Amari and the Night Brothers

by B. B. Alston

  “Remove your shoes and socks, please. You’ll need to stand on it with your bare feet for the Magic-Meter to work properly.”

  Magic-Meter? Maybe there really was a glitch with the Crystal Ball, and this will prove that whatever happened back there was a mistake. It had to be.

  The grown-ups all stare expectantly, especially a tall, stern-faced white guy who keeps pacing back and forth near the door. I pull off my shoes and socks and get to my feet. Then I take a slow, deep breath and step onto the Magic-Meter.

  Numbers rise and fall on the little screen, until finally it settles on 97 percent. A second later it creeps up to 98 percent, then 99 percent, and finally 100 percent.

  Dr. Khan gasps. “Every drop of this girl’s blood is magical.”

  The adults rush to huddle near the door.

  Dr. Khan just stares at me, eyes wide. So I ask, “What does that mean?”

  “It means you’re perhaps the most magical being that’s ever existed.” Dr. Khan lowers his eyes and frowns. “It also means your very existence is a crime.”

  A crime? But I haven’t done anything. “The Bureau uses magical objects, don’t they? So magic can’t be all that bad.”

  “The Bureau isn’t against objects being too magical,” Dr. Khan replies. “It’s against people being too magical. There’s a big difference, I’m afraid.”

  Chief Crowe is back in front of me. “Amari, we’re going to ask you some questions. It’s important that you be completely honest with us, understand?”

  But I’ve got my own questions. “How did I get magic?”

  “It was my hope that you might tell us,” says the stern-faced man. He crosses his arms, turning up his nose like he can’t stand the sight of me. His golden name tag reads: Director Van Helsing, Department of Supernatural Investigations. He must be Maria’s and the Van Helsing twins’ dad. My heart thumps faster.

  “I don’t know,” I say. “I touched the Crystal Ball like everyone else—”

  Director Van Helsing bangs his fist on the table so hard it makes everyone in the room jump. “The fourth law created by the first Supernatural World Congress states quite clearly that humans may receive magic from only one source—the Crystal Ball. A single 10 percent dose that gives us our supernatural abilities. Yet you have come to the Bureau with an overabundance of magic from an unknown source. Where did you get it?”

  “I don’t know,” I say. “It’s got to be a mistake.”

  “Tell the truth!” he says.

  “I am!” I shout back, trembling.

  Director Van Helsing won’t let up. “You expect us to believe that you possess the highest magicality we’ve ever tested by mere chance?”

  “No . . . I mean yes . . . I mean . . .” I’m shaking so much I don’t even know what I’m saying.

  “And I suppose we’re also to believe it’s a coincidence,” Director Van Helsing continues, “that you showed up here at the same time hybrids are terrorizing our outposts around the country. It is common knowledge that only magicians can create hybrids. Tell me, girl, are these attacks your doing?”

  “I don’t know anything about that.” I shrink back in my chair. “I swear—”

  “Then perhaps,” Director Van Helsing interrupts, “you could simply tell us which other magician is responsible?”

  The door swings open again and Agent Magnus steps through. “I’m here to speak on the kid’s behalf.” A tall lady with fiery red hair in a long ponytail hovers in the doorway behind him.

  Director Van Helsing frowns. “This is a director-level meeting.”

  Magnus rolls his eyes. “Like I care a lick about that!”

  “For the last time, you are not above the rules, Agent Magnus!” He looks to the chief, but she just waves him off.

  “This is no time for you to quarrel,” snaps Chief Crowe. “Let Magnus in. He was close to the girl’s brother and might know something that could shed some light on how on earth Quinton’s little sister is—of all the things in the world—a magician.” She nods to the lady in the doorway. “Agent Fiona, I think we’d all feel a lot better if you could put that ability of yours to use and reveal the girl’s intentions.”

  The red-haired lady nods and steps forward. She may not be a director like the other adults, but they all move aside for her. “No need to be frightened, lass,” she says softly. “If you’ll allow it, I’m going to check out your intentions for being here. You’ll feel yourself go still for a bit but that’s the worst of it.”

  “If you’ve truly got nothing to hide,” says Director Van Helsing, crossing his arms, “then you’ll have no objections to our proving it.”

  Again, I don’t have much of a choice. If I refuse, then they’ll just assume the worst. I meet Agent Fiona’s eyes. “Okay.”

  The room goes quiet as Agent Fiona puts herself right in front of me. Her fierce blue eyes widen and my whole body goes stiff. I try to look away, but my neck refuses to turn. My eyes are stuck on hers—I can’t even close them. I’m totally helpless. I fight down my fear as best I can.

  It’s not until she finally blinks that I can move again. She cracks a smile. “Her intentions might as well be in big neon letters across her forehead they’re so easy to read. She’s an honest little thing. On the surface, the lass means to bolt for the door if she’s not treated fairly in this meeting. Second, and most importantly, she’s come to the Bureau to discover what happened to her brother and bring him home if she can. There’s nothing dangerous in her intentions as far as I can tell.”

  I blink in surprise as the adults in the room exchange glances. Did that lady just read my mind?

  “Normally I’d put complete faith in your ability, Fiona,” says Director Van Helsing, “but magicians are known for their deception.”

  “It’s true!” I say. “I just want to find Quinton.”

  “Do you imagine there’s something you could be doing better?” Director Van Helsing scoffs. “My best agents were on that search—Magnus led the investigation himself.”

  Agent Magnus looks at me with sad eyes. “With the investigation being classified, the most I can say is we’re currently out of leads.”

  Chief Crowe’s tense expression relaxes a little. “We’re all sorry about Quinton, and I’m quite relieved to hear that Amari means us no harm. I’ve got the utmost faith in Agent Fiona’s ability. But there’s still the troubling matter of how the girl became a magician. It’s been more than two centuries since the last rogue magician emerged, and he quite famously blew himself up.”

  “Does the how even matter?” drones a pale, thin man. His name tag reads Director Kript, Department of the Dead. “The Bureau has had one policy for dealing with magicians for over seven centuries. Lock them up and throw away the key.”

  A few of the other directors nod in agreement. A serious lady in thick black glasses even suggests I be taken to her lab and studied. Director Fokus, Department of Magical Science is sewn onto her lab coat.

  “Over my dead body!” Magnus replies. And mine too, I think. The red-haired lady moves to Magnus’s side, leveling a withering stare at the directors who want me locked up. She and Magnus must be partners.

  “Please, everyone just calm down,” says Chief Crowe. “What we need right now is a thoughtful discussion about how best to proceed.”

  “Can I start by acknowledgin’ that the kid’s supernatural ability didn’t pop up as evilness or spite,” says Magnus. “So let’s stop treatin’ her like she did somethin’ wrong.”

  “And yet we’ve all heard the terrible stories, haven’t we?” says Director Cobblepot of the Department of Supernatural Licenses and Records. “There’s no such thing as a good magician. Let’s not forget how close we came to canceling the training sessions this summer on account of those hybrid attacks.”

  More shouting follows. Chief Crowe closes her eyes and shakes her head.

  Someone clears their throat loudly, quieting the room. “If I might have a word on the matter,” says a gentlemanly
voice.

  I look around to see who’s talking but no one’s lips are moving. That’s when Director Kript opens his suit jacket and places the head of an elderly brown man with a gray handlebar mustache gently onto the table. It takes my brain a few seconds to catch up to what my eyes are seeing, and when it does I jump in my seat.

  “Where’s the rest of you?” The words come out before I can stop myself.

  But the man isn’t offended. “Back in my office taking a most restful nap. What began as flexibility became detachability once I touched the Crystal Ball those many years ago.” He winks at me. “Now then, as Director of the Unexplained, I believe the great many unanswerable questions surrounding young Amari here mean that she falls squarely under my jurisdiction.”

  I glance over at Magnus. He doesn’t seem to like my being considered “unexplained” any more than I do.

  “And what would you have us do?” asks Chief Crowe.

  “When faced with a mystery, one must first determine if said mystery presents a danger. We’ve established that the girl means us no immediate harm. The next step, then, is not to project our own prejudices onto the mystery, but rather to allow the mystery to reveal itself to us in its own time. Which is to say that I believe we should allow the girl to stay, if she wants to. She’d be monitored, of course, but discreetly. Also, it may be prudent to explain to her exactly why being a magician has caused such a commotion.”

  All eyes turn to me.

  “That really would be helpful,” I say.

  “Allow me,” says Chief Crowe. “In ancient times, long before the Bureau existed, there wasn’t the separation between the known world and the supernatural world that exists now. Humans lived right alongside supernaturals and those supernaturals performed magic right out in the open. The thing was, with all the free-flowing magic that existed in the world, humanity had none of it. Not a single drop. Until the Night Brothers—Sergei Vladimir and Raoul Moreau.

  “No one knows how the two of them obtained magic, just that they weren’t satisfied with the 35 percent magicality of a common elf or even the 50 percent magicality of a woodland hag. They gave themselves more power than any single being has a right to possess. It’s said that they could perform seemingly impossible feats. We know for a fact that they conquered old age and death, with a spell called Vampir, which requires consuming the blood of innocents. . . .”

  I shudder. Vampires?

  Chief Crowe pauses, visibly upset, so Agent Fiona picks up where she left off. “Ye can imagine that supernatural folk didn’t take too kindly to humans terrorizing the land and upsetting the peace. And humans and supernaturals banded together to bring down the Night Brothers. But they were no match for the magicians. It seemed hopeless, that the Night Brothers would take control of the whole bloody world—”

  “Until my ancestor,” Director Van Helsing cuts in, “Abraham Van Helsing drove a stake through Vladimir’s heart—a blow that sent Moreau into hiding and scattered their forces. On the strength of my ancestor’s courage, certain humans were privileged to remain in contact with the supernatural world and enforce laws meant to keep its existence secret. These trusted men and women became the Bureau of Supernatural Affairs.

  “For the nearly seven hundred years that the Bureau has existed, Moreau has continued to create new magician apprentices—until he was finally captured by my daughter and your brother. These newer magicians have been the cause of great tragedies and terrible disasters these many years. Humanity was never meant for such power. It corrupts the soul.”

  “That’s quite enough,” grumbles Magnus. “Leave your beliefs out of it.”

  I sit very still, trying to wrap my head around everything they’ve said. “You’re saying the magic I have is bad?”

  “At best we’re saying we don’t know,” says the talking head. “The amount of magic we receive from the Crystal Ball is but a fraction of what even the weakest magician possesses. At such high concentrations, we simply don’t know what effects the magic, now that it’s active, may have on you.”

  “I don’t feel any different,” I say.

  “It does raise an interesting question. How can we be sure her talent was even enhanced?” asks Agent Fiona. “The ball didn’t glow.”

  “In fact, it very nearly shattered,” says Director Kript. “Let’s not pretend that means nothing. Can you imagine how difficult it’s going to be to explain to Merlin how we let a trainee destroy a priceless artifact of unending power?”

  “No explanation will be necessary,” says Director Fokus. “I rushed over right after with a couple of my best researchers to have a look at the damage . . . and there just wasn’t any. The ball was in pristine condition, its magic functioning normally.”

  “What happened then?” asks Chief Crowe.

  “In my professional opinion, the incident with the Crystal Ball revealed just what kind of magician Amari is.” Director Fokus swallows. “She’s an illusionist. If she possesses any other kind of magic in addition to this, such as what’s necessary to create hybrids, it remains to be seen.”

  The directors look at one another with nervous glances. Even Magnus looks concerned.

  So what happened onstage with the Crystal Ball was just an illusion? I’m not sure what to think about that.

  “I just wish we had more information.” Chief Crowe frowns. “If Horus were here he could peek into the girl’s history, maybe discover how the magic was passed to her.” She turns to Director Van Helsing. “I trust he’s still away on sabbatical in the Wandering Isles?”

  “Afraid so,” says Director Van Helsing. “The isles were last seen just off the coast of Africa, but that was days ago. They could be anywhere in the world by now.”

  “Can we summon one of his underlings from the Department of Good Fortunes and Bad Omens to give us some advice on the matter?” asks Director Fokus.

  The chief shakes her head. “I’d rather have Horus himself on something this important.”

  “Is this really a risk we’re willing to take?” asks Director Van Helsing, throwing up his arms. “That she might not be so bad because her brother is a hero? Is it not the height of recklessness to allow a magician to roam freely inside the Bureau while there are still so many unanswered questions?”

  “And just what do you suggest?” growls Magnus. “Lock her up for something she can’t help? Fiona’s already proven the girl isn’t up to anything nefarious.”

  “Or perhaps she’s been prepped to fool Fiona’s supernatural ability,” answers Director Van Helsing. “At the very least, we ought to erase the girl’s memories of the supernatural world, erase her memories of being a magician, and then send her home to be carefully watched. She’d go back to being just an ordinary girl and no danger to the Bureau or the supernatural world.”

  “No!” I say, jumping to my feet. “You can’t erase my memories. If you do, I’ll never be able to find my brother. Let me stay. I’ll prove that I’m just like any other trainee. Please.”

  Director Van Helsing starts to say something more, but Chief Crowe asks for quiet. We all watch her pace back and forth a few times. Finally, she comes to a stop right next to me. “I can see benefits to both requests. But let’s not forget it was Quinton himself who nominated her. There is not a person in this room who would question his judgment were he standing here. And so we shall give you the benefit of the doubt, Miss Peters. But understand that you’ll be on the shortest possible leash. I won’t compromise the safety of the Bureau, understand?”

  A wave of relief and then nervousness rushes through me. “I understand.”

  “Good,” she replies. “Prove that we’re right to trust you. Prove you belong here.”

  11

  AFTER THE MEETING, AGENT MAGNUS ESCORTS ME TO an elevator named Whispers, which surprisingly shouts out the name of every floor we pass. It’s lucky for my ears that the Special Events floor is only a few stops up. As I follow Agent Magnus off the elevator, a voice comes over the intercom:

&n
bsp; “This is your Chief Director speaking. With regard to this morning’s unfortunate event, we are still working out the particulars of what exactly occurred and why. Rest assured that once we have this information we will be forthcoming with an explanation. In the meantime, Trainee Amari Peters is to be treated no differently from any other trainee. That is all.”

  “They were the ones who wanted to treat you differently in the first place,” Agent Magnus grumbles. “Bunch of superstitious clucks. They’d jump off the roof if someone told ’em the building was unlucky.”

  “Thanks for having my back,” I say.

  “Don’t sweat it, kid.” Agent Magnus strokes his beard. “No way was I gonna let ’em throw you in jail or send you to some lab to be studied. But I ain’t gonna lie, I’d rather the chief sent you home. I don’t say it to be mean. I just want you to be perfectly clear on what you’re signing up for here. Your brother’s arrest of Moreau is still fresh in everyone’s minds. And Moreau’s awful deeds are well documented—as are the past seven hundred years of magician crimes in our world. People are going to form opinions and say nasty things about you based on nothing more than what you are. You sure you’re prepared for that?”

  I smile a little. Am I prepared for that? It’s kind of like how being a Black kid from the projects makes Mr. Jenson feel the need to watch me extra close every time I come in his store. Or how surprised my scholarship interviewers were that I could speak so well. People assume stuff about you based on things you can’t change about yourself. So I just do my best to prove them wrong, to be the person they’re not expecting. Amari Peters, changing minds one person at a time.

  “I’m prepared,” I say. “I’ve been practicing my whole life.”

  Agent Magnus gives me a small nod and pats me on the back.

  Unlike most of the other floors, the Special Events floor doesn’t have a lobby. It’s just a wide hallway that bends out of sight. I follow Agent Magnus down the hall past doors labeled Ballroom, Meeting Room, and Formal Dining Room. Finally, we reach one marked Grand Theater, where a young guy in a gray suit rushes over to tell Agent Magnus, “It’s almost our turn.”