewhere _on_ the target. As third term operatives, you should be hitting the target easily—no one should be missing."

Zoey started to get nervous. She had never thrown a real boomerang before. She had pretended that a stick was a real boomerang during the orphan war against the rich kids. The stick had worked miracles then, and she had hit one of the rich kids on the nose. But would she have the same luck today? Had she been a fool to select it? She could have taken a foolproof slingshot. What if she was worse than Billy? What if she _never_ hit the target?

Stuart gave her an icy smile. He was hoping for her to miss, and he seemed very confident that she would.

It was Nela Singh's turn next. She cleared her long, black hair away from her face, lifted her slingshot, her body straight, and shot. Boom. It hit the target on the edge of the largest circle. The class erupted in cheers.

"Well done, Nela. And keep your elbows in, you'll get a better shot next time," said Agent Vargas. He pointed towards a row of paper targets at the other end of the room

"You can keep practicing over there until the end of the class. Next!"

One by one the operatives either hit or missed the target. Those who missed had to get back in the line behind her. Zoey didn't want to miss. When it came to Stuart's turn, he pulled his slingshot lazily and hit his mark. As he sauntered away he sneered at Zoey.

Soon it was Tristan's turn. Lifting his slingshot, he turned his upper body slightly to the left, aimed, and fired. _WHACK_. The ball hit the bulls-eye red dot.

"Perfect hit, as always. Well done, Tristan." Agent Vargas patted him on the back.

"How can anyone beat that? Not all of us are born disgustingly hot and perfect," said Simon who looked a little green as he prepared to shoot. But he too hit the target and looked as surprised as everyone else around him. "See? See? Told you all I could do this. I'm a natural."

It was Zoey's turn.

At first, the boomerang slipped in her sweaty palm, but she gripped it firmly and positioned herself, careful not to step over the tape shooting line on the ground.

Agent Vargas frowned slightly when he saw what she held in her hand. Her stomach twisted. She could hear the others laughing at her over the thundering of her heart. Stuart's laugh was louder than all the others. Her nerves were replaced by anger when she heard him. Using that anger, she was able to concentrate even harder. The world around her disappeared. She and the target were alone in the room. She focused all her attention on the little red dot.

Somehow, it came naturally to her—she knew exactly what to do. Raising her right arm, she bent her elbow and angled the boomerang slightly to the right. She pinched the edge with her fingers and thumb and pitched the boomerang like a baseball, snapping her wrist at the end.

The boomerang shot out of her hand with a counterclockwise spin. It flew like a bullet in an arch, smacked the target head-on, and then spun back straight at Zoey. She jumped slightly to the left and caught the boomerang easily with her right hand. The force of the spin stung her palm, but she didn't let go.

"Wow, that was amazing," said Tristan. "I've never seen anyone throw a boomerang like that. You've done this before, right?"

Zoey stared at the gold boomerang in her hands and smiled. "No, I haven't. I can't believe I _hit_ it. I hit it _and_ caught it."

For a moment, Zoey felt empowered holding her boomerang. She felt she could accomplish anything. She looked into Tristan's dark eyes and felt goosebumps. He made her feel nervous and giddy all at the same time. She turned away quickly, afraid that he would see the flush on her face.

The look of surprise on Stuart's face was the icing on the cake. Zoey couldn't keep from smiling.

Agent Vargas raised his brows. "Well, I guess Tristan's not the only one who's gifted."

He smiled at Zoey. "I've never seen anyone handle a boomerang quite like you just did, Zoey—it was magical—and very surprising. No one has ever wanted to use that boomerang after what happened to Jimmy."

"I'm afraid to ask, but who's Jimmy? And what happened to him?" said Zoey.

"Jimmy," said Agent Vargas, "was an operative before my time. The story is that poor Jimmy thought he could throw that _same_ boomerang—but when he did, the boomerang came back, and he lost an eye."

Zoey made a face. Agent Vargas continued, "Apparently, his eye popped out and made a horrible mess. The girls screamed and someone stepped on it—can you imagine?"

"Trying hard not to," said Zoey, disgusted.

"Since then, no one ever dared to use it again, and the agency stopped producing the boomerangs all together. I'm surprised it was still here. It should have been thrown away years ago."

Zoey admired her boomerang. "But it wasn't. It was waiting for me."

Agent Vargas raised his eyebrows. "I guess it was."

Zoey folded her boomerang and fastened it back against her bracelet where it fit perfectly. She looked back at Tristan who was positively beaming. "Did Jimmy ever make agent?"

Zoey's question was interrupted by a booming siren.

The ground shook as the sound blasted through the academy. It was like a bomb had exploded. The operatives froze in silent terror.

"What's happening?" Zoey shouted over the deafening alarm.

Tristan shook his head and yelled, "That's the central alarm. I think we're under attack!"
11

# The Krakenite

Agent Vargas pulled a large gun from under his shirt.

"Everyone! Stay inside the room! Nobody leaves this room until I come back!"

And with that, he sprinted out the door faster than Zoey thought a man his size could move.

"What do we do now?" Simon paced around the room and pulled at his hair. "This isn't a drill—this is the real deal—isn't it? I think I'm going to be sick."

"You're not going to be sick, Simon," scolded Zoey. "Just hang on. Agent Vargas will be back, and he'll tell us what's going on. Meanwhile, we wait."

The siren stopped.

They heard screams. Then a monstrous roar, like the growl of a dinosaur, sounded just outside their room. The ground shook as though an earthquake had hit, and then Zoey could feel the booming thumps of something massive approaching the room.

The door blasted off its hinges and hit the floor with a thunderous bang. A beast the size of a bull walked through. Its muscles bulged, but its wet, red, raw-looking skin looked like it was decomposing. It had a long neck and the body of a reptile, with four legs and black talons. It searched the room with dull gray eyes. Zoey was horrified to think that the red stains on the rows of pointy, yellow teeth in its huge maw might be blood from its victims. Three other little necks with angry, snapping jaws grew out from the base of its neck like a necklace. They moved around like little snakes with milk-white eyes. If the big mouth didn't get you, then the backup mouths would. The classroom reeked of rotten flesh.

Zoey's blood turned to ice. She had never seen anything so terrifying.

"What is that?" whispered Simon. He took a step behind Tristan.

"A Krakenite," answered Tristan.

"They're killers who like to tear the meat off their victims. I know that they don't see very well and that they rely mostly on their sense of smell. They're hostile mystics."

"No—you think?" said Simon sarcastically, his voice rising. "I hadn't noticed its big pointy teeth with blood on them! If this is the agency's new way of testing us, they're crazy! I quit!"

Zoey turned to Tristan. "How did something so big and dangerous get in here?" she asked, but somehow she already knew the answer.

"With the stolen interloper," said Tristan. His expression darkened, "Someone let it in on purpose."

Simon threw his hands in the air. "That's just great! But why is it _here_? What have _we_ got to do with it?"

The Krakenite moved its large head back and forth, as though it was trying to locate a smell. And then, moving as one, all the monster's heads, including the little ones, turned in Zoey's direction. Even though the creature looked blind, somehow she knew it was staring right at her.

"Okay, is it me or is that thing looking at Zoey?" said Simon, poking his head from behind Tristan.

As if on cue, the decomposing mystic bellowed in rage and charged directly at Zoey.

But Tristan was there. He pushed Zoey behind him, pulled a small pocketknife from his pocket, and threw it. The blade flew straight and perforated the Krakenite's left eye. White liquid burst out it like the insides of a shattered egg.

The creature roared and thrashed around the classroom. Its massive arms and tail exploded the desks in splinters of wood and sent the chairs flying. The operatives scattered like frightened mice, but not fast enough. Billy was hit by a desk, crumbled to the ground, and didn't move.

"Everyone get out! Quickly!" yelled Zoey.

She didn't have to say it twice. The operatives sprinted out the classroom leaving Zoey, Tristan, Simon, and an unconscious Billy.

The knife in its eye only seemed to have angered the beast. Once it stopped thrashing, it settled its remaining eyes on Zoey again. It reared and then bounded towards Zoey at an incredible speed. Its razor-sharp teeth were angled for her head.

Zoey leaped out of the way and rolled on the floor, but she was not fast enough. One of the creature's smaller jaws tore into the flesh on her left side. She cried out in pain as wet blood began to trickle down her back. She could see it on the creature's teeth. Her flesh was on fire. She held her injured side with her right hand.

"Hey, ugly! Stinky!" yelled Tristan as he tried to get the beast's attention.

It ignored him completely, sneered, and turned back towards Zoey.

"Simon, get Billy out of here!" cried Zoey, "It's me it wants. Get out of here, now!"

She reached over ever so slowly and unfastened her boomerang with her left hand.

"Gotcha." Simon scurried over to Billy's unconscious body. He slapped him in the face to wake him up, realized it didn't work, and then grabbed his arms and pulled him out of the room.

Zoey looked over to Tristan. "I'll keep it busy—you go get help."

"No!" Tristan picked up a half-broken chair and wielded it before him like a shield. "I'm not going anywhere without you, forget it."

"It wants me, not you."

Tristan leaped across the room and stood protectively in front of Zoey.

"I don't care. You're hurt, and I'm not leaving you. We'll fight this thing together. Simon will get help."

For an instant, Zoey thought she saw a halo of blue light emanate from Tristan's skin, but then it was gone—probably a trick of the light.

With an angry roar, the Krakenite charged.

Tristan whacked the beast with the force of a superhero. The broken chair exploded off the Krakenite, and the beast staggered and then fell back.

"How did you—" began Zoey, in shock at Tristan's strength.

Tristan faced her. "We need to get an agent. We don't have anything strong enough to defeat it—"

But the Krakenite thrashed its tail into Tristan, and he flew through the air like a ragdoll. He hit the wall with a sickening crack, slid to the ground, and was still.

Before Zoey could register what had just happened, the Krakenite swung its massive tail into her chest. It was like being hit by a tree. She flew into the air and hit the ground with a thud. She was winded, and as she struggled to regain her breath she felt wetness dripping onto her face. She blinked and looked up. The beast's jaws drooled just above her. Its warm, rancid breath was choking her. It was going to kill her.

Her fear disappeared and the adrenaline of anger surged through her limbs. She was not going to die today. She grabbed her boomerang tightly with both hands.

The Krakenite opened its jaws and lowered its head.

With strength she didn't know she possessed, Zoey stabbed the end of boomerang into the creature's good eye. She pushed it deep into the monster's brain and twisted it. The creature breathed heavily once and then fell on top of her, dead.

Zoey tried to move, but it was like trying to push a boulder. It hurt to breathe, and the smell was making her dizzy. She was suffocating under the putrid creature. This wasn't how she planned on dying.

And then she heard laughing.

"What are you doing down there?" Tristan stared down at her with a smirk. He had a cut on his forehead but otherwise looked unharmed.

The blood was rushing to Zoey's head. "Can't...breathe...help...me!"

Tristan used his back to lift the dead Krakenite high enough for Zoey to slip out. Her jeans and T-shirt were covered in a semitransparent, sticky substance like gelatin. She smelled her hands and made a face. She smelled like a mixture of bile and garbage that had stood in the sun for too long.

Tristan inspected the boomerang. It was still embedded in the Krakenite's skull.

"Like I said, I've never seen anyone use a boomerang like that. After this, I'm sure the agency's going to start producing them again."

"I doubt it," said Zoey, still breathing heavily. She inspected herself again. "I can't remember the last time I smelled like manure—"

A woman screamed suddenly.

Zoey and Tristan looked at each other.

"It came from the main hall," said Tristan as he turned towards the door.

Zoey leaped over to the dead Krakenite. She pulled with all her might and yanked her boomerang out of the Krakenite's skull with a wet suction noise.

When she turned around, Tristan was smiling.

"What?" she said. "You said it yourself—this is probably the only one—I'm not leaving it to rot in this creature's head." She flashed him a smile.

Without another word, Zoey followed Tristan out the door and into the hall.

It was a chaotic scene. Bloodied bodies lay scattered everywhere. Another Krakenite's severed head lay several feet away from its body in a large red puddle. The smell brought tears to Zoey's eyes. The walls and floors were smeared in blood, as though someone had thrown buckets of red paint around. She could hear cries and moans. Those who were still alive were busy attending to the wounded or covering the dead with pieces of clothing. She didn't recognize any of the dead.

Agent Barnes and Agent Lee came running down the hall to Zoey and Tristan.

"Simon said there was another Krakenite? Where is it now" said Agent Barnes urgently as he brandished a large double-barrel rifle,

"Dead," said Tristan. "Zoey whacked it good in the skull with her boomerang."

Both agents gave her a look of surprise, and Zoey gave them a little smile. "It wasn't as cool as Tristan says, but it's dead."

"You're bleeding." Agent Lee handed Zoey a handkerchief from inside his jacket.

She took it and pressed it against her wound.

"Thank you," she said awkwardly, not used to Agent Lee being kind to her. Maybe he had forgiven her about the kick.

"Guys!" Simon collapsed beside them. He was breathing heavily. "Oh, man, am I glad you're okay. I thought the Kradelite had finished you both. That would have clearly sucked."

"Krakenite," corrected Tristan.

"That's what I said," said Simon.

"But how did you do it? Did you get it on film? Please say that you got me some cool shots?"

Agent Barnes heaved his rifled on his shoulder. "According to Tristan, Little Red here took care of it for us. Nailed it right in the brain—dead. I would have paid money to see that."

He winked at her, and Zoey felt the blood rush to her ears.

Simon's jaw dropped and his eyes widened. "You _brainorized_ it? Coooool."

Then he lowered his voice. "You think I could take a picture of you and the Kranelite side by side?"

"Maybe some other time, Simon," said Zoey feeling a little self-conscious. She really didn't want to go near another Krakenite for a while; its smell made her dizzy.

Agent Barnes' face was flushed and sweaty. He wiped his brow with the back of his hand. "I'm glad you guys are safe. Ew!—This is a real rotten mess. We need to dispose of these Krakenites's bodies before they stink up the entire hive. How many casualties?"

"Six dead and ten injured," answered Agent Lee. He turned towards the dead Krakenite. "The way it was sniffing out a particular scent—my guess is they were looking for something or someone."

Tristan and Simon both looked at Zoey. The Krakenite _was_ looking for her—but why? Why did it want to kill her? She had never even seen one before?

"We all know how they got through the Nexus," continued Agent Barnes. He hadn't noticed the strange looks Simon and Tristan had given Zoey.

"Who knows what else will be slipping through to our world? There are worse things than Krakenites in the Nexus—much, much worse."

Agent Vargas arrived with bloody towels in his hands.

"You three," he pointed at Zoey, Tristan, and Simon, "come with me. The injured need help. And I need all the help I can get."

The three of them followed Agent Vargas down the main hall to an area where the wounded had been placed in a row. All her classmates, even Billy, were attending to the wounded. Billy's head was wrapped with a bandage, but he seemed okay otherwise. Women and men cried over the dead bodies, and Zoey felt a pain in her chest—they had died because of her.

"Here," Agent Vargas gave them towels and bandages. "Wrap them up as best you can—tightly, to stop the bleeding. Help is on the way."

Tristan and Simon went to help the wounded right away, but Zoey couldn't move.

Screeching resonated down the hall and she turned around. Two men in white uniforms rushed in pushing stretchers on screeching wheels. They stopped beside a woman whose abdomen was bleeding profusely. They lifted her up gently, placed her on one of the stretchers, and then wheeled her away down the hall and around the corner.

"Where are they taking them?" asked Zoey, her mouth dry as she tried to swallow.

"To the medical bay." Agent Vargas rushed to help lift a young man covered in blood up onto the other stretcher.

Zoey had no idea they had a medical bay. She had never seen it or heard anyone talk about it before now. She stared at the wounded and couldn't shake off the feeling that she was responsible for the attacks. It felt like a bad dream. If it were true that the Krakenites had come to kill her— _why_ were they trying to kill her? Who was she to them?

And then, like a light switching on in her brain, she knew—the cat-faced woman was responsible.

A chill washed over her. She had overheard them plotting. And although the agency didn't believe her, apparently the cat-faced woman hadn't taken any chances. She had found Zoey out and had released these mystics in the hopes of killing her.

But her plan had failed.

A cold sweat trickled down her back—sooner or later the cat-faced woman would try again. Who knew what sort of evil mystic she would unleash next—or when. One thing was for certain, they would be much worse than the Krakenites.

Zoey went to work. She knelt beside an elderly man with a nasty cut on his face. He was lying on his back, his eyes were closed, and she couldn't tell if he was breathing. Gently, she dabbed a towel on his wounds. He had a great red stain on his shirt—he was bleeding out. She took another towel and pressed it against his stomach. Tears swelled in her eyes—this was all her fault.

"You...you..." said the man. His voice was ragged. Blood seeped from the corners of his mouth.

"Don't talk," said Zoey gently. "You need to save your energy. Help is coming."

She gave him a reassuring smile, feeling worse and worse by the minute. Her eyes burned, and she blinked until the wetness dried up. She didn't want the man to see her cry.

"Your hair," said the man, his voice was almost a whisper. "I knew a woman once with hair just like yours."

The hairs on the back of Zoey's neck stood up. "What? What did you say?"

She leaned forward. Maybe she had misunderstood?

The man smiled. "I had never seen the like— _fire red_ —just like yours. And you have the same green eyes. How peculiar."

Zoey lost her voice. When she found it again, she asked. "Who—who was she?"

The man coughed up some blood. His eyes opened wide for a moment, and then he lay still. For a horrible moment she thought he had died, but then his lips moved, and he spoke.

"Her name was Elizabeth."

"Where is she?" Zoey couldn't mask the desperation in her voice. She felt like she was about to jump out of her skin.

"Where can I find her? Please! Please tell me where she is!" her voice rose, and she fought to control her nerves. She crumpled the bloody towel with trembling hands, her heart suddenly slamming against her chest.

Between coughs, the man said, "Troll City, Louisiana."

And then his mouth fell open. A single, long breath escaped him. His eyes stared at the ceiling, glazed over, and he didn't speak again.
12

# A Leap at Midnight

_E lizabeth..._

Zoey hadn't slept a wink—the name haunted her. Was this mysterious woman her mother? She had waited all her life for a clue as to who she was. What the man had told her before he died _had_ to be true— _she_ had never seen anyone with the same hair color. Even dyed, it was never the same _fire red_ —the man's words exactly. You had to be born with it.

After harassing the agents for five days, Zoey finally discovered the man's name. He was Oliver Scott. He was a retired agent from New York who had been visiting an old friend at the hive in Toronto. The friend, a Mr. Dean Daigle, was still alive and worked in Inter-dimension trade, communications & transportation, room 2A.

With Mr. Daigle's help, Zoey had found out that Oliver Scott had been a widower, with no children or any living relatives, even Sevenths. He appeared to have had no living friends except for Mr. Daigle. She had no one else to ask about the mysterious Elizabeth. But her hopes were quickly deflated when she asked him about her.

"I'm sorry, dear; I don't know any woman by that name or with red hair. I never heard him say that name, ever. I'm terribly sorry," he had told her.

Zoey's mood darkened. She had been so close to discovering something about her past, and now it was slipping away like an old memory. She meandered around the hive like the living dead—her body moved, but her spirit was elsewhere, dull and unresponsive. She couldn't concentrate on her studies without imagining what her mother might have looked like. Was she pretty? Tall? Skinny and small like her?

Tristan and Simon were worried that she was about to have a meltdown. They couldn't understand how she felt—they had real families—she had never known hers. She pretended to have headaches so they wouldn't feel sorry for her.

The dying man's face haunted her, too. No one had ever died in her arms before—it had been a surreal experience and had left her feeling cold and numb. She remembered that his body had stayed warm after he'd gone. He had looked peaceful, as though he was sleeping.

Zoey had been restless for five straight days when she decided that there was only one thing left to do. _She_ had to go to Troll City, Louisiana.

Although Tristan and Simon had tried to grab her attention after class, she said nothing to them and approached Agent Vargas's desk. She gave him her best smile.

"Uh, Agent Vargas," she said. "May I ask you something?"

He was typing on his computer and didn't look up. "Yes, Zoey, what is it?"

"I'd like permission to go to Troll City, sir."

Agent Vargas's fingers slipped on his keyboard. "What? Troll City? Where did you hear such a name?"

"From Agent Oliver Scott," said Zoey. "It won't be for long, I only need a few hours. See, that's where he said my mo—where he said the woman who looked like me is. I'd like to go look for her. I need to know where I come from—who I am."

Agent Vargas sighed heavily and gave Zoey a painful smile. "I understand your desire to look for this woman, truly I do, but you _can't_ go to Troll City. It's impossible."

Zoey's smile quickly vanished

"What do you mean? Why not? Why can't I go?" her voice rose, and she didn't bother hiding her anger. She hadn't expected him to say no.

"Because it's too dangerous," answered Agent Vargas. "It's a mystic town, and a very treacherous one at that. Humans are _not_ welcome there. The mystics chose to settle in that area to be _away_ from humans. We have to respect the rules of our treaty, and this is one of them. Troll City is off-limits. That is all."

Zoey couldn't believe what she was hearing. "But she's there—I _have_ to find out if she's my real mother. You can't keep that from me—"

"It's impossible. I'm sorry, Zoey, but you cannot go. No one can."

"What if I went with an agent? I'm sure Agent Barnes would come with me. _He_ would want to help me find my mother—I know he would."

Agent Vargas shook his head solemnly. "You're not listening to what I'm trying to tell you. No one, not even an agent, is allowed to set foot in Troll City. If fact, I believe that no agent or human has _ever_ entered the city. Mr. Scott was dying—he was confused. He wasn't conscious of what he was saying. I'm just sorry he made you believe some story about a woman—"

"It wasn't a story," blurted Zoey. She frowned. "He was telling the truth."

"Well, I see that my reasoning with you is pointless," said Agent Vargas.

"Believe what you will, but forget about Troll City. Now, off you go and don't mention it to me again." He dismissed her.

Tears brimmed around her eyes. She stood there for a moment before she stormed out of the room. She ran past Tristan and Simon without looking at them. She couldn't let her only clue to her mother's identity slip away. She _would_ find a way.

She gathered her wits and slowed down so that Tristan and Simon could catch up.

"So, I'm guessing he said no," said Simon.

"I knew it was a mistake to ask him. I mean, as little kids our parents told us scary bedtime stories about Troll City. It's the creepiest place on earth—why would you want to go there? Mystics _eat_ children in that city. They don't care about the treaty—they make their own rules. You'd have to be insane to set foot in that town. I wouldn't go there, even if they paid me a million dollars."

"No one is asking you to go." Zoey marched down to the main entrance and pushed open the front doors. The cool air felt great on her hot face.

Tristan ran after her. "I know you're mad Zoey, but be reasonable. Zoey!"

He grabbed her hand and turned her around to face him. "Wait a second, will you? You have to stop this. You're obsessing about something that might not even be true. Just stop a second and think it through, okay?"

Zoey wiggled out of his grasp. "It _is_ true. I know it's true. I don't care if you don't believe me. You don't understand. You can't understand. Both of you guys have families—you have parents that love and support you. You can't understand what it's like to grow up alone. All I ever wanted was a family, a real one. I need to do this for _me_."

Tristan's expression contracted. "Need to do... _what_ exactly? What are you saying?"

He watched her for a moment, and then the realization slowly appeared on his face.

"No. Please tell me you're not planning on going? Zoey, that's insane. I won't let you."

"Go? Go where exactly?" said Simon, looking paler than usual.

Zoey turned away from them. "I'm not asking you to come with me. I wouldn't want you guys to get in trouble. But I'm going. I'm going tonight."

Simon pulled the hair on the top of his head. "Oh, man. Oh, man. Oh man. This is wild! This is nuts! I think I'm breaking out in hives!"

Tristan took Zoey's hand, but she pulled it away. He watched her anxiously.

"Zoey, you can't be serious. Please, think about this for a moment. Just think about what you're saying—"

"I've been thinking about it for five days," said Zoey. "I need to do this. I'm going to Troll City, and no one's going to stop me."

Tristan surveyed her silently for a moment. "Then I'm coming with you."

"What!" Simon wailed. "Do you hear yourselves? Both of you have lost your minds. You're crazy, nuts, spazzed, off the wagon, lobotomized. You're both completely insane."

"You coming with us?" asked Tristan casually.

Simon responded immediately, "Of course I am."

The light of adventure burned in his eyes, and he smiled. "This is the kind of stuff that'll make men out of us. Maybe I'll come back with real facial hair? Women love that."

Zoey smiled at her friends. "If things go wrong, don't blame me."

"We won't," Tristan and Simon chorused together.

"You can still say no—" she began. "—I wouldn't be upset. I would totally understand."

"We're coming with you."

Tristan fell silent for a second and looked at Zoey. "You'll need someone to watch your back," he said finally. "—And Simon can watch mine."

"So who's going to watch my back?" said Simon, looking behind him.

"We both will," answered Zoey.

She lowered her voice and looked around, "You think you can meet me at midnight tonight in the main hall?"

"Yes," said Tristan.

"Okay," answered Simon. "My dad's going to kill me if he catches me using my mirror-port in the middle of the night."

Tristan raised an eyebrow. "So don't let him catch you."

With Tristan and Simon watching her back, what could possibly go wrong? Zoey felt certain they would find Elizabeth.

"So it's settled then," she said, smiling. "See you at midnight."

* * *

There was added security after the Krakenite attacks, so Zoey had sneaked back into the hive before lockdown and had hidden in room 1D. If an agent came by, she would use the excuse that she had homework to catch up on. To make her story more believable, she logged on and did actual work until the numbers at the bottom right of her screen said _12:00 AM_.

With her gold boomerang fastened securely to the bracelet around her right wrist, she logged off and quietly closed the door behind her. Holding her breath, she tiptoed on the marble floors and along the dark corridors. She shifted her weight carefully so she wouldn't make a sound with her sneakers.

The moon shone through the tall windows and turned the walls and floors to shades of silver and blue. The darkness and eerie silence were gloomy.

Footsteps echoed down the hall.

She pressed herself flat against the wall and waited, her heart banging in her ears. The footsteps neared. She stopped breathing and stole a peek.

A young agent patrolled the hallway. He had the determined expression of a rookie who took this job very seriously. Simon and Tristan would be stepping out of the mirrors in the main hall any second now—the agent would see them. It would be her fault if they got caught. They might even get suspended. She needed to distract the agent.

She ran back down the hall and slipped through the door of Room 1D. She hurried over to the weapons table and grabbed a metal ball for one of the slingshots. Then she sprinted back to the door and peeked through to make sure the young agent was still patrolling the hall near the mirrors.

She pitched the tiny ball down the opposite corridor. It hit door 1B with an echo. Then it bounced off the adjacent walls, making even more of a racket as it rolled down the passageway.

Zoey hid behind the door and watched the agent charge into room 1B. While he was occupied, she sneaked down the corridor in the other direction—just in time to see Tristan and Simon step out of a mirror.

"We don't have much time," she said catching her breath. "An agent's patrolling the corridors. I distracted him, but he'll be back any second."

"Oh, man, we're going to get caught!" whined Simon.

"SHHH!" Tristan put a hand on Simon's mouth.

"Quiet," he said in a whisper and then let him go.

Zoey surveyed the end of the hallway. "The coast is clear," she whispered. "He didn't hear _us_ ,"—she glowered at Simon— "But we have to hurry. We need to find the mirror that will get us to Troll City."

With Tristan and Simon on the left side, and Zoey on the right, the three of them began to examine the walls of mirrors, searching for the one they needed. Within seconds she found an inscription that read the United States of America. She knew that Louisiana was a southern state. This was the one.

"Found it," she said. Tristan and Simon moved next to her. She glanced at her friends, trying not to look as excited as she felt.

"Ready? You guys ready? It's now or never."

"You sure this is going to work?" asked Simon nervously. "I mean—maybe they don't have a mirror-port anchor in Troll City? It makes sense. They hate us there anyway. What if we mirror-port into the mouth of a giant, angry mystic? Have you thought of that?"

"We're not going to mirror-port into the mouth of some giant mystic. The mirror should be able to tell us right away."

Zoey stepped up to the side panel and typed:

_Troll City, Louisiana, USA_.

She waited—her stomach in knots—she didn't trust herself to look at Tristan or Simon. What if Simon was right? What if Troll City didn't have an anchor? How would she ever get there? It's not like she had any money to take a bus or an airplane.

Before she could have a panic attack, there was a sudden _buzzing,_ and then the green light came on above the mirror with a _click_. The mirror hummed softly. The inside glowed with silver light and rippled like tiny waves on a pond.

"It actually worked?" said Tristan inspecting the mirror.

He didn't realize how loud his voice resonated in the hallway. "I had my doubts. I didn't think the agency would even have a mirror-port to _that_ city."

"But they did." Zoey exhaled. "You guys ready?"

"HEY! YOU THERE! STOP!"

The young agent came running at top speed. His face was flushed, and he looked very angry.

"People—" said Simon, with a hint of tension in his voice, "—if we don't move now, this charming young fella is going to get us."

"It's now or never," said Zoey excitedly. "You can still back out—it's not too late."

"Never," said Tristan, "We're coming."

"Then come on!" Without another second to lose, Zoey climbed into the mirror and vanished from the great hall.
13

# Troll City, Louisiana

A second later, Zoey stood in a swamp area with moss-draped trees and shallow waterways. The trees were tall and curved with roots like knees that grew out from the trunk above the high water level. The humid air felt like a hot shower. Rays of moonlight escaped through breaks between the moss-covered branches. The waterways curved around small islands of muck and thick green vegetation.

The waters moved. Zoey froze, her breath caught in her throat. Was that an alligator?

Then something hard crashed into her back, and she fell face-first into the mucky ground. She lifted her head and spit frog-smelling earth from her mouth.

"That is _so_ gross."

"Sorry," laughed Simon as he rolled off Zoey. "But thanks for the soft landing."

"You're welcome," growled Zoey. She spit more of the grimy earth from her mouth.

"Here, take my hand." Tristan helped Zoey to her feet.

Zoey wiped her face clean with her sleeve. She didn't want to think about what she had tasted on her tongue. Her jeans and T-shirt had great brown and green stains like she had rolled in the mud for fun. It was not at all what she had wanted to look like for her first encounter with her mother. But it was too late to go get changed now—her stinky self would have to do. She had half the notion to ask Simon for _his_ clean T-shirt, but decided against it.

Behind her, an old dresser mirror was nailed to the trunk of a great tree. The edges were cracked, and it was streaked with yellow and rusted stains like a mirror you would find in an old antique shop. Zoey pointed to it. "There's the anchor. So agents _have_ been here before."

"Looks like it," agreed Tristan. "Or just other Sevenths."

Zoey inspected the mirror more closely. "Do you think they still use it in secret? From what Agent Vargas was saying—I didn't think they'd be coming anywhere near this place."

"Maybe just to keep tabs on the mystics," said Simon. "We still need to monitor them—to make sure they're following the rules like the rest of us."

"But we're _breaking_ the rules." Zoey smiled.

"Look, I think there's a path over there." Tristan pointed to a break in the trees. It opened to a path of leaves and green mosses, and led away from the anchor. "Let's follow it."

Zoey went first. The path followed a dark green waterway. It made her feel uneasy, like anything could be lurking underneath. They moved quietly because their footsteps were absorbed by the soft vegetation, and Zoey felt like she was walking into some sort of fantasyland. The air was still and thick. Sweat trickled down her back, and she began to think that perhaps she had overdressed.

"So what are you going to say to her, if you find Elizabeth?" asked Tristan, breaking the silence.

Zoey stepped over a dead tree carefully.

"I don't know. I haven't thought that far yet." Her stomach tightened at the thought.

What _would_ she say? What if her mother didn't even _want_ to see her? Secretly, that was her worst fear— that her parents had abandoned her fourteen years ago because they didn't _want_ her. She forced the thought out of her head and kept moving.

As they walked in silence, Tristan kept giving her looks, like he was trying to start up a conversation. But each time he opened his mouth, he would shut it again and look away with a frustrated expression. She knew she shouldn't dwell on Tristan's behavior too much. The truth was that she wasn't entirely sure how she felt about him.

After about a half-hour of walking, they could still see no end to the path. It seemed to go on forever. And the bugs were having a fiesta with their blood.

_Smack!_

"I swear these are vampire mosquitoes. They're _ginormous_ ," said Simon as he squished another bug into a smear of blood between his eyebrows.

"These are not the _normal_ mosquitoes we have back home. I think they're genetically engineered—like the African killer bees I saw on a report on the National Geographic channel. I'm going to get sick. I'm going to get malaria."

"You're not going to get malaria," said Tristan lazily, and rolled his eyes at Zoey who laughed.

"How would you know?" Simon pointed to a large mosquito on his arm.

"Look! Look at the girth of this thing—that's no regular mosquito! That's like the _Bigfoot_ of mosquitoes—these are bloodsucking man-eaters."

"Just keep moving and close your mouth," said Zoey with a twinkle in her eye. "You wouldn't want to inhale any of them—"

A splash came from the stream.

Zoey stopped and looked over at the water. The circular ripple dissipated, and the water was still again. There was nothing there. But her seventh sense didn't lie, and her skin was riddled in goosebumps.

"What is it?" Tristan stood next to her eyeing the water. "I don't see anything. And I'm not getting any senses either."

Zoey shook her head. "I don't know. I thought I heard a splash or something coming from the water—and I _felt_ something—I'm sure of it."

"Well, I don't see, sense, or hear anything," said Simon looking over Zoey's shoulder. "You're sure you don't have mosquitoes in your ears? Hang on—I think I see one of them in there."

Zoey smacked Simon's hand. "Hey! Don't put your finger in my ear! You're totally crazy."

"That's what I keep telling people," said Simon proudly.

Tristan turned away from the water. "Well, whatever it was, it's gone now. Let's keep moving."

_Splash. Gallooop!_

Zoey and the others froze.

"I heard that," whispered Simon. "What was it?"

The waters around them exploded.

A gigantic creature rose out of the murky waters and heaved itself onto the shore.

It looked like a mixture between a frog and fish, with scales and slimy-looking, green skin. It had huge bulbous eyes and a globular head with a large, gaping mouth. Vegetation and moss sprouted from its back, like protective armor, and frogs and other slimy creatures slid off of its back as though it were shedding. It was the size of a hippopotamus, and its wet, yellow eyes glared at them with hatred.

Simon bent down and grabbed a stick.

"Hey doggy, doggy, that's a good boy. You want the stick? Do ya? Here, go fetch." He tossed the stick into the swamp.

The creature's eyes didn't move.

"It's not a dog, stupid," said Tristan in a low voice.

"I know that," snapped Simon, "but no one else was doing anything!"

"What _is_ it?" asked Zoey, the creature's stare was making her feel uneasy.

"It's a Grohemoth, a swamp mystic," said Tristan. "They're from a herd group, which means there's a lot more out there."

"That's just great. Is it a friend or a hostile?"

"Hostile."

"Figures," said Zoey. She screwed up her face. "Yuck, can you smell that?"

"Sorry, I had chili for lunch," said Simon, with a lopsided grin.

Zoey pretended she hadn't heard what he just said. "No—I mean the creature. It smells like a public toilet."

With another splash, two more identical Grohemoths heaved themselves out of the swamp. The swamp creatures quickly circled them and boxed them in. Before they knew it, they were trapped. They would have to fight their way out.

"Oh goody, now we have one for each of us." Tristan pulled out his S9 slingshot and armed it with a miniature wooden arrow that looked homemade.

"Stand back to back, and stick together."

Zoey's eyes watered as the onion-smelling gas from the beasts burned her retinas. She blinked through her tears. The Grohemoths watched without blinking.

"Well, it was nice knowing you guys," said Simon. "I was really hoping to graduate to agent in a few years—I've been working on my speech—you want to hear it?"

"Not right now, no." Zoey unfastened her boomerang, flipped it open, and aimed it at the nearest Grohemoth.

"We're going to make it. I'm not letting these giant freak salamanders kill us."

The creatures seemed to understand her, and with a wet growl, the three Grohemoths attacked.

Tristan fired first.

His short arrow punctured a charging beast's eye. The eye exploded in a yellow liquid, like egg yolk, and the beast wailed in pain and went sprawling.

Simon loaded his slingshot with a steel ball and fired at the second Grohemoth—but he missed the target by five feet.

"Ooops," Simon pointed at the beast. "You can't blame me for that. The thing moved! I swear."

Zoey hurled her boomerang and hit the creature in the head with such brute force that it collapsed on the wet ground like a dead tree. The gold boomerang glittered in the sun's rays as it ricocheted back to Zoey.

The third Grohemoth leaped over its stunned brethren. It dove at them like a giant whale, ready to swallow them whole.

Both Zoey and Tristan fired at the same time.

Tristan's arrow perforated the creature's abdomen, and Zoey's boomerang hit its massive neck with a sickening crack—but the beast didn't flinch and kept coming.

"MOVE!" Tristan pushed Zoey and Simon out of the way, but he collided with the great mystic himself and disappeared underneath it.

"Tristan!" Zoey caught her boomerang and then started forward to help him, but her right foot was stuck.

She was yanked hard to the ground by a green tongue that was wrapped around her ankle. It pulled her at a frightening speed towards the great, wet mouth of the Grohemoth she thought she had already killed. Its yellow eyes widened with delight as it dragged her closer—she thought she could almost see it smile.

She could hear Tristan yelling, and the sound of fists hitting flesh.

She grabbed at the soft ground, desperate to stop herself, but it was no use. She tried to pry the tongue from her ankle, but her fingers kept slipping, and she couldn't get a decent hold. In seconds she would be frog-meat or salamander-meat, whatever it was. She was too close to it. She needed more space to throw her boomerang.

The great mouth opened wider, and she stared inside it helplessly.

She did the only thing that she could. She grabbed her boomerang so that the opposite wing pointed out like a dagger and stabbed into the soft flesh inside the beast's enormous mouth. Green blood spurted into her face, blinding her, and the Grohemoth let go with a howl of pain. Zoey jumped back and wiped her eyes with her sleeve. Much to her horror, she had only angered it more. It lunged again.

Zoey threw her boomerang, but the Grohemoth saw it just in time and ducked. The boomerang missed, circled back, and she caught it. Without stopping, she shot it again. This time the creature dodged it easily, as though it sensed where the boomerang was going to go.

And in the next moment, the Grohemoth was on her.

Zoey spun and kicked out as hard as she could. The Grohemoth went sprawling to the ground, but it scrambled to its feet, and hissed and spit at her as it advanced again. She was ready this time.

Zoey stepped to the side and slashed at its thigh with the end of her boomerang. The creature hissed in pain but swung its giant foot into her back. She hit the ground hard enough to knock the wind out of her. She saw the mystic's mouth open out of the corner of her eye. Its green tongue waved around like a mad python.

Zoey rolled and pushed herself up to her feet just in time to avoid the slimy tongue. She grabbed the boomerang like a sword and jabbed it into the creature's tongue. The beast wailed and thrashed. Zoey went crashing into a nearby tree. She hit her head, but her vision cleared in time to see the Grohemoth dive straight at her again.

Just as the beast was about to crush her into Zoey-jam, Tristan reached out to her and pulled her to safety. She fell into his arms and stayed in them for longer than she should have done, enjoying the comfort. Their eyes met briefly, and he didn't let go.

"Guys! Look!" Simon pointed to the waterway. It was bubbling like a giant cauldron. "Looks like the soup's ready."

Zoey slipped out of Tristan's arms awkwardly—only to see about two dozen more Grohemoths emerge from the murky waters. Zoey didn't want to be bait any longer.

"Let's get out of here!" yelled Tristan.

"That's the smartest thing you've said all day," replied Simon, who was already running away.

With a herd of Grohemoths at their heels, they ran down the moss-covered path. Zoey's heart thumped in her throat as she galloped through the wet jungle of trees and underbrush behind Tristan. Simon followed closely behind—and behind Simon the ground trembled and trees cracked like a thunderstorm. They weren't going to make it.

Agent Vargas had warned her, and she'd disobeyed. If they didn't die today, she would surely get kicked out of the program.

The thumping stopped.

"Guys," yelled Simon from behind them. "Guys, look! The stinkers are gone."

Zoey stopped running and turned. The path behind them was clear. It was as though they hadn't even existed. The swamp was still.

"This doesn't make sense," said Zoey looking around. "Why would they just _stop_ chasing us? They could have totally slaughtered us—why would they just stop?"

Once he stopped coughing Simon cradled the cramp in his side. "I don't know—and I don't care. I thought we were dead. I looked forward to graduating."

"I know why they stopped coming after us." Tristan ducked under a large tree root and came out on the other side. "Because there's a wall here. We can't get through. I think we may have to go back."

Zoey slipped under the tree root and came over beside Tristan. A row of giant, black, leafless trees was an ominous mountain in front of them. Although their bark glistened in the moonlight like precious jewels, their trunks were twisted together in a giant mass that blocked the path for miles.

Zoey could glimpse a clearing through the small gaps between the stumps of the gleaming wall—Troll City—it had to be. A flutter of excitement passed through her. Her mother could be somewhere beyond those trees.

"We're going to get through."

Zoey fastened her boomerang onto her bracelet and then sprinted towards the giant tree wall.

"Zoey! Wait!" yelled Tristan. "Zoey, stop!"

But Zoey ignored him and ran. She reached the edged of the trees and started to climb. But her fingers lost their grip, and she fell back down. The bark was as slippery and cold as ice. She yelled out in frustration and tried to pull herself up again. But she lost her footing and fell.

"It's useless. We'll never be able to climb those trees," said Simon.

He rubbed the tree with his hand. "It's almost like the top part of it is made of oil or something. It's too bad I didn't bring my ax. I could have cut it down."

"You don't own an ax," muttered Tristan.

Zoey got up and kicked the tree. "Stupid tree!"

Tristan looked around. "We'll have to go around it. We don't have the tools to climb it."

"And how long is that going to take? It goes on for miles," said Zoey, exasperated. "I bet the agency already suspects we're gone—we left hours ago. They'll figure out I've disobeyed them when we miss class."

"We could go back?" suggested Simon. "If we sneak back now, they might not even notice that we were gone."

"No," said Zoey shortly. "I've come all this way. You guys can go back if you want."

"We're coming with you," said Tristan. He turned to Simon who was strolling back down the path. "Right, Simon."

Simon turned around and came walking back with a look of guilt on his face. "Uh—yeah. Sure—right."

Zoey turned around and peered through a break between the trees. "I'm not giving up, not now. My mother may be here somewhere—I have to find her. She's there—somewhere down there in _Troll_ _City_."

A loud screeching noise came from the wall of trees. Zoey and the others jumped back. The massive tree wall moved. Its trunks drew apart slowly, like tall drapes, until a section began to open up. It stopped moving with a final _crack_ , and Zoey could see that a refrigerator-sized gap had formed in the colossal tree barrier.

"I guess that was the magic word," said Simon, looking amazed.

Zoey marveled at the beauty and magic of the trees, she had never seen anything so marvelous and eerie at the same. She wished she could stay awhile and examine it, but she pulled herself away and said, "Come on, before it decides to close us off again."

Zoey stepped through the gap between the trunks and popped out to the other side.

She stopped dead in her tracks.

"Guys, where's the town?"

Simon and Tristan came up behind her. They looked out over a vast landscape of swampland, hills, and meadows that stretched out to the horizon—but no town.

"There has to be some mistake. It has to be here somewhere."

Zoey circled, looking for a clue of some kind. Finally, something caught her eye. An old wooden sign was nailed crookedly onto the back of one of the trees. The sign read Troll City, with a badly painted black arrow pointing down.

Zoey sighed deeply. "Now what's that supposed to mean? We don't have time for games!" She was starting to think that this trip might have been a grave mistake, and that there really was no Troll City. The sign was someone's idea of a joke.

Simon tried to twist the sign. "Trolls aren't known for their large brains, you know. I bet they wrote it wrong. Maybe we should keep going straight?"

Zoey yelled out in frustration. She paced around and kicked the ground. Her foot hit something hard. She parted the overgrown bush with her shoe and revealed a piece of flat metal. She fell to her knees and pulled at the weeds that covered it. When she was done, she stood up and stepped back—it was a door.

It was made of brass and looked as though it belonged at the front of some medieval castle—except that it lay flat on the ground in the middle of the swamp. Symbols and runes were etched around the door in a language Zoey didn't recognize. Spikes and evil-looking knobs and hooks decorated most of the front. The most disturbing part of all was the handle—it was a brass hand.

"Guess the sign was right after all," said Simon as he stood next to Zoey. "Maybe trolls are not as stupid as we think they are."

Zoey eyed the hand suspiciously.

"It's a door—a door in the ground in the middle of nowhere with a really creepy handle. Do you think it actually _leads_ to somewhere? Have you guys ever heard of something like this? A door in the ground—can this be real?"

Tristan shook his head and frowned. "I never did. It's by far the strangest thing I've ever seen."

"Same here," answered Simon. "I feel like I'm in an old black-and-white version of _The_ _Twilight Zone_. But they did a good job of hiding it, in case some Mutes came along."

"Or agents," said Zoey. "Well, _we_ almost missed it, didn't we? I guess they didn't want anyone to find it. So if that's true, then this _door_ probably does lead to Troll City. This must be it—I'm sure of it."

Zoey figured _she_ should be the one to pull open the creepy door. That way, if something bad were to happen, then it would happen to her and not her friends.

"I'm going first," said Zoey. She lifted her hand at Tristan who was about to protest. "This is my plan—my problem—and if something goes wrong, it'll be on me."

Tristan looked alarmed but didn't say anything.

Zoey turned her attention back to the handle. "Okay, creepy mannequin's hand—here goes nothing."

She wrapped her hand around the brass-hand handle. The hairs on the back of her neck stood up—the hand was _warm_. Faster than a blink of an eye, the brass fingers grasped her hand tightly.

"Ahh!" screamed Zoey. "Get it off me! Get it off!"

She pulled and pulled, trying to yank her hand free of the metal hand, but it wouldn't move. Panic gripped at her throat like giant hands squeezing the breath out of her. She was in shock.

Tristan and Simon jumped to her aid and tried to pry the fingers from her hand.

"They're not coming off!" said Tristan, his face red. "Can't. Lift. Them," he said breathlessly.

"Oh, this is really bad," said Simon wiping the sweat from his brow. "She's stuck! The stupid handle's locked! It won't move!"

"I know she's stuck," yelled Tristan. "Maybe we can put some mud around her hand, and it'll help to slip it out."

"Yeah, good idea," agreed Simon. "Mud is good."

But Zoey wasn't listening. She just wanted the creepy hand off of her. In her panic, she started to hyperventilate. She yanked and pulled, kicked, and finally slipped and fell to the side.

The door swung open, and the hand released its grip. Zoey watched the heavy door crash open beside her, propped herself up on her elbows, and stole a peek inside.

A stone staircase disappeared into the shadows below.

But then a series of lights flicked on, and soon the staircase was illuminated in the gold flames of wall torches.

Zoey started to breathe normally again. She swung her legs down into the doorway.

"Zoey, be careful." Tristan leaned over her. "We don't know what's down there."

"I will." Carefully, Zoey climbed down to the first step.

The stairs were carved from rock and were steady enough to climb down. She could see the staircase winding down into shadow below her.

Tristan and Simon climbed down after her.

After a ten-minute walk, they came to a platform and another set of stairs going up. They climbed the long, winding staircase for more than half an hour. Zoey's thighs burned from the uphill climb. And just when she thought she couldn't lift another leg, they finally arrived at the end of the staircase. Another door with another eerie hand handle stood before them, except this time the door was black and twice as large.

"These doors are disturbing on purpose," said Zoey, eyeing the thick fingers from the handle. "I don't think anyone in their right mind would try to open _another_ one."

"Yes, but we're all _crazy_ ," said Simon. "Crazy to have come here in the first place."

Zoey paused for a second, catching her breath.

"Troll City, here we come." She wrapped her fingers around the hand —trying not to wince, turned the handle, and pushed through. The door fell back at once. As she climbed through the door, she was half-blinded by the sudden, bright light.

As her vision adjusted, her senses were on overdrive. Her skin tingled, and she shivered with the presence of mystics. It was like when she'd first come to the hive and sensed the mystics who were stepping in and out of the mirror-ports in the main hall. Only this time, there was a lot more. She could feel them.

Simon stumbled out after her. "Oh my God, I'm blind! I can't see! Zoey? Tristan? My friends? Is this heaven?"

"Oh shut up—it'll go away in a minute." Tristan stepped out, rubbing his eyes.

Once the black spots had disappeared from her eyes, Zoey looked around, and her heart stopped. They stood in the middle of the most extraordinary town she had ever seen. Rows of wooden tree houses lined the streets. Other homes and shops were carved into the side of a great hill, like a giant wall of Swiss cheese. The city looked as though a madman had designed it.

A series of doors like the ones they had just climbed through wrapped the edges of the town like a sidewalk. With a bang, one of the doors swung open, and a long-haired mystic with striped white and black skin like a zebra climbed out of the door.

Mystics were everywhere. There were tall mystics with red, scaly skin and necks like giraffes. Others were short and round with brilliant orange fur and long, bushy tails.

Zoey heard the beat of a wing and turned to see a creature with the head and wings of an eagle, but with the body of a lion. It landed in a small courtyard behind them. It took a sudden leap, and there was a flash of orange fur. Zoey was horrified as she watched one of the small orange mystics disappear down the griffin's throat. Around the corner, a stout mystic in a light blue suit carried a briefcase and conversed loudly with a young mystic who scribbled furiously in a notepad.

And then, as if they were in a movie in slow motion, all the mystics in the town stopped what they were doing and stared at them. Zoey looked to Tristan and Simon, and waited for an attack. But instead, the mystics screamed, flailed their arms in the air, and dashed for cover. It was as though the three of them were a savage army or a nuclear bomb that was about to fall. With ear-piercing screams, the mystics rushed into their homes and shops, slammed their doors behind them, and pulled the curtains shut.

Soon the town was deserted except for a few evil-looking mystics who hung back in the shadows.

"So much for the warm welcome I was hoping for," said Simon sarcastically.

Zoey looked around. "I thought you said this place was supposed to be dangerous? By the looks of things, I'd say that the mystics are more afraid of us than we are of them. What gives?"

"I don't know—but not all of them are afraid."

Tristan gestured towards the five, giant humanoids with thick, gray, leathery skin and bulging muscles who had stood their ground. Their metal armor gleamed in the sun, and they brandished axes, clubs, and sharp swords. Although they looked ready to do battle, they simply stood still and watched.

"Trolls," said Tristan. "The trolls of Troll City. Man, they're really _big_. I never thought they'd be this big."

"I don't like the way they're looking at us," said Simon in a small voice. "They look hungry. Don't you think they look hungry?"

"But why are they just standing there and staring?" asked Zoey. "It's like they're waiting for something."

As if on cue, the ground trembled, and twenty low-riding motorcycles came roaring into the town with a thunderous rumble. They were green and glistened in the light like emeralds. Astride the motorcycles were small, tattooed men dressed in leather. They circled, and the gasoline fumes and heat made Zoey cough. The motorcycles circled them one last time and then stopped. They were surrounded.

"What is this? A munchkin invasion?" laughed Simon. Zoey elbowed him in the ribs.

The bikers were small, but heavily muscled. Their stone-cold expressions meant business. Unlike Simon, Zoey didn't underestimate their size.

A man in a green top hat got off his motorcycle. He was about four feet tall, and his orange hair stuck out at odd angles from under his hat. He looked like the largest of his crew. His long, green, leather coat billowed around him as he stepped forward, and his black motorcycle boots made puffs of dust as he walked. He looked to be about forty, but Zoey couldn't really tell how old he was because of all the tattoos of black runes on his skin. He had ten skull-like earrings dangling from his large ears, and a single ring, like a bull's, in the middle of his nose. He smiled with the stained yellow teeth of someone who had never brushed his teeth.

"Well, well, well," he said. His voice was hoarse, and he sounded Irish. "What do we have here? Three little sheep who have lost their way."

His gang erupted in mad laughter, like wild hyenas.

His smile widened, but his golden-brown eyes were ice cold. "And what brings you here to our humble town, little sheep."

Cold sweat trickled down Zoey's back. The sound of the motorcycles and the smell of the gas had made her dizzy. "We're looking for someone. My—" she faltered, "—my mother."

"Your _mother_?" laughed the man. He turned to his troops, and they all fell into laughter again.

Zoey didn't like the way he had said _mother,_ and she started to wish she hadn't come.

"What's his problem," whispered Tristan, looking at Zoey.

"Mommy issues," suggested Simon in a low voice so that only Zoey and Tristan could hear. "I've seen it on TV—all the bad guys have mommy issues. Trust me."

The man danced on the spot and clapped his hands. "Your mother? You think your _mother_ is here? In Troll City? A female agent?"

"Well, I'm not sure if she's an agent—"

"She's not sure!" cried the man hysterically. He took off his hat, raised it in the air, and then bowed theatrically to his comrades. They applauded.

Zoey started to get angry. It was like being in a bad sitcom with a Laugh Now sign.

"It's not funny," she said loudly, and then, "Who are you, anyway? I'd like to speak to the person in charge."

She swallowed hard.

The man lowered his eyes. " _We_ , my little sheeplings, are leprechauns."

There was a nasty edge to his voice, "We're the law around these parts—and _you_ are trespassin'."

He snapped his fingers. "Frisk them for their DSM's."

Before they could react, ten evil-looking leprechauns surrounded them and held large daggers to their throats.

With a cold blade pressed against Zoey's skin, she stood still while a leprechaun with a black pirate-patch over his eye searched her pockets and took her DSM. She winced at his sour breath. How were they going to get back to the hive now?

Tristan handed over his DSM calmly, with a strange smile on his face.

"Hey! Stop that! That's _mine_!" screamed Simon as one of the leprechauns searched him and removed his DSM. "Why don't you pick on someone your _own_ size?"

The leprechaun bared a mouth full of metal teeth, and Simon jumped behind Tristan. "Well that rules out a quick escape," said Simon miserably. "What's your master plan now, Zoey?"

Zoey shrugged. "I don't have one."

She watched the leader pocket their DSM's inside his coat.

"We better come up with something fast," whispered Tristan.

Zoey looked at him. She didn't _have_ any kind of plan. She'd been impulsive, and in her foolishness, she'd endangered the lives of her friends. They were trapped—and it was _her_ fault.

"You should have never come here, little sheeplings," said the leprechaun leader.

"Why's that?" said Zoey, feeling more and more anxious.

The leprechaun leader measured her for a moment, his expression unsympathetic.

"You'll soon find out." He snickered and snapped his fingers. "Take them away."
14

# Gangsters and Leprechauns

Although they kicked, screamed, and punched, Zoey and her friends were no match for the leprechaun gang. They draped Zoey over the back seat of one of the motorcycles as if she were a sack of potatoes. The motorcycle swayed and bounced as they traveled, and she feared she was going to be sick. Her head hung over the edge of the seat so that her face was inches from the back wheel, and it sprayed sand and debris on her face and into her mouth. Coughing and spitting, she looked for Tristan and Simon, but she could only see big, black wheels. She prayed they were okay.

She forced her sickness down and cursed herself for being so foolish. This was her mess, and she alone should be stuck in it, not Tristan and Simon. It was humiliating enough to have been defeated by a gang of tattooed leprechauns—the thought of something bad happening to Tristan made her insides twist even more. She struggled against her bonds—she needed a plan.

Suddenly the back end of the motorcycle started to jerk up and down, and Zoey saw that they were going up a large staircase. They passed through a large open archway. The bike straightened, and they raced across gleaming marble floors.

The motorbike fishtailed to a stop, and Zoey flew off the bike. She skidded on the hard marble floors and burned the skin on the side of her face. She leaned on her elbows and looked around.

They were in some sort of massive hotel ballroom. Marble columns rose on either side, and light spilled through beautiful stained glass windows. A majestic, golden throne in the shape of a tall hat sat on a dais at the other end of the chamber. And on either side of the dais were mountains of treasure.

Piles of gold and silver coins, diamond rings, necklaces, jeweled tiaras, diamond watches, gold candlesticks, and even human-sized golden statues with rubies for eyes twinkled from every corner of the large chamber. And amid the gleaming treasures were flat-screen televisions, laptops, cell phones, and tons of electronic devices that Zoey had never seen before.

It was a robbers' storage unit, cluttered with their stolen prizes. An entire wall was stacked to the ceiling with money that teetered dangerously. A leprechaun in a baseball cap sat at the base of the wall of money and stuffed dollar bills into an electric cash-counting machine, like the ones she had seen in gangster movies.

Zoey had never seen so much richness in all of her life. It was like the treasure of Smaug, the dragon from _The Hobbit_.

But there was something else besides treasure inside the chamber. A cast-iron cage, the size of a garage, sat in the middle of the space. What the heck was it doing there? Maroon stains speckled the floor beneath it, and some of the bars had been scratched and bent as though something or someone had tried desperately to get out. Zoey's blood turned to ice. She hoped they weren't going to find out.

Tires screeched, and Tristan and Simon crashed onto the floor next to her.

Tristan rolled over to Zoey, his eyes wide. "You okay? Are you hurt? Did they hurt you?"

Zoey sat up painfully.

"No," she lied, "just my pride. This really sucks—I'm sorry I dragged you guys into this."

Tristan gave her a small smile. "Nah, I love a good adventure. Besides, we're going to get out of here, I promise."

"When we do, remind me to _never_ get a motorbike," grumbled Simon. He had a nasty bruise on the side of his left temple. "I'll never look at a scooter the same way again."

Tristan whistled. "Wow, look at all the gold and diamonds—there must be millions of dollars' worth of stuff in here."

"More like billions," grumbled Simon.

Zoey looked around. "They look like thieves. Something tells me that they didn't work for any of it. What do you think they're going to do to us?"

"I don't know," said Tristan, "If we could get our DSM's back, we could probably make it out of here in one piece."

"Is that—is that a _birdcage_?" said Simon looking worried.

But before they could find out, the rest of the leprechauns and their bikes exploded into the chamber with a thunderous roar. They killed their engines, and the leprechaun leader leaped off his bike and made his way towards the dais. He sat in the golden throne.

"Put them in the cage," he said.

Six large leprechauns with punk hairstyles pulled out large blades and strolled towards Zoey.

"We're not poultry," said Simon, pretending to look offended.

"We—" he motioned to himself and the others with his head, and then spoke very slowly, "are _tee—na—gers_. And teenagers don't belong in cages—unless you're planning on eating us? You're not planning on eating us, right? Besides, aren't you like _supposed_ to slide down rainbows or something?"

"In the cage," said a bald and tattooed leprechaun to Simon.

"Don't make me say it again," he snarled through blackened teeth. He poked the tip of his blade into Simon's neck, "or I'll skin you alive, and then feed you to my pets in the swamp."

"Pets?" said Simon. "Those things back there in the swamps are _your_ pets? Are you serious?"

"In the cage!" yelled the leprechaun.

"Okay, I'm going." Simon lifted his hands in surrender and walked into the cage.

Tristan eyed Zoey with concern—she wasn't moving.

Zoey stared at the cage. It looked like death to her. She couldn't move.

The bald leprechaun held his blade to her eye. "In, or I'll blind you, _Red_."

"NO!" Zoey stepped back and kicked the leprechaun with a satisfying crunch.

But then she was hit from behind by something hard. White light exploded in her vision. She was dragged across the floor and thrown inside the cage. She heard the loud bang as the cage's door closed, and then the tick of a lock.

"Zoey, are you okay?" Tristan kneeled beside her and cradled her hand.

Zoey blinked and looked up. "I think so."

With some effort, she grabbed the iron bars and pulled herself up. "I guess this is what it feels like to be in jail."

"Jail?" laughed the leprechaun leader.

He leaned forward in his chair and smiled maliciously. "No, no, no, my little sheeplings—this is much _worse_ than jail. This is _The Cage—_ and you three are on trial."

Zoey, Simon, and Tristan looked at each other in shocked silence.

_On trial,_ thought Zoey. _What the heck is this place?_

But then something occurred to her—if this was indeed a trial, then they could argue their case. There was still a chance they could get out of here. She only hoped it didn't ruin their chances to find her mother.

Two grumpy-looking leprechauns stood on either side of their seated leader. She recognized one as the guy she had kicked. He didn't appear to be in pain at all, and she wished she had kicked him harder.

The leprechaun leader raised his arms.

"I think it's time for some introductions. _I_ am Rusty McFearsome," said the leprechaun proudly, "the ruler of Troll City, and leader of this magnificent gang."

"Magnificent, my eye," whispered Simon. "More like a magnificent _moron_."

Rusty pointed to his right. " _This_ is my first in command, Warty O'Wicked."

The entire leprechaun gang clapped and stomped their boots in a loud cheer. Warty was the bald leprechaun that Zoey had kicked. He was almost as tall as Rusty, but much more muscular. He had scars on his face and arms, which were still visible under his tattoos. He wore leather pants and a leather vest that showed off his build. He flexed his muscles smugly. He was pompous and had the look of a serial killer.

"And to my left," continued Rusty, "is my second in command, Crusher O'Looney."

Crusher smiled and revealed teeth that were capped in gold. He squared his shoulders at his round of applause. He held a large club in his hand, and Zoey figured that's how he got his name. He sported a green Mohawk and wore leather overalls. His body was covered in tattoos, and his eyebrows, nose, cheeks, and lips were pierced.

"Did they pick their names out of a Cracker Jack box?" whispered Simon.

"Now," said Rusty as he leaned back against his chair, "tell me who _you_ are—and what you're _doing_ in my city."

Tristan opened his mouth about to speak, but Zoey cut him off.

"I'm Zoey," she said and then pointed to the others. "These are my friends, Tristan and Simon." She stood at the edge of the bars and looked up to the dais. "This has nothing to do with them. This was _my_ idea—me alone. I came here to look for someone."

"Yes, your _mother_." Rusty slapped his thigh, and all the leprechauns laughed like this was the best joke they'd ever heard. A few fell over from laughing so hard, and some even cried.

Zoey shut her mouth before she said something rude. Clearly, they were not taking her seriously—she hated it when that happened.

" _Humans_ are not allowed in Troll City," continued Rusty. "According to the treaty," he snapped his fingers, and Warty O'Wicked fetched a scroll from behind the chair. He handed it to Rusty who untied it, and the scroll unrolled all the way to the floor.

Rusty cleared his throat.

"Article number one dash fifteen," he read. "We members of the agency and the mystic council, hereby acknowledge Troll City as a sanctuary for all mystics, and hereby forbid any humans from entering. Bla, bla, bla—the rest is unimportant."

He rolled up the scroll and handed it back to Warty.

"So you see, my little sheeplings, we haven't had the pleasure of a human visit in decades—and that visit only lasted for twelve minutes before we cut him up in tiny pieces and fed him to our pets. The penalty of trespassing is death—we're going to skin you alive."

"Does it say that in your treaty? To kill trespassers?" said Zoey.

She tried to sound authoritative and raised her voice. "I didn't hear you read that part? I doubt the agency would allow something like that. I think you made it up. I think you're lying."

"Shh, Zoey," hissed Simon, "are you mad? You want us to get killed or what?"

Zoey clenched her jaw and looked at Simon. "This is supposed to be a trial. They need evidence against us, right? Where does it say they have the right to imprison us and kill us?"

"She's right," interjected Tristan, looking grave. "They're lying."

Rusty smiled wickedly. "Well, I guess you'll never find out now, will you."

He raised his voice. "Off with their heads!" he called out dramatically. The leprechauns cheered.

"Wait!" cried Zoey. "What about our trial? You said we were _on_ trial—that means we must be allowed to present our case."

Rusty raised his eyebrows. "You don't have a case. You're trespassers. And I rule to have you killed—it's that simple."

He paused for a moment and scratched his chin. "Unless you can come up with payment, then I might reconsider your release."

"What kind of payment?" Zoey feared she already knew the answer.

Rusty smiled and his golden eyes sparkled with greed. "Money or jewelry? Do you have anything of worth?" He leaned forward, inspecting them through the bars.

Zoey huddled with the others. " _I_ don't have anything that's worth anything. I'm freaking poor, remember—I'm a stray orphan."

Tristan and Simon pulled out their wallets. Together they had a total of twenty-five dollars and fifty-five cents. Zoey's heart sunk. It wouldn't be enough.

She took the money and stuck her hand out of the bars. "Here, that's all we have. Do we have a deal?"

Crusher stepped down and took the money from Zoey. Without counting it, he handed it to Rusty who took it eagerly and began to count it. He frowned.

"Twenty-five dollars and fifty-five cents? That's it? That's all you can come up with? Three classy looking kids, and that's _all_ you've got?"

Zoey looked down. "I've never thought of myself as classy, but if we had known, we could have brought more, I promise—"

Rusty brushed her off with his hand. "Kill them."

"Wait! But you said if we paid you you'd let us go!"

The leprechaun leader grinned. "I lied. Cut them up and feed them to the Grohemoths —"

"You can't do this!" Zoey started to panic.

"We didn't mean any harm. Please—we only came here to look for a woman named Elizabeth."

Rusty leaned forward in his chair, and his face paled. "What did you say?"

Zoey looked at the others and then said, "I said we didn't mean any harm—"

"No—the other part," urged Rusty. He sounded desperate. "The part where you said a name—what was the name you said?"

Zoey paused for a moment, and then said with a shrug. "I said _Elizabeth_."

Rusty's eyes widened. He shared a sidelong glance with Warty and then whispered something that she couldn't hear.

Rusty spoke again. "And how do you know this, Elizabeth? Who sent you?"

He scowled, and his face suddenly began to twist in rage.

"No one sent me," said Zoey as calmly as she could. "I disobeyed the agency to come here to look for a woman named Elizabeth. I think she's my mother."

Zoey continued, "You see—I don't know who my parents are because I'm an orphan. But a dying man told me that I looked like a woman he knew—that we had the same hair. He told me to look for her in Troll City. I only came here to look for her—to talk to her—that's all."

"She does have the same hair as Elizabeth," said Crusher, "and she looks like her, too."

"Shut up!" roared Rusty.

He jumped off his throne and walked over to the cage.

He eyed Zoey suspiciously. "Hmmm. You do look like her—a lot like her."

Zoey's eyes widened. "You know her? Is she here? Please—I need to see her. Can I see her?"

A wave of sadness passed in Rusty's eyes. "She's not here. Not anymore."

"What? What do you mean?" Zoey felt empty.

Rusty looked away from Zoey and unlocked the cage. He opened the door.

"You should leave."

Tristan and Simon followed Zoey out of the cage.

Zoey looked down at Rusty. "Please, if you know anything, I've been searching all my life for my parents."

When Rusty looked up at her, tears brimmed his eyes. He wiped his large nose on the back of his hand. "She was sent to us as a prisoner. We were paid to keep her and to torture her."

"You tortured her!" Zoey's voice cracked. Blood rushed to her face. She wanted to punch him.

Rusty shook his head. "No, of course not. I loved her...we all did. She was _our_ Elizabeth."

Suddenly, the entire leprechaun gang started to cry like little girls. They howled loudly and wept. And then they all hugged each other, as though they had lost someone dear to them. It was touching to watch, but ugly at the same time.

Zoey turned away from the crying leprechauns. "You said she wasn't here anymore—so what happened to her?"

Rusty dabbed his tears with a green handkerchief. "We were instructed to imprison her for life, but we couldn't—we just couldn't—not our sweet, loving, dear, Elizabeth. She stayed here for about ten years, and then we let her go."

Rusty's bottom lip quivered, and he burst into tears again.

Zoey's anger for the leprechauns had melted away and for a moment she wondered if she should comfort Rusty, but then he _did_ imprisoner her and her friends and threatened to _kill_ them. But something didn't make sense.

"Who paid you to keep her a prisoner?" she said. "Why was she a prisoner at all?"

Rusty's crying had become so hysterical that he choked on his sobs and could not answer.

Warty answered for him.

"The Alphas," he said, with a touch of anger in his voice. "And they paid us a heavy sum to keep it secret, too. They didn't want anyone to know she was here."

Warty padded his boss's shoulders tenderly. "But we were good to our Elizabeth, boss, weren't we?"

"I'm lost—what are the Alphas?" asked Zoey.

It was Tristan's turn to speak. "The Alpha Nation is a group of Sevenths who objected to living with mystics. They hate everything to do with humans and mystics. Alphas have been around like for a very long time. They believe that mystics should be returned to the Nexus—or destroyed _permanently_."

"He's right," agreed Simon. "The Alphas don't believe in treaties. They're completely crazy. But it doesn't make any sense that they would send a Seventh to be imprisoned here."

"They never told us anything," said Rusty, and he blew his nose loudly. "They just paid us to be quiet. They figured no one would ever come here to look for her. They were right—until now."

Zoey felt cold and empty. She had come all this way and disobeyed the agency to find her mother—only to find out that she wasn't even here. Her great plan had been a great waste of time.

"Do you know where she went?"

Rusty shrugged. "No. She didn't tell us, and we didn't ask. She never talked much about herself before she came here. She was very quiet about it. I always thought she looked sad, but she never talked about it. I'm really sorry about the cage. We were just playing around, having some fun."

He stuck out his hand. "Friends? No hard feelings? We would have never killed you for _real_."

"Yeah, like I believe you," said Simon sarcastically and jumped at the sight of Crusher leaning closer to him.

Zoey shook Rusty's hand. "No hard feelings, Rusty. It has been a very _educational_ experience."

Rusty squeezed Zoey's hand. "When you find Elizabeth, tell her—tell her we miss her."

"I will," she said, feeling sorry for him, " _if_ I find her. I promise."

From the folds on his coat, Rusty pulled out their DSM's.

"Here," he said as he handed the devices back to them. "I figure you'll need these to get back home."

"Thank you." Zoey took her DSM gladly, but her heart was heavy. She had no real leads. How was she ever going to find her mother now?

After a moment, she looked down at Rusty. "Thanks for not killing us."

Rusty's eyes were bloodshot and wet. "If ever you need anything, _anything_ at all, just let us know—it'll be a pleasure to see Elizabeth's daughter again. I feel like I'm looking at her when I look at you now. I can't believe I didn't see it before. I'm sorry."

Zoey smiled at the small man. "It's fine, really. And thanks. I'll hold you to that promise. I have a feeling I might need it someday—maybe sooner than later."

"Zoey, we should go," said Tristan as he popped his DSM open. Simon shifted his weight anxiously, eyeing Zoey impatiently. He mouthed _come on_.

"Good-bye."

With a final smile at the leprechauns, Zoey flipped open her DSM. She angled her reflection properly, stood _very_ still, and a second later her body flickered, transformed into a semitransparent shadow, and she disappeared.
15

# Suspended

As soon as Zoey, Tristan, and Simon reappeared back at the hive, Agent Vargas was waiting for them with muscles bulging. He eyeballed them like an executioner. Zoey shrunk back at the sight of him.

"YOU!" he bellowed. His red face contorted grotesquely, and Zoey could almost see the fumes coming off his head. He could only speak in single word sentences, as though he would run amok if he didn't discipline his words.

"You! Follow! Me! Trouble!"

The three of them followed the agent wearily. Their lack of sleep had kicked in, and Zoey had to concentrate to keep her lids from shutting. She kept bumping into Tristan, who couldn't keep up because he was supporting Simon with one arm. Like a sergeant major, Agent Vargas marched down the hall and held the academy door open for them. If he could have shot lasers from his eyes, Zoey was sure they'd be burnt to a crisp.

Once they entered the classroom, she could see through the windows that the sun was just coming up over the hill and trees to the east. She figured it was about seven or eight in the morning. Classes hadn't started yet. Thank God. It would have been a million times more humiliating to be scolded in front of the entire academy.

Zoey's stomach somersaulted when she spotted Agent Barnes. He was leaning on the far wall, behind the agent's desk. His arms were crossed over his chest, and he looked as livid as Agent Vargas. This time, she did think she was going to be sick.

"Sit!" ordered Agent Vargas, and Zoey jumped. A large vein pulsed on his forehead, and his face looked as if it were about to explode. The three of them sat silently and hung their heads. Zoey was certain everyone could hear her heart thundering in her chest. She tried to swallow, but her throat was dry. She didn't dare look at Tristan or Simon—she kept her eyes low. What were they going to do to them?

With his fingers curled into fists, Agent Vargas paced around the room.

"I don't even know where to begin? This is so outrageous, such unbelievable recklessness. I must be dreaming? How can my _own_ operatives act so irresponsibly? How could you be so foolish—so senseless? Did you not think how this would reflect on the hive? No! Of course not! You were only thinking about yourselves!"

Zoey looked up and found her voice. "This is all my fault, Agent Vargas—"

"SILENCE!" bellowed the agent. He was silent for a moment, as he tried to control his anger.

"Imagine the state of panic your parents went through when they discovered your empty beds? Their children—vanished—gone. They thought their boys had been kidnapped!"

Zoey wasn't sleepy anymore. The intensity of the situation sent adrenalin soaring through her—or was that her overwhelming guilt? She was sure it was going to get a lot worse any second now. She tried to get Agent Barnes' attention, but he avoided her gaze as he watched Agent Vargas. She felt isolated.

"They called the agency right away," he continued, "and asked if we knew anything about your disappearance."

His eyes turned to Zoey. "I had my doubts, but when we searched _your_ room and found you gone—then I knew where the three of you had disappeared—where I _specifically_ told you _not_ to go—where even agents are not allowed! You disobeyed me! You turned your back on the agency!" His voice rose and his face reddened even more.

He placed his hands on Zoey's desk and looked down at her. Beads of sweat trickled down his temples. "Am I to suppose that _you_ were the instigator in this mess? I never had any problems with Tristan or Simon until _you_ came along."

Zoey's bottom lip trembled, and tears swelled in her eyes.

"Yes. It's all me. All of it." And then she added quickly, "It's not their fault Agent Vargas. I forced them to come with me. They didn't want to come, but I blackmailed them."

"You forced them and blackmailed them? Really, how so?"

"I told them if they didn't come—we wouldn't be friends anymore," she lied.

The words pained her as they left her lips. Tristan turned to look at her and shook his head, mouthing the word _no_. But she ignored him.

"So you see—they're innocent. I'm the one to blame. I did this, not them. I'm the rule breaker. I only thought of myself."

She took a deep breath. "I'll accept any punishment you give me. I won't complain."

Agent Vargas raised his eyebrows. "Oh you will, will you?"

"Yes," said Zoey. "You can lock me up in a prison and starve me and torture me—I deserve it."

"Stop your nonsense," said the agent.

His voice softened, and he seemed to relax a little. "We don't torture little girls—even if they disobey the rules and endanger the lives of their fellows. What were you thinking? You could have been killed."

"I needed to know if what Agent Scott had told me about my mother was true," she answered.

She inhaled shakily. "I had to find out. I couldn't help myself."

Zoey saw an opportunity and took it. "But we survived, and we found out some really important stuff."

"What stuff?" Agent Barnes walked towards them slowly, his arms still crossed. "What stuff are you talking out, Zoey?"

Both Simon and Tristan nodded their approval as she spoke. She took a deep breath and told the agents about the swamp Grohemoths, the leprechaun gang, and more importantly about the imprisonment of the woman, Elizabeth, and the role of the Alpha Nation.

Agent Vargas wasn't buying it.

"First you tell us an absurd story about a strange deformed-looking woman who has the stolen interloper—and now this! Why are you making up these lies? What purpose do they serve?"

Zoey shrank back in her seat. Her words wouldn't come. She wanted so desperately for them to believe her, but she knew it was a lost cause.

Tristan raised his hand. "Wait a second, Agent Vargas, what Zoey is saying is—" he began. Agent Vargas silenced him with brisk a wave of his hand.

"You are not permitted to speak, until spoken to, Tristan." Agent Vargas looked as if he was about to sprout horns.

"I vouched for you, Zoey," said Agent Barnes suddenly. "What were you thinking? How could you let me down like this?"

His words were like knives stabbing her in the heart. Her eyes burned, and the room got hazy. She didn't understand why she cared what Agent Barnes thought of her. He wasn't her real father. And it wasn't as if she hadn't been scolded a million times by her foster parents—why was this any different?

"But it's the truth," was all she was able to say without letting go of the tears that threatened to flow down her cheeks. She looked at Agent Barnes, but he was staring at the floor with a frown.

"Truth? Do you even know the meaning of the word?" Agent Vargas started pacing again.

"I don't know what to make of all of this. Understand this, Zoey, management will be advised of your actions. We have a meeting about this shocking episode this morning—and I doubt it will turn out in your favor."

He pointed a large hand at Tristan and Simon who shrunk back in their seats, looking guilty. "You two are to return home today to your families. You're both suspended for one day."

And then he turned to Zoey. "And you, Zoey St. John, are suspended indefinitely."

* * *

Zoey stared out her bedroom window longingly. She watched the other operatives on their lunch break as they lounged on the vast hive grounds. They were laughing and eating like normal kids, enjoying the last warm days of October. She saw Tristan and Simon shooting their S9 slingshots at a line of plastic water bottles on a picnic table. Tristan hit every bottle. Simon purposely stepped over the target line when Tristan's back was turned, then yelled out in delight at the fallen bottles.

She ached to be with her friends, but it was impossible. She was on lockdown in her room, a prisoner. She had been restricted to the Wander Inn for four weeks now, and had been forbidden to have contact with any other operatives, especially Tristan and Simon. Even her beloved golden boomerang had been confiscated. That hurt.

Management's final decision regarding her fate with the agency was still unresolved. The waiting was excruciating. From what Agent Barnes had told her the _one_ time he had come to visit, she understood that management was divided about whether she should be reinstated or sent to live in a secret neighborhood with a Seventh's family.

It seemed that no one believed her story. Management and the agents seemed convinced that she had made it all up to gain attention. They claimed it wasn't her fault—that her behavior was the result of being an orphan and tossed from foster home to foster home since she had been a baby.

While Zoey was reckless and headstrong, she wasn't a liar. And she was determined to prove it to them, if it was the last thing she ever did.

But for now, all she could do was wait, and it was making her crazy. It was a miracle that she had actually obeyed her instructions to stay inside the Wander Inn and not broken out already. But there would come a time when she would, and she knew it was going to be very soon.

She was still preoccupied with what had happened to Elizabeth, and why she had been imprisoned in Troll City. If Elizabeth was truly her mother, she needed to find her no matter what. She couldn't just sit back and do nothing. That wasn't who _she_ was.

With nothing to do but think for the four weeks she had been imprisoned, she concluded that Elizabeth _must_ have been an agent who had discovered something so important that she needed to be silenced. That was the only thing that made sense—you didn't imprison ordinary people for no apparent reason. No, Elizabeth must have known something dangerous—and they had locked her up to keep her from talking.

Zoey knew that orphanages kept records about every child who had been in and out of their facilities going back for decades. The agency must keep records of _all_ their agents, too. And she had a pretty good idea where they would be.

Zoey figured that the longer it took management to decide her case, the smaller were the odds that she would remain in the program. It was pretty obvious she was going to get kicked out—so why not go out with a _bang_? Bangs are good.

Zoey sighed and rested her forehead on the window. Stuart walked casually across the grounds with Claudia at his side—the way they were walking so close to each other they almost looked like they were dating. She couldn't understand how anyone—even Claudia—could stand Stuart. There was something different about him. He seemed to know things the others did not. It gave him airs, and she hated him for it. What could he know?

She watched them as they joined another group of operatives at a bench. Stuart's lips moved, and they all started laughing. Then one by one they looked up and stared at Zoey's window. Even from a distance, she could see the evil smile on Stuart's triumphant face. It was almost as though he already knew her fate, and by the self-satisfied grin on his face it could only mean that she was on her way out. He lifted his hand and waved.

Zoey closed the curtains and stepped away from the window. She picked up a blueberry muffin, yelled in frustration, and hurled it into the wall in an explosion of crumbs. It wasn't very helpful, but she felt a little release.

It wasn't over yet. Zoey had a plan, and it started tonight.

* * *

At the stroke of midnight, Zoey rolled out of bed in a T-shirt, hoody sweater and sweat pants. She pulled on her sneakers and grabbed the flashlight she had nicked from Aria's kitchen at dinner. She tiptoed out the door and down the stairs. As silent as a cat, she closed the front door behind her and crept to the front entrance of the hive. She pulled open the door and looked around. The main hallway was empty—her timing was perfect. She was not about to get caught again. She pulled off her sneakers and hid them in a large plant pot near the entrance door.

She sprinted towards the main stairway on the right, and after sliding and slipping up the stairs, she reached the fourth floor. She held her breath and peeked around the corner. The corridor was empty. She made her way down the corridor and found a gray metal door with a sign at the top which read: Supernatural Affairs, Room 4A.

This room was off-limits, and she would definitely get kicked out of the program for breaking in here. But finding the truth about Elizabeth was more important to her. She didn't care anymore. She _had_ to do this.

If she was right about Elizabeth being an agent, then she might be lucky enough to find out information about her _father,_ too. Maybe he had also been an agent? But she didn't want to get her hopes up too high just yet. For now, she focused exclusively on her mother—the rest would follow.

With her nerves fluttering in her belly, she wrapped her hand on the handle and pushed in carefully. The room was dark, and she waited for her eyes to adjust. She didn't want to use the flashlight just yet and shoved it in her front pocket. The room was as large as the entire main hall. Thick drapes hung from tall windows at the opposite end. Shadows slowly took solid forms, and she could make out a long rectangular table in the middle of the room, with chairs around it and a large screen. There was a seating area with couches and chairs. Pictures lined the walls, but it was too dark to make out what they were. She crept inside. There were two other doors on the far right.

She opened the first door—a kitchenette and a small bathroom. The other door revealed a small office. A computer sat on a wooden desk, waiting to be hacked. But she wasn't a hacker, and it would take forever to figure out the password. She didn't have the luxury of time. A large high-back upholstered chair stood in the corner, and three large file cabinets backed against tall bookshelves that wrapped the right side of the room.

"This has to be it," Zoey whispered to herself. She could feel that she was very close to discovering something. She closed the door to the office behind her and switched on her flashlight.

The metal-gray filing cabinets were about four feet tall with three large drawers. She read the front labels on the first cabinet: "Headquarters - London Affairs, AN, Mystic Treaty."

The second cabinets' drawers read: "Sevenths, AD - BC, Census - 1295 – Present."

And then on the last cabinet, she struck gold. The labels read: "List of active agents," "List of retired agents," and finally, "List of MIA agents or Deceased"—if her mother was still in hiding, then this was the only drawer that her file could be in.

She pulled out the drawer gently and began to finger through the alphabetical labels. There were hundreds of missing-in-action agents. She put the flashlight in her mouth and searched, but after half an hour she had gone through every name—and nothing.

Then at the very back, she found a picture of a woman with fire-red hair and large green eyes. Zoey's blood turned to ice.

It was as though she was looking at an older version of herself—the woman in the picture even had the same tiny little dimple in the middle of her chin. She knew this had to be her mother. The name at the top of the file read: Elizabeth Steele. Trembling all over, she pulled out the file, ran over to the desk, flattened it out, and read.

_Agent: Elizabeth Steele_

_Years in service: 15 years_

_Service stationed at: Hive # 416, Toronto Branch. Last known station: Hive # 202, New York Branch._

_Status: Single, no family or children on record._

_Parents: William and Nora Steele, both deceased. No living relatives known._

* * *

At the bottom of the file written in big bold letters was—MIA, PRESUMED DEAD.

Tears fell freely on her cheeks, and the words on the paper blurred as she fought to control her emotions. All those years of searching had come to this—her mother was missing. There was no mention of her father, or her for that matter, but for now, it was the best news she could have hoped for. She held real, tangible evidence in her hands. She had finally found her _real_ mother. There was no denying it—they were practically twins.

As she started to flick through the rest of the papers inside the file, voices came from outside the door.

Zoey shut off the flashlight. She crumbled the file against her chest and flattened herself behind the chair, against the wall and out of sight. Her face rubbed against the back of the chair. It smelled old and musty and tickled her nose, but she didn't dare sneeze. She waited.

The door opened, and light poured into the room. Zoey lowered herself until she lay flat against the floor. She heard footsteps, and from the space under the chair, she saw a pair of ankles in dark gray pants and shiny black shoes. She prayed it wasn't Agent Vargas and kept her breathing to controlled and quiet.

Then a deep voice said, "Hurry up, we don't have much time."

Zoey didn't recognize the voice. She realized it wasn't Agent Vargas, or Agent Barnes. But it still wasn't _good_.

A pair of black boots followed the black shoes and stood in front of the desk. She heard a scraping sound, the _beep_ of a computer powering on, then the sound of fingers typing on a keyboard,

"I'm in," said a voice in a squeaky tone. "It'll only take a few minutes..."

Zoey caught her breath—she knew that voice. But where had she heard it before? She strained to listen more intensely.

"Good—find the codes. We can't get in without them," ordered the man with the deep voice. "Are the others ready?"

She heard more typing on the keyboard.

"Yes, everyone's waiting for the signal. You don't have to worry."

"Good, we make our move tomorrow night. Have the others ready to move by morning. The Alphas will be waiting for us at the safe house in London. Make sure no one sees you leave, understood? You've already caused too much suspicion. We can't afford any mistakes now—we're too close. You _do_ understand the importance of this, don't you? I mean, you do know what we're fighting for—what we're trying to achieve?"

There was a slight pause, and the other man sounded a little annoyed. "Of course—I'm here now, aren't I?"

From her hiding place, Zoey watched as the pair of black shoes neared her. She stopped breathing. But then they turned and walked over to the bookshelves. She heard the sound of pages flipping in one of the books.

"We've been forced to abide by these ridiculous _treaties_ for too long. The Sevenths are a pathetic excuse for an organization of Sevenths. These agents are not the true disciples of the _Originals_ —no Original would dare befriend a monster. We were born with the gift to detect monsters so we could protect ourselves from them—and destroy them. The Originals rid the world of monsters, and now we will make them our slaves like the rest of the Mutes.

"The Agencies are weak and useless—making treaties with beasts and creatures from other worlds instead of killing them. It's deplorable. It's disgusting—humans shouldn't mix with the beasts. The Alpha Nation is the only _true_ nation. There can be no other."

"Yes, of course."

"Mrs. Dupont trusts you," continued the man, "and I'm not sure why that is. I'm not entirely sure what _she_ sees in you—your loyalty to the Alphas is questionable."

"Mrs. Dupont knows where my loyalties lie," said the man. His voice was edged with a bit of fear. "I don't have to _prove_ anything to you. Her word should be enough. She trusts me, so should you."

And at that moment, Zoey recognized the voice. It was the same squeaky mouse voice she had heard from the man who spoke with the cat-lady. She was positive. It _was_ him—and he was _here_ at their hive. She was pleasantly excited and scared at the same time.

The other man laughed. "Yes, well, we shall see shan't we? When the time comes, your true allegiance will surface, and we will see whose side you're really on, _friend_. Do you have the codes yet? It's taking longer than I expected. Hurry up before someone from your agency finds us in here."

There was a silence, then the other man answered, "Yes, I've got them. It's all here."

Zoey heard a soft _clip._

"Good, now give me the flash drive."

There was a pause, and the man spoke again with a hint of irritation in his tone. "Give me the flash drive," he repeated, his voice rising.

"It's all yours," the other man replied curtly.

Zoey listened closely. And what she heard next changed things completely.

"Tomorrow is the brink of a new area. Together we will witness the downfall of the agency _'s_ headquarters, and once it is gone, every other wretched agency around the world will be destroyed. One by one they will crumble and fall. We will leave _no_ survivors. The true nation will rise."

Zoey tried to control her nerves. If she hadn't been hiding so close to them, she might have risked a glimpse. Without names, she would not be able to convince anyone to believe her. She still felt a sense of responsibility towards the agency. She knew she needed at least a description or a clue as to the identity of these men. Zoey hesitated—should she risk showing herself or not?

Just as she started to expose her head to take a look, they left the room and closed the door. She raised her head from behind the chair, the room was deserted. She crawled out of her hiding place, the file still clutched in her right hand, and made for the door. With a soft _click_ it popped open about an inch, and she peered out into Room 4A. It was just as dark as it had been when she had stepped inside twenty minutes ago. There were no traces of the traitorous men.

_So much for that_ , she told herself.

She closed the office door behind her, crossed the larger room, and slipped through the main door. She closed it and listened carefully—nothing.

With the file clutched against her chest, her adrenalin fluttered through her like butterflies—no one was going to stop her from discovering the truth—rules or no rules.

Grinning from ear to ear, Zoey hurried across the marble floors in her socks. How many traitors were there in the hive? Why did they need codes? And what were they planning on doing to the agency's headquarters tomorrow?

One thing was for sure, she knew that the cat-face woman's name was Mrs. Dupont—and that somehow she was connected to the Alpha Nation and her mother's imprisonment and disappearance.

But first, she needed to warn the agency about what she had heard. It was far too important.

She dashed down the corridor, thinking how she could break the news gently. The gleaming marble floor was like an indoor skating rink, and she skated in her socks, turned left, and crashed into a hard body.
16

# Attack of the Fat Vampires

Zoey slipped and fell onto the hard marble floors. And when she looked up her smile faded, and she felt the blood drain from her face.

"What part of you're _not_ allowed anywhere near the hive didn't you understand, Zoey?" growled Agent Barnes.

Even in the dimly lit corridor, Zoey could see the flush on his face.

"The fourth floor is off-limits, especially to you. What are you doing snooping around in the middle of the night, Zoey? This doesn't look good. This doesn't look good at all."

She swallowed hard. "I—I—" she hesitated, her cheeks burning. How was she going to explain this? She knew she had broken like a _million_ rules. Her mouth fell open but no words came out.

"What do you have there?"

He grabbed the file from Zoey before she had the chance to hide it. He flipped it open and stepped beneath one of the wall scones for more light. After a moment, he looked up at Zoey.

"Where did you get this?"

"In a file cabinet—in the Supernatural Affairs room—"

"What? How dare you go in there!"

Agent Barnes leaned over her angrily. "You can't just go wherever you please! We have rules here. Room 4A is strictly prohibited to anyone without proper authorization—little girls are _not_ allowed in there."

He scowled and waved the file in her face.

"Tell me something? Are you doing this on purpose? Do you want to get kicked out of the program for good and go live in some sad little neighborhood? You want to throw away a chance of a lifetime? Well—do you?"

"No."

"So why are you busting my chops? Why are you making it so darn difficult for you to stay? You know how many kids would kill to take your place?"

Zoey stared at her socks. "I just—I just needed to find some answers about my mom. I can't help it. I needed to know who she was."

Agent Barnes flipped the file open again. "So, you think this is her?"

His voice softened when he saw the picture in the file.

" _Elizabeth Steele_. Man, she really _does_ look like you. I have to admit. Maybe it is her, and maybe it's not. But it says here she was never married and had no children."

"I thought about that," said Zoey, "maybe she kept me a secret."

Agent Barnes raised his eyebrows. "Why would she do that?"

Zoey pondered for a moment. "Because maybe she knew I would be in danger."

"In danger from what?"

"From the same people who imprisoned her in Troll City—the Alpha Nation."

Agent Barnes shut the file with a slap.

"The Alpha Nation doesn't do dealings with mystics. It's just not possible. If you knew more about their history, and _our_ history, you would know that it's inconceivable. There's just no way."

He looked at Zoey with concern.

"I understand your need to know more about your past, Zoey. I get it—really I do. And if this _is_ truly your mother, then I'll help you find her. I promise. But you have to promise to stop fabricating stories. It's not exactly helping your case. I'm on your side you know—you've got to give me something real to work with."

"They're not stories, I'm telling you the truth," said Zoey. "Why would I make this up? Did you ask yourself that? You can ask Tristan or Simon. They'll tell you the exact same thing. They were there. We went through it together. In a court of law, they would be considered valuable witnesses."

"Yes, well, I already had lots of conversations with both of them." Agent Barnes shook his head. "I don't know what it is with the three of you, but you have to stop—"

"But—" protested Zoey, but she was silenced with one stern look from Agent Barnes.

"—at least until management's come up with a decision," he continued. "You don't want to make it worse. Your future here is hanging on a thread."

"You don't believe me either?" said Zoey, her voice wavering.

Agent Barnes pressed a gentle hand on her shoulder. "It's not that I don't believe you. It's just that what you're telling us doesn't make any sense, and it's making it really, really hard for us to believe you."

Zoey struggled for a moment. Should she tell him what she heard? Would he believe her? She decided it was too important not to tell him.

"There's something I have to tell you—"

"Oh good, you found her." Agent Ward came marching down the corridor wearing pink and white pajamas and pink kitty slippers. She adjusted her glasses and swung a flashlight in Zoey's face.

"What are you doing here on the fourth floor in the middle of the night! Operatives are prohibited from the fourth floor, didn't anyone tell you that?"

She pointed a long skinny finger at Zoey. "Aria heard you, you know. She heard the front door close. And she found your empty bed. Well, she woke us up in a panic. _You_ don't deserve her affection."

"It's fine, Sarah," said Agent Barnes as he lowered her flashlight from Zoey's eyes. "Zoey was sleepwalking."

"Sleepwalking?" said Agent Ward skeptically.

Agent Barnes nodded. "Yes, I've just woken her up. I used to sleepwalk, too, when I was younger. They said I had an overactive mind. Guess Zoey suffers from that too,"

"Yes, we all know she suffers from _that_ ," said Agent Ward.

"Well, we can't punish her for sleepwalking," said Agent Barnes. "It's not like she _knew_ what she was doing."

Zoey put on a sleepy face as best she could and prayed the darkness would help her convince Agent Ward that she had indeed been sleepwalking. It seemed to do the trick.

"Well," she inspected Zoey. Her eyes stopped at her socks. "Hmm, your socks are filthy girl. Next time you sleepwalk try to remember to put on some shoes. Well, I suppose that's what happened. All right then, I'll take her back."

"Of course," agreed Agent Barnes, and then he added, "Hang on just a second, Sarah. Zoey, what was it you wanted to tell me?"

Zoey froze for a second. Agent Ward was eyeballing her through her glasses as though she was inspecting her through a microscope. They would never believe her, especially Agent Ward—not now.

"Ah, nothing," she lied. "I don't remember. I guess I was dreaming."

"Sleepwalking. My word. Off to bed, come on." Agent Ward steered Zoey by the elbow and then stopped when she saw the file in Agent Barnes' hands. "What's that?"

"That? Nothing—just some paperwork I need to catch up on."

Agent Ward pressed her lips together in a thin line. "Good night, Samuel."

"Night, Sarah. Night, Zoey."

As Zoey was led away, she turned one last time to look at Agent Barnes who gave her a wink and then smiled.

The next evening Zoey sat alone at a table in the Wander Inn staring at her dinner plate, her food untouched. Through the window, the October sun was setting over a blood-red sky.

Moving her food around in her plate with her fork, she just couldn't eat. She felt sick. The fall colors were rich and striking, like a landscape painting, but even that didn't lift her spirits. Every passing hour made it worse. Earlier in the day, she had tried to leave the inn to look for Agent Barnes herself, but each time Aria had stopped her. She had then asked Aria to give him a message instead. But when Aria asked her what this message was, Zoey couldn't bring herself to say. Finally, she had scribbled the conversation she had overheard on a piece of paper. She had folded the paper, written his name on the front, and given it to Aria to deliver.

But that was this morning, hours ago, and Agent Barnes still hadn't come.

Aria walked over to Zoey's table. "You didn't eat anything at all this morning either. Don't think I haven't noticed, because I have. You need to eat something, Zoey. You need your strength. It won't do anyone any good if you starve yourself."

Zoey kept her eyes on the plate. "Did you give Agent Barnes the note I wrote?"

Aria smiled. "Actually, I gave it to Agent Ward. She was passing through, and she said that she would—"

"What!" Zoey dropped her fork, her heart thumping hard in her chest.

"Oh, no, no, no. She won't give it to him. She thinks I'm a liar—she thinks I made everything up."

"Zoey, what's going on? What's gotten you so panicked? I'm sure Agent Ward will give him the note—why wouldn't she?"

Zoey felt the walls on the inn closing in on her. "Because she probably read it."

"What—"

Aria was interrupted when a strange man stepped in. He wore a white polo shirt that looked like it was two sizes too small and stretched tightly over his large gut. He pulled out a chair and sat at a table facing Zoey. Even though it was a cool evening, beads of sweat trickled down his forehead. With dark gray circles under his eyes, he looked like someone who hadn't slept in months. He combed the top of his receding, straw-like hair to the side with his fingers in an attempt to hide the bald patches on the top of his head. He got up and then sat back down again, eying the room nervously.

Zoey lowered her eyes. There was something very odd about his behavior. Why was he so nervous?

Aria looked at Zoey, "This conversation isn't over. Don't move. I'll be right back."

She strolled off towards the man, sat down with her back to Zoey, and began to chat,

Zoey got up slowly, without making a sound, slipped away from the table and headed towards the door. She reached out and wrapped her hand on the handle.

"Zoey! You're not allowed to leave!" Aria got up from the table.

"I need to speak to Agent Barnes, it's an emergency," said Zoey hurriedly, and added with a smile. "Back in ten minutes, promise."

And with that, she closed the door behind her and galloped into the darkness of the grounds.

Suddenly, her skin prickled like a million mosquitoes were biting her.

She stopped running and turned around, her breath escaping her in coils of white mist. Trees swayed in the cold winds, as their last leaves drifted to the ground. The forest was dark and eerie this time of night. Even though she couldn't see it, she knew there was a mystic hiding in the dark. And from the intensity of the reaction on her skin, she could tell that there were more than one—and they were evil, very evil. Mrs. Dupont had sent her dogs to finish her off.

She was at least two hundred yards from the hive. She had no weapons, and she knew that someone wanted to kill her. Should she turn around now? Could she make it if she ran? She heard a twig snap and bolted.

Her adrenaline was like gasoline on a fire, and Zoey ran fast. The orange light of the hive's main entrance shone more brightly as she got closer. Her thighs burned, but she pushed on. She had run halfway. She was going to make it.

_SMACK!_

A great white ball crashed into her, and pain exploded on her side as she hit the ground. She managed to roll over and get back on her feet.

She didn't have to turn to see what had hit her. Three humanoid creatures with sickly gray-white skin and small red eyes had already surrounded her. They were fat and round with no necks, like giant eggs with gangly limbs. They looked like zombie versions of Humpty Dumpty.

"What do you want?" stammered Zoey. She tried to look more confident than she felt. Her ribs throbbed with pain, and she wasn't sure she could make a run for it.

One of the mystics smiled, revealing two extra-large and pointy fangs.

"Want?" it said in a high-pitched voice that sounded like a violin. "What a funny question—don't you know what _vampires_ want?"

Zoey screwed up her face. "You're _vampires_? But I thought vampires were supposed to be hot and built like supermodels or something?"

"So what are you saying?" said the mystic, looking slighted.

"Umm—you're like—you're like _fat_."

The three vampires inhaled loudly and stood still with stunned looks on their chalky faces. They looked like three hard-boiled eggs about to crack. And then the shorter one spoke.

"Vlad, the girl just called us _fat_ ," he said, his red eyes glaring.

"Are you going to let her talk to us like that? Nobody talks to _us_ like that. We're vampires. We kill people. She's _soooo_ dead."

"Yeah, Vlad," said the tallest of the three. Zoey noticed it had drawn a pencil mustache under its flat stretched nose.

"Let's crush her. I want to feel her skull explode under me. Then we can sip her blood like a milkshake on a hot day."

"We don't _like_ hot days, remember?" whispered the short vampire, looking embarrassed.

"Oh, yeah right." The tall vampire scratched his round head. "Why is it again—why we don't like hot days?"

"Cause the sun burns our skin, stupid."

"Oh, right—because the sun burns us. Touché, I forgot."

The small vampire shook his head, disbelief spread across his face. "How can you _forget_ something as important as that?"

"I just did. What's _your_ problem?"

"My problem? My problem is _you_ —"

"Shut up, you two," said the vampire Vlad.

He waddled closer to Zoey. It was obvious they didn't use their legs very often. They looked like just bones with no muscles.

He pointed a skinny finger to himself. "We're not _fat,_ we're _round;_ there's a significant difference. We are engineered that way for a purpose, _Agent_. You see, contrary to popular belief, vampires don't fly around with bat wings—we roll."

Zoey muffled a laugh. "Roll? Seriously? Is this a joke?"

"She's mocking us, Vlad," said the short vampire, his face twisting in rage. "She's not taking us seriously. I _hate_ it when they don't take us seriously! Why do they always do this to us! It's not fair!"

He kicked the ground in a tantrum.

"I'm with Victor," said the taller one. "Let's kill her now—her voice is annoying. And she's _small_. I hate the small ones. They smell funny."

He flashed his long, gleaming teeth at Zoey.

"But I'm sure her blood tastes good. Girls' blood always tastes sweeter, especially when they're young."

"Patience, Virgil, patience," said Vlad. He smiled a toothy grin at Zoey.

"We will savor her blood and then take it like a shot. They promised it would taste like nothing we've ever had before. The blood of the innocent is always so delightfully sweeter."

* * *

Zoey took a step back. "Who promised? Who wants to kill me?"

When they didn't answer, she continued. "It's the Alpha Nation, isn't. Mrs. Dupont? I know it's them—you can tell me."

Vlad eyed her but didn't answer, he just smiled hungrily.

"I haven't done anything to _you_ ," said Zoey. "Maybe we can make a deal or something? Or a trade?"

"There's nothing you have that we want. It's nothing personal, my dear," said Vlad. He picked at his teeth with one of his talons.

"We've been hired to kill you, that's all. We're on the job. Got paid quite a lot for you, too. Makes me wonder why, for a scrawny little girl like you. You must have done something that really made them angry."

"I can think of a reason," said Zoey. She watched them closely. "The Alpha Nation wants to silence me because of what I overheard them say—because I know what they're planning to do."

"Well then, you shouldn't have been eavesdropping. It's going to cost you your life," said Vlad as he eyed her jugular vein.

Zoey suppressed a shiver.

"Why are you even working for them?" she pressed. "They hate mystics. They want to destroy you and make you their slaves. Why would you work for people like that?"

"Because..."

"Because _why_?"

"Because I said so! That's why!" Vlad threw his arms in the air.

"Enough with the interrogation—we're not here to play friends—we're here to _kill_ you...and that's exactly what's going to happen, so stop your talking, little girl. You're the meal, and meals don't talk back."

"I'm sure the agency will double whatever they're paying you." She blurted out. "If you'll let me go and I can explain to them—"

"HA! If you think we're going to fall for that again, you're crazy."

Zoey prepared herself to either hit something or run. "But I'm sure if you'll let me—"

"No." Vlad raised his voice dangerously.

"We've already been paid. And we want the blood we've been promised."

His eyes went to her throat again. "Your blood. It's time for you to die. Roll her up, boys!"

Virgil and Victor leaped into the air and rolled towards Zoey like giant bowling balls.

She leaped sideways just as she was about to get hit like a pin. She couldn't believe that she was going to get crushed by giant vampire bowling balls. This was totally insane. She wasn't sure whether to be scared or to laugh.

Victor and Virgil skidded around. Leaves and dirt spun in a blurry trail behind them as they rushed at Zoey again.

Adrenaline pumping, Zoey ran as fast as she could towards a large oak tree. The two vampire bowling balls accelerated towards her, and at the last minute, she jumped out of the way. The two vampires hit the tree with a loud _crack_ and ricocheted back, spinning in the air. They landed hard, but kept coming. It was like they were playing a game of pool, and she was the eight ball—they were trying to _sink_ her in.

The air shifted behind her, and she felt someone almost upon her. She ducked down, twisted, and straightened her right leg. The vampire hit her leg and flew into the tree with a satisfying crunch.

But just as she turned, she was hit in her lower back. She tasted the blood in her mouth as she fell. Her leg was on fire, but she knew that if she stayed down she was dead.

"Fifty pints of blood if you crush her head first," she heard Vlad say.

He laughed a sick wet laugh. "It's all about getting the hit at the right angle, if you know what I mean."

Zoey struggled to her feet, but she didn't have time to catch her breath before the other vampire bowling ball spun towards her again. There was nowhere to run, nowhere to hide. She was going to die—but she wasn't going to go down without a fight.

Just as he was about to make contact with her, she jumped back and snapped her elbow into his chest, or what she thought was his chest since he was a perfectly round sphere. Her attacker crashed back, and the others tumbled over him.

She tried to run, but one of them crashed into her back. Zoey fell face-first into the hard ground with pain so intense that she couldn't even cry out.

With trembling hands, she pulled herself over and faced her attackers.

The three vampires rolled to a stop inches from her feet.

Their evil grins distorted in their round shape.

"Let me do it, Vlad," said Victor eagerly. "I want to mash her bones to a pulp. I want to hear her squeal when I crush her skull. Oh, please let me do it, please, please, please—"

"No, _I_ want to do it," protested Virgil. "You got the old lady last night. It's my turn now."

"Old ladies don't count."

" _Yes,_ they do."

" _No,_ they don't."

"Oh shut up, the both of you!" Vlad tried to raise his arms.

"We'll do it together," he sneered.

"Yeah!" chorused Virgil and Victor eagerly.

"Say _night night_ , little girl," said Vlad. "On three—One. Two. Threeeee!"

And as one, the three vampire bowling balls launched themselves towards her.

_SPLASH!_

The three vampires were suddenly covered in a gray liquid. They wailed as they tried desperately to get the gray substance off. But no matter how much they rolled and rubbed, they couldn't get it off. It was eating at their flesh like acid. Vapors rose into the air, and Zoey smelled a mixture of burnt hair and garlic.

"You'll be sorry," howled one of the vampires madly.

But the three vampires melted down to three tiny, white, sizzling puddles.

"ZOEY!" Aria ran towards her with a large pot in her hands.

"Aria?" she said not believing her eyes. "You? You—what the heck did you throw at them?"

Aria stood over the three puddles with a satisfied smile on her face. "French garlic soup."

"Garlic _actually_ works against vampires? I thought it was only a myth?" Zoey started to laugh despite her aching ribs.

Aria tasted the remains of the soup from her pot. "Of course it does. Didn't you learn that yet?"

"No." Zoey was too shocked to think about her education right now. "I'm just glad they're gone. For a moment there, I thought they were going to _squish_ me to death."

Aria kicked some leaves onto the three puddles until there was no trace of them left. "It's a lot more effective in its liquid state."

"I can see that." Zoey smiled at Aria. "Thank you for saving me."

Aria dropped her pot and lifted Zoey to her feet.

"It's my duty to keep you safe—you're practically like a daughter to me now—living in my inn and all."

She inspected Zoey like an overbearing mother. "Are you hurt anywhere? Cuts? Bruises? I saw you fall."

Zoey felt her heart swell to think that Aria thought of her as a daughter. But she was still a little embarrassed to be hugged, and she wiggled out of Aria's many arms.

"I'm fine—really—I'll live."

"Good. Come along, Zoey. I think it's time we speak to Agent Barnes."
17

# Basement Level

Aria marched up to the hive, cornered Agent Barnes, threatened him with her pot, and told him about the vampire attacks. He called an emergency meeting. Now, agents, Vargas and Ward sat at the table with the directors, but agents Barnes and Lee stood. Their backs were against the wall, and they looked flushed and livid.

The directors in Mystic Laws and Regulations, room 3B, sat in stunned silence as Zoey recounted the events of the previous night. There was no way she could hide the fact that she had broken into the room in the first place. It was clear that she had intended to steal the file on her mother. But the information she had overheard was far more important than a little thieving—or so _she_ thought.

Aria broke the silence. "Do you believe her now? Or does she have to risk dying again, for you to believe her this time."

She waved the French garlic soup ladle at the directors. "She's telling you the truth. I saw it with my own eyes."

Agent Ward looked over at Zoey and tried to smile, but Zoey ignored her.

Director Hicks raised his hand. "Please sit, Aria, before you hurt someone with that."

"There is no more doubt in my mind that what Zoey told us is the truth."

His eyes moved along the great table and settled on Zoey. "I am only sorry it took so long for us to believe you. A girl your age should not have had to deal with vampires."

Zoey stayed silent and looked at the directors. She was glad that they finally appeared to believe her, but she still felt some resentment towards them. But when her eyes met director Martin's, she could see that he was still uncertain— _he_ didn't believe her.

"These accounts are the most unusual," said director Campbell, her face grave. "I never thought I'd live to see the day when our agents would be working with the Alpha Nation. It makes no sense."

"Believe it," said Agent Barnes, "'cause it's happening. I had my suspicions about the Boston hive. I had a feeling it was an inside job, now we know that it _was_. Director Campbell, open your eyes, not all agents are loyal to the agency. Some have been, and will continue to be false. They're influenced by money and the need for power. We've all seen it happen before. Agents have even left the agency—we just didn't realize that they were being _recruited_. Who knows how long they've been secretly plotting against us. And this isn't just an isolated case, there are more traitors out there. Believe me—we haven't heard the end of this."

Director Hicks folded his hands on the table. The cheerful round face that Zoey had seen before was now flushed, and he looked like he wanted to punch someone.

"We should have paid closer attention to them years ago. The Alpha Nation has gone too far. They are asking for a war—and a war they will receive. We must focus on protecting our headquarters in London. One of the remaining interlopers is still in their possession. The traitors have leaked the whereabouts of that device, which means they would have _two_ interlopers if they got it—that would be a devastating combination."

Director Campbell leaned forward.

"Does anyone know who this ring leader is?" she inquired. "I, for one, have never heard the name, _Mrs. Dupont_."

Everyone around the table shook their heads.

"Is she even real?" asked director Campbell.

"She's real," said Zoey suddenly, surprised that she even spoke up. "You wouldn't forget her if you saw her. Trust me—she's _very_ real."

She met director Campbell's gaze, but she didn't ask for any more information.

"We need to act quickly," said director Johnson. "They might already be on their way to London. We should get the agents ready now, before the Alphas suspect we know their plans. It's our only advantage."

"Yes," agreed director Martin. "If what the girl is telling us is _true_ , then we must _move_ the interloper."

"It's the truth." Zoey met director Martin's cool expression, ready to have a staring contest, but he looked away.

Director Hicks stroked his beard as he spoke. "Agent Ward, I need you to inform the other North American Agencies. Tell them what's happened and to send us every available agent—we need everyone on this. I'll speak with assistant director Darcy at headquarters, and we'll make arrangements to move the interloper to another safe location."

"Yes, of course, director Hicks," said Agent Ward. She looked grim and tired, like this was all a bad dream.

Director Hicks paused. "Too long have we ignored the Alphas, and that has been a very big mistake. And now we are going to pay greatly for it. I hope our naiveté will not cost us too many lives."

He hit the table with his fist. "We're going to hit them with everything we've got!"

He pointed a large finger at agents Lee and Barnes. "I want you two in London in five minutes. We don't have much time."

Agent Lee nodded. "Yes, director." He looked at Agent Barnes with a mischievous smile on his face.

"And Barnes," continued director Hicks. " _You_ will be in charge of relocating the interloper. You only. Understood?"

"Yes, director," said Agent Barnes.

He turned to Agent Lee and said with a lopsided grin, "Let's go, Richard. I'm suddenly in the mood to kick some Alpha tails."

" _If_ they've got any tails," Agent Lee laughed, and he and Agent Barnes headed towards the door.

"Wait!" Zoey jumped up and ran over to them. "I want to come with you."

Agent Barnes stopped and turned. "No, Zoey. This is too dangerous, even for a girl as brave and as capable as you. You can't come with us."

"But I can help—I know I can," she protested. "I am the only one who can identify Mrs. Dupont. I've seen her face."

Agent Barnes shook his head slowly. "I need you to stay here and watch over the hive for us."

He smiled at Zoey and said, "I need someone I can trust. Can you do that?"

"I guess."

She knew this was a ruse to get her to stay put, and she doubted it would work.

Agent Barnes reached inside his jacket and pulled out her gold boomerang. He handed it to Zoey.

"Here—you'll need this in case more vamps decide to show up. If you don't have any French garlic soup handy, you can always _pop_ them open with its sharp edges."

Zoey took her boomerang and squeezed it happily. As she fastened the gold bracelet around her wrist it felt cool against her skin, and she realized how much she had missed it. She had a connection with this weapon. She felt incomplete without it. She looked up at Agent Barnes and smiled.

"Never thought I'd get this back. Thank you."

"You're welcome. We'll see you when we get back."

And with that, he and Agent Lee disappeared out the door.

* * *

A half-hour later, Zoey sat in the common living area at the Wander Inn with Tristan and Simon. When they had heard the news of the attacks on Zoey, they, and most of the other operatives, had waited in the main lobby. Instead of going home after class, they had stayed on, just to get a glimpse of her. Even Stuart King had waited to see her. The look of shock and jealously on his face—that she had fought and survived an attack by three vampires—raised her spirits. Zoey never felt better.

"So who has the file on your mother now?" asked Simon. He lounged comfortably in one of the sofas, sipping hot cocoa.

Zoey warmed herself in the thick chair next to the fireplace, enjoying the smell of burning wood. "Agent Barnes has it. I don't think he's going to show it to anyone. I trust him. He said he was going to help me find her."

"Agent Barnes is cool," agreed Tristan. "I wish there were more agents like him, apart from Agent Lee of course. He's cool, too."

He added a log into the fire. "So it's definitely your mother, then?"

"Yes." Zoey stared at the fire. "I know it's her. She's alive somewhere, and I'm _going_ to find her."

Simon gulped down some hot cocoa and smacked his lips. "So, what's our next move, people? I'm in the mood for a little adventure again. We can't leave it all to the agents, they lack imagination." The fire reflecting in his big eyes, gave him a sinister look.

Tristan got up and fell into the sofa next to Simon.

"We can't do much stuck here in Cold Creek. How are we supposed to help, when all the action is happening in London? This _really_ sucks," he said.

"It's not like we're useless—we have been trained to fight. We could be out there fighting with them. We could be helping them."

Zoey sighed. "But how can we? They're all in London—and we're here, sitting comfortably and doing absolutely _nothing_."

" _I'm_ sipping hot chocolate," suggested Simon.

"Apart from _sipping_ hot chocolate," said Zoey a little irritated. "We're not very helpful. I wish I were there. I know I could help them. I wish they'd let us go with them."

She felt miserable, deflated, and anxious. She rubbed her sweaty palms on her jeans, wishing that Agent Barnes had seen her potential—her true devotion to the agency—and let her come with them. Part of her had believed that revealing the traitors' plans, and finally winning the directors' trust, would have been enough for them to offer her a place on the recovery mission. She felt that they owed her at least a glimpse of the interloper—after all she'd been through. But it seems they still didn't have enough faith in her, yet.

"The hive's practically deserted," said Simon. He took another sip of his drink. "Maybe we could go back into the Supernatural Affairs room and look for more clues about your mother, or maybe even your father? You've never talked about him."

"That's because I've got less information about him than I do about my mother. I wouldn't even know where to look."

"Well, I say we start with the same place you found the information about your mother," continued Simon. "Your dad was an agent, too—I'm positive. Besides, I've always wanted to explore that place, to look for information on the agents. I've always wondered if Agent Ward is _really_ a woman."

Suddenly the door to the inn opened, and a man wearing a long, black wool coat and light blue cashmere scarf walked in. His black hair was greased back and parted on the side, just like Zoey had seen in the old black-and-white photographs from the nineteen twenties. He looked like a posh gangster—handsome, with a square jaw and sharp, chiseled features.

He moved with grace, like a predatory cat, and sauntered over to another man sitting alone at a table. Zoey recognized the man at the table immediately. He was the same sickly looking man she had seen sitting by himself earlier. She wondered why he was alone. They exchanged words, and when he got up nervously, his chair crashed to the floor behind him. He leaned over and picked it up, and then brushed his hair to the side. With his head down, he followed the other man towards the door.

As they neared Zoey, she could hear what they were saying.

"...we still stick with the plan," said the man in the wool coat. They didn't notice the three kids sitting in the den, watching them.

"But they _know_ ," said the other man, as he made his way towards the front door. His fingers twitched at his sides. "It'll never work. It's over. It's all over. They're going to send me to the Nexus—I'm as good as dead."

Zoey's breath caught in her throat—she recognized that whiney high-pitched voice.

"Zoey? What's wrong?" said Tristan. "You look like you've seen a ghost?"

The two men turned around. The sickly, sweaty man glowered at Zoey. He looked crazy and violent. He hesitated, fidgeting like he was about to pounce, but at the same time, he looked as if he was restraining himself with great effort. And then the man in the coat pushed him out the door, and they disappeared.

Zoey jumped out of the chair. "That's him! I recognize his voice. That's the guy who _stole_ the codes—the same guy that attacked me when I was eavesdropping on him and Mrs. Dupont. He's working with the Alphas. _He's_ one of the traitors!"

Simon dropped his cup. "Oh man—and he's been sitting here all this time. What do we do now?"

Tristan got to his feet. "If the traitors are still here, then maybe we still have time to stop them before they attack headquarters. We have to tell someone."

"Most of the agents have gone to London," said Simon, looking pale. "The retired agents have probably gone home already. There's no one left but us. Oh, this is really bad, isn't it?"

Zoey looked at them both. She was excited—and frightened. "Then it's _our_ job to stop them."

Without waiting another second, Zoey ran towards the door.

"Zoey, wait!" Tristan called out to her as she disappeared through the front door and sprinted across the grounds.

Icy rain slapped her face as she tore through the grounds. She could just make out the nervous man's shape hurrying through the rain and gray mist toward the hive. She thought about shooting her boomerang at him, but her visibility was too poor. There was no sign of the man in the black coat.

The man vanished into the hive. She would be there in just a few more yards. For a whiney type of man, he was surprisingly fast—he was running like his life depended on it.

She was soaking wet when she pulled open the front doors and ran after him down the main hall. She stopped in front of a large silver oval mirror with the inscription United Kingdom at the top. A silver mist lingered inside it for a second and then shifted and vanished—the mirror had just been used. The man was gone. She was too late.

Simon and Tristan came up beside her.

"He just mirror-ported," she said, breathlessly. "If we go now, we might still catch him in time to stop him."

" _He_? So where's the other guy in the long coat?" asked Simon looking around. "We didn't see anyone outside."

Zoey shrugged. "I don't know. I lost him. He didn't use the mirror-port, though."

"So _where_ is he then?" Tristan clenched his jaw. "He's still here somewhere—"

"OUT!" bellowed a voice.

The three of them turned to see a very angry Mrs. Andrews. She marched up to them, pointing her long finger. Her face was twisted in fury.

"Look at the state of you. You're soaking wet! Dripping dirt all over my clean floors! Out! All of you! Get out!"

Zoey was not intimidated, "Mrs. Andrews, did you see a man here, moments ago? He just used the mirror-ports."

Mrs. Andrews pursed her lips, her anger diminishing slightly. "Of course I did. I work the main desk, don't I? I _see_ everything. Why do you ask?"

"Do you know who he was?" asked Zoey.

"Agent Sylvester Stokes, a mighty good agent. He's always so polite to me. He said he was off to lend Agent Barnes a hand on something _very_ important. He also dirtied my floors. What business is it of yours, anyway? Shouldn't you kids be at home?"

Zoey looked at Tristan and Simon and said in a low voice. "He's going after the interloper. We have to warn Agent Barnes."

Mrs. Andrews crossed her arms. "What are you three conspiring about? You have the look of mischief—don't think I haven't seen that look before. You kids—always getting yourselves into trouble!"

"We could try to get a message to him somehow," said Tristan, ignoring Mrs. Andrews who was leaning closer to hear what they were saying. "Maybe we could try to contact London from here first?"

Zoey shook her head. "No, it'll take too long to explain, and we're wasting precious time. We'll have to stop him ourselves," she said with a flutter of excitement.

"What?" Simon nearly spit out his tongue. "Are you serious? You mean—the three of us—going after the double agent on our own? Of course we are, how stupid of me. Hang on while I go fetch my spy gear from my secret spy car."

Zoey turned to Mrs. Andrews, who was still eyeballing as if she was one of their supervisors.

"Agent Stokes is the traitor, and he's going after Agent Barnes. He'll probably try to kill him to get the interloper."

Zoey waited for Mrs. Andrews to close her mouth and then continued.

"You have to get a message to management and the other agencies right away, Mrs. Andrews. Tell them what I've just told you. And please hurry up before it's too late."

Mrs. Andrews frowned. "These are _very_ serious accusations, Zoey St. John. You can destroy a man's career by saying things like that. Are you _sure_ he's the one?"

"We are," said Zoey, Tristan, and Simon together.

"There has to be some mistake," started Mrs. Andrews, "it _can't_ be Agent Stokes—he was always so well mannered—so nice to me. He even brought me flowers once."

"It _is_ him. Do you want Agent Barnes' blood on your hands?" said Zoey dryly. Her voice rose as she started to lose her patience. "Well, do you?"

"No."

"—because that's what he's planning on doing if we don't warn them in time. Please, get the message to management. Tell them that _I_ recognized the traitor. If you don't believe us, then do it for Agent Barnes."

Mrs. Andrews nodded. The color had drained from her face.

"All right then. It doesn't hurt to transmit a message, even if you might be mistaken." She hurried off towards the front desk.

Zoey exhaled and turned to her friends. "You guys ready?"

"Yes," answered Tristan.

"No," said Simon.

There was a moment of silence. "Okay, but let's hurry. Do you have weapons on you?"

Tristan smiled and pulled his S9 slingshot from his back jean's pocket.

"Never leave home without it," he said and then shoved it back.

Simon searched his pockets like someone who was fighting against their own clothes. He pulled out his slingshot triumphantly. "Got it! Thought I'd lost it. Whew."

Zoey stepped towards the control panel, lifted her fingers, and paused.

"Uh, guys—where's headquarters anyway? Am I supposed to type just _Headquarters_?"

"I don't know," said Tristan.

Simon shrugged. "I know it's in Knightsbridge, London—but I'm not sure if you're supposed to type—"

_BANG!_

Someone screamed.

Zoey turned to see Mrs. Andrews collapse. Her head hit the floor with an echoing _thud_ , and then she was motionless.

The man in the black wool coat stepped over her casually, and pointed a very large gun at them.

"I hate kids," he said in a deep voice. "—and I hate the ones that don't mind their business even more! I didn't want to have to do that to poor Mrs. Andrews, but _you_ made me do it. I couldn't let her blab all of our plans now, could I?"

Zoey stared at Mrs. Andrews's body. The gun's blast still rang in her ears, and she felt dizzy and sick to her stomach. She never really liked the woman, but she didn't deserve to die. "You—you killed her," her voice wavered. "You didn't have to kill her."

"No, _you_ killed her," he said, aiming the gun at Zoey.

"You should have kept your big mouth shut, _Drifter_. Now, look what you made me do. Her death's on you."

Tristan stood protectively in front of Zoey. "What do you want?"

As the man got closer, Zoey saw that he had one milky white eye and that the other was blue. He was over six feet tall, broad-shouldered, and under his coat, he wore an expensive black, tailored suit. He looked like a villain from a James Bond movie.

"I don't want to have to add child murderer to my list," continued the man. "But I will if you make me. I can't let you ruin our plans, you miserable little brats. Not when we're so close."

He held out his free hand. "Your DSM's. Now."

"Oh no, not again," whined Simon. He pulled out his metal compact and held it out reluctantly. "Are you going to give it back?"

"You won't need it back," said the man.

"What's _that_ supposed to mean?" Simon tried to pull his DSM back, but the man scooped it up swiftly. He then grabbed Zoey's and Tristan's DSM's and pocketed them in the folds on his long coat. When he was done, he pointed the gun towards the stairway.

"Move. Down to the basement level."

The three of them obeyed and walked over to the staircase.

Poor Mrs. Andrews was dead. Zoey couldn't get that awful scream out of her head. The image of her body sprawled on the ground, twisted and bent unnaturally haunted her. If she hadn't told her about the traitor, she'd still be alive. The man in the suit was going to pay for what he had done, that was a promise.

Every minute that passed endangered not just Agent Barnes' life, but the fate of the entire agency. They had to get past the man with the gun—but how? She was positive he would shoot them in a heartbeat if he had too. They were all armed, but their weapons weren't faster than an automatic handgun.

They slowed when they reached the bottom of the stairs and arrived at a set of large metal double doors. The sign over the doors read:

_WARNING!_

_Hostiles inside, proceed with extreme caution_

* * *

"Inside," ordered the man.

She had always wanted to visit the basement area, but she hadn't imagined it with a gun in her back.

Tristan gave Zoey a worried look, opened the doors, and stepped inside. The others followed.

Zoey wasn't sure what she had expected to see, but this was not what she had anticipated.

The room was enormous, the size of an entire floor at the hive. In the middle of the room was a series of desks and tables with chairs. Glass compartments that looked like individual prisons lined both sides of the chamber. And inside each compartment was a mystic.

Over a hundred mystics of every race and size stared at them with loathing through the glass. Zoey saw a winged, human woman with snakes for her hair; a small, single black cat with red eyes; and a hairy, ghoulish creature the size of a grizzly bear with a human face that looked neither female nor male. There was a moving rock with human legs, a twelve-inch girl with purple pigtails in a pink ball gown, a pile of steaming green blobs with hundreds of staring yellow eyes, and many other mystics she had never seen before.

The cells on the left side had metal doors. The small square openings in the doors were large enough to get a glimpse of the dangerous looking mystics lurking within. The words "Maximum-Security Holding Cell" __ were __ written in black above each compartment.

Zoey could almost feel the evil seeping out through the glass cells like a cold sweat, chilling her as she passed.

The cells on the right side were mostly made of Plexiglas, and the mystics that occupied them seemed a little more docile. But she was sure that if they escaped, they wouldn't be so friendly—especially not to the people who had put them there.

What she saw next made her heart ache—that beautiful fire stallion she had seen on her very first day at the hive was locked away in one of the compartments. Its sad eyes met Zoey's, and she felt tears sting her eyes. Disturbing the Peace was written on the small screen next to its cage. Horses didn't belong in cages.

As they walked further inside, Zoey noticed that a flashing sign on the side of their jails identified the crimes that had been committed by each mystic. Illegal Border Crossing was written beside an enormous spider with the head of a snake. It startled Zoey when it suddenly threw itself against the glass with a loud boom

"Keep walking." The man pressed the gun against her back.

Zoey released her breath and kept moving. She spotted a large Krakenite and felt her heart race. Caution – High-intensity Voltage was written on its compartment. It would get zapped if it tried anything.

They were all locked up in these compartments. The mystics couldn't touch them. They were safe.

Their immediate danger was the man with the gun.

To her surprise, three booths were crammed with fairies. Their ugly faces were wrinkled in hatred. They flew into the glass of their cages like a giant swarm of angry bees. They hit the glass with their fists. Some stood back and spit at the glass, while others made obscene gestures with their hands. Zoey suspected that these were the same fairies that they had caught. She was relieved that they were all trapped behind the glass.

They came to a cubical where an elderly man was writing in a large ledger. With his pinstriped shirt and navy-blue tie, he looked like a two-hundred-year-old accountant. Above his cubical was another large flashing screen, which read:

* * *

_FREEDOM BAIL BONDS, call now: Fre-e-dom —1Z1)373-3366_

_MYSTIC LAWYERS AVAILABLE - HELP US HELP YOU!_

* * *

Stacks of cards were littered across his desk. Zoey leaned over and read:

_Get out of jail free—This card may be kept until needed or sold_

* * *

"I feel like I'm in a game of Monopoly," said Simon with a weird smile on his face. "Love that game."

The old man jumped when he saw them. "Leaping lizards! What's going on? Who are you? What are you doing here?"

He adjusted his glasses. "You're not allowed in here! Get out! Get out!"

He wiggled out of his chair and came shuffling up to them, pointing a long, crooked finger. "I will report you! This is a direct violation of agency rules—"

The man in the coat backhanded him with the handle of the gun. With a frightening _crunch_ , the elderly man crumbled to the floor. Blood seeped through a large wound on the back of his head. Zoey stared in shock—it had happened so fast—she didn't even have time to react.

She turned around and faced their captor. "How could you kill him? He was an old man just doing his job. You'll pay for this! I swear you will."

The suited man was unimpressed.

"He saw me. I can't have anyone identifying me."

"But what about us? We see you?" said Simon. When he realized he had stuck his own foot in his mouth, he paled.

"You know, I only have 20/200 eyesight." He continued. "Technically I'm legally blind. I couldn't recognize you in a lineup if my life depended on it—honest."

Their captor gave Simon a small smile, a smile that killers give their victims before they die.

"Stay," ordered the man, as though they were little puppies.

He stepped over the body and then leaned over the computer. When he had finished typing, he took a step back.

And an alarm blasted throughout the chamber.

Zoey and the others winced and pressed their hands on their ears. She was certain the entire north continent could hear it.

But the suited man didn't cover his ears—he just looked at them unsympathetically.

"Since you love mystics so much," he shouted over the alarm. "Why not make it a _permanent_ thing? I thought you'd enjoy a little get-together with your best _friends_."

He moved away from the desk, but kept his gun pointed at them.

"If you move from that spot, I'll shoot you. And don't think I won't, because I will. Your lives mean nothing to me, but I'd rather not kill children, _if_ I don't have to."

He crossed the room swiftly, smiled at them one last time, and closed the doors behind him.

Zoey ran after him. But when she reached the doors, they wouldn't budge.

"He's locked us in!" she yelled over the alarm, her words thick in her mouth.

An automatic message suddenly sounded in the chamber.

_Systems shutdown_... _commencing in ten seconds...nine...eight..."_

Simon ran over to the computer. "It's locked with a password!" he yelled as he typed on the keyboard.

"I can't do a system's reboot without the password. I can't stop it!" He hit the keyboard with his fist.

Tristan ran over to the desk, reached under it, and pulled out the power cable. He tossed it to the ground and then stood still, waiting.

" _...seven...six..._ " said the voice. The alarm still thundered across the chamber.

"It didn't work," said Simon. He covered his head with his hands. "What happens after ten seconds?"

Tristan looked around frantically. "I don't know—I guess we'll find out soon enough."

" _...five...four..._ " continued the voice.

"But I don't want to find out!" squealed Simon. "I want to _live_!"

Zoey ran back to the others. "I don't like this! What's going to happen?"

" _...three...two..._ "

The three of them stared at each other, petrified.

" _...one_."

Zoey stopped breathing.

" _System shutdown_." The alarm stopped.

And then the worst thing that could happen, happened.

A series of _clicks_ sounded, and then one by one the doors to all the cells opened.
18

# A Mystic Brawl

Simon pinched his own arm. "Wake up, Simon. Wake up! Ouch!"

Zoey punched him on the arm. "You're awake like the rest of us. Snap out of it! I need you _focused_."

They watched aghast as the mystics slowly crept out of their cages. With a beat of her wings, the winged woman flew to the ceiling where she attached herself upside down like a bat. Her snake hairs hissed at them.

A spider the size of a couch scurried out of its booth and froze in the middle of the room. It surveyed the room with its large, black eyes, as if it were waiting to pounce on its next victim.

Some mystics ventured out confidently, while others preferred to stay in the safety of their prisons. The fire horse was one of them. It backed away from its open door, neighing and trembling. Its eyes were wide with fear. Zoey started forward, as if she were going to comfort the fire horse, but Tristan held her back.

At the other end of the chamber, the Krakenite waddled out of its pen like a giant alligator finally escaping from the years of confinement of a zoo. It tested the open space carefully, as though it needed to make sure it was real. Its dull gray eyes seemed surprised.

All the mystics that came out had one thing in common—their eyes burned with hate. Like convicts about to pounce on their prison guards—their malice was pure and simple. They had been imprisoned by the agency, and now they wanted revenge.

"Is it me, or do you guys feel like we're on the mystic menu?"

Simon looked around and then pointed to himself and said in a very loud voice, "I have a _medical_ condition called IBS—irritable bowel syndrome—if you eat me, you'll suffer _severe_ intestinal failure for the _rest_ of your life. Now think about that, before you go all table d'hôte on us!"

He turned back to Tristan and Zoey and added in a low voice. "I don't think they care. What do we do now? They're like a hundred, and we're like— _three_."

"We'll have to fight our way out. Grab your weapons and get ready to use them." Tristan drew his S9 and grabbed a chair. He smashed the chair on the ground, and it exploded into pieces. He stooped over the pile, picked up a metal chair leg and waved it around like a baton.

"Zoey, stay close to me."

"Yes, _Agent_ Price," she teased with a little smile that failed to disguise her fear.

"If we get out of this alive," said Simon, "I promise to stop stealing Billy's chips from his school bag and eating them."

Following Tristan's example, Simon yanked his slingshot from his pocket and armed it with a metal ball. Zoey clasped her boomerang securely. With their weapons brandished before them, they stood close to each other—ready.

The fairies who watched them never blinked their eyes.

"It was a pleasure serving with the two of you," continued Simon, in a melodramatic voice. "May the force be with us!"

And then the attack began. The fairies dive-bombed them.

Tristan swung his metal baton at the deadly fairies. With mighty swings, he batted them skillfully like a seasoned baseball player. They ricocheted off the bat and smashed against the wall with loud _crunches_.

Zoey was so impressed by Tristan's maneuvers that she was nearly taken by surprise by three fairies who had sneaked up behind her. She turned just as they went for her face with their sharp teeth. She ducked, turned, and with a powerful strike, whacked the three fairies with the end of her boomerang. They went sprawling. Something hit her on the back of the head like a brick. She went down and rolled, struggling with the dizzy spell that threatened to take her over. But she got up and blinked the black spots from her eyes.

The rock creature came at her again. She ducked and hurled her boomerang. It spun and hit the mystic, but the rock creature was like a brick wall. The boomerang ricocheted back. She caught it and backed away slowly. She couldn't see if it had any eyes, but the gaping maw under its belly dripped with anticipation. It came at her like a cannonball. She went spinning and fell to one knee, amazed that she had still held on to her boomerang. The rock mystic leaped at her as she struggled to her feet—but this time she was ready. She whirled and kicked, putting all her strength into it. She hit it with upwards momentum and flipped the creature on its back. The rock thing wailed desperately and flailed its limbs in the air like an upside-down spider. But its rock carapace was too heavy, and it wasn't able to flip itself back upright.

In the corner of her eye, she saw Simon fire his slingshot at a hairy creature with two heads and large rabbit ears. At the same time, he was struggling to kick off the fairies that were feasting on his calves.

Tristan had moved away from them, closer to the opposite side of the chamber, and was fighting a giant, white beast that looked like the abominable snowman's cousin.

Zoey knew that they were outnumbered. If they didn't somehow get out soon, they wouldn't stand a chance. They really would become items on Simon's mystic menu.

What she saw next lifted her spirits slightly. Six fairies dove towards her, but when she lifted her arm, ready to throw her boomerang, they flew over her head and landed on the island of computers and monitors behind her. In fact, most of the fairies seemed to turn their attention to the electronic equipment. Although at least fifty other nasty mystics were still ready to skin them alive, the threat had lessened slightly.

And then something strange happened. The mystics started to attack each other.

In a cacophony of flesh tearing flesh and earsplitting wails, the chamber became a bloody battlefield. The mystics fought one another with more hatred than they had showed to Zoey and her friends. They clawed and ripped at each other savagely.

She watched as a troll-like mystic used its nails to slash a green, skeletal creature. It flailed wildly, choked, and finally collapsed. Crimson fluid poured in streams from its gaping maw and spilled onto the marble floor. Zoey was disgusted at their savagery—it was a horrible sight. Warm bile rose in her throat. She had never seen anything so terrifying and so _real_. She knew that there must have been some history between the fighting mystics, but she didn't know what.

Then she felt a new premonition electrify her skin. There was a flash of green, and suddenly a spike stuck through her arm. She cried out in pain—the spike burned her flesh like acid. Then the spike was wrenched back out of her arm, and she could see that it had left a bloody gash.

She caught a glimpse of her attacker. It watched her with large, yellow eyes. It was humanoid with long, gangly limbs and sharp, black talons. It had no neck, and its large oblong head had a mouth full of pointed black teeth. The smell of decay from its filthy green skin burned into Zoey's nose. It cocked its head and looked at Zoey. Then its skin started to bubble and change. The thing pulled and twisted itself like dough. Slowly it morphed into a distorted version of Zoey herself. It was a shapeshifter.

The creature laughed at Zoey's shock, and in a parody of Zoey, it brushed its red hair and admired itself. It smiled at her, but not with Zoey's perfect, white, straight teeth; the creature's teeth were rotten and pointy like a cat's.

The shapeshifter lunged at Zoey

Zoey hit it in the stomach with the sharp end of her boomerang. The creature stumbled back, but before she could react, it had grabbed her boomerang. The creature twirled the boomerang in its hand and laughed. It was much stronger than her. It leaped at her again, and Zoey fell to the ground on her back. The shapeshifter snapped its mouth at her, inches from her neck. Desperately, she tried to push the thing off of her, but it was too strong. Its weight crushed her chest, and she couldn't breathe. Her other self was going to kill her. She felt its rough lips brush her neck.

But suddenly the shapeshifter was jerked back into the air. Blood escaped from its mouth, and then its body snapped in half with a hideous _crack_. The Krakenite tossed it to the ground. Satisfied that it was dead—the Krakenite turned its attention to Zoey.

She backed away slowly. Desperately, she looked for her boomerang. It was still clutched in the hand of dead shapeshifter. Instinctively, she raised her right arm, hoping that her gold bracelet would draw the boomerang back to her. It shifted slightly, lifting its wing in the air. It twisted on itself, trying to break free from the hold of the dead shapeshifter. But it held on too tightly, and the boomerang wouldn't break free.

The Krakenite advanced slowly towards her, its muscles rippling under its wet raw skin. It was stalking her and it licked its lips in anticipation.

Zoey couldn't see Tristan or Simon. She couldn't even manage to scream to her friends for help. Her jaws were frozen in terror, and the words died in her throat.

Zoey stared death in the face. There was no way out of this one.

The beast reared, and then bounded towards her again.

But Tristan arrived with a flash of blue light. He forced the great beast's maw closed with his bare hands, and then stuck one of his metal poles into its head and pushed it down into its brain. The Krakenite stiffened and then crumbled to the ground.

When Tristan turned around, Zoey's breath was taken away by what she saw.

His skin was light blue. Large blue veins showed through the skin on his face and arms like tattoos, as though his skin was paper-thin. And his eyes glowed with the deepest sea-blue light she had ever seen.

A shiver rippled down her back. That tingling sense she had always felt when she was around Tristan intensified. She always assumed that the sensations had been caused by her growing feelings for him, but now she saw her mistake—it was because he was a mystic.

Zoey couldn't tell, but she must have looked scared because Tristan looked hurt when he saw that she appeared to be frightened of him. She was confused, scared, and her heart was crushed.

Simon bounced into view. He had strange orange slime all over the front of his shirt, but otherwise he was unharmed. He beamed at Tristan and smacked him on the back.

"Wow, that was awesome! You had like, super strength, like a superhero. You're like, like superman's little brother. It was _amazing_."

Tristan didn't look at Simon. He watched the battle instead.

"Looks like the mystics have forgotten about us, for the time being. We should move before they remember who put them in those cages."

Zoey pressed her wounded arm as she attempted to stop the bleeding, but her eyes never left Tristan.

"How did you do that? You _changed_ —your skin changed color—and you had these veins showing all over your body. _What_ are you?"

Tristan's shoulders tensed, but he didn't turn around.

When Simon noticed that Tristan wasn't about to answer, he spoke up.

"He's a mysterian—by the looks of him—a human mystic hybrid," said Simon amazed. "They're like super rare."

Zoey watched Tristan uneasily. She remembered seeing a blue halo around him when they had fought the Krakenite back at the academy.

She looked at Simon angrily. "Why didn't you tell me?"

Simon shrugged. "I didn't know he was a mysterian—I've never even _seen_ one before now. I don't think anyone knows."

"Management knows," said Tristan.

He turned around, and his skin and eyes were back to their normal color.

"—and a few agents."

He looked at Zoey, but she looked quickly away and then felt guilty.

"Tristan's right, we need to get out of here," she added hastily, pretending not to be affected by Tristan's sudden change. "—before the mystics that are left decide to make a meal out of us, after all."

Pressure on her chest made it hard for her to breathe. She looked everywhere except at Tristan and felt increasingly guilty at avoiding his gaze. When she did look at him again, he looked vacant and unfocused.

She heard a neigh and turned to see the fire horse pinned in its cell by a giant snake.

"Hang on, there's something I need to do," said Zoey. "See if you can unlock the doors. I'll be right back."

Zoey sprinted across the chamber before they could stop her. She skidded to a stop in front of the dead shapeshifter, and careful not to look at its face, _her_ face, she pried open its fingers and rescued her boomerang. She didn't know why, but she had this sudden urge to rescue the fire horse.

She made sure no other mystics were in pursuit and rushed to the fire horse's cell. With all the energy she had left, she hurled her boomerang in the direction of the snake creature. It hit its head, and it collapsed with a thud. She caught her rebounding boomerang as she ran closer to the fire horse.

It backed away from her, wild-eyed. Flames suddenly soared from the horse, and she backed away. But even through the flames, she could see the horse was shivering. It was terrified.

"Come," she pleaded, her eyes watering from the heat waves.

"Come, _please_. I won't hurt you," she said in her softest voice.

What girl wouldn't fall in love with a _fire_ stallion? It pained her to see it so scared, and she ached to help it. She knew animals had a special sixth sense. They could sense danger, and distinguish between foes and friends. She tried to be calm, so as not to frighten the beast. And then she thought of something.

"I'm your friend," she said softly. "Don't be afraid. If you come with me, I'll take you out of here. I'll take you outside into the wild where you can run free. Would you like that?"

The horse seemed to relax. The fire around it subsided, and for the first time she could see that its fur was a golden-red color, like the setting sun. Its golden eyes watched her, and somehow she knew the horse understood.

After a moment, it walked slowly towards her.

"Good boy, that's it. Very good—that's a good boy."

The stallion lowered its head and nudged her. Zoey jumped back, surprised at the heat—but it didn't burn—it was warm. She reached out and patted the side of its neck. Its warmth soared through her hand and up her arm, comforting her like a hot bath. The horse whinnied happily. "Come on, let's get out of here!"

Zoey ran towards the doors, and the fire horse's hooves echoed behind her. When she arrived at the doors, she was beaming.

"Why did you rescue the horse?" asked Simon. "We don't need glue?"

"Because horses shouldn't be caged," she said disapprovingly. "They should be free."

The fire stallion neighed loudly as though approving what Zoey had said. She smiled even more broadly when the horse flared its nostrils at Simon.

"We can't get the doors open," began Tristan. He still avoided looking at Zoey, and she felt ashamed again.

Simon kicked the doors angrily.

"It's useless, even with Tristan's superhero strength. We need a stick of dynamite to blow up the doors. You wouldn't happen to have one on you, would you?"

But then the fire horse brushed past Simon, and he jumped back in alarm.

"Hey! I'm sorry about the glue thing, honest."

The horse ignored him and made for the doors.

"What's he doing?"

The horse stood in front of the doors and then turned around to face them. The air moved, and in a flash, the stallion's body was ablaze in giant flames of gold and red.

Zoey knew what it was about to do.

"Stand back!" she called. She pulled Simon and Tristan out of the way.

The stallion lowered its head, raised its hindquarters into the air, and kicked out with a powerful blow. The doors burst open in a show of red and orange flames.

Simon beamed. "I love horses. I was just joking about the glue, you know."

"Hurry!" said Zoey, as the blast from the doors had suddenly brought the remaining mystics attention back to them.

With the fire stallion leading the way, Zoey, Simon, and Tristan ran out the doors.

"Wait!" called Zoey. "We can't leave the doors unlocked. We can't let the hostiles get out. Think of what they would do. We need to lock them back in."

Tristan took his recycled chair legs and slipped them through the doors' metal handles.

"There's no way they can get out now."

"They'll probably all kill each other anyway," said Simon.

"It'll be a big pile of mystic stew in a few hours. Bon appétit!" he called through the crack in the doors.

With a thunderous crash, the mystics threw themselves at the doors. Zoey held her breath. But the doors held, and the mystics were prisoners once again.

Their three metal compacts still lay on the ground outside the doors. Zoey picked them up and flipped them over in her hands.

"They're not even broken. I guess the mystery man didn't think we'd survive. Mistake number one."

She handed Tristan and Simon their DSM's. "Never underestimate the little people."

"Can't wait to see the look on his ugly face when he sees me again," said Simon. He kissed his DSM. "It'll be a Kodak freaking moment."

The horse neighed again and scratched the floor with its front leg. It looked at Zoey, its nostrils flaring, and then cocked its head towards the stairs.

Zoey looked at her friends. "Let's get out of here."

"See you later, suckers!" yelled Simon through the doors.

Tristan and Simon ran up the stairs, but Zoey stayed behind, calming and helping the horse balance its hooves on the slippery steps. Finally, after some effort, they reached the first floor, and the horse galloped down the main hall towards the front doors with its head held high.

"Give me a second, okay? I'll be right back!" shouted Zoey.

She sprinted after the horse. Even though she was still out of breath, she ran to the front, where the horse waited anxiously for her.

"Don't let any Sevenths or agents see you, okay," she said to the horse breathlessly.

"Try to _blend_ in as much as you can—the Mutes will probably just think you're a normal horse anyway—I hope they do. If you go through the forest to the open fields on the other side, you'll find a large farm and some stables. I saw them when I first came here. You'll be safer there."

She pushed open the doors.

With a swish of its tail, the fire stallion took off in a blur and galloped through the grounds. It neighed what Zoey believed was a _thank you_ , and then disappeared into the forest.

She watched the spot for a moment—half wishing for the horse would come back—but when it didn't, she slipped back into the main hall.

Tristan and Simon stood by the mirrors, anxiously waiting for her. When she reached them, she grabbed her boomerang and saw that her arm was still covered in blood.

"You're bleeding."

Tristan ripped the bottom of his T-shirt and wrapped it around Zoey's arm before she could protest.

"Thank you," she said, avoiding his eyes and looking everywhere else but at him.

She felt more nervous around him, now that she had discovered he was a mysterian. And she could tell that the more uncomfortable _she_ felt—the more pain showed up on his face—which of course made her feel even worse than she had in the first place. She wasn't sure what her feelings were for Tristan. But one thing was for sure—mysterian or not—he was still her _friend_. And right now, she needed him more than ever.

"So, are we ready?" she said, breaking the tense silence.

"This is going to get really ugly. You can still stay here if you want."

"We're ready," chorused Simon and Tristan.

"I just hope we're not too late," said Zoey.

She grinned. "Our mystery man is in for a shock when sees us again. I hope I'll be the one to smack him first."

They stood in front of the mirror-port to London. Zoey reached out and typed on the keypad: _Headquarters, Knightsbridge, London, England_.

The mirror swirled. The green light flicked on with a _pop_ , and the three of them stepped through and vanished.
19

# Parrods Department Store, London

Lights flashed behind Zoey's eyelids. Her body had been stretched and pulled like elastic. And just before she was sick, she felt the air move around her, and her feet found solid ground. The nausea dissipated, and when she opened her eyes her jaw fell open.

She stood in a department store, a very _expensive_ looking department store. It was ornate with painstakingly restored turn of the century decor. Polished floors gleamed like gold. Row upon row of exquisite designer shops lined the perimeter of a giant room. She could smell fresh-baked bread. There was a hallway with gourmet fruits and vegetables, cheeses, fish, poultry, meats, and a large bakery with mountains of multicolored cupcakes in the windows. Entire walls were decorated with a mosaic of colors. It was gigantic, the size of a football field. There was a large central escalator, decorated with Egyptian motifs, and other floors peeked from above.

Masses of people strolled along the ground floor, buying, eating, and just wandering through the hundreds of shops. No one seemed to notice that she had just magically appeared inside the department store. Behind her, was a wall with a large floor to ceiling mirror—the mirror-port. But something was wrong. This wasn't Headquarters.

As she looked around, the air moved behind her, and Tristan and Simon appeared at her side.

"Dudes, where the heck are we?" said Simon.

He looked at Zoey. "Are you sure you typed the name in right? We're like in a store or something, and there're like _thousands_ of Mutes staring at us."

Zoey shrunk back against the wall. "Yes, I think so." But she wasn't. She started to second-guess herself. Maybe she _had_ written it wrong?

Simon's eyes widened. "Whoa! Is that a candy store? It's massive. You think we have time for a little bite?"

Zoey looked around. "I don't understand—I thought I typed it in right."

"You did, I watched you do it," said Tristan. The passersby eyed them suspiciously.

"There must be a logical explanation why we landed here. I'm sure we're not very far from Headquarters. It has to be somewhere near."

"How do we find it? We don't even know where we are?"

A group of posh-looking girls wearing expensive designer clothes giggled and talked loudly as they walked by. Their arms were full of shopping bags that said Parrods.

And then the girls stopped, whispered to each other, and pointed at them with appalled looks on their faces. Zoey hated these types of girls—the ones that spent their parent's money like it grew on trees, buying everything with a label simply because they _could_.

The only brand-name things that Zoey owned were her Converse sneakers—and she had bought them from a second-hand store.

Zoey looked down at herself. She was covered in blood and dirt. The three of them looked like they had just come from a game of rugby in the rain. When she realized she still had her boomerang in her hand, she folded it and clipped it back onto her bracelet. The last thing they needed was for the Mutes to get in their way. But the posh girls shuffled on excitedly when they were distracted by the perfume counter.

When they were out of earshot, Zoey said, "We're in Parrods department store. Does that ring any bells?"

Simon shook his head. "I hate shopping. I buy everything online."

Tristan frowned. "We're close because we mirror-ported here. Headquarters is _here_ somewhere—it has to be. Maybe there's another way in."

"In a department store?" said Zoey.

"Well, okay. We better find it quickly though. The Mutes are starting to notice us. Maybe we should look outside—"

"HEY! YOU THERE!"

Two angry security guards in navy uniforms charged towards them at top speed, like great Doberman Pinschers.

"STAY WHERE YOU ARE!"

"Great, like we needed more drama," said Simon sarcastically. "They don't look very pleased to see us. Do we shoot them or wait for them to tackle us?"

"We'll never make it to Headquarters on time if they catch us," said Tristan

"Then we better move 'cause they'll be here any second," said Simon.

Zoey pointed. "There. Quick! Up the escalators!"

They raced towards the central escalator, pushing and shoving angry Mutes as they went.

"Sorry, excuse us! Oops—sorry about the elbow. I didn't _mean_ to hit you in the eye. Hey, I said I was sorry!"

As soon as Zoey's foot hit the first escalator step, she whirled around.

The two security guards were only twenty feet away from them. And to make matters worse, two more angry looking security guards were running towards the escalator from the opposite direction.

"They're right behind us," Zoey yelled. Tristan and Simon rushed passed her on the stairs.

"RUN!"

They dashed up the escalator to the first floor.

"Now what?" Simon looked around exasperated.

"Second floor! Hurry!" Tristan ran up the escalator to the second floor with Zoey and Simon right behind him.

They skidded around the corner at the top of the escalator and sprinted up to the third, and then fourth floor.

"Stop!" wailed Simon, holding his side when he reached the fourth floor. His face was tomato-red. "My asthma is acting up—can't breathe—I need my inhaler. I'm going to die!"

"You don't _have_ asthma, Simon," said Tristan, out of breath.

"I might have."

Zoey wiped the sweat from her brow. She peered over the side railing as she tried to catch her breath. The security guards were running up the escalator to the fourth floor.

"They're still coming. I'd have thought they would've given up by now. They look _really_ mad."

Simon shouted at the guards. "You should seriously rethink those uniforms!" He waved at them. "Uniforms-R-US, check it out."

Zoey turned around. "We can't run like this forever. We need a place to rest. We'll never find Headquarters if we can't stop for five minutes to think."

Tristan pointed to the floor above him. "There! That's a Sestram mystic. They're on our side—they work for the agency."

Zoey followed Tristan's gaze and saw a seven-foot-tall man-like creature, with large fawn-colored wings sprouting from his back. It had a long, curved nose and elongated jaw like a beak. It looked like a cross between a man and an eagle in jeans and a T-shirt. The Sestram looked around calmly on the escalator as it ascended. The Mutes were oblivious to the creature beside them.

"There's only one reason a Sestram would be in a department store."

Zoey's eyes widened. "He's going to Headquarters."

"STOP RIGHT THERE!"

The four security guards had reached the fourth floor. Before they had time to react, they were surrounded.

"Only the guilty would run," said one of the guards in a woman's voice. He had a round face, deep-set eyes, and a unibrow. His sweat-drenched uniform stuck to his love handles.

A dozen or so Mutes had stopped their shopping and came closer to watch.

Zoey lifted her hands in surrender. "We didn't do anything. We're tourists—we were just looking around—that's all."

The man looked skeptical. "Tourists? Well, ya don't sound English—but I've never seen tourists with the likes of ya three. Why do ya have blood all over your arm, eh? Why are you and your friends filthy? Why did ya run?"

"Why did _you_ chase us?" countered Zoey, meeting his gaze.

The security guard lowered his eyes, his voice pitching higher with his growing annoyance.

"This isn't a place for street kids. I recognize the lot of ya—you're the lot that's been stealin' from the Candy Shop, aren't ya? But now ya won't be stealin' no more. Now we've got ya. Fancy a trip to the police station, do ya?"

"You've got nothing on us, _Madam_ ," interrupted Simon.

"It's _sir_ ," growled the guard.

"Whatever you say," said Simon.

He stood with his hands on his hips. "But where's your proof? You can't arrest us because we're dirty. I took a shower this morning, you know. And I exfoliated my skin."

The security guard ignored him. "You're all coming with us. Take them."

One of the guards grabbed Zoey from behind. Her instincts kicked in, and she spun around and punched her assailant across the jaw as hard as she could. He let go and went tumbling back, bleeding generously from the mouth. He came at her again, and she kicked him in his gut. He cried out in pain and collapsed to his knees.

The plump security guard caught Simon and held him in an armlock.

"Ow! That hurts! Mommy! I'm going to sue you!"

The two remaining guards advanced towards Zoey. They were thick and muscled like professional wrestlers. What kind of place was this?

As she reached out for her boomerang, Tristan came up behind them and hit the guards on the backs of their heads with a large ceramic vase. They crumpled to the floor, out cold.

"Sorry about that," he said with a smile. "But it's not like you gave me another choice."

"I've always wanted to do that." Zoey smiled at Tristan and his face lit up. She turned around and glowered at the only remaining guard.

"Stay back!" he screeched. Spit flew out of his mouth like a rabid animal.

"Stay back, or I'll break his arm! I swear I will!"

"Oh, please don't break my arm. I like my arm," Simon's face was red and sweaty.

Zoey moved towards the guard angrily. "If you hurt my friend, I'll kill you. I swear I will."

"Stay back!" The security's eyes widened. He stepped back. "—I'll break it!"

"Do something," cried Simon. "Anything!"

Zoey clasped her boomerang in her right hand and waited.

"What is that?" cried the guard, his voice rising hysterically.

"Is that a weapon? I told you to stay back! I mean it! I will break his arm if you come any closer—"

_SMACK!_

The boomerang hit the guard on the forehead. His eyes rolled back into his head, and he crumpled to the ground.

"Who's laughing now, big man?" said Simon to the unconscious guard.

He turned around and bowed to the crowd of curious Mutes, who weren't sure if they should applaud or run.

"Guys!" cried Tristan. "The Sestram—he's going up to the last floor. We'll miss the entrance to Headquarters if we don't hurry."

They ran back up the escalators, pushing themselves past shoppers, and a very angry old lady who beat Simon over the head with her purse. When they reached the top floor, Zoey thought her lungs were going to explode. She could see sport shops on one side, and restaurants on the other. The smell of food brought water to her mouth. All that running had made her hungry.

She looked around for the mystic and caught a glimpse of him disappearing around the corner of a sports equipment store.

"There!" They raced past a series of sport boutiques, turned around the corner, and stopped in front of a wall.

"Where did he go?" The concrete wall was covered in sports posters. In the middle was a single window. Another escalator descended to the lower levels on her right, but there was no one on it. No Sestram.

"Do you think he mirror-ported?"

"Maybe, maybe not," answered Tristan. "No, I think he knew of another way to get in. There's got to be a doorway somewhere."

Simon moved his hands against the walls. "I got it! There's gotta be a secret entrance. Look for latches or something out of place."

They searched every inch of the wall, sticking their fingers in every nook and cranny. Things started to look grim.

"There's nothing here," said Zoey, deflated. "We've missed him. He's gone, and now we don't know how to get in."

"It doesn't make any sense," said Tristan, still moving his hands along the wall. "He wouldn't have come all this way if he could have mirror-ported from somewhere less conspicuous."

Simon sat on the floor. "What do we do now? I'm hungry."

Zoey stepped back and stared at the wall. She looked along the billboards and finally settled on the window. The window—she frowned and inspected it closer. It looked like a regular window with frosted glass. But something was off. The shadows of the outside almost looked painted on the opaque surface.

"This is it!" she called. Simon jumped to his feet, and Tristan rushed over.

Zoey grasped the window's handle and turned it. When she pushed it open, she could see a long dark hallway.

"A faux window," said Simon. "Cool."

Zoey stepped back. "Good, no one's looking. You guys go in first. Hurry."

Simon and Tristan quickly squeezed through the opening, and Zoey followed. They landed in the dark hallway on the other side.

"Why is it so dark?" asked Simon, feeling his way down the hallway. "Is it supposed to be this dark?"

Zoey shut the window behind her. "I don't know, but I have a bad feeling about this."

Her mystic premonitions prickled her skin like an allergic reaction, telling her to go back. But she couldn't go back. She had to find Agent Barnes and warn him.

Tristan pulled out his slingshot and started down the hallway. "There are hostile mystics here—lots of them—I can feel it. Keep your eyes open and be ready for anything."

"And the adventure never ends." Simon wielded his slingshot. "We better get promoted after this. It wasn't in the academy's course outline. If we die, I better get an _A_ for _effort_."

"Nobody's dying, but let's hope we're not too late."

Zoey drew her boomerang and followed Tristan and Simon cautiously down the dark corridor. It was a dead end. They stopped in the darkness to consider what to do next. Zoey heard a swishing sound, and a giant battle-ax came crashing down towards them.
20

# The Alpha Nation

"MOVE!" cried Tristan as he pushed Zoey and Simon to the ground, just as a giant ax swung inches above their heads.

Zoey hit the ground, but something sharp cut her hands as she tried to break her fall. She felt the warm blood seep between her fingers. She rolled over carefully, but she could still feel something shattering and crunching under her. She got to her feet gingerly and looked around. The floor was littered with broken mirrors.

She pulled a large shard of glass from her left palm. The cut was deep and blood poured down her arm. The ground wavered as pain and nausea threatened to take her over, but she clamped her hand shut and ignored it. She looked up.

A ten-foot-tall, gray-skinned humanoid that looked like a cross between a dragon and a man stood in front of her. Its body rippled with muscles, and horns sprouted from the top of its flat head. It swished its thick tail behind it and watched her malevolently with beady black eyes.

"What is that?"

Tristan moved to her side. "A Daragon," he whispered. "—a dragon beast—it'll kill anything that moves."

The look of excitement that began to show in its eyes, and the blood on its ax and its body, was clear evidence that it had murdered before and had enjoyed it.

"Okay, so let's _not_ move," whispered Simon.

Through the smoldering fires and smoke, Zoey could see that they stood in a great cathedral of a hall. All the light fixtures had been smashed and hung uselessly from their broken brackets. Hundreds of mirrors had obviously lined the great hall once, but every single one was completely smashed, and the floor was carpeted with sharp and deadly glass shards.

Zoey started to gag on the smell of burnt meat. Feathers dotted the floor to her left, and a pile of scorched feathers and a body lay a few feet away from them in a pool of blood—the Sestram. And then she saw something that made her retch. The burnt remains of three people, their skin crisped and black like coal, lay in a heap near the wall.

"By the looks of it, it's been pretty busy," said Simon. "And it's destroyed all the mirror-ports, too." He pointed to the hundreds of broken mirrors that outlined the great hall.

"That's why we landed in the store," he continued. "No one could mirror port into here."

Zoey couldn't tell how long ago the mirrors had been smashed, but she hoped it was _after_ the agency had sent help.

"The creature knew what it was doing," she said, keeping her voice down. "Someone told it to smash all the mirrors. Someone's controlling it—"

"Watch out!" cried Tristan.

With a massive swing, the Daragon hurled its battle-ax at them. It spun fast, like a giant, sharp boomerang.

Zoey leaped out of the way as the ax spun crashing into the wall behind her. She scrambled to her feet and ran to the other side of the room with Simon and Tristan.

With three giant leaps, the Daragon crossed the room and wrenched its ax from deep in the wall. It brushed off the chunks of plaster and dust that the ax had dislodged and turned to face them again.

"How long can we keep this up before we get killed?" said Simon, backing away slowly.

"I don't know," answered Zoey. Her hand was still bleeding profusely. "Let's just try _not_ to get killed."

The mystic roared and came at them with a deathly swing of its battle-ax once again. They leaped out of the way as the great ax crashed into the ground in front of them and smashed the marble tiles into dust.

The Daragon snarled through its pointy black teeth, "Ich gruthic se matvis, homen."

Its deep rasping voice sounded like the roar of a lion. It flexed its great chest muscles, and glared at them as though it was challenging them to a fight.

Zoey looked at Tristan. "You don't speak mystic, do you?"

Tristan loaded his slingshot. "Nope."

"Didn't think so."

Tristan scowled at the beast. "But I can tell you this—it means to kill us."

"I figured that much."

The mystic growled, swinging its battle-ax from side to side, taunting them. Its black eyes moved between them leisurely, as if it enjoyed deciding whom to kill first.

"I'd love to stay here and flex my nonexistent muscles at the dragon-man," said Simon, his eyes wide, "but does anyone have a plan?"

"Aim for its head," said Tristan.

He moved away and circled the creature. "If we all hit it at the same time, we might at least knock it out—I think that's our best shot."

With trembling fingers, Simon loaded his weapon with a metal ball. "Guys—you know my aim sucks. I don't work well under pressure. And this is _way_ too much pressure for me."

"Just try to relax, Simon," said Zoey. She shifted her weight nervously, trying to calm herself as well.

"I'm ADHD—I don't know the meaning of _relax!_ " cried Simon.

Tristan steadied himself. "Okay, you guys—on three..."

Zoey aimed her boomerang at the beast's head.

The Daragon cocked its head to the side, watching them, and she wondered if it knew what they were planning. It bared its teeth and looked almost as though it were smiling. It was enjoying itself.

"One..." counted Tristan, sweat dripped down his face.

"Thank God it doesn't breathe fire," said Simon hopefully. "I mean, that's lucky, right, a dragon-man that it _doesn't_ breathe fire."

"Two..."

Zoey held her breath.

"Three!"

Two metal balls and a boomerang shot through the air and struck the beast's head. The creature staggered for a second, and Zoey felt the thrill of hope as she caught her boomerang back. But then the Daragon steadied itself and lowered its eyes. Its top lip quivered into an evil snarl, and with a deafening roar, it tossed its weapon onto the floor and flailed its arms around in a violent tantrum.

"I think we only made it _really_ mad," said Simon.

He took a step back. "That's bad, isn't it? What do you think it's going to do now?"

"I don't know, Simon," snapped Tristan.

As if in answer to his question, the Daragon stretched out its arms, flicked its wrists, and two fireballs the size of watermelons formed in its palms.

Zoey felt the blood drain from her face. "That's just great," she said and looked at Simon.

"I thought you said it _didn't_ breathe fire!"

Simon shrugged. "It didn't _breathe_ it—it conjured it."

"What's the difference?" cried Zoey angrily. "It's still _fire!_ "

The Daragon sneered wickedly and hurled the two fireballs.

"MOVE!"

Zoey leaped out of the way, and the fireballs whizzed past and exploded on the wall behind her. The entire wall went up in flames, as though it had been sprayed with gasoline beforehand.

Her eyes watered from the heat of the flames. She knew she would have burst into flames like the wall if one of the fireballs had hit her.

"This way!" yelled Tristan.

He jumped over a body and bolted down a corridor away from the Daragon. Simon and Zoey followed behind him.

The ground shook beneath their feet as more fireballs exploded like grenades around them. Chunks of plaster fell from the ceiling and showered them as they ran. Coughing through the rubble Zoey stole a look behind her. The Daragon had stopped hurling fireballs and was charging after them at full speed, swinging its battle-ax like a madman. They had a few seconds head start, but the mystic was catching up to them fast.

They bounded down the corridor, passed some elevators, and arrived at a T-junction at the end of the hallway.

"Left or right?" asked Zoey as she tried to catch her breath.

Suddenly, screams echoed from somewhere down the left corridor. Then a series of ear-splitting cracks, bangs, and rattles, like a fireworks display. A woman cried out, then nothing—silence.

Without another word, the three of them turned left and charged towards the scream.

They burst into a large oval-shaped auditorium. Heavy red drapes kept the edges of the room in darkness, and rows of seats in a semi-circle faced down towards a stage.

"We're too late," said Simon as he stared at a body lying on the ground in a pool of blood. "It's already started."

Zoey could see that the auditorium was littered with bodies that had been shot in the head, execution-style. Blood splattered the walls, and the marble floors were sullied in red. There were no moans, no cries for help, just silence. It was a massacre, a merciless bloodbath. She couldn't see anyone alive.

A wave of nausea came over her, and she forced it down. She had never seen so many dead people before. She had to be brave.

She found two more bodies sitting in the chairs in the back row. They didn't have any blood or visible injuries on them. They sat with their heads bent slightly backward, looking up to the ceiling. Their faces were twisted in terror, as though they had been frightened to death.

These people hadn't died at the hands of the Daragon—or any other mystic—so who had killed them? She already knew the answer.

"What do Alphas look like? I wouldn't want to kill any of our own."

Zoey squeezed her boomerang hard in her sudden rage, the pain from her previous fights forgotten.

Tristan shook his head and clenched his jaw. "Never seen one. All I know is that they look like us. They're Sevenths—just _not_ with the agency."

"I've never seen one either," said Simon. He stepped carefully over the bodies and tried his best not to look at their faces. But he couldn't help himself.

"It's not like the Alphas were _best_ friends with the agency. They probably look like any of us—that's why no one's ever really paid closer attention to them—they didn't think they'd turn out to be psychos."

"Right." Zoey looked around at the victims to see if she recognized any of them. She feared that Agent Barnes would be amongst the dead. Then she realized that they had forgotten something.

Zoey looked at her friends. "Guys—where's the Daragon?"

Simon jumped, startled, and Tristan peered back down the corridor.

"It's gone," he said, with a surprised look on his face. "That's weird. Why did it stop chasing us?"

A flash of red light zipped past Zoey's cheek. Then a red flare scraped her thigh like a red-hot blade and hit the chair beside her. She cried out in pain and threw herself to the ground behind a row of chairs. Tristan and Simon flung themselves onto the ground next to her. At first, she thought they had been attacked by mystics, but when she raised her head slightly between the seats, she realized how wrong she was.

A dozen men and women clad in exquisitely tailored, blood-red suits stood on the auditorium stage. The men had army-style crew cuts, and all the women had their hair pulled back into tight buns or ponytails. They all looked mildly amused—as if this was a game to them, and they were already winning. All except one of them carried large automatic weapons at their sides.

The woman without a gun had dark hair and milky white skin. She held her right hand out in front of her, and above her palm, a glowing red sphere hovered like an apple suspended by invisible strings. The woman's cold smile sent a chill rolling down Zoey's back.

Then a man whom Zoey had thought was dead stood up in the middle of the auditorium. He started limping through the aisle towards one of the side exits. Zoey felt the strain and desperation that she saw on the man's face.

The woman with the sphere stepped down from the platform calmly and moved toward the man. The man whimpered when he saw her, and in a last desperate attempt to save his life he moved as fast as he could. But it wasn't fast enough, and the woman blocked his way

"NO!" cried the man. "No, please, don't! Please!"

The woman smiled and lifted the sphere towards his face. A sudden beam of red light shot out from the globe and hit the man's eyes. His expression twisted grotesquely from fear to a terror like nothing Zoey had ever seen before. Then he froze like a statue.

The woman laughed and pushed the man softly, with a single finger. He toppled to the ground, like a dead tree, and didn't move again.

"That was pretty disturbing," whispered Simon, who looked like he might throw up. "He died of fright. We better get out of here before the mad lady decides to use her freaky snow globe on us."

"I'm guessing _these_ are the Alphas, right?" said Zoey.

She looked away long enough to check the wound in her thigh. Blood soaked through her jeans, but it wasn't a deep cut.

"Looks like it," answered Tristan. "Now that they've seen us, they're coming this way—and I have a feeling they don't want to chat."

Simon frowned. "Well, they dressed for the occasion. I guess they were going for a theme—red for _blood_."

"And red for murder."

The Alphas marched confidently across the atrium in a perfect horizontal line. They looked down at their victims in disgust—like they deserved to be dead. Zoey's hatred for them grew— these weren't Sevenths—they were nothing like the Sevenths in the agency. These soldier-type assassins appeared to kill for fun and to take pleasure in the suffering of others. _They_ were the _real_ monsters.

"We need to get out of here and find Agent Barnes," she said quickly.

"There's no way we can fight them all—and there's a Daragon on our trail back in the corridors somewhere."

Tristan looked at her. "This place is huge. It'll take forever to search it. Do we even know where we're going?"

"No, but we don't have a choice, do we?" said Zoey.

The Alphas had already walked halfway across the auditorium and were closing in on their hiding place.

"They're coming, and they're going to kill us when they get here. We should double back. I saw some stairs near the entrance to the auditorium—so there's another level—maybe Agent Barnes is there. We have to check it out."

"Anywhere is better than here," said Simon peering through a gap in the chairs. "If we want to make a move, we better go now."

With a last look at the marching Alphas, they jumped up and sprinted back towards the exit. Bullets whizzed passed them and peppered the walls above them. They ducked and kept running. The corridor narrowed, and they made for the stairs.

They had almost made it when the Daragon smashed through the wall in front of them.

They leaped out of the way as the beast hurled its giant battle-ax. With a _whoosh_ like a scythe through a field of wheat, the blade spun over Zoey's head. She fell to the ground amid a shower of splinters and plaster rubble. She scrambled up to her feet with a mouth full of dust and a searing pain in her shoulder.

"Zoey? Why are you over there?" cried Simon, as he backed away slowly from the giant beast.

"Me?" Zoey coughed through the dust. "Why are you guys over there? I just jumped."

Tristan and Simon were on one side of the Daragon, and she was on the other. She blinked through the dust and saw the stairs up ahead.

The Daragon wailed, turning its head from side to side to keep them all in sight. Its tail lashed out eagerly behind it, and yellow drool dripped from the corners of its mouth. It swiveled its ax playfully, taunting them. It seemed to want to slice them up rather than burn them this time. It was enjoying their distress.

Zoey couldn't think of anything clever to do without sacrificing herself. How could she help Agent Barnes and the agency if she were dead?

Tristan seemed to read her thoughts.

"Go! Go look for Agent Barnes while we distract the Daragon," he said.

"What? No!" cried Zoey. "I'm not leaving you guys. Forget it."

"Yes, you are," pressed Tristan.

He armed his slingshot. "You don't have a choice, Zoey. You're the closest one to the stairs. Don't worry—we've got this—Simon and I will take it on."

Zoey's voice wavered.

"But I can't—I'm not going anywhere without you guys." Their eyes locked.

But she knew Tristan was right—she had a chance to escape and get help. She _had_ to take it.

The Daragon, cold and calculating, watched Zoey for a moment and then switched its attention to Simon. But as if it knew where the real threat lay, it turned finally to Tristan. It was sizing him up for something, and Zoey thought she could see an ugly smile forming on its face.

"It wants to fight me," said Tristan calmly. "Daragon's love to fight a worthy opponent, and I guess I'm it."

"What? But why?" said Zoey, "Why you and not us? Tristan, please, don't do anything heroic—it's not worth it."

"I _have_ to do this. It's our only chance," said Tristan.

"Right now, I'm its biggest threat. I'm stronger than the two of you, so it sees me as a worthy challenge. Daragon's are very arrogant—it wants to prove to itself that it's stronger than me."

"It _is_ stronger," said Zoey. "I know what you're doing. Stop trying to be brave and think. This is crazy. It throws fire—remember? Tristan, don't do this."

"I have to. Go, Zoey—don't worry—we'll be right behind you."

Zoey blinked the dust from her eyes. "Promise?"

Tristan smiled. "Promise."

She looked at Simon, who blanched and was turning green. "Simon?"

"It'll be all right, Zoey, go," his voice cracked. "I'm sure Tristan knows what he's doing—I hope."

"Zoey, GO!" urged Tristan as he armed his slingshot. "Quickly before it changes its mind and decides to go after you."

Tristan stepped forward as though he had acknowledged the mystic's challenge.

The Daragon grunted its acceptance of a worthy opponent. It raised its head proudly and flexed its bulging muscles.

Zoey pulled herself away from her friends and ran for the staircase. She took the stairs two at a time without stopping to look back. Tristan would be okay—they would both be okay—they _had_ to be.

She burst through the exit and onto the next floor, sprinting like death itself was at her heels, but something caught her foot, and she went sprawling.

Her breath had been knocked out of her like. She wheezed to catch her breath and searched for what had tripped her. She had fallen over a bloody body that lay in the middle of the corridor. There was nothing she could do for it now. She scrambled to her feet, and started to run again.

"ZOEY!"

Zoey halted. She knew that voice. She turned, and her knees weakened when she realized that the body was not dead.

"Agent Barnes!" She kneeled beside him. "Agent Stokes is the traitor! I figured it out! I recognized his voice—he's going to try to get the interloper. He's going to use it against us!"

Agent Barnes was bleeding from his nose and from a gaping wound in his stomach.

"Oh my God, I thought you were a dead body." Zoey pressed on his wound in an attempt to stop the bleeding. Her eyes burned.

"Zoey, listen to me," croaked Agent Barnes through his pain. "You're right about Agent Stokes. He did this to me."

He paused for a moment. "He took me by surprise and grabbed the interloper. I couldn't stop him. But you—you need to stop him."

"Me? But how?" she stammered. "I'm not an agent."

"Zoey, listen to me carefully. You _must_ destroy the interloper."

His face was pale. "Before it's too late."

Zoey swallowed. Her stomach twisted, but she knew she _had_ to try.

"How? How do I destroy it?"

"I don't know—maybe fire? Do whatever it takes to stop them from opening up the portal."

Agent Barnes started coughing. Blood covered his lips when he spoke.

"Agent Stokes is stupid—he thinks he's doing the right thing—but he's being used. He's just too stupid to realize it. You need to stop him before he gives the interloper to the Alphas. Once they open it, it'll be too late for everyone. You _must_ stop him, Zoey. You must."

"Okay, I'll give it my best shot," She hoped she sounded confident.

She looked at Agent Barnes. "Stay here and don't move. I'll be back with help. I'm going to fetch Tristan and Simon."

She got up, but Agent Barnes grabbed her wrist with more strength than she thought he still possessed.

"There's no time. Go now. Forget about me—I'll be ok," he urged. "The interloper is more important than my life. The fate of this world depends on you destroying it. Everything else is secondary, even me. You must understand. Now, go."

Zoey looked around helplessly, "Where?"

"They're on the roof. Go back and take the stairs. Go—go now!"

Zoey wiped the sweat from her face with the back of her hand. She didn't want Agent Barnes to die. With a final look at him, she ran back towards the stairs and headed for the roof.

She drew strength from her anger—Agent Stokes was going to pay. She was going to _make_ him pay.

She pushed open the door at the top of the stairs. The sky was a deep blue, and an orange sun was setting in the west. A cool breeze caressed her hot face. London's lights glowed like jewels around her. It was beautiful.

The rooftop was a giant rectangle. The buzz of the air exhaust vents from the building's air conditioning system masked her footsteps. She hid behind an air conditioning box and peered around it. Her heart skipped a beat.

A skeletally thin woman in a black, tailored suit stood in the center of the rooftop. She wore a floppy, wide-brimmed, red-feathered hat, like those Zoey had seen on women from the costume shops. The woman's face was just as distorted and stretched as she remembered it. It was Mrs. Dupont. She held something in her hands and was admiring it lovingly. Was it the interloper?

A man was with her—the same man that had locked Zoey and her friends in the basement and had killed Mrs. Andrews and the old man.

Zoey shrank back behind the air conditioning unit. The man was huge and strong, and he had a gun. If she got a little closer, she could hit him in the head with her boomerang. But even if she were lucky enough to get rid of him somehow—there was still the creepy Mrs. Dupont. Zoey suspected she might be a mysterian herself—she looked part mystic—maybe even part Daragon. Was she super powerful like Tristan?

It all seemed impossible. She hoped Tristan and Simon were having better luck than she was. She held her breath and crept over to the next air conditioning box. Mrs. Dupont and the man hadn't moved, but she was still too far away for a clear shot. She ducked down and moved closer as silently as she could. She was close enough to hear the murmurs of their voice. She was close enough to take a shot. She gripped her boomerang firmly and aimed.

But something hit her on the back.

Zoey fell to her knees and dropped her boomerang.

Whoever had hit her, hit her again. She felt her ribcage split apart with the force of the blow, and she rolled over on the ground in agonizing pain.

"So, you're the one who's been snooping around," said an angry voice.

Blinking through her tears, she looked up.

Agent Stokes hissed at her. "The _Drifter—_ you tried to ruin my plans before, and you made me look stupid and disloyal in front of my mistress."

"You look stupid all by yourself," spat Zoey.

He backhanded her across the face, and she tasted blood in her mouth.

Zoey glared at him, wanting nothing more than to avenge Agent Barnes.

"Well, you didn't succeed," he sneered, "and now I'm going to kill you."
21

# Interloper

Zoey screamed as Agent Stokes dragged her across the roof by her hair. Her eyes watered, and the world was a blur. He hurled her to the ground and kicked her in the stomach again.

"You tried to ruin my plans, you little brat, but you didn't succeed. How could you? You're nothing but a foolish little girl with a death sentence."

"I'm not a little girl," growled Zoey—where were Agent Barnes, Tristan, Simon? The pain in her broken ribs was unbearable when she sobbed. She tried to control her breathing.

"Oh, but you are, and a very stupid one at that. Did you really think that you could come here and stop _me_? I killed your beloved Agent Barnes, and you're going to wish you were dead before I'm finished with you. First, I'm going to rip it out your tongue—"

"Enough!" commanded a woman's voice.

Zoey peered up at Mrs. Dupont. She cradled a metal cube in her hands. It had rows of smaller cubes on each face, but instead of colors, like a Rubik's cube, the little cubes had geometric symbols on their surfaces. The interloper.

"You've had your fun, Sylvester, now let her go."

Mrs. Dupont looked down at Zoey. "I need her alive to answer some questions first."

"Mrs. Dupont, you don't understand," began Agent Stokes. "She's the one that almost ruined everything! Let me kill her! Please!"

He pulled out a knife and grabbed Zoey by the hair. He yanked her head back painfully, and she could feel the cool blade sharp against her throat. She held her breath.

Mrs. Dupont walked casually towards her. "Not yet. I have a few questions that need answering. You can kill her after. I promise. Let her go, Sylvester—don't make me ask you again."

She smiled at Zoey, and her face twisted grotesquely—as though some of the muscles in her face moved, while others did not.

Agent Stokes released his hold on Zoey's hair and pushed her to the ground. "You're dead, Drifter. _Dead_."

But then the man with the gun and the white eye moved closer and glowered at Zoey.

"I locked you in with the monsters—you should be dead—or better yet, torn to shreds. How did you escape?" he asked.

"Wouldn't you like to know," answered Zoey. She matched his scowl.

"Thank you, Nazar," said Mrs. Dupont, and she waved him aside. "I'll take it from here."

Nazar stepped back slowly. His milky white eye was locked on Zoey, and she shuddered involuntarily.

Mrs. Dupont turned her cat-like eyes to Zoey and examined her more closely.

"So you're the Drifter," she said finally.

"How remarkable. I'm very impressed. You are exceptionally resourceful for someone so young. Not even an agent has been lucky enough to get as close to me as you stand now—and yet here _you_ are—just a girl. But you're not just a girl, are you? There is something unique about you—am I right? Yes, of course, I am. Tell me, what's your name?"

Zoey spit out some blood. "Zoey."

"Zoey," echoed Mrs. Dupont. "You're a very brave girl, Zoey. You're the one who eavesdropped on my conversation with Sylvester back in the hall. I remember you well. I never forget a face. Tell me, how did you _find_ us then? Did someone tell you where to find us?"

Zoey shrugged. "No. I don't know. Someone pushed me when I was using my DSM, and I just appeared there. I don't know really know how I did it. I just did."

"Very interesting." Mrs. Dupont looked as though she was trying to frown, but her brow only twitched awkwardly.

"Tell me, Zoey, what were you _thinking_ —right before you used your precious mirror device?"

"I don't know—to get back to the hive?"

Zoey started to feel uncomfortable under the unnerving stare of Mrs. Dupont's cat-like eyes. It was almost as though she knew something else—something about her.

"Is it possible you were thinking about the stolen _interloper_?" Mrs. Dupont inquired. She sounded excited, and her feline features twisted in a grotesque smile.

Zoey's hair rose on the back of her neck. She remembered. She _had_ thought of the interloper right before Stuart had pushed her. She had wondered if the interloper looked like their DSM's, if it had mirrors. How did Mrs. Dupont know what she had been thinking?

"By the look on your face, I gather that you did." Mrs. Dupont's face twitched.

"I'll tell you what happened, my dear girl. You _thought_ of the interloper, and then you mirror-ported yourself to the anchor that was nearest to it."

Zoey tensed. "I don't understand."

"No—you wouldn't—but _I_ do."

The way Mrs. Dupont was staring at Zoey made her very uncomfortable. It was almost like Zoey was a prize that Mrs. Dupont had been waiting for, for a very long time.

Mrs. Dupont's eyes shone excitedly. "Tell me, Zoey, where are you from? What are your parents' names?"

Something clicked inside her, and Zoey decided to stop playing nice. Nothing good could come of telling her the truth. The more information she gave this woman, the more danger would come to her.

"Bill and Marge St. John," she lied, putting on her best poker face.

Mrs. Dupont and Nazar shared a look, and then she looked back at Zoey. "Really? How interesting."

Mrs. Dupont was quiet for a moment, but she looked excited.

"That red hair you have—it's almost like it's on fire, isn't' it? It's very beautiful and very _rare_. I've only seen it once before, a long time ago—on a woman—and her name wasn't Marge St. John."

She focused on Zoey more intently. "You made up those names, didn't you? Don't lie to me, girl. Tell me who they are. What's the harm in knowing someone's name? You can tell me."

Zoey's insides twisted. What did Mrs. Dupont know about her already—about her past—about her mother?

"Those are their names," Zoey lied again. "Mom and dad St. John—I think they're swell names, don't you? And why do you care, anyway? What do my parents have to do with any of this?"

"Plenty," said Mrs. Dupont. Her voice was sharp, and all the traces of false gentleness were gone.

"I know you're lying, I can always tell when someone is lying. You might call it a gift. I can see the lies and fear in your eyes. I see it all. I can even see your desperation to keep your mother safe. But you can't."

Zoey's heart thumped wildly.

Suddenly, Mrs. Dupont's face warped grotesquely in anger. She reached out and wrenched Zoey's right arm painfully.

"Where _is_ your mother? Where is Elizabeth?" she roared. Her spit flew in Zoey's face.

Zoey cried out, "I don't know who you're talking about? I don't know anyone called Elizabeth. I swear."

"LIAR!" Mrs. Dupont twisted Zoey's arm so forcefully that Zoey heard a horrible snap.

Zoey sunk to the ground, her head spinning from the searing pain. She blinked the black spots and tears from her eyes. Her arm lay limp by her side, and panic rose like a cold mist in her mind. She shuddered. She tried to stand, but just moving her leg made her cry out. She was too weak to fight back.

She knew that after Mrs. Dupont had gotten the information she wanted, they would kill her. That she knew for certain.

She inhaled shaky breaths and tried to calm herself. They could kill her, but they couldn't harm her mother if they didn't know where she was—she took comfort in that.

Mrs. Dupont leaned over Zoey. Her face was flushed and clammy, like a store mannequin whose face had melted from the heat of overhead lights.

"Fortunately for you," she said, spraying Zoey's face with more disgusting, warm spit, "I don't have time for this now. But rest assured, I will _deal_ with you later. I will get some answers out of you—even if I have to cut your pretty little fingers off one by one—you _will_ tell me where she's hiding eventually. I can promise you that."

Zoey cradled her injured arm. "And I promise I _won't_ tell you anything."

Zoey could see the interloper clearly now. She was so close that she could reach out and touch it.

Mrs. Dupont caught her looking at the interloper, and a smile contorted her face again.

"You'd like this, wouldn't you?"

Zoey didn't answer, so Mrs. Dupont continued.

"Do you know what this is?"

She held the interloper for Zoey to see.

"This is the interloper you've been _thinking_ about— the answer—the way to restore the balance between the worlds to what it was in the time of the Originals. The world of beasts and monsters shouldn't mix with ours. It dishonors the Originals. We are the superior race, and we should _rule_ the beasts, not coexist with them."

"The balance is shifting in the Nexus, Zoey. A powerful demon warlord is poised to invade our dimension with his savage army. He is at war in his own world and angry that the agents drove him out from this world centuries ago. So, we made a deal. We'll open the portal to our world to let his army in—and he'll get rid of the agency for us. He will come with a vengeance, and every last agent will die. Then the Alpha Nation, the true followers of the Originals, will rise and rule this world."

"It won't work," said Zoey, trying to ignore the throbbing pain in her arm. "They'll stop you."

Even though her throwing arm was broken, Zoey wished she still had her boomerang.

Mrs. Dupont laughed.

"Who? Who will stop me, my dear girl—the agency? Ha! Look around you, Zoey—the agency has fallen. The mystics you love so much will destroy the rest of you tonight. There is no one here to help you. The Alphas killed them all. You're all that's left."

Zoey remembered the bodies she had seen in the auditorium, and she felt sick. She knew that whatever Mrs. Dupont was planning was going to be a million times worse. Hot rage boiled inside her. The cat-face woman had to be stopped. But how?

"Sylvester," said Mrs. Dupont, "Give me the other interloper. It's time."

She held out her hand, and Agent Stokes pulled the other interloper from the folds of his jacket. Much to his disappointment, she gave it to Nazar.

"Why does _he_ get to use it?" said Agent Stokes, outraged. " _I'm_ the one who took it from Agent Barnes. I'm the one who went through all the trouble to get it! I'm the one who got you the codes to break into the agency's headquarters. I nearly got caught! He didn't _do_ anything!"

Nazar caressed the interloper. "Stop your whining, Sylvester."

He gave Agent Stokes a self-satisfying grin. "Did you really think Mrs. Dupont would let _you_ work it? You—a common, good for nothing agent—a man as incompetent as a monkey? I think not."

"But..." Agent Stokes was lost for words. "—I don't understand. I let you into the Boston hive. I was the one who got you past security. I risked my neck getting those codes!"

"And we thank you for all your help, _Agent_." Something gray flashed from the folds of Nazar's coat, and in an instant, he stabbed Agent Stokes in the chest. Agent Stokes opened his mouth, choking on his blood, and then slumped to the ground.

Nazar smiled wickedly at the horror on Zoey's face. She bit her tongue and said nothing.

"Let us begin," said Mrs. Dupont.

She guided Nazar to the edge of the roof. They stood side by side like a bride and groom holding the metal cubes like flower bouquets.

Mrs. Dupont turned towards Zoey. Her cat-like features were amplified disturbingly in the growing darkness. "It's not every day you get to witness a portal this size. You are a very lucky girl, Zoey St. John."

"I don't feel very lucky," answered Zoey shortly. Her arm throbbed painfully.

Mrs. Dupont laughed. "Oh, but you are lucky— _very_ lucky—lucky that I've finally _found_ you."

"What? What is that supposed to mean? We've never even met before?" Zoey hated the triumphant look in her crazy cat's eyes. What was it that she knew?

Mrs. Dupont smiled at Zoey's distress.

"I've been searching for you for fourteen years. Elizabeth thought she could hide you from me, but she was wrong—and now I've found you."

The puzzle of Zoey's life started to make sense. Her mother _hadn't_ abandoned her—she had hidden her away in the orphanage to save her from this woman and the Alpha Nation. But why was she so important—what did Mrs. Dupont want with her? And if Elizabeth Steele was her mother, then who was her father?

Mrs. Dupont nodded to Nazar, and together they pressed down on the interlopers with their thumbs. The cubes began to glow with a brilliant white light.

Zoey had to act now. She looked around the roof for something to help her. She could see __ Caution High Voltage written in bold, red letters on a large metal panel that was fastened to the side of the air conditioning unit on the opposite side of the roof. It gave her an idea.

Movement caught her eye. Tristan and Simon dodged behind the other air conditioners. They were alive. Simon held her golden boomerang in his hand. She made sure Mrs. Dupont and Nazar hadn't seen them, pressed her finger to her lips, and motioned for them to come closer.

They made it to the air conditioning unit closest to her. She met Tristan's eyes for a second, and ignoring the weird feeling she felt in her chest, she pointed to their slingshots, and Mrs. Dupont and Nazar. Then she pointed to the panel with the high voltage sign. She sucked at charades. She hoped they understood.

They both nodded—thank God.

Tristan and Simon aimed their slingshots, but the roof trembled, and they lost their balance for a moment.

A shadow passed above them. Zoey looked up.

Thunder boomed and lightning turned the sky into daylight. Zoey thought her eyes were playing tricks on her—a black line appeared in the sky above them. The line got bigger and bigger, until it was like a second black horizon line across the London sky. She watched in horror. The line widened, like a giant movie screen unfurling, until it became a giant, black rectangle.

And then she saw something that made her blood freeze.

Inside the rectangle was another world, a red world of wind and rain and fire. An otherworldly landscape of vast deserts spread out for miles inside the rectangle. She could see giant volcanic mountains billowing brilliant red smoke over a blanched plain. Black ash rained down, and plumes of smoke and steam rose from the burning ground.

And then she saw tens of thousands of evil-looking mystics charging through the smoke towards the mouth of the portal.

It was a savage army of giants with three heads, mutated humanoids with animal limbs, and decomposed human-like undead running with their rotting limbs falling behind them. Creatures like mummified corpses ran towards her with their skin hanging in loose folds from their bodies. An immense translucent worm with two ominously long tentacles slithered to the mouth of the portal beside hundreds of monstrous spiders with small, humanlike arms below their mandibles. Creatures that resembled gigantic, floating eyeballs shot out towards her followed by skeletal humanoids clad in metal armor riding on huge flies.

The creatures clawed savagely at each other, racing to enter her world before the portal closed. Their numbers overwhelmed her. No one could defeat such an army. The howling mystics cascaded down into the streets of London like a tidal wave.

Mrs. Dupont laughed triumphantly. She lifted the interloper above her head like an offering to a God. Her twisted features were contorted in madness.

Zoey signaled to Tristan and Simon. They aimed and fired.

A metal ball hit Mrs. Dupont on the side of her temple. She crumpled to the ground, and her interloper slipped from her hands and dropped to the ground.

Nazar was struck in the back of the neck, and he stumbled to one knee—but he still hung to the interloper.

Zoey staggered forward, the adrenaline in her veins feeding her with renewed energy. Every step was agonizing, but she forced herself to ignore the pain and strained on. Roars erupted above her as more hostile mystics surged towards the portal, but she didn't look up.

Her broken arm seared in pain as she picked up Mrs. Dupont's interloper. Then she shuffled towards Nazar. She kicked his hand awkwardly, and the interloper fell from his grip. She clasped both interlopers clumsily to her chest and hobbled as fast as she could towards the other side of the roof.

"STOP HER!" bellowed Mrs. Dupont.

Nazar was on his feet. And faster than she would have liked, he was nearly upon her.

Zoey shuffled towards the high voltage sign. She could feel Nazar reaching out behind her, about to grab her. Simon and Tristan fired at Nazar, but he ducked and the metal balls rocketed off the roof. They shot at him again, hitting him in the chest and arm with satisfying _cracks_ —but he kept coming.

Just as Zoey's energy was about to run out, she reached the electrical panel.

"God, I hope this works."

She kicked it open. Blue sparks shot at her, and she jumped back. Electric charges danced dangerously around the wires like venomous snakes.

She swallowed hard. "Here goes nothing."

"NO!" screamed Mrs. Dupont. "STOP HER! KILL HER!"

Zoey tossed the cubes onto the wires, just as Nazar's hands wrapped around her neck. She opened her mouth to scream, but Nazar squeezed harder, and she felt her last breath escape. She knew she was going to die.

She thought she heard Tristan calling her name. It sounded like she was underwater. Her arms hung at her sides like dead branches. She looked away from Nazar's murderous smile and caught sight of the interlopers. For a second nothing happened. Then the blue electric current coiled around them, and the interlopers' lights grew steadily brighter, until they were both white-hot. Then they exploded.

The force of the blow caught Zoey in the chest. She and Nazar flew into the air. He lost his grip on her, and she drew in a desperate breath. She crashed brutally into the wall on the edge of the roof and felt something snap. She couldn't feel her legs or her arms, and warm liquid seeped from the back of her head. Her ears rang, and she knew she was dying. Her body was broken.

With the last of her strength, she watched the portal shimmer and split apart. Like a mist blowing in the wind, the black rectangle flickered and disappeared. The last things she saw were the angry faces of the mystics staring down at her from above.

She closed her eyes and let the darkness take her.
22

# Payback

Buildings burned. Mystic and human bodies littered the streets of London. The air was hot and Zoey fought to breathe in the hot smoky air. Mutes ran screaming past her as they tried to escape their invisible enemies. Zoey watched a giant flying insect swoop down on them as they crowded the narrow streets. They couldn't fight back. They couldn't see the threat.

But Zoey could see the creatures. She had to help.

A blast of blue light hit the giant insect, and it crashed into the window of a burning building. A group of humans who could see them fought the creatures. All was not lost.

"Zoey."

Zoey turned and followed the voice.

A woman with long fire-red hair stood in the middle of the street. Her hair and her emerald eyes were just like Zoey's. She waved at Zoey, and Zoey waved back. She recognized the woman immediately, and as she moved towards her, her mother smiled.

And then someone appeared behind her mother—the woman in a hat with a face like a cat—she sneered at Zoey with a look that chilled her to the bone.

But before she could reach her mother, a black line formed in the air right above them and grew steadily larger until it was the size of a door. The cat-woman took her mother by the hand, and before Zoey could react, they both flew into the air and disappeared through the black doorway.

"NO!" Zoey ran to the spot, but they were gone.

* * *

Zoey woke with a start.

As she focused, she realized she was in a single bed with white linens. She blinked the fuzziness from her eyes and looked around. She was in a large room with three other single beds. It looked like a hospital with white walls and the smell of disinfectant. Her lids were heavy like she had slept for months. Her right arm was in a baby-blue sling, and she had a jumbo headache.

She felt a presence with her in the room and turned to see who was there. Aria smiled at her. With effort, Zoey pulled herself to a sitting position.

"Aria," her voice cracked, like she hadn't used it in weeks. "What happened? How did I get here?"

Aria placed a left hand gently on hers, while her three other hands rested on her hips. "Take it easy, Zoey. You were hurt really badly. I don't want you to overexert yourself. You're safe and in the medical bay back at the hive."

And then the events with the interlopers came back to her like a slap in the face. She tried to breathe normally.

"Are Tristan and Simon okay? They were on the roof with me. I don't remember what happened to them after I blacked out. Are they safe?"

"Yes," said Aria, calmly. "They're both fine."

Zoey let out the breath she didn't realize she was holding. "Thank God. How long have I been here? I feel like I've been run over by a truck."

"About a week. You injured your back badly, and you suffered a concussion. You'll have to stay here for a while, I'm afraid."

"That explains the massive headache—it's like someone hit me over the head with a baseball bat."

Zoey struggled to remember what had happened. Where were Mrs. Dupont and Nazar?

"I remember being choked before the explosion, and then I hit a wall. But the rest is such a blur—do you know what happened? Are the interlopers destroyed?"

"Yes, thanks to you." Agent Barnes entered the room on crutches. He gave her the biggest smile.

Zoey's grin matched his. "You're okay! I can't believe it!"

Agent Barnes hopped over to the side of her bed. "I'm a little broken here and there, but I'll live."

"I was so worried," said Zoey trying to keep the emotion out of her voice. "I didn't want to leave you there—I felt terrible."

"You did what I told you to do," said Agent Barnes. "You did what was necessary—you destroyed the interlopers—which was far more important than saving my life. You saved us all, Zoey. You did it."

Zoey's face was suddenly hot and her ears burned. She smiled awkwardly. "So what happened? What happened after I blacked out?"

"Well," began Agent Barnes, "more backup teams were sent in, when I and the other agents didn't report back. Communications were down at headquarters because all the mirror-ports had been destroyed, so they used the _backdoors_ to get in."

Zoey nodded. "—like the fake window on the top floor of Parrods."

Agent Barnes smiled. "Yes, among others. They had been installed years ago for emergencies like this. Unfortunately, the help came too late, and most of the damage had already been done. They arrived at Headquarters, only to find the bodies of the dead agents. There were no signs of the Alphas anywhere."

Zoey's eyes widened. "But they were there—we saw them! They shot at us! And there was a woman with a red globe—she killed people by scaring them to death with it. I saw her use it on a man, and he died of fright, I swear."

"I believe you," said Agent Barnes.

"When they found me I told them about you—and about Agent Stokes. They helped me to the roof where I found Tristan and Simon watching over you."

He beamed at her. "They told me what you did, and I saw the pieces of the interlopers. I'd never thought of an electrical charge. That was very clever of you, Zoey."

Zoey felt heat rise to her face. "It was nothing."

"It was far from nothing. You stopped the most dangerous mystics from crossing over."

Zoey bit her lip and shook her head.

"Not all of them. I remember seeing a lot of really big and nasty looking ones get through the portal. They were angry and vengeful, like they couldn't wait to start killing people. I couldn't tell you how many exactly, but there were lots."

"The agency is preparing to deal with them," said Agent Barnes. " _Lots_ is a lot better than hundreds of thousands. You closed the portal just in time. We're not sure what kind of mystics got through, and I'm sure management will be very interested in what you have to tell them, once you're feeling better."

A shiver ran along Zoey's shoulders. "So, are Mrs. Dupont and Nazar in custody?"

For a moment Agent Barnes said nothing, then with a serious look on his face, he said, "There was only the body of Agent Stokes. Mrs. Dupont and her ally were long gone when we got there. They must have fled after you destroyed the interlopers."

"She's going to try again, you know," said Zoey angrily. "The woman's insane. She wants to destroy all the agencies and to rule this world like the Originals did—whatever that means. The woman's a freak."

Zoey thought about asking Agent Barnes why Mrs. Dupont had been searching for her for fourteen years—and how she had known that Zoey could influence her destination when she transported through the mirror ports. But at the last second, she decided not to. She wanted to learn more about her skills before she said anything to anyone. Maybe if she found her mother, she would learn more.

"Well, at least for now, we can take comfort in knowing she won't be trying anything for a while," said Agent Barnes.

"What about the _other_ interlopers?" said Zoey suddenly. "I know there are others—she might go after them to finish what she started."

Agent Barnes smiled. "Don't worry, they're safe."

"Safer than before?" she said and raised an eyebrow.

"Let us hope so," answered Agent Barnes.

* * *

Tristan and Simon came to visit her every day at lunchtime. And even though her heart still skipped a beat when she saw Tristan, she was very glad he visited. Soon it was just like old times. Unfortunately, her ribs felt like they were ripping apart from the inside when Simon made her laugh, so the nurse told them to leave her alone to heal. Although her ribs still felt like they were on fire, she finally felt well enough to be out and about, and she left the medical bay to meet with management.

But there was something she needed to do first. And it would only require a few minutes.

Simon and Tristan were waiting for her outside. Although the fluffs of snow that had fallen the night before melted in the sun, she could feel that winter was finally on its way. Her sneakers crunched under the wet leaves, and she wrapped her new wool toggle coat around herself more tightly to keep the cold from coming in.

"Is everything set?" she asked, as she neared Simon and Tristan.

"Yup," said Simon beaming mischievously. "This is going to be the best day of my life."

"Is he here?" Zoey searched the grounds. Most of the operatives were out enjoying the afternoon sun.

"He's right over there," answered Tristan.

Zoey followed his gaze and smiled.

Stuart King stood inside a circle of his cronies, proudly putting on a show. Claudia was there, too, flipping her long brown hair over her shoulders and laughing at everything Stuart said. It was perfect.

"Let's do this." Zoey felt the blood pump in her veins as she and her friends advanced towards Stuart. They stopped and stood just close enough to be in earshot. She smiled at Tristan and gave Simon a nod.

"Hey, Stuwie," Simon called loudly. He waited for Stuart and his friends to turn around.

"What do you get when you mix a _king_ with a _moron_? Give up? A king _dumb!"_

Stuart glowered at him.

Zoey and Tristan threw back their heads and laughed hysterically, making sure they had the entire academy's attention. Even some of Stuart's friends laughed, but his face darkened.

"What's the matter, Stuwie," said Simon innocently. "Can't take a joke? Did we hurt your _royal_ feelings? Are you too _sensitive_ to take a joke? Well, at least now you've got some color on your face. Between you and me—that white vampire look you had going, wasn't really working."

Stuart scowled again.

Zoey pulled a large golden bracelet set with precious stones from the folds of her jacket. She admired it on her wrist, and the sun's rays reflected myriads of colors onto her face. She lifted it up for all to see.

Stuart reached out and grabbed the bracelet.

"Give it back." Zoey stepped up to Stuart, scowling.

Stuart smiled and twirled the bracelet in his hand.

"There's no way a _Drifter_ could afford this."

He inspected the bracelet more closely. "It's real. You stole it, didn't you? Wait till the agents hear about this—their precious little orphan is a thief. They'll send you away for good this time."

"I didn't steal it. It's been in my family for years. Give it back."

Zoey reached out to grab the bracelet, but Stuart laughed and twisted away from her.

"No. I think I'll keep it for now," he said. "Your days are numbered, Drifter. Go back to the streets where you belong."

With a flick of her long hair, Claudia took the bracelet from Stuart and inspected it. She smiled and handed it back to him. She moved towards Tristan.

"Still think she's all that great, Tristan? We all know she's a liar, and now we have proof that's she's also a thief. How can you even _like_ her?"

When Tristan didn't answer she turned away from him angrily.

"Come on," said Stuart turning away, "let's go show this to Agent Ward. I'm sure she'll love to hear where we got it."

"Wait!" Zoey stepped forward. "I'll fight you for it. If you win, you can do whatever you want with it. You can go tell the entire agency that I'm a thief. But if _I_ win, I get the bracelet back."

Stuart's face twisted in disgust.

"I'm not going to fight you, _Drifter_. I don't want you near me. I might catch some disease from that orphanage you crawled out of. Originals don't mix with the help."

"What's the matter?" taunted Zoey. "Too proud to fight a girl? Or are you afraid I might actually win? I've fought guys much bigger than you and won. Admit it—you're afraid of me— you know I'm going to win."

She glanced over to Tristan who stood with his arms wrapped around his chest, grinning. She smiled at him and caught Claudia glaring at her.

Stuart's laugh was ice cold. "You _won't_ win. Okay, you're on, Drifter."

Zoey flashed him a small smile.

"Good. There's a perfect spot at the back of the Wander Inn. The agents won't see us there."

She led the way around the back of the Wander Inn.

Stuart laughed and boasted how he was going to crush the drifter. He made sure that Zoey could hear him. Claudia bounced beside him, clearly looking forward to seeing Stuart do a number on her.

Zoey stood with legs apart in a fighting stance, and raised her hands, curling them into fists. Simon and Tristan stood behind her.

"You're going to regret this, Drifter." said Stuart. He made his way forward and stood in front of her. "I'm going to send you back to the medical bay."

"We'll see."

Stuart took off his jacket and handed it to Claudia, but he kept the bracelet. He twirled it in his fingers. "This is way too easy," he said.

Simon snickered.

Stuart looked at him. "Why are you smiling, Brown? Are you happy that I'm going to _ruin_ your only friend?"

He laughed and turned to his friends who joined him in a chorus of overdramatic laughter.

Simon sighed lazily. "It's just—this is going to be the best day of my life."

Stuart lowered his eyes. "What do you mean?"

With a sudden roar, a thunderstorm erupted all around them. Twelve low-riding motorcycles crashed through the woods. Their emerald-green frames glistened in the sun as they circled the operatives. Despite the cold, the small men riding the motorcycles were dressed only in leather vests and pants, and tattoos covered most of their exposed skin. They circled the operatives, making them cough on the gasoline fumes. After a few more turns, they stopped and killed their engines.

Most of Stuart's gang stepped away slowly, trying not to make any sudden moves. They were frightened, and Zoey was pleased to see that Claudia's beautiful face had become an unattractive mask of fear. It suited her.

A four-foot-tall man with a green top hat and orange, braided hair slowly dismounted his motorcycle. His long, green leather coat billowed around him like a cape as he stepped between Zoey and Stuart. His yellow teeth flashed as he smiled at Zoey.

"Hi, Zoey. It's been too long since last we met."

"Hi, Rusty," said Zoey. Her smile widened when she saw the shock on Stuart's face. "It has been way too long. I missed you guys."

Rusty McFearsome's eyed the bracelet in Stuart's hand.

"So you're the thief, eh?" he said, glowering deeply. "No one _steals_ from the leprechaun gang and gets away with it. BOYS!"

The eleven other leprechauns leaped off their bikes and flexed their muscles dangerously. They looked ready for a fight.

Stuart backed away slowly. "I'm not a thief!"

Rusty raised an eyebrow. "Are you calling me a liar?" His voice rose ferociously.

"No—but—but _I_ didn't take it."

"What's that you got there in your hands, then? That's _my_ bracelet, that is. It went missing this morning, and my spies told me that I'd find it here—along with the thief that stole it."

Stuart looked at Zoey as he slowly realized that he'd been trapped He pointed his finger at her.

"You! You did this to me! You set this up!"

Zoey shrugged and looked innocent. "I don't know what you're talking about."

" _She's_ the one who stole it, not me!" cried Stuart. "She's trying to frame me, to get back at me!"

"Never seen our king look so scared before," whispered Simon so that only Zoey and Tristan could hear. "This is like an early Christmas present. Thank you, Santa."

"I'm telling you. I didn't steal it— _she_ did." Stuart pointed to Zoey. A cold sweat broke on his face. "I just took it from her to report that she stole it."

"Do you hear that, boys?" said Rusty. "He's trying to put the blame on a girl to save his own skin. If that's not cowardly, I don't know what is."

"This is ridiculous," spat Stuart, "I'm going to get Agent Ward."

He started forward, but a bald and heavily scarred leprechaun with a serial-killer look stood in his way. He crossed his arms over his wide muscled chest and shook his head.

"I don't think so," said Warty O'Wicked. "Not if you know what's good for ya."

Rusty cracked his fingers. "You know what we do to those who steal from us?" he asked.

He smiled. "We put them in the _Cage_."

"The what? What are you talking about?"

Stuart was suddenly surrounded by eleven leprechauns. "Stop this at once! What do you think you're doing? Get out of my way!"

A leprechaun with a green Mohawk waved a large club at him. "Move, and I'll pound ya, pretty boy," said Crusher O'Looney.

Stuart looked around in a terror. The tiny men with tattoos and piercings and big ugly weapons had him cornered. He looked at Zoey, and for a moment she thought she saw a silent plea for help in them. But when she didn't respond, he lowered his eyes and coldness returned to his voice.

"I hate you," he growled.

"Well, at least we have one thing in common," Zoey answered, just as coldly.

Rusty took the bracelet from Stuart. "I'll take that now."

The leprechauns bound his hands and feet, and Stuart's panic turned to rage.

"Don't do this," hissed Stuart, his face twisted. "Zoey, tell them! Tell them we were just playing around. Tell them that this is just your idea of a joke!"

Zoey smiled calmly. "Yes, this _is_ a joke. Jokes on you, King."

"NO!" He bucked wildly as Warty heaved him onto his ride.

"HELP! Someone help me! HELP! HEL—"

Crusher stuffed a cloth in Stuart's mouth. "Man, the gab on that one. We're going to have _so_ much fun with him. Thanks, Zoey."

Zoey smiled at the leprechauns. "No, it's me who should thank you."

She looked over at Stuart and lowered her voice. "You're not going to _hurt_ him, are you?"

Rusty winked at her. "Of course not, we are _civilized_ leprechauns, after all." He clapped his hands together. "All right, boys. Ride on out!"

Crusher dropped his club and spread his arms wide. "Come and give us a hug."

She laughed and embraced the leprechaun. She felt someone hug her from behind and looked down to see Warty, his eyes filled with tears.

"Will you come visit us?" said Warty, his voice wavering. "We miss you, you know. You remind us so much of your mother."

He let Zoey go and blew his nose noisily into a handkerchief.

"I will," she said. "Promise."

Crusher wiped his eyes on his arms and both he and Warty made their way back to their bikes.

"See you, Zoey."

Their engines roared into life, and the leprechaun gang disappeared back into the forest, with Stuart draped over a seat, and Claudia chasing them and screaming like a banshee.

"Got to get this on film!" Simon ran after the motorcycle gang with his cell phone.

Zoey smiled. Payback was awesome.

"Where are you going now?" asked Tristan after a moment of silence.

Zoey sighed heavily. "Management's expecting me."

Tristan looked back towards the forest. "I'll go after Simon to make sure he's not going to do anything too stupid. I'll see you later then."

"If I'm still here," said Zoey sounding a little deflated. She turned around and started back towards the hive, then halted.

"Tristan?" she called.

"Yeah?" he said as he turned around.

"Can I ask you something? I mean, if it's not too personal?" Her cheeks burned and she wanted to kick herself for blushing so easily.

"Sure."

"What part mystic are you?" She waited, her heart in her throat.

The fact that he didn't answer right away made her feel like a fool. "Sorry," she blurted out suddenly, "I'm an idiot—none of my business—forget I said anything."

Tristan smiled. "It took you long enough. I've been waiting for you to ask me."

He paused for a second and then answered. "My mother is a Seventh, but my father's an álfar—he would look like mountain elf to you, I guess—with blue skin."

Zoey didn't know much about elves except for what she had read. Tristan's ears weren't pointy, but it would explain his high cheekbones and the blue halo and veins.

"They met while my mother was on an assignment for the agency near the Apennines in Switzerland," he continued. "They fell in love, and the rest is history."

Zoey bit her bottom lip. "So how does your mystic side work? Your skin glowed blue and you had these veins all over your arms—how do you control it?"

"Well, I'm just as human as I am mystic. Both are part of who I am. Most of the time I'm the me you see before you," answered Tristan.

"Like my father, the mountain elves have a super strength. It's a kind of adrenaline that pumps into my veins that gives me the strength of three men. It's dormant until I need it."

"Do you have any brothers and sisters?"

"Yeah, I have a little sister. She's eight."

"Can she do the things that you can?"

"You mean, is she strong?"

"Yeah."

Tristan laughed softly. "Yes, she's like me. She's a lot to handle at the moment though, I feel bad for my mom."

Zoey looked to the ground. "I envy you. Your family sounds amazing. I wish I had a family."

Tristan took Zoey's hand in his and squeezed it gently. "You do now. The agency is your family."

Zoey looked into Tristan's dark eyes, and blood rose to her cheeks. She quickly looked away.

"Yeah, I guess you're right." She pulled her hand away.
23

# Resolution

Zoey climbed up to the third floor and stopped in front of the door with the inscription "Mystic Laws and Regulations, room 3B _._ " From what Agent Barnes had told her that morning, management wanted a full report. She wasn't sure what they were going to do with her. She felt a little nervous because the hive had become her home, and she didn't want to leave. She had prepared a speech when she'd been lying in bed, but now she couldn't even remember how it started.

Letting out a shaky breath, she reached out and knocked three times.

"Come in," said a voice.

Zoey pushed in.

The directors were seated on one side of the large table. Agents Barnes, Ward, and Vargas sat across from them.

Director Hicks smiled as Zoey closed the door behind her. "Please take a seat, Zoey."

Agent Barnes lifted his crutches to make room for Zoey at the empty seat beside him. He didn't look at her.

"Your timing is perfect," said Director Hicks. "Were we just about to discuss the events following your encounter with Agent Barnes when he had been injured at headquarters. But I'd like to go back first. I'd like to know how you spotted Agent Stokes as the traitor. Please tell us what happened after you saw him at the Wander Inn, and what led you and your friends to take that dangerous trip to London."

Zoey folded her hands in her lap and recounted her story. She told them how Nazar had locked them in the basement, but she left out the part about the fire stallion she had freed. She explained how they had made the jump to London and had arrived in the middle of a full battle against the Alpha Nation. She told them how she had found Agent Barnes, and then finally, how with the help of Tristan and Simon she had destroyed the two interlopers. When she was done she sat back and waited.

"So you believe that the people in red uniforms were with the Alpha Nation?" inquired Director Hicks.

Zoey frowned. "Of course—who else could they be? They _are_ the Alpha Nation—and they were following the orders of Mrs. Dupont."

"Right, the cat-faced woman of your previous stories," interjected Director Campbell.

"They're _not_ stories," said Zoey, her temper rising.

"No, of course, they're not," said Director Hicks. He gave Director Campbell a stern look.

"I believe that _you_ believe what you saw was the Alpha Nation—of that I am positive. But you see, Zoey, we're not entirely sure that what you _saw_ was indeed the Alpha Nation. Perhaps these murders were committed by another terrorist group, one led by Agent Stokes, a very deranged individual—"

"No," blurted Zoey. "No, you're wrong. It was the Alphas, I'm telling you."

Director Hicks gave Zoey a kind smile. "But we don't have any proof. No one saw these individuals but you. Frankly, what makes it so hard for us to believe those responsible for this terrorist attack were the Alphas, is because they would never be part of a scheme to let mystics into our world. They have been opposed to the idea of mystics coexisting with us for centuries."

"Without any evidence," interjected Director Martin, "we cannot take the word of a girl who _thinks_ she saw Alphas. You told us you saw a group of persons dressed in red."

Zoey lowered her eyes. "Yes."

"You saw them kill our fellow agents, but where is the proof that they were Alphas? There isn't any. We couldn't question any of them, because there was no one _to_ question. There were no bodies to be found and no captives. The only real evidence is the remains of the interlopers and the body of Agent Stokes. That is all the evidence we have. That is what we must take into account. The facts. The proof."

"But, I'm telling you, I saw—" The rest of Zoey's sentence drowned in her throat because the look on Agent Barnes face said, _stop it_.

Zoey stared at her hands in her lap. She was angry they didn't believe her, but she was afraid that her attitude might jeopardize her chance to stay in the hive. She pressed her trembling lips together.

"Don't look so distraught, my dear girl," said Director Hicks. He had a great smile on his face. "You have done a great service to the agency. You and your friends have shown enormous courage for ones so young. We are greatly impressed by your skills and cleverness. Your true devotion to the agency will not be forgotten. We are very grateful for all that you've done and sacrificed for the sake of all of us."

Zoey felt a tightness in her chest—something was off. She remembered how the administration in the orphanage would compliment her, right before they told her that her adoptive parents didn't want her anymore—reverse psychology. Were they doing the same now—preparing her gently for the fall? She didn't want to leave the program.

"Rest assured, my dear," said Director Hicks, "we will be investigating these attacks further. And I promise you—we will discover the culprits behind this. Thank you for your time, Zoey."

His voice was kind. "You may go now."

Numb, Zoey got up and walked to the door. She didn't say good-bye because she was afraid she would start crying. With trembling fingers, she pushed open the door and closed it behind her. She shuffled down the corridor, feeling like her life was over. Would she ever see Tristan and Simon again?

"Zoey!"

Zoey halted and turned.

"I was calling you," said Agent Barnes hobbling behind her on his crutches. "Didn't you hear me?"

Since she couldn't trust herself to speak she only shook her head.

Agent Barnes gave her a kind smile. "Don't look so upset. They didn't believe me either when I told them what you told me. And since we don't have proof _yet,_ we have to be satisfied that what you've told them is on record. That's a start. We can find the proof later.

"But for now, there are more important things that require our attention. Those mystics that crossed over need to be found and sent back to the Nexus. From what I've gathered so far, they're the worst hostiles you can imagine—a demon lord and his cavalry—we'll have a lot to catch up on."

Zoey's mouth fell open.

"What? You mean I'm back in the program? I'm an operative again?"

Agent Barnes smiled. "Of course you are. You're probably one of the best operatives the agency has seen in years."

He pulled out a file from the inside of his jacket and handed it to her.

Zoey smiled and opened it. Her mother's picture was exactly how she remembered it.

"Thank you for giving it back to me, and for keeping it secret."

Agent Barnes hesitated for a moment. "I know you still have lots of questions about your mother—and your _father._ But at least for now, you have a _location_ to start looking."

He tapped the top of the file with his finger.

"See you later, Little Red."

Zoey watched him hop away on his crutches until he disappeared around the corner.

She looked down at the file and grinned.

"New York City," she whispered. "Here I come."

# Prologue

The door swung open, and Mrs. Dupont strode into the room. Her black suit clung tightly to her tall narrow frame, and her short white hair glowed softly in the semi-darkness. The angle of the light amplified her monstrous feline features. She looked like a lioness. She crossed the room, stood by the bay window, and looked out over the river below. She stroked the heavy burgundy drapes lovingly with her gangly fingers and smiled with bulbous red lips.

"The girl changes everything." Her voice quivered with excitement.

"With her, we can finally commence the Great Junction. I have waited a lifetime for this opportunity to set the worlds right, once and for all. And now we don't need to wait any longer."

Nazar lounged comfortably in a plush leather armchair facing a large stone fireplace. His single white eye glowed in the dark like a large pearl as he watched Mrs. Dupont. He drummed his fingers on a short crystal glass brimming with gold liquid.

"And you're sure _she's_ the one?" he nodded feebly at her.

Mrs. Dupont stared out of the window for a moment.

"Of course I'm sure. Her seventh sense is stronger, more _potent._ She is the last of her kind...the last of the bloodline. I've been researching her for most of my life. So you see, Nazar, of course, I _am_ sure."

Nazar stared at the fire. The flames glimmered in his eye.

"But what about Elizabeth? She's also from that same bloodline. We had her _tested_ remember? I'm sure _she_ remembers what we did to her to get those results. We could use the girl as leverage? Elizabeth will come out of hiding when she knows we have her daughter. I'm sure she will. I know her. We grew up together. I know how she thinks. She's probably been watching over her kid all this time. She'll come to us as soon as we have her, trust me."

"That won't be necessary," answered Mrs. Dupont, still gazing out of the window.

Nazar frowned. "We've been searching for Elizabeth relentlessly since she escaped from Troll City. Are we simply going to forget about her? She's been spotted in Tudar Village. I've already sent a team out to apprehend her. Should I tell them to forget about it?"

Mrs. Dupont turned from the window, her face pinched severely, looking more like a beast than a woman. "No. Let them take her alive. I have _different_ plans for Elizabeth now that we know of her daughter's existence. She's been replaced with something _far_ better."

Her eyes widened excitedly. "I know where her precious daughter is — she's in a North American Hive, mixing with Agents. But not for long; I've already taken steps to ensure her release. She will be with us shortly."

She crossed the room and made her way towards a mahogany side table. A set of decanters lay on a silver tray. She poured herself a drink of light gold from one of the decanters and let it swish in her mouth before she swallowed.

"The sentimental leprechauns did us a service by releasing Elizabeth all those years ago."

She set down the glass and poured herself another. "I believe this was _meant_ to happen, their stupidity actually worked in our favor."

"And what favor would that be?" Nazar leaned back in his chair and swirled the contents of his drink with his wrist.

Mrs. Dupont raised her glass to her lips and said, "The girl. The leprechauns thought they were doing Elizabeth a favor by letting her go, but in the end it was a favor to _us_. They gave us Zoey, something grander and more powerful. We should be thanking them, really."

Nazar watched his mistress swallow the rest of her drink. "Perhaps we should send them a thank-you note," he grinned.

"Perhaps." Mrs. Dupont's cat-like eyes blazed eagerly.

"The girl's senses are more powerful than Elizabeth's ever were. She knew this, of course, which is why she tried to hide the child from me for all these years."

Mrs. Dupont laughed a sick, wet laugh. "I should be thanking Elizabeth for getting herself pregnant in the first place. Her child will be the key to bring about the Great Junction. The Alphas have been waiting for her for centuries. The _true_ Originals had planned for this all along."

Nazar leaned forward, balancing his glass with his fingers and hesitating to press the point.

"You believe she has the same abilities as her mother? Are you quite certain?"

"Yes. I _know_ she does." Mrs. Dupont's face twisted grotesquely in an attempt to smile.

"...And I know her gifts are more powerful than her mother's ever were. I have already glimpsed what she can do. Her talents are limitless."

Nazar raised an eyebrow. "I'm not convinced Zoey is the girl with immeasurable power mentioned in the prophecy. The scriptures are vague. We can't be certain they refer to her—"

"I am certain Zoey St. John is the _one_." Mrs. Dupont's eyes flashed dangerously.

Nazar's face tightened as he finished his drink. "Of course, if you are certain..."

Mrs. Dupont placed her empty glass carefully on the table and turned to face Nazar.

"We must focus all of our energies on making sure she fulfills her potential. I cannot afford any more errors. The end of this world is within our grasp, and Zoey is the key to its destruction."

"...And if she doesn't agree to play her part in the great matter?" Nazar smiled weakly.

Mrs. Dupont lowered her eyes. "Then she dies."
1

# Dust Devils

A hot breeze caressed Zoey St. John's face, and the dry golden wheat fields that stretched out in front of her swayed like great amber waves in a stormy sea. The air smelled like fresh dirt and home-baked bread.

It had been ice cold and windy outside the Hive in Toronto. Five inches of brilliant snow had carpeted the grounds before they had left. The instant heat had come as a surprise when she had stepped out of the mirror-port into the vast fields around San Antonio.

It was the first week of January, and the second year in her operative program had begun. Zoey had been delighted that Agent Ward and Agent Vargas had promoted her.

Second-year Operatives were now expected to handle more dangerous and hostile mystics. They were undergoing intense combat training and went out on field assignments every week. So when Agent Vargas had announced that Agent Barnes and Agent Lee had requested that Zoey accompany them on a field assignment, she had jumped willingly to the challenge.

She was still wearing her dense wool jacket and felt like she'd just stepped into a sauna fully dressed. She unzipped her jacket and let the air cool her.

"So...what exactly are we waiting for?" She traced her fingers along the golden boomerang that was fastened to her left wrist by a gold bracelet. When she turned and glanced at Agent Barnes, she saw that he was smiling.

"You'll see." Agent Barnes shared a look with Agent Lee like they knew some secret inside information, and she didn't.

Agent Barnes dropped a large black duffel bag on the ground, and the contents rattled inside like large metal pots.

Wiping the sweat from her brow, Zoey stared out over the rippling fields. For a split second, she thought she saw a human shadow. But when she strained her eyes against the sun, the shadow disappeared.

"I don't get it," she said. "We're in the middle of a giant field with nothing but wheat surrounding us for miles around. Are we going to make cereal?"

A sudden gust of wind rustled through her jacket, and her red hair waved out above her back. A large gray cloud covered the sun, and the shadow relieved them from the burning rays. "Patience, Little Red," laughed Agent Barnes.

He slipped his leather jacket from his shoulders and let it drop to the ground. He smiled at her mischievously.

"Get ready. Here they come."

Zoey followed his gaze.

"Here _who_ comes? I don't see anyone or anything! Is this like a test or something? Do you want to see how gullible I am? I'm still very new at this. _You_ found me, remember? Why are you smiling? I don't see any—"

The rest of her words died in her throat.

Across the waving fields of wheat, a gigantic black funnel hung down from a gray storm cloud. It spiraled violently, and the bottom of the vortex whipped back and forth like a massive tail. Thunder roared and crackled, and the winds intensified and slapped Zoey's face with debris. The tornado moved in their direction at an incredible speed, destroying everything in its path like a giant vacuum. Clouds of wheat and dust filled the air around it as it advanced. The fierce winds sounded like millions of animals crying out at once.

The funnel split apart, and for a moment Zoey thought it would be all over. But a few seconds later it reconnected itself and kept moving on. The skin on Zoey's arms prickled with goosebumps. As it came closer she realized that this was no ordinary tornado.

It wasn't wind. It was thousands of semi-transparent furry gray creatures that were flying in circles. Their moving bodies formed a giant mystic funnel. They had bulging red eyes and abnormally large mouths with rows of sharp, shark-like teeth. They looked like a cross between wolves and monkeys, with pointy ears, large torsos, and gangly limbs. Their gaping mouths crushed and swallowed massive rocks, earth, trucks, remnants of a shattered shed, and, to Zoey's disgust, a few unsuspecting cows. They devoured everything unfortunate enough to be in their way. Her blood turned to ice as she saw the excitement and pleasure gleaming in their eyes—they _enjoyed_ demolishing and killing _everything_.

The ground shook as the mystic tornado swirled closer. Then she smelled a sickening combination of wet dog, rotten meat, and skunk. The putrid fragrance made her eyes water.

Zoey stared open-mouthed. "What in the world is _that_?"

"Dust devils," answered Agent Barnes. "Nasty little critters. I haven't seen a combo this size for years."

"It doesn't look like a McDonald's Big Mac combo to me — just saying." Zoey blinked the dust from her eyes and tried to breathe through her mouth. She coughed and inadvertently inhaled another wallop of _eau de toilette._

Agent Barnes looked delighted and exhaled, "Oooh!"

"Their sole purpose is to destroy," he said. "They crave it...need it...live for it. They take pleasure in killing and destroying. They eat anything, and I _mean_ anything. A dust devil combo this size can wipe out an entire village in a matter of minutes and leave the land barren."

Zoey forced the images of flying cows from her mind and let anger replace her sorrow for the poor beasts.

"So," she began, squinting through the dust and debris, "Tornados are really thousands of dust devils?"

"Precisely," said Agent Lee. His black trench coat billowed behind him in the fierce winds like a superhero's cape. Zoey could see the _glee_ in his eyes behind his sunglasses.

_What was wrong with these two?_ It was as clear they were enjoying themselves.

"Well, most of the time," said Agent Lee.

He turned to Agent Barnes. "These winds are totally killing my hair. I say we nail these suckers and get out before I look like I gave myself a 1980s perm."

Zoey frowned. She had no idea what he meant by that.

The mystic tornado roared like a thousand angry bears.

"So how do we stop it — stop _them_ I mean? This thing is huge," said Zoey.

The tornado was really close. Her jacket flapped, her hair slapped her face, and she felt herself being pulled into the vortex.

Agent Barnes wet his index finger and held it in the air, as if to test the wind direction.

"The key here is to shatter it and separate them. A single dust devil is easy enough to contain, but they hardly ever stay by themselves. They're attracted to each other like magnets. And the more they gather, the more deadly and massive they become. We've got to stop this bad boy now, before this area becomes a total loss."

"So how do we split them apart?" Zoey spit the dirt from her mouth and reached for her boomerang. But she knew it wouldn't make any difference. It would probably get swallowed up, and she'd never see it again. She'd probably get swallowed, too. Not a very good prospect. She left her precious boomerang safe around her wrist.

"Dust devil tornados depend on a host of complex, interrelated forces," answered Agent Barnes.

"The basic anti-dust devil combo strategy is to take the smallest of these factors, the one most amenable to change, and to change it. It's like throwing a wrench into the smallest cog of a machine, in hopes that disrupting one part of the system will cause the entire assembly to shut down."

Zoey strained against the force of its pull. "So if we disturb the flow, then it shuts down. Like a stick in a wheel?"

"That's right," shouted Agent Lee over the winds. "They'll be disoriented for a bit, not knowing what hit them. Then they'll split apart, fall, and turn to dust."

"Which gives us a few minutes to sweep them up before they get back together," interjected Agent Barnes, "And by the looks of it, we better get started."

He rummaged through his duffel bag and pulled out what looked to Zoey like hand-held cordless vacuum cleaners. He threw one to Agent Lee who held it like a gun and aimed it up at the roaring dust devil. He made blasting sounds with his mouth and pretended to shoot at it.

"We sweep them up with this." Agent Barnes handed her a pink hand-held cordless vacuum cleaner.

Zoey took the contraption and wrapped her fingers around the plastic handle. She was right. It _was_ a hand-held vacuum cleaner. It weighed about the same as a medium-sized cooking pot. The label on the front read:

_Dust Devil Buster - Flexi Vacuum_

_Cyclonic Action, holds 75% more dust devils!_

_Perfect for dust devils, sand imps and more._

_7-year guarantee!_

_Caution—too many dust devils may result in the loss of suction._

* * *

Zoey snorted and then looked at the two other dust devil busters. "Why is mine pink?"

Agent Barnes' face fell. "Why? You don't like it? I thought you'd like pink."

"Why? Because I'm a girl?"

"Well...yes."

Zoey shook her head. "My life just gets weirder and weirder."

Zoey strained to keep her balance. The stench was toxic, and the tornado was so close that she could see the dust devils clearly through the flying debris. They were running around in circles like giant hamsters sprinting around their hamster wheels. Their red eyes gleamed in delight.

"We don't have much time left!" yelled Agent Barnes.

Zoey could see that he held a small black sphere in his right hand.

He grinned. "This baby is a fire-bomb. Think of it as our wrench. After I throw it, it will explode and cause the tornado to collapse. Be ready to sweep up as many disoriented dust devils as you can before they reform. Trust me—you don't want to be around when they wake up—so you must sweep _all_ the dust. You can't leave any remains."

"Got it. I'll be a good housekeeper."

Zoey grinned with a rush of excitement. She knew this wasn't going to be easy, but she was flattered and honored that the agents had chosen _her_ to work with them on this assignment. This was totally _awesome_.

Agent Barnes lifted the firebomb and pointed.

"Zoey," he bellowed, "you take the right side of the field. Run as fast as you can. Agent Lee will take the left, and I'll stay here in the middle. I'm going to count to ten...at _ten_ I'm going to throw the firebomb. Got it?"

"Yes."

"Good. Let's go, people! We've got some cleaning to do!" Agent Barnes clapped his hands together enthusiastically.

Without another second to waste, Zoey clutched her pink dust devil buster, trying not to look too disgustingly happy. She sprinted across the yellow fields, counting in her head as she went.

_One...two..._

Her heart hammered against her chest as she jumped over a tree trunk, careful not to trip, and kept running. The wheat whipped her legs as she picked up speed.

_Three...four..._

In her peripheral vision, she could see the giant dust devil thrashing forward. The mystics roared in pleasure as they ripped the earth apart.

_Five...six..._

Her seventh sense prickled her skin as she pressed on.

_Seven...eight..._

She gripped her hand-held vacuum tightly as she thrashed through the tall grass. The dust and grass particles in the air tasted like bitter tree bark in her mouth.

_Nine...ten..._

Zoey halted. She whirled around, squinting against the dust and flying debris. She stood close in the shadow of the massive mystic tornado. She couldn't see through it, and for a horrible moment, she thought the Agents had been swallowed whole. But then the tornado shifted, and over the horrible roars and grunts from the mystics, she heard a loud _pop_.

The tornado stopped spinning suddenly, and the mystics fell like heavy rain. As soon as their bodies touched the ground, they burst into gray dust, like ashes from a fire.

She was able to see Agent Barnes as the cloud of dust parted.

"Sweep them up, Zoey!" he shouted.

He waved his dust devil buster at her happily, like he was next up to bat at a baseball game.

"This is the best part! Happy cleaning!"

Across from her, Agent Lee was singing a tune. He hopped around with his free hand behind his back and stabbed his dust devil buster at the fallen mystics like a sword.

Zoey sighed cheerfully. There was no place in the world she'd rather be than scooping up piles of disgusting little dust devils with Agent Barnes and Agent Lee.

She was positive that Tristan and Simon would be jealous of her right now, and that made everything a tad more delightful.

Zoey cringed as she thrust the nozzle toward the nearest pile of dust devils. She clenched her jaw when she saw two red eyes blinking angrily above the pyramid of dust. If the eyes could talk, she was sure they'd be shouting out plenty of curse words at her. She flicked the power button, and the red eyes disintegrated and shot up the nozzle like specks of sand.

After the first one, the others went down like nothing.

"What you lookin' at?" she laughed, as she scooped up other sets of mad eyes.

She imagined she was a cleaning lady, sweeping up dirt. But instead of working in a vast manor, she was cleaning a farmer's field of hostile mystics. It was surprisingly easy after she got over the smell. She was on pile number two hundred and three when she heard Agent Barnes yell from across the field.

"You almost done over there, Zoey?"

"Yes, I think so," she called back to Agent Barnes.

She looked around carefully. "Just five more to go. I'll be done soon."

"Well hurry up," he called back. "We're almost done over here, and the dust devils are starting to reform. Be quick about it."

"Okay."

Agent Barnes was right. She saw a nearby pile of gray dust start to spin like a top. The particles stuck together, and soon a semi-transparent and very angry mystic stood in front of her. She swung the dust buster at it, and it was sucked up into the machine before it could take solid form.

"That was close." Zoey wiped her brow and hoped the agents didn't see how close she had come to letting the dust devil recover.

A twig broke behind her. She turned around.

Something hard hit her, and she was thrown twenty feet in the air. Her dust buster flew out of her hand, and she landed on the ground hard and rolled. The grasses had cushioned her fall somewhat, but she felt a stabbing pain in her lower back. She scrambled to her feet, disoriented, and turned.

Her breath died in her throat. A giant dust devil was right behind her, enraged and snarling.

* * *

TRY IT NOW

# Books By Kim Richardson

SHADOW AND LIGHT

_Dark Hunt_

_Dark Bound_

_Dark Rise_

_Dark Gift_

_Dark Curse_

_Dark Angel_

* * *

THE DARK FILES

_Spells & Ashes_

_Charms & Demons_

_Hexes & Flames_

_Curses & Blood_

* * *

TEEN AND YOUNG ADULT

* * *

SOUL GUARDIANS

_Marked_

_Elemental_

_Horizon_

_Netherworld_

_Seirs_

_Mortal_

_Reapers_

_Seals_

* * *

THE HORIZON CHRONICLES

_The Soul Thief_

_The Helm of Darkness_

_The City of Flame and Shadow_

_The Lord of Darkness_

* * *

MYSTICS SERIES

_The Seventh Sense_

_The Alpha Nation_

_The Nexus_

* * *

DIVIDED REALMS

_Steel Maiden_

_Witch Queen_

_Blood Magic_

# NEWSLETTER

Never miss a new release! Sign up to Kim's Newsletter to receive exclusive updates on upcoming releases and discounted books!

Click here to get started!

# About the Author

KIM RICHARDSON is the award-winning author of the bestselling SOUL GUARDIANS series. She lives in the eastern part of Canada with her husband, two dogs and a very old cat. She is the author of the SOUL GUARDIANS series, the MYSTICS series, and the DIVIDED REALMS series. Kim's books are available in print editions, and translations are available in over seven languages.

* * *

To learn more about the author, please visit:

* * *

www.kimrichardsonbooks.com
