by B. B. Alston
Me and Dylan rush through the lobby and into the main hall. It’s like ten times as busy as the Department of Supernatural Investigations. Who are all these people? It’s a good thing we learned these floors by heart or I’d have no idea where to go next.
We keep close to the wall and move around the right side of the U till we get to the Call Center. The place is enormous. Rows and rows and rows of people sit in little cubicles in front of bright red telephones. The place seems to go on forever.
“What now?” I ask.
Dylan shrugs.
So we wander the aisles, listening to Double-Talkers and Junior Double-Talkers at work.
“You say your mother-in-law is haunting you? Assuming what you’re saying is true . . . might you deserve it?”
“Try two plus two. . . . The calculator said it equals five? Oh, this is serious. The math gods are clearly upset with you. You’ll be wanting to make an in-person apology. You can make an appointment at the nearest tax office.”
One Junior Double-Talker puts his caller on hold to ask the girl in the cubicle next to him, “Jenny, any chance you brought a spare hypnosis radio?”
Jenny rolls her eyes. “Yes, but this is the last time I’m letting you borrow it. You don’t have to replace everyone’s memories, you know.” She reaches into her bag and hands the boy something that looks like a TV remote. I recognize it from the delivery guy who dropped off Quinton’s briefcase.
“You’re a lifesaver.” The boy mashes a few buttons and soft music starts playing. He places his caller on speakerphone. “Are you listening . . . ? Yes, that is some smooth jazz, isn’t it? Now then, repeat after me. ‘That wasn’t a mummy I saw in the woods, but rather an unfortunate fellow who survived a plane crash and needed a full body cast. . . .’ Yes, I daresay the bloke might be a bit put off by you running away in terror and all. . . . No, definitely don’t go back and apologize . . .”
Dylan and I walk the entire first two aisles before we spot an empty cubicle with a little sign that says Reserved for Junior Agent Trainees attached to the phone. I plop down in the chair and Dylan drops to a knee beside me. It starts ringing.
“I bet we’re supposed to answer it,” says Dylan.
“But . . . oh, okay.” I pick up the phone. “Hello?”
“I’ve got a bit of an issue,” the voice responds.
“Okay. Maybe I can help?” I ask. “What’s wrong?”
“Well, I seem to have a clue and no one to tell it to,” says the voice.
My eyes go wide and I turn to meet Dylan’s curious gaze. “It’s the next clue.” I put the caller on speakerphone. “You can tell it to us.”
The voice clears his throat. “Finding this clue was easy enough. But don’t you get cocky, ’cause now it gets tough. Head to a room of dangerous things—fangs and claws and barbs that sting. Locate the beast that’s not like the rest, with a heavenly name created in jest.”
I swallow. “The only department that keeps beasts is the Department of Creature Control. Fangs and claws? It must be the predators section, right?”
“No way they’d really let us get eaten.” Dylan lets out a nervous laugh. “At least I don’t think they’d let us get eaten . . .”
We get Lucy this time, and she zips us up to the Department of Creature Control.
I know from cramming Ins and Outs that the Department of Creature Control is the largest floor in the entire Bureau. It’s as big as all the other departments combined. Aside from the lobby, it’s all wilderness. Well, an indoor wilderness.
“I’m the Senior Wilderness Ranger assigned to you guys today,” says a lady in safari gear. “Name’s Becca Alford.” She gives each of us a gloved handshake. “So . . . where to?”
“The predators section,” says Dylan.
The lady smiles. “Scary place for newcomers. You sure?”
“Pretty sure,” I say.
Ranger Alford gives us a thumbs-up. “Follow me outside. I’ve already got the jeep running.”
We step out of the lobby onto a grassy hilltop, and my jaw drops. You’d never know we were still indoors. The massive hologram on the ceiling looks just like a cloudless blue sky. I can even feel the warmth of the sun on my face. Real wind whips around us—it even smells like the outdoors.
And this view! A wide forest stretches below us, and beyond that is a lush green jungle. To our right, way in the distance, is a snowy valley. It’s the exact opposite of the sandy desert far off to our left.
I reach down and pluck a blade of grass. “No way. This is real!”
Ranger Alford laughs. “Sure is. The only thing that’s fake out here is the sky. We’ve done everything in our power to give these critters as authentic a habitat as we can while they’re here.”
“Cool,” I say.
We hop in the jeep and Ranger Alford drives us down a winding dirt trail. As the woods thicken into jungle, we pass all kinds of wildlife—everything from a silvery white unicorn to a pack of flying pigs, and even a kaleidoscopic serpent that leaves a shimmering rainbow trail in the sky.
We slow to a stop in front of a sign that says Jungle Habitat.
Ranger Alford turns to face us in the back seat. “The jungle predators are all kept in this first section. Remember, the things we’re about to see in here are called predators for a reason. Don’t leave the jeep unless I say it’s safe. You two are allowed to ask me as many questions as you’d like but if I have to step in to save either of you, you’ll both automatically fail the tryout. Got it?”
“Got it,” we both answer.
We continue down the dirt trail, but a lot slower. Ranger Alford’s expression is serious now, and she’s constantly watching the trees.
I jump in my seat when, out of nowhere, a streak of gold flashes across the trail in front of us. It disappears into the bushes. A deafening roar rattles the jeep doors. Dylan and I both lean into one another and duck our heads, just in case whatever that was tries to take a swipe at us. As the trail curves we catch sight of a gigantic lion made of pure gold atop a small hill.
“That’s a Nemean lion,” whispers Ranger Alford. “The true kings of the jungle. At least when there aren’t any dragons around.”
And that’s not even the scariest thing we encounter. A swamp beast covered in horns peers up at us through the murky water. Dylan points outs a griffin that swoops down in the distance and emerges with some poor creature in its beak.
“Stop!” Dylan shouts. He points to a large flowery bush in a small clearing. “There, that’s it! It has to be.”
“We’re here for a flower bush?” I ask, unimpressed.
“That’s no flower bush,” he says. “That’s a Mars mantrap. Think about it. ‘Locate the beast that’s not like the rest.’ All the other predators are animals; this is the only plant. And the second part, the ‘heavenly name created in jest’? Well, the planet Mars is in space, making it a heavenly body. And it’s called a Mars mantrap as a joke comparing it to the Venus flytraps of the known world.”
Ranger Alford grins at us in the rearview mirror. “Shucks, you nailed it.” She steers the jeep into the clearing.
“Good job,” I say, a little stunned. “I’d never have figured that one out.”
“My tutor would be proud,” Dylan says with a laugh.
We jump out of the truck. Becca and Dylan are quick to squeeze their noses shut. But why—
The sweetest scent hits my nose and I suddenly get light-headed. Not that I care. I just want to go over and smell those beautiful flowers up close. I take a few steps and then feel myself get yanked back. Somebody has the nerve to throw an arm around me and put their hand over my nose. “Let me go! I want one of those flowers . . .”
I blink a couple times as my head clears.
“The scent lures you in close so it can eat you,” says Dylan.
“Be careful,” Ranger Alford warns. “If it looks like one of you two are in real danger, I won’t hesitate to step in.”
That was a close one. I reac
h up to hold my own nose. “Thanks. I’m good now.”
Dylan points to a small white rectangle just in front of the flower bush. “I’ll bet that’s the next clue.”
“But how do we get to it without becoming that thing’s dinner?”
“Good question,” he replies.
Good question. I remember what Ranger Alford said earlier. “You said we could ask questions, right?”
“That’s right,” she replies.
“How does it know when you’re close to it?”
“Some of those blossoms are actually eyes,” she answers. “It’s watching us right now.”
Well, that’s creepy. But it also gives me an idea. “Hey, follow me.”
I lead Dylan and Ranger Alford out of the clearing. We all crouch behind the Jeep. “Okay, don’t freak out, but I want to show you something.”
They look at me, confused.
“You want to show us something now?” asks Dylan.
“Just watch.” I make a fist and cover it with my other hand. “Duplicarta.”
A second me pops into existence. Dylan holds in a laugh, but Ranger Alford swallows, then asks, “Is that magic?”
I nod. “But I think I can use it to help us, if you’ll give me permission.” I just have to hope our chaperone is open-minded enough to give me a chance.
“Well . . .” Ranger Alford looks uncomfortable. “Spells aren’t really allowed inside the Bureau.” She shakes her head slowly. “But it doesn’t sit right with me for all the others to be allowed to use their abilities and you not. And I suppose no one said it was against the rules of the tryout.”
A few minutes later we’re all in position. Me underneath the jeep with a view of the clearing. Dylan and Ranger Alford wait in the brush at the edge of the clearing. Dylan gives me a thumbs-up. This had better work, because if it doesn’t, Ranger Alford made it clear she’ll disqualify us.
“Duplicarta,” I whisper. An illusion of me appears in the clearing. I try to give Illusion Amari a dazed look as she stumbles toward the flowers. From here, I see the bush shiver as she gets closer. Just a few more steps . . .
A great big mouth emerges from the bushes, chomping at the air where Illusion Amari stands. But now I make Illusion Amari hover in the air just above the plant. It snaps viciously at her, again and again.
While the beast is distracted, Dylan and Ranger Alford dash out into the clearing. Dylan snatches the envelope off the ground and they both make it back to the jeep without the Mars mantrap even realizing what happened.
I let Illusion Amari disappear and the thing lets out a furious growl.
“I can’t believe that worked,” says Dylan as he rips open the envelope.
“Me neither,” says a stunned Ranger Alford. “You were supposed to feed it the slumber berries in these bushes. But you managed it well enough.”
Dylan rips open the envelope and pulls out the next clue. “Congratulations on not being food, but I do hope you’re in a deciphering mood. Your next destination, put clear and plain, is the baffling Department of the Unexplained. Obtaining the last clue will require some wit, for it lies near the bottom of a bottomless pit.”
“At least we know where to go,” I say.
Dylan groans. “For all the good that does us.”
As we ride back to the lobby of the Department of Creature Control, I catch Ranger Alford looking at me in the rearview mirror.
“You can control your magic?” she asks me.
“So far,” I shrug. “I really only know a few things.”
“But I was always told . . . I thought that too much magic . . .” She shakes her head. “You’re just an ordinary twelve-year-old girl from what I can tell. Smiling, good-natured. I guess what I’m trying to say is you’re not what I was expecting.”
I smile. “That’s a good thing, I hope.”
“It certainly is,” she says. “I’ll think you’ll change a lot of minds while you’re here, Amari Peters.”
Once we’re back at the lobby, me and Dylan sprint back to the elevators. I spend the whole ride down to the Department of the Unexplained praying Mischief won’t snitch on me for sneaking out to go meet magiciangirl18 aka Dylan to the two agents sharing the elevator with us. Thankfully all it does is taunt them with an “I know something you don’t know . . .”
The lobby of the Department of the Unexplained is pitch-black. When we step off the elevator a spotlight in the ceiling shines down on us. It follows us to the back of the lobby where a second spotlight shines down on a boy, fast asleep.
Dylan gives him a nudge and the boy jumps to his feet.
“Ah, there you are,” the boy says. “Many apologies. Our department is closed during the day, so I’d usually be in bed right now. Anyway, I’ll be your guide tonight—I mean today. I trust you know where you’re headed?”
“The bottomless pit,” I say.
“Right,” answers the boy. “Unexplained oddities are on the right side of the U. Please follow me.”
“Aren’t you going to tell us your name?” Dylan asks.
The boy turns around. “No. And for that matter, I don’t plan on answering any of your questions either. You do get that you’re in the Department of the Unexplained?”
Our Junior Curator leads us into the main hallway, which is at least a little brighter. It’s still dim enough that these spotlights continue to follow us around, but a bit of light reaches us from all the great big rooms blocked off by dark red curtains.
We pass one curtain with a sign out front that reads: What happens when an unstoppable force strikes an immovable object? Dylan drifts closer, but the boy says, without even turning around, “Lay a finger on that curtain and you’re disqualified.”
“Not even a peek?” asks Dylan.
“No questions,” says the boy.
The next curtain says Cause of the Bermuda Triangle. It’s followed by Wormhole to Parallel Universe and Origin of Both the Chicken and the Egg. Finally, we arrive at a curtain labeled The Bottomless Pit.
We pass through the curtain. It doesn’t look like anything special. It’s just a boring stone well in the middle of the floor. I’m disappointed.
I lean over to have a look inside. Pitch darkness.
“Careful,” says the Junior Curator. “If you fall in, they’ll never be able to get you out. You’ll just keep falling forever.”
I don’t even know how many times Dylan and I circle the pit. It just doesn’t make sense. How do you get near the bottom of something that doesn’t have a bottom? Dylan even tries dropping a quarter into the pit to see what happens. No surprise, it never hits the bottom.
“What now?” I say.
“Beats me,” Dylan replies.
I’m starting to sweat. Even Dylan keeps wiping his face with his sleeve. I keep thinking of other pairs completing their treasure hunts and getting their invitations to the finale while we bake in this hot room.
“Don’t you guys have air-conditioning in here?” I ask the Junior Curator.
He flinches.
“Wait, you flinched.”
He shakes his head. “Did not.”
“I saw it too,” says Dylan. He wipes the sweat from his forehead. “It must have something to do with the air-conditioning.”
“But what does air-conditioning have to do with a bottomless pit?” I search the ceiling, then the walls. Finally, I look on the floor. And there they are. “They’ve got floor vents!”
Dylan raises an eyebrow. “Which means?”
“Think about it,” I say. “They cut off the AC in here for a reason.”
“Oh!” says Dylan. “Because we’re supposed to go down there!”
“How much do you want to bet that one of the ducts goes right under the bottom of the bottomless pit?” Once we scramble over to the vent, I know I’m right. All the screws are missing. Dylan lifts the vent up and a wide metal duct curves out of view.
“You’re smaller, so you can probably get to the clue quicker,” says Dylan.
I nod and drop down inside. “It’s so dark down here. How will I know which way to go?”
“Wait here,” says Dylan. “I’ll go to the bottomless pit and shout. Tell me if you hear an echo.”
A few seconds later, “Hellooo” echoes softly in the distance.
Dylan comes back. “Could you hear me?”
“Yeah,” I say. “Just keep shouting.”
Dylan disappears and I start crawling. It’s a little scary in here but I concentrate on Dylan’s voice. Just get to that voice.
I move down the duct, turn, and then turn again into dim light. A tiny little flashlight points upward. I crawl closer until I get to a photograph taped to the top of the duct. It looks like a large pirate ship falling over a waterfall. When I flip it over I expect to find words, but it’s blank. I’ve got no clue what it’s supposed to mean. I grab the little flashlight and find my way back.
I hand the photo to Dylan. He stares at it and then flips it over. “The photo is all there was,” I say.
“This is the edge of the world,” says Dylan.
“Um, last time I checked the world is round. It doesn’t have edges.”
“It does have one. But it’s hidden.”
We lock eyes and say at the same time, “The Department of Hidden Places.”
We race to the elevators and dart between the legs of a tall green ogre about to step into Lucy. “Sorry!” I call back as the doors shut. “We’re in a hurry!”
Lucy chuckles. “Bet you’re glad you got me. Where we headed, guys?”
She zips us down to the underground tunnels and we sprint past the neon sign that says Department of Hidden Places this way—or is it? The best part about this being the final destination is that the secret to finding this department was written in Ins and Outs. I can even remember the page, 290. We keep our hands above our heads, even as the tunnels get dark, until I feel a large button graze my fingertips. I jump and give it a good press.
Suddenly the floor beneath us shivers and then lifts us up through the ceiling and into the lobby of the Department of Hidden Places. Enormous portraits of lost cities line the walls, with plaques revealing their names as Shangri-La, Avalon, and Shambhala.