The Midnight Market

by Beth McMullen

  I raise my hand tentatively. He already hates us. I might as well clarify that we have permission to pee in the woods.

  “What do you want?” Moose asks through gritted teeth.

  “We still have to go,” I say.

  “Well, then go already!” he screams. This sends Zeus into a tizzy, screeching and exploding a cloud of feathers into the air. He clings to Jin’s shoulder for dear life as we hustle out of the van. If we were somewhere other than the middle of nowhere, I might suggest we make a run for it. This whole Camp Timber Wolf thing is starting to seem like a very bad idea.

  But I quickly check this line of thought. We want this. We need this. We can do it.

  “What did you say?” Hannah asks from a few trees away. “We can do what? Not pee on our shoes?”

  I swear I did not say that aloud. Maybe it’s fatigue, having gotten up in the middle of the night on the opposite coast. And fatigue affects everyone differently. For example, I did not know that it could cause my thoughts to leak out of my mouth without permission.

  I clear my throat. “We can do this,” I explain. “You know, the whole camp thing.”

  “Why? Are you having doubts?”

  “No,” I reply quickly. “All good. Amazing, in fact. Let’s go.”

  Back in the van, I give our new passenger a stern lecture on stowing away in luggage. “Did you even bother to tell Great-Aunt Irma you were leaving?” I ask him. “She’s probably worried sick.” Zeus does not care. I know this because he turns his back on me and fluffs his feathers in a very condescending way. Great. I can’t even text my aunt. She’ll probably spread an army of drones across the land searching for him. This could turn into an international incident in the blink of an eye. “Naughty bird,” I mutter.

  “Naughty bird,” Zeus mimics. Beside me, Hannah giggles.

  I elbow her. “Not funny.”

  “Kind of funny,” she whispers.

  We’ve been under Moose’s care for approximately thirty minutes. Everything is going wrong. And now there is a bird.

  CHAPTER 11 STAR AND FISH HAVE A FEELING

  STAR: I am speechless.

  FISH: I really doubt that, as I have never seen it happen before. I don’t think you can be. Unless your jaw has frozen shut? I wonder if that could happen.

  STAR: I thought you said Moose would scare off the kids directly. Fast. Quick. Like, in an instant. Last I heard, they are still there. And we are still stuck in Siberia!

  FISH: Moose is working on it. Don’t underestimate the tenacity of these particular kids. They are not likely to give up easily.

  STAR: I’m starting to think I should have gone to medical school like I had originally planned.

  FISH: You’d make a terrible doctor. You don’t like blood. Or people.

  STAR: Minor details!

  FISH: Be patient. Moose will break their spirits and send them packing. I know he can do it. Moving on to actual business that matters… Our Stockholm asset checked in yesterday.

  STAR: Sven?

  FISH: Shhh! You are not supposed to identify him on text! That’s why I called him the Stockholm asset!

  STAR: Sorry. My bad. I’m distracted. It’s been snowing here for eighteen days straight.

  FISH: Well, focus. Sven, I mean the asset, said that he heard the Helm of Darkness is in play again.

  FISH: Hello?

  FISH: Are you there?

  FISH: Did you get hit by a car? Drop your phone in the toilet? Get attacked by a yoga goat? Freeze to death?

  STAR: The Helm is in play and we are stranded up HERE? Are you trying to ruin my life?

  FISH: No. You do that all by yourself.

  STAR: Well, then Sven is trying to ruin my life. Why now? And for the record, yoga goats are very relaxing and are not known for attacking humans.

  FISH: Stop saying Sven’s name!

  STAR: You better tell me what he knows.

  FISH: It’s the word on the street in Stockholm. As you know, after the Helm was stolen three years ago, it disappeared. But it didn’t show up at the Midnight Market like we expected it would. And there were no reports of its use. The Task Force back-burnered it as it seemed to be out of play. Gone. Vanished. Lost. Kaput.

  STAR: Yes. I remember.

  FISH: But now Sven says it’s on the move. He’s hearing rumors. There is noise in the network.

  STAR: You mean the Stockholm asset.

  STAR: Hello?

  FISH: The Stockholm asset suspects that the Helm left Sweden on a ship bound for Nova Scotia.

  STAR: Canada?

  FISH: Last time I checked.

  STAR: Can we commandeer the ship?

  FISH: We could if it hadn’t vanished into thin air.

  STAR: I have a bad feeling about this.

  FISH: You say that all the time.

  STAR: But this time I mean it.

  CHAPTER 12 CAMP TIMBER WOLF

  WHEN YOUR TRAVEL DESTINATION IS an island, boats are required. The white van pulls into the three-space parking lot, identified with a faded sign as Baker’s Marina. Calling a rickety dock a marina seems a stretch. But this is northern New York. We have no idea how things work here.

  Loosely tied to the dock and bobbing gently in the water is a small blue skiff named the Raksha, which I happen to know is the mama wolf in The Jungle Book. But before we board the aging vessel, Moose takes each of our bags and dumps the contents out on the dock. A pair of my good socks tumbles into the water and floats away.

  “Hey!” I protest, taking a step forward. I really need those! But Moose’s glare is enough to send me right back again. Methodically, he digs through our belongings. He shakes the Ping-Pong balls and I hold my breath, hoping they don’t accidentally explode in his face. He sniffs the bandanna and makes a face. Who doesn’t like lavender? Pulling Baby Frank from the pile, he examines it up close.

  “It’s an electromagnetic pulse disruptor,” I explain. “Because, well, you never know when you might need one.”

  “We made it,” Jin offers. Moose looks at Baby Frank, at me, at Jin, and finally back to Baby Frank, after which he hurls my invention into the river.

  “You can’t do that!” I yell, lunging after it. The only reason I don’t fall in is because Hannah grabs the waistband of my shorts.

  “Can and did,” Moose growls. “No devices. And that was a device.” I close my eyes for the rest of the inspection. That seems best.

  When I repack my stuff, all that remains of my inventions are the Ping-Pong balls, the bandanna, and the Window Witch. I cannot believe he confiscated my cup-holder umbrella! It is clearly not a device! Grumbling, I do as I’m told and climb aboard the boat. The seats are worn, with stuffing peeking through the cracks in the vinyl. In the bottom of the boat, a small amount of water mingles with greasy motor oil, making rainbow-colored swirls. There’s the possibility we sink before we make it to our destination. At least Zeus will be able to fly to safety. Maybe he can stage a sea rescue?

  The small engine rumbles to life, kicking up a cloud of fumes, and Moose backs the boat away from the dock as we head into the channel. The Saint Lawrence River is wide and dotted with dozens of tiny green islands, as far as the eye can see. The water is crystal clear, and the spray that hits us is a comfortable temperature. Lakes and rivers in California are always freezing, so this is a nice surprise, the first positive thing that I can point to since exiting the teeny plane.

  Moose pilots us around other speedboats and the occasional slow-moving barge or freighter as we cruise toward Timber Wolf Island. It’s kind of pleasant, actually, riding along on the water. Zeus hates it because it literally ruffles his feathers, but he’s persnickety.

  As the mainland recedes, there is no way to know for sure if we are still in the United States or have crossed over into Canada. It’s a liquid border. There are no checkpoints or passport controls. The boat slows as we approach a large island with a rocky shoreline. A tendril of campfire smoke rises above the dense trees.

  “Is this
one of those camps where you leave us in the middle of nowhere with an orange and a pencil and we have to navigate our way back to civilization?” Hannah asks. Normally, this sort of question would be tinged with dread, but Hannah’s eyes sparkle with excitement. “Because that would be totally fine. I love a challenge.”

  Moose mutters something about how we watch too much reality TV, which is not true because none of us are allowed to watch reality TV on account of it having nothing to do with reality. But I get the feeling Moose does not care about such details.

  The boat bumps gently against the dock. There’s a sign welcoming us to the island, property of the United States government. Moose directs me to get out and tie up. “A clove hitch,” he commands.

  “A what now?”

  “A clove hitch knot,” he repeats, exasperated.

  “You got it,” I reply with confidence as I tie the knot exactly as I would a shoelace. It doesn’t look pretty, but it will probably do the trick, provided there isn’t a hurricane.

  Moose tosses our stuff out onto the dock, growls at my knot, and storms off ahead. The forest that blankets the island reaches right up to the water’s edge. The pine-scented air is swarming with gnats, which circle my head enthusiastically. The work of a gnat is very streamlined. Find head, fly around it being annoying. Hey, now that I think about it, gnats have a lot in common with Zeus. I notice there are no gnats buzzing him. Maybe it’s a flying-creature-pact kind of thing?

  Throwing our heavy packs over our shoulders, we trudge after Moose, passing a series of small log cabins. Nestled into the woods, the cabins, built with faded, rough-hewn planks, appear timeless, like they have been here forever. I expected Camp Timber Wolf to be industrial, smoky, gray, and uninviting, kind of like a coal mine. And while Moose is certainly uninviting, the place itself looks like an antique postcard. There is nothing industrial or smoky about it. A wave of relief washes over me. One less thing to turn off my friends.

  “It’s kind of nice,” Jin offers, looking around.

  “Super summer-campy,” Hannah adds.

  “Trees!” Zeus squawks happily. Not only trees, but fire pits and picnic tables and… singing somewhere off in the distance? Maybe there is a camp song we will learn while we toast marshmallows and drink hot chocolate? As we go deeper in among the cabins, other campers emerge to have a look at the new additions, like we are zoo animals.

  “Um, Lola?” Jin asks, elbowing me sharply between the ribs.

  “Yeah,” I say. I see what he sees. The campers range from roughly our age to full-fledged teenagers, which is not in and of itself alarming. But these kids look bionic. They ripple with muscles and menace. They don’t smile or say hello. Traces of dirt on their arms and legs indicate they’ve been busy wrestling bears or scaling tall trees with their bare hands all day. If success means we have to be better than these kids, I’m a little worried. Okay, a lot worried.

  “Hi, everyone,” Hannah says, throwing out a friendly wave. They react like she just doused them in acid, recoiling in shock. So maybe no campfire songs and s’mores? I lower my gaze, but Hannah nudges me.

  “Head up,” she says through gritted teeth. “These clowns are trying to mess with the competition. They probably know we saved the world. And what have they done? Lifted some weights? Who cares? So not important.”

  Hannah’s eyes burn with determination. Her words act like a shot of adrenaline. I jut my chin out and smile at the gathered campers. Moose holds open the door to cabin number twelve.

  “Stow your gear,” he says briskly. “Then you meet the director.” The inside of the cabin is dusty and smells of mothballs. Weak sunlight cuts through the small gaps between the wooden planks. On the tree-stump coffee table is a Camp Timber Wolf binder that might be older than Great-Aunt Irma. Overall, I’d say the vibe is not very welcoming.

  After we dump our bags on the floor, we dutifully follow Moose down a dirt path to a larger, boxier cabin. A big CAMP DIRECTOR plaque hangs over the door. As Moose shoulders it open, I make a mental note to ask the camp director to call Great-Aunt Irma and inform her of the stowaway. I hate the idea that she is worried sick about her feathered friend. We follow Moose inside like a row of fuzzy ducklings.

  “The new campers, ma’am,” Moose says. There is something different about his tone, the slump of his shoulders, as if he, too, is practicing obedience. I glance at my friends. Are they noticing the change in Moose? I can’t see the director, as they are completely obscured behind Moose’s bulk. I lean a little left, but that does not help. And really, what’s my rush?

  Because what happens next makes me wish I’d stayed outside. Or better yet, back in San Francisco. Or, possibly, on another planet.

  “Fabulous,” purrs the director. “I’ve been waiting for them all day.”

  That voice.

  I’m not looking at Jin or Hannah, but I feel the shock waves come off them and collide into me with staggering force. This has got to be some sort of cosmic misalignment or a catastrophically awful joke. All we want to do is serve our country and help the Task Force hunt down and capture magical mythical potentially dangerous treasures. Is that so bad?

  Moose steps aside, and there she is, in the flesh, grinning like the cat who ate the canary. “I’ve missed you terribly, my fine young friends.”

  Lipstick.

  Tucked in behind the big walnut desk, she has traded her flashy Converse sneakers and rainbow socks for chunky-soled hiking boots and gray wool socks. Her hair is no longer purple and blond and pulled back in a tight bun. Instead, it cascades down her shoulders in blue ombré, similar to the color of the river. But the lipstick is still bright red.

  “Tell me I’m hallucinating,” Jin says flatly. “That I was deprived of oxygen in that mini plane and my brain is completely screwed up.” Zeus screeches like he got stung by a bee and tucks his head under his wing.

  “No,” I reply. “It’s real.”

  “I did not see this one coming,” whispers Hannah, eyes wide. “It certainly changes things.”

  Remember Lipstick? She is the one who, six months ago, pretending to be Benedict Tewksbury, philanthropist, genius tech tycoon, and inventor of EmoJabber, a chat app that uses only emojis, kidnapped my father in the hopes of using him to find the Stone of Istenanya, one of the magical mythical potentially dangerous treasures that the Task Force is meant to keep out of the hands of regular people. Her intention was to take over the world and turn us all into zombie minion followers. So it’s a good thing we stopped her.

  But we were under the impression that she was in jail! Clearly, we were wrong because here she is, sitting behind the director’s desk at Camp Timber Wolf! Whose side is she on anyway? Does Lipstick now work for the Task Force? Does that make her an ally, a friend, an enemy, neutral like Switzerland? Am I shouting? Well, I’m surprised, that’s all.

  I plant my feet and cross my arms against my chest. “What are you doing here?” I demand.

  “What is that bird doing here?” Lipstick shoots back.

  “Emotional support bird,” I say quickly.

  Her face transforms with a wicked grin. “Well, isn’t that so interesting.”

  Oh, I really don’t like her. She’s as awful as I remember. Jin rests a protective hand on Zeus, who, I think, has fallen asleep. Birds. What are you going to do?

  “Aren’t you supposed to be in jail?” I demand. “You know, for trying to wreck the world and all that?”

  Lipstick waves me off. “Oh, my naive little person. The world is already wrecked. Besides, you don’t put a person like me in jail. What a waste of talent, and talent doesn’t grow on trees.”

  “Actually,” Jin pipes up, “they put people like you in jail all the time. You know, criminals.” True. They were ready to send me up the river for stealing one lousy, not even very nice statue. Lipstick had much grander plans, and yet here she is. Life is not fair.

  “Clueless children,” Lipstick says with a sniff. “I struck a deal to stay out of the clink. I�
�m far too valuable a resource to banish behind bars. I provided the Task Force with details of my operation. They caught some lower-level bad guys and recovered some useless artifacts that they got much too excited about, in my opinion, and everyone was happy.” She smirks, as if at an inside joke. “However, part of the deal was to plant me here so they can keep an eye on me and keep me busy. There was some concern that I would cause trouble under house arrest.” I guess an island in the middle of nowhere is as safe a place as any to park her?

  “And as it turns out,” she continues, “I’m good at my job. That’s not surprising. I’m always good at my jobs. I understand that the best treasure hunters do what they must. And we are turning out potential treasure hunters here who are top-notch. I suspect the CIA will be around to recruit me to run the Farm any day now.” The idea of Lipstick at the CIA makes me woozy. How could my dad not have mentioned she’d be here? The only explanation is he doesn’t know.

  “This is nuts,” Jin mutters under his breath.

  Lipstick jumps to her feet and leans toward us. “Don’t you know by now that things are seldom what they seem? The world is full of wonder and terror. Nothing should surprise you.” She nods toward Moose, who dutifully corrals us out of the office. “You are due on the ropes course in about ten minutes. And you don’t want to be late. Penalty points for being late. If you rack up fifty points, you are gone.”

  Great. They probably dinged us half of that just for the bird. A bead of sweat rolls down my back. Nervous sweat. And we’ve only been here fifteen minutes.

  “Well, it’s nice to know the camp director has our best interests at heart,” Jin says finally, breaking our bubble of total disbelief.

  “The more humiliating our epic fail, the better,” I add.