Magic's Most Wanted

by Tyler Whitesides

  “It should be Mason!” Hamid called, flinging the elbow pads toward us. “He’s trained his entire life for this moment!”

  “You have?” Avery asked.

  I shrugged, strapping one of the pads onto my elbow. “Hamid and I used to play a video game like this.”

  “Blocking exploding CDs while wearing elbow pads?” she questioned.

  “Well, it’s not exactly like this,” I admitted as she helped me put on the other one. In the video game we were blocking laser bolts with force fields around our arms. And if we died, we just started over at the last checkpoint.

  “Good luck out there,” Avery said, tugging the elbow pads to make sure they were secure.

  I took a deep breath and silently counted to three. Then I leaped up with a battle cry, holding out my arms in front of me.

  There was a burning CD headed straight for my face. Instinctively, I lifted my arm to block. The disc glanced off my forearm without any pain, shooting upward and lodging into the ceiling.

  “Yeah!” I shouted, bringing my other arm around to block the next searing CD.

  I advanced slowly, step by step, punching and knocking aside every dangerous CD that came near me. In no time, I was standing above the cardboard box with a clear view of the CD player. But there was a problem. I was working so hard to block the discs—I couldn’t possibly bend down and push the stop button.

  “Avery! I need help!” I cried, swinging my arms together to block a pair of CDs from hitting my chest. “I’ll block for you, but I need someone else to turn it off!”

  “Okay!” I heard her reply. “I’m coming out.”

  I took a sideways step to provide better coverage for her. The number of burning discs seemed to double, and my arms were getting really tired. The video game was way easier than this!

  “I’m right behind you,” Avery said. Risking a glance back, I saw that she was on her hands and knees. “I’m going to reach around your leg and shut it off.”

  “Do it quick!” I said, seeing her hand creep past my ankle, feeling for the dangerous CD player inside the cardboard box.

  “Got it!” she cried. I looked down just in time to see her press a button. But it wasn’t the right one. The music picked up in speed, the voices sounding like chipmunks.

  “That was the fast-forward button!” I bellowed. Suddenly, the CDs started flying twice as fast as before. My arms felt like a blur as I followed my instincts and relied on my years of video game training to bat away the hailstorm of dangerous discs.

  “Oops!” Avery said, her hand fumbling across the front of the CD player again.

  The discs struck faster, and one of them clipped my thigh, ripping my pants and buzzing over Avery’s head behind me. I punched away another, my arms feeling like they were turning to lead.

  Then Avery’s hand finally slammed onto the stop button. The music died, and the CD player made a soft whirring sound as it powered down.

  “Is everyone okay?” I asked, dropping my weary arms to my sides. Hamid emerged from behind the couch, and Fluffball tentatively crept around the bed’s footboard.

  “You were almost out of cover,” said Hamid, pointing at the side of the bed that had taken the brunt of the attack. The bottom sheet had burned away, and the mattress was ripped open, exposing smoldering stuffing and springs.

  “Yowzer,” said Fluffball. “That explains a lot.”

  “Like what?” I asked, stripping off the elbow pads and handing them back to Avery, who dropped them into her top hat.

  “That bedspring.” Fluffball pointed with his ears. “It’s a boon.”

  “Why didn’t you notice it before?” I asked, annoyed.

  “It was inside the mattress, under a sheet,” he defended.

  “You couldn’t see through a sheet?” I cried.

  “I’m an Angora rabbit,” he stated. “I don’t have X-ray vision. Believe it or not, a boon detector like myself has to see a boon in order to detect it!”

  “I thought you sniffed them out,” I said.

  “It’s a blend, okay?” Fluffball snapped. “You ever smelled something that seems familiar, but you can’t quite place it until you see it? That’s how it works for me. Yes, technically, I have to see the boon to identify it, but my sniffer points me in the right direction.”

  “What does the spring do?” asked Avery.

  “It activates when it’s stretched out,” said Fluffball. “It freezes other boons that are in close proximity anywhere below it.”

  “That’s why the CD player started shooting,” Avery said. “The play button was already down, but the boon was frozen because the spring was stretched out. When we moved the bed, the spring must have contracted.”

  I nodded, finally understanding. “And without the spring to freeze the CD player, it started launching deadly discs.”

  “Just another reason to download digital music,” muttered Hamid.

  “Wait,” I said. “Maybe that was how the music box activated during my book report. Maybe someone had planted a boon in my classroom that would freeze the music box until the perfect moment.”

  “How is this different than the vent cover dampener?” asked Avery.

  “The dampener stopped boons from activating,” explained Fluffball. “The bedspring froze boons that were already activated.”

  “This was obviously some kind of security system,” said Avery. “The only way to get the cardboard box was to move the bed, which would release the spring and wake up the CD player.”

  I looked over to see that Avery was holding the lid to the cardboard box. It appeared to be slightly charred, but all the handwritten words were still clearly legible.

  Avery and I moved over to inspect the box.

  “I think it’s time to see what the evidence tells us.”

  Chapter 31

  FRIDAY, MAY 15

  1:01 P.M.

  THE CLEANER’S APARTMENT, NEW YORK CITY

  I carefully lifted out the CD player and peered into the cardboard box.

  “It’s mostly clothes,” I said, trying not to feel too disappointed. It was sort of like opening a present that you thought was going to be a new video game controller but turned out to be a sweater.

  “We need to study everything,” said Avery, reaching into the box to pull out a pair of men’s black pants—the nice kind of pants, like what my dad used to wear to work. She set them on the bed as I pulled out a blue button-down dress shirt. It was very wrinkly, all tangled up with a long black-and-white striped necktie.

  “Hey,” I said. “My dad has this same tie.” As I said the words, I realized what it meant. “These are my dad’s clothes!”

  “Really?” said Hamid. “How did they end up in a top secret box in New York?”

  “No,” I said. “They’re not actually his clothes. At least, I don’t think so. He was wearing this tie when he was arrested. It’s probably still locked up in evidence.”

  “And this?” asked Avery, lifting up a blue-and-orange hooded sweatshirt.

  “That’s mine!” I cried, snatching it from her hand.

  “That was the same sweatshirt you were wearing in the security video when you robbed the boon church,” Avery said.

  “But mine is still at home,” I said. “Or at least it was on the floor when we were up there yesterday.”

  “And I’m guessing these pants are just like yours, too,” Avery said, holding up another pair from the box.

  “So, the Cleaner has a pair of clothes identical to what you and your dad wore on the days of your crimes,” said Fluffball. “Think this is the proof we were looking for?”

  “I’m hoping there’s more,” I said, turning back to the box.

  “A picture of you,” said Avery, holding it up. It was my school picture from last year. Pretty creepy that an old man had that in a box under his bed. “And a picture of your dad.”

  That was one of Dad’s profile pictures on social media. The Cleaner must have printed it off. “And an Indiana vehicle
license plate,” said Avery, holding up the next item.

  “That’s the same number on our car,” I said.

  “I’m guessing it was the car your dad was driving when he got arrested,” said Avery.

  “Whoa!” said Hamid, reaching past us to get into the box. “Why wasn’t this the first thing you guys noticed?”

  He was holding a couple of huge stacks of cash.

  “We’re rich!” Hamid cried, lifting the money above his head.

  “It’s not ours,” Avery said.

  “Why not?” he asked. “We’re already wanted criminals. Might as well be rich.” He looked at the money closer. “Dude,” he whispered in awe. “They’re all hundred-dollar bills! I’ve got to count this . . .”

  “You don’t have to,” I said. “It’s a hundred thousand dollars.”

  “How do you know?” he asked.

  “That’s got to be the missing cash from the bank robbery,” I said. “When they arrested my dad, they found four hundred thousand dollars in the trunk of his car. But that wasn’t all of it. There was a hundred thousand that they never recovered.”

  Avery nodded. “Albrecht must have kept some as his payment for robbing the bank.”

  “Why hasn’t he spent it all?” Hamid asked. “Wasn’t that robbery like, a year ago? I would have bought so much stuff . . .”

  “The cash is marked,” I explained, sharing what I’d learned from my dad’s case. “Albrecht probably realized he couldn’t spend it without raising flags that could get him caught.”

  “Ah, man,” Hamid said, dumping the bills onto the bed. “What good is money if you can’t spend it?”

  “There are ways to clean up stolen money so it can be used,” I said. “Albrecht was probably just waiting for the right opportunity.”

  “Is that enough proof for you?” Fluffball asked.

  I shrugged. It was the most we’d found, but it didn’t explain how the Cleaner had done it. “Is there anything else in the box?”

  “Nope,” said Avery, tipping it sideways. “Wait!” She reached in and plucked something out. It was a large safety pin, pinched between her fingers as she held it out for our inspection.

  “Yep, that’s a boon,” said Fluffball.

  My heart started racing. “What does it do?”

  “It’s a disguise boon,” he explained. “It’s been manipulated to fit a very specific purpose.”

  “Which is?” I pressed impatiently.

  “You can pin a photograph to your shirt, and it alters your face and your size to look exactly like the person in the picture.”

  I snatched the photographs of Dad and me. “Pinholes,” I said, holding them out so the others could see the two tiny holes. “This is it!”

  “So, last year, Lionel Albrecht put on your dad’s clothes, got a matching car with a matching license plate, and pinned Mr. Morrison’s picture to the inside of his shirt,” Avery said. “Looking exactly like your dad, he robbed the First Central Bank. Maybe he used a transportation boon to move most of the cash into your dad’s trunk, and he timed it just right so that your dad would be driving past the bank on his way home from work.”

  “Then, last month, the Cleaner does it again,” I said. “This time wearing my clothes and pinning my picture to the inside of his shirt so he could make it look like I’d stolen all those boons from the church.”

  “That doesn’t work,” said Fluffball. “You and your dad were both captured on regular cameras committing the crimes. This pin creates a magical effect. If it were the Cleaner in disguise, the cameras wouldn’t have been able to record him.”

  “Why not?” Hamid asked. “I totally took a video of two flying CDs crashing into each other.”

  “You what?” I said.

  “Well, it wasn’t actually on purpose,” explained Hamid. “I dropped my phone on the bed when the CD player started shooting. I must have accidentally pressed record.”

  Avery was shaking her head slowly. “That’s not possible.”

  “Look,” said Hamid, already holding his phone. “I’ll show you.” He turned the screen toward us and pressed play.

  The video began with a scream as the phone jostled, falling to the bed, landing propped at an angle against the bedcovers. The screen was half-covered, but I could still see the far side of the room—an open closet door with a long mirror hanging on the back.

  I heard the music and our conversation on the video, but I couldn’t actually see any of the magical CDs. And I noticed that every time Fluffball had said something, the video’s audio bleeped out.

  “It’s just a blank room,” I said.

  “Shh,” said Hamid. “Wait for it . . .” He peeked around at the screen. “There!”

  Looking at the reflection in the closet mirror, I saw two glowing CDs collide in a shower of magical sparks.

  “That’s the only one I got,” said Hamid. “For some reason it didn’t pick up the others.”

  Avery turned to me. “The mirror,” she whispered.

  “Is it some kind of boon?” I asked.

  “Nope,” said Fluffball, sniffing toward the open closet door. “That’s a regular old mirror.”

  “It doesn’t need to be a boon,” Avery said. “It’s the reflection!” She jumped to her feet. “Hamid! Can you take another video?”

  “I don’t know,” he said. “My battery’s already down to twenty-two percent . . .”

  Avery grabbed his arm and dragged him over to the closet mirror. “I’m going to pull something out of my hat. I want you to stand where you can see me and my reflection in the mirror. You ready?”

  “Rolling,” he said, holding up his phone.

  Avery took a deep breath and reached into her hat, the brim going all the way to her shoulder. A second later, she pulled out the electrifying light bulb we had used at the High Line. She held it up for Hamid to see, then lowered it back into the hat.

  “Let’s watch it,” I said, crowding next to Hamid.

  When he pressed play, half of the screen was blacked out, completely covering the spot where Avery had stood. “Whoops,” said Hamid. “I must have had my finger over part of the camera.”

  “But look!” Avery pointed to the other side of the screen. “You can see the magic in the mirror.”

  It was a view of her back, but Avery was right. The magic top hat could clearly be seen.

  “I don’t understand what this means,” Hamid admitted.

  “It’s the answer to everything!” I exclaimed. “How many cameras saw me leaving the boon church?”

  “Just one,” answered Avery.

  “And only one camera captured my dad coming out of the bank,” I said. “And what do those two cameras have in common? Both of them had bits of broken mirror underneath.”

  “They did?” Fluffball said.

  “Yes,” I replied. “When the Cleaner was speeding away from the bank, he hit a truck carrying custom windows and mirrors. And we thought there had been a car accident under the camera outside the church because there were bits of crunched-up mirror.”

  “But you don’t think it was a wreck?” Hamid asked.

  “What if somebody installed mirrors around both of those cameras?” I said. “So instead of recording actual footage, it was recording a reflection!”

  “But wouldn’t the image be reversed?” Fluffball asked.

  “Not if they used two mirrors,” Avery said.

  “Don’t you think someone would have noticed a couple of mirrors strung up around the cameras?” said Hamid.

  “Not if people’s attention was on a more important crime,” I said. “The mirrors only needed to be in place for a couple of minutes. Then they could have been rigged to fall to the street and break. That’s why the custom windows truck slammed into the pole holding the camera,” I guessed. “And the debris would have hidden the fact that there were already pieces of broken mirror under the camera.”

  There was a loud bang on the apartment door. All of us jumped, and Hamid let ou
t a little squeak of fear.

  “Lionel Albrecht!” called a familiar voice from the hallway. “This is Special Agent Clarkston with Magix Investigation. Open up!”

  Avery started grabbing all the evidence—the clothes, pictures, cash, license plate, and safety pin—and stuffing it back into the top secret box. Hamid and Fluffball quietly crossed the room and took shelter behind the couch.

  “We know you’re in there!” Clarkston called. “Open this door, or we’ll break it down!”

  “Why is he here?” I hissed at Avery. Wreckage and the Cleaner were supposed to be on the same evil team.

  “If Magix suspects they have a mole,” she whispered, “then maybe Clarkston’s trying to make himself look innocent by turning in the Cleaner.”

  It was actually a good strategy, for a bad guy. But where was Agent Nguyen? Why hadn’t she stopped him in the warehouse? Avery picked up the cardboard box and moved across the room, following Hamid’s example and taking cover behind the small table in the kitchen. I kept up with her, but the two rickety chairs didn’t seem like they’d do much good in sheltering us against someone as powerful as Wreckage.

  “Agent Clarkston,” said another man’s voice from the hallway. It was so quiet that I found myself leaning forward to hear what they were saying. “I just got word from HQ. They’ve found the music box!”

  “What?” Clarkston replied. “After all this time?”

  “The recovery team pulled it out of the Amazon, fifteen miles downstream,” answered the voice.

  Clarkston grunted. “Let’s get back to headquarters immediately.”

  “But what about Albrecht?” asked the man.

  “Securing the music box takes top priority,” Clarkston replied.

  “Lawden’s going to have questions about that,” the man said. “Especially after what happened to Nguyen.”

  “Agent Nguyen was a traitor,” snapped Clarkston. “Lawden did the right thing by sending her to the black site for questioning.” I heard them shuffle away from the apartment door, Clarkston’s voice fading as they moved down the hallway. “All units be advised: Operation Music Box has just entered the final phase . . .”