The kid in the video moved around the right side of the church, disappearing from view.
“That could have been anybody,” I said. “Lots of kids look like me. There’s a fifth grader in Mr. Marchant’s class. People get us mixed up all the time . . .”
I faded away as Mr. Lawden pointed back to the screen. For some reason, the thief had reentered the frame. And this time, he was moving right toward the camera!
As strange as it was, I began to be convinced. With every step, the person looked more like me. Then he paused in the middle of the street. I could see the music box carefully cradled in his hands. Then the boy looked directly up at the camera. At this close distance, there was no mistaking it.
“That’s me,” I whispered. At least, it looked exactly like me, down to the big freckle on my forehead. The church door opened behind me, and the two guards ran down the steps. The boy that looked like me ducked under the camera and out of sight.
“I don’t understand,” I muttered as the video ended. “That was me.”
“Then he admits to the theft,” said one of the committee members.
“No!” I shouted. “I didn’t steal anything from that church! You know I can’t lie!” I wiggled my right foot to remind them of the sneaker.
“He’s clearly found a way to immunize himself against the truth shoe,” said another committee member with an accent I didn’t recognize. “We cannot trust his word.”
“How can you be sure that was me?” I asked. “Maybe somebody used a magical item to create an evil twin. Or disguise themselves like me . . .”
“That is not possible,” said Mr. Lawden. “Magical effects cannot be recorded by common cameras. And this footage was from an ordinary security camera belonging to a company of storage units across the street from the church.”
“You can’t record magic?” I said.
Mr. Lawden shook his head. “In the event that a common camera attempts to record magic in action, something will always interfere to prevent it—something will obstruct the view, or the lens will break, or the camera’s battery will suddenly die. Magic cannot be recorded. Which is why we know the person in the video must be you.”
“No, I—it’s not—” I stammered. “What about . . . what about the backpack? You said it was magic, but I could see it on the video.”
“The backpack is a boon, but it was not doing anything magical in the video,” explained Lawden.
“Then maybe someone was wearing a mask,” I said. “Not a normal mask, it looked too realistic for that. But what about a magical mask that—”
“I oversee the Boon Identification Division,” a voice from the committee said, cutting me off. “We had detectors analyze the video. I can personally assure you that the only two boons in play were the backpack and the music box.”
I swallowed hard and folded my arms. This was looking bad for me.
“Do you recognize any of these items?” Mr. Lawden clicked his remote. The screen showed a mash-up of several ordinary-looking things.
“Of course,” I answered. “That’s a hockey stick, a coffee mug, a blanket, a flowerpot, and a motorcycle helmet.” I hoped this wasn’t a trick question. Even if it was, I wasn’t supposed to be able to lie with that shoe on my foot.
“Shortly after your arrest this afternoon, a Magix Artifact Recovery team located these five magical items in your bedroom.”
“My bedroom?” I repeated. “Like, at my house? That’s not possible! I’ve never seen any of these things before.”
“These five items were all registered boons being stored in the church,” said Lawden. “They were reported stolen on April third and were found in your bedroom on May thirteenth.”
“Well, I don’t know how they got there!” I cried. “I’m innocent. I didn’t steal anything.”
“We found stolen items in your room,” called a committee member. “We have a video of you fleeing the crime scene! What more do you want?”
“Like father, like son,” another person mumbled from the stands.
“What did you say?” I spat, rising from my chair. My hands were in fists at my sides, and I could feel my face turn hot.
“I’m only saying that your determination to deny obvious evidence is unsurprisingly like your father,” the committee member continued.
“What do you know about my father?” I pressed. “Leave him out of this!”
Mr. Lawden stepped away from his podium, motioning for me to take a seat. “Mason, please. The committee has been reviewing every aspect of your case. Your father’s bank robbery and trial was a relevant bit of backstory.”
“How is it relevant?” I asked, refusing to sit.
“It is a sad truth that children with criminal parents are more than twice as likely to commit crimes themselves,” said the committee member. “It’s a pattern of behavior that passes from father to son—”
“Crime isn’t genetic!” I cut him off. “And my dad didn’t actually rob that bank!” It had been months since I’d said that out loud. It felt good to shout it again.
“Five hundred thousand dollars,” said another. “The bank recovered most of it in the trunk of your father’s car, but he managed to squirrel away a hundred thousand dollars that is still unaccounted for.”
“He didn’t—” I tried.
“Go ahead and roll the footage, Lawden,” continued the man.
“Footage?” I said. “Of the bank robbery? They said the bank’s cameras were cut.”
“Yes,” the committee member said. “But much like your situation, an outdoor camera captured it all.”
Mr. Lawden pressed a button and another video started. I sat forward in plain curiosity. I’d heard there was footage, but it was supposed to be confidential. Magix seemed to get anything it wanted.
On the screen, I saw someone who looked exactly like my dad run into view, holding four huge bags of cash. He exited the frame quickly, and a moment later I saw his car veering away. I could still see my dad behind the wheel, swerving out of control. He was almost out of view when he crashed into the back of a delivery truck carrying custom windows and mirrors. Broken glass sprayed everywhere, and it looked like the truck slammed against the pole where the security camera was mounted, causing the picture to shake as my dad’s car sped out of sight.
Then the video stopped and everyone stared down at me. But seeing the footage hadn’t convinced me of anything. In fact, it had done the opposite. I knew I wasn’t guilty. There had to be some kind of magical explanation. And maybe that same explanation meant my dad was as innocent as I was.
“I think that shows what kind of household young Mason was raised in,” said the committee member.
“Not at all!” I shouted. “My dad is a good person! He never broke the law!”
Mr. Lawden held up his hand. “Mason is the one on trial tonight. Not his father. Let us return to the case.” He moved back to his podium. I finally sat down again, still breathing heavily from seeing that footage of my dad.
“After stealing the church boons, the defendant kept a low profile,” said Mr. Lawden, “until today when—”
“Hold on,” I cut in. “You’ve known who I was for over a month?”
“It wasn’t difficult to get a positive ID off that video,” Lawden said.
“Why didn’t you just surround my house and arrest me right away?” I asked. “Or grab me on the way home from school? Why’d you have to wait and do it in front of my whole class?”
“We needed to recover the music box,” Mr. Lawden explained. “We had identified it from the security video, but there was no way of knowing where you had stashed it. So we placed an alert on its magical signal. The alert went off the moment you opened the music box in your classroom. We dispatched Agents Clarkston and Nguyen immediately.”
“But I had already transported Mrs. Dunlow and my class to Antarctica,” I said.
“So, you admit to doing that?” asked one of the committee members.
“Sure,” I r
eplied. “But how was I supposed to know it was a crime? How was I supposed to know that music box did anything other than play a little song?”
“That was the nature of the boon,” answered Lawden. “When you opened the box, you were transported to an uninhabited region of the world. Anyone looking at you, or anyone looking at them, was transported with you.”
It was nice to finally understand how that had worked.
“Nguyen and Clarkston traced your music box to Antarctica, then to the Caribbean, and then to the Sahara Desert, where they quickly caught up. You resisted arrest, endangered civilian Ignorants, and put Magix agents in harm’s way. Do you deny that this happened?”
“No,” I said. “But I didn’t understand what was going on. I still don’t. I had no idea what that music box would do when I opened it.”
This comment really sent the committee into a tizzy. Many of them started talking at once. Several rose from their seats in loud protest. It took Frank Lawden slamming his hand against the podium to get everyone quieted down again.
“You claim you activated the music-box boon without any knowledge of its true magical potential?” he asked me.
“Yes,” I said without wavering.
“Now we know he’s just messing with us, Director,” called a committee member. “He has figured out a way to block the truth shoe, and he’s making a mockery of this committee and the very foundational rules of magic. You shouldn’t tolerate this kind of behavior. We have plenty of evidence. I think we’re all convinced.” She looked side to side for support from the others.
My heart sank as I saw every head nodding.
Behind the podium, Mr. Lawden sighed deeply. “The committee will adjourn to the council room for final deliberation. We’ll convene again once a verdict has been reached.”
Chapter 6
WEDNESDAY, MAY 13
7:38 P.M.
HALL OF JUSTICE, MAGIX HEADQUARTERS
I watched the fifteen committee members shuffle out of the room in single file, wishing there was one more thing I could say to convince them of my innocence. It wasn’t hard to guess which verdict they’d reach. Seemed to me like most of them had made up their minds that I was guilty before they’d even met me.
I gripped the armrests of my chair, resisting the emotions that threatened to overtake me. I actually thought I was alone in the big room until Mr. Lawden stepped in front of me.
Wordlessly, he dropped to one knee and pulled the magical shoe off my foot. I secretly hoped that my sock stunk, and that he had to smell it. Then, to my surprise, I felt him sliding on my ordinary shoe.
Frank Lawden rose slowly, his knee cracking as he sighed wearily. “I don’t think they’ll be long,” he said. “Can I get you a glass of water?”
“Not thirsty,” I spat.
“Maybe something from the vending machine?”
“Why are you being nice to me?” I asked flatly.
He turned to look at me, dark eyes frightfully sincere. “It’s what Magix stands for,” he said. “We’re servants of goodness. Servants of the magic.” As he spoke, he stepped over to the large thermometer standing on the pedestal in the center of the floor.
“I think that thing’s broken,” I said.
“Oh?”
“If it were thirty-five degrees in here, we’d all be freezing,” I pointed out.
Frank Lawden smiled. “This thermometer doesn’t measure the temperature.” He ran his hand carefully along its edge. “It’s a boon.”
“Neat,” I said sarcastically, hoping I sounded as uninterested as I really was.
“It measures the level of the magic core,” he said. “Little acts of goodness around the world cause the level to rise bit by bit. Ordinary people, Ignorant of magic, being kind to one another, helping each other, creating amazing things . . . those are what fuel the magic core deep under the earth’s surface.”
“And then an awful criminal like me comes along and probably makes the level drop,” I said bitterly.
“No, actually,” he said, “the magic core can’t go down. It can only rise. Sure, there are plenty of bad people in the world, doing horrible things. But the bad going on out there doesn’t diminish the goodness in the world. Goodness stands on its own, and it will always cause the magic to rise to the boiling point.”
“Technically, it can’t,” I said. “Water boils at 212 degrees Fahrenheit, and your little thermometer only goes up to 140.” I smirked at him. “Even criminals can pay attention in science class.”
“The boiling point is just an expression we use,” said Lawden. “The magic core will rise until it reaches 140. Then it’ll be ready to spill out into the world.”
“And that’s how more boons are made?” I said, checking him against what Avery had told me.
Mr. Lawden nodded. “At 140 degrees, the magic is ready. The next person out there in the world to commit an act of pure goodness will cause the magic to come out. It’ll trickle down through that person’s past, filling up objects that they’ve touched. Objects that once meant something special to them. A music box, a shoe . . . I’ve learned not to judge what items held value in a person’s life.”
“Right,” I said. “You just judge the person.”
“That’s not my job,” he said. “I merely presented the facts as we understand them. The committee is responsible for determining what happens next.”
“But what do you think?” I asked. “Do you really think I’m guilty? Do you really think I could pull off the biggest magic theft in twenty years when I didn’t even know about magic? I’m thirteen years old. What does your gut tell you?”
Frank Lawden didn’t say anything for a moment, seeming deep in thought. When he finally turned to answer, he was interrupted by the chamber door opening on squeaky hinges. Mr. Lawden closed his mouth, tucked the magic shoe under one arm, and took his place at the podium.
I remained in my seat, watching the fifteen committee members file in and sit down. When they were settled, Mr. Lawden raised his voice.
“The senior-most committee member is selected as spokesperson,” he said, gesturing to a woman with gray hair to match her suit. “Ms. Harmon. The floor is yours.”
The woman stood slowly and made her way down the stairs until she stopped beside the boon thermometer.
“For the record,” she began. “On this day, the thirteenth of May, at seven forty-five in the evening, the Magix Committee finds Mason Mortimer Morrison . . . guilty.”
The word was like a giant sledgehammer pounding me down into my seat. I wanted to jump up and run out of there. I wanted to scream in her face defiantly. Instead, I just trembled, shaking like the room really was 35 degrees.
“The evidences provided against him are plentiful and conclusive,” continued Ms. Harmon. “From the complete theft of the boon facility to the transportation of his entire class using an illegal music box, Mason Mortimer Morrison has proven himself a cunning and dangerous criminal. As such, we, the Magix Committee, find it necessary to conduct a full and total memory wipe.”
“What?” I yelled, leaping to my feet. “What does that mean?”
“Please be seated,” said Mr. Lawden.
“No way!” I screamed. “What does that mean?”
“It means we will use a special boon to erase all of your memories, starting at birth to the present day,” said Ms. Harmon. “You will retain many of your basic abilities—motor skills, speech—but you will have no recollection of who you were. An accident will be staged, after which you will wake up in a hospital. We often assign new identities in these situations, but we will allow your mother to claim you, although you will not remember anything about her.”
“You can’t do this!” I cried. “It’s not fair!”
“It’s a completely painless process,” she said. “Or so I’m told.”
“Have you done this to a lot of people?” I asked, horrified to hear the answer.
“Magix performs memory wipes around the world on a weekly ba
sis,” she answered. “Most of those are done on Ignorant civilians who accidentally notice an Educated activating a magical boon. In such cases, the memory is isolated and can be removed individually.”
“Then why won’t you do that to me?” I begged. “Back up to last month. To the day before the boon church was robbed. Just erase my memory up till then.”
“That option was discussed among the committee,” Ms. Harmon said. “However, we have no way of knowing when you first gained knowledge of true magic. And with your criminal record, we cannot release you back into the world with the possibility that you could strike again. A full and total memory wipe is the only way to be sure you will not continue your life of crime.”
“That’s insane!” I called. “You people are all insane!” I whirled on Frank Lawden, but he was staring down at his feet uncomfortably. “You’re so proud of your organization being founded on goodness. But this is pure cruelty!”
“This is necessary to preserve the future of magic,” snapped Ms. Harmon. “You should be grateful that we’re releasing you at all. That we’re not keeping you locked up in the basement like—”
“That’s enough, Linda,” Mr. Lawden finally spoke. “When will the procedure take place?”
“Nine thirty tomorrow morning,” said Ms. Harmon. “We’ll take the boy to the laboratory on the third floor.”
I suddenly felt dizzy, and I slumped back into my chair. Was this really happening? Why? How?
Ms. Harmon turned and made her way back up to her seat on the raised platform.
“We’ll have security escort you to a holding room,” Mr. Lawden said to me. He slapped his hand against the podium. “Dismissed.”
Chapter 7
THURSDAY, MAY 14
7:30 A.M.
HOLDING ROOM B, MAGIX HEADQUARTERS
The holding room at Magix Headquarters was way nicer than my room at home. It had a king-size bed, a couch, a huge TV, a microwave, a mini-fridge, a table, and some chairs.
But it didn’t have a window, and the door had been locked every time I’d tried it, so escaping wasn’t really an option.
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