There was no time to find out because someone suddenly shouted, “Pigs!”—one of the other boys there, Eyeballs. Before anyone could react, cops, half a dozen or more, appeared seemingly from nowhere and pounced on the gang. The struggle was chaotic, but brief. It was only moments before they were all face down on the grass, their hands cuffed behind their backs with what looked like plastic twist-ties.
Now they were up and getting dragged to a police van parked on the street. Other cops were suddenly on the scene, too—lots of cops. They’d emerged from a parking lot on the other side of the school and were marching in some kind of phalanx with shields and cans of mace.
Now, at last, everyone bolted the school grounds, in all directions. Daphna scanned the dispersing crowd for signs of Branwen or her posse. She was quite certain they’d not seen the last of them.
“Where is it?” Quinn suddenly cried.
Daphna turned to find him turning in frantic circles, searching the ground. “Where is what?” she asked. Then, alarmed, “The book?”
“Forget it,” Dex told them. “We need to get out of here.” He was watching Nora, who still appeared less than stable on her feet. He needed to get her away from all this.
“I can’t find it!” Quinn shouted. “I was going to pick it up when the gun went off. It should be right here!”
“Find it!” Daphna cried. “That book cannot fall into the wrong hands!”
“A book?” someone else suddenly said.
Daphna turned around to find Mr. G standing right there.
“Don’t tell me you’re at Wilson now, too,” Dex said.
Mr. G seemed not to have heard Dex. “You’ve lost a dangerous book?” he asked Daphna. “Whose was it?”
“It wasn’t anybody’s,” Daphna told him. She didn’t have time for teachers right now, even her favorite, even one who might, in other circumstances, help them.
“Is that it?”
The twins looked to see what Mr. G was pointing to, which seemed to be the cluster of police still in the process of manhandling Antin and his gang into the back of their van. But then they saw two cops standing away from the action, evidently waiting for something—Richards and Madden.
Richards had the book.
It was unmistakable in that bright yellow cover. With the sun on it, the thing was nearly blinding.
“That’s it!” Daphna shouted. “Maybe one of those boys took it in the scuffle!” Daphna waved her hands and shouted, but the chaos was still far too great with kids running up and down the sidewalk in front of them.
“No,” Quinn said darkly, “the cops took it. They’re on the take!”
“On the take?” Daphna said. “Why would the police take your book?”
A plain white car skidded to a stop alongside Richards and Madden. Quinn fished something out of his pocket, a cell phone. He leaned out from behind the tree and, though kids were still streaming by, began snapping pictures as the car window rolled down. A hand emerged. Richards shook it, then handed the book over.
“Where did it come from?” Mr. G asked the twins. Demanded, really.
Daphna sighed, annoyed he was still there. “Look, Mr. G—“
“I need to know if getting it back is more important than keeping you safe.”
“We’re fine, really,” Daphna promised, exasperated now. “We’ve dealt with a lot worse than a bunch of—”
“I’m not talking about keeping you safe from mutinous teenagers!” Mr. G shouted, inexplicably out of patience. “I saw the assassin before he ran off!”
Dex and Daphna looked at Mr. G, then at each other, then back at their teacher. Neither responded, though. ‘Assassin’ was a rather specific word. Richards and Madden were still talking to the man in the car. Quinn was still snapping pictures like some kind of international spy. Kids were still running off like birds bursting from a tree with cats in it.
Mr. G’s face crunched up. He seemed to be considering something rather difficult. Finally, he wailed, “I’m talking about keeping you safe from the most powerful organization on Earth!”
The twins reacted to this pronouncement with the same expression: they were not shocked. Their eyes simply said, Explain.
“The Church, damn it!” Mr. G cried. “The Church! You won’t survive the day without my help. Now, tell me the truth: You brought that book back from Heaven, didn’t you?”
“What?” both Quinn and Nora cried. Quinn came back around the tree with his camera looking as if he couldn’t have heard what he’d thought he’d just heard. Nora, who’d been propped up against the tree, remained there, watching with pale, frightened, but avid eyes.
Daphna saw that Richards, Madden, and whoever was in the car were done talking. The window was rolling up.
“Was it from Heaven!” Mr. G screamed, completely undone.
“Yes!” Daphna shouted. “Yes!”
Mr. G’s face lit up, transforming him almost instantaneously. “I KNEW IT!” he cried, pulling a key out of his pocket. He put it in Daphna’s hands. “I live right there,” he said, pointing to a modest little gray and white bungalow directly across the street. “Go inside. You’ll be safe. If there’s an emergency, go down to the basement and hide. I’ll find you there, and I can get you anywhere in the city, totally undetected. If I can get the book, I can save you. We could do anything! I’ll be there as soon as I can to explain. I’ve been assigned to you your whole lives!”
Without another word, Mr. Guillermo sprinted through what was left of the mob toward the white car, which was already pulling away. He punched at a cell phone he produced from another pocket as he ran for his car, which was parked across the street. He jumped in and screeched off in hot pursuit.
“What’s going on?” Quinn asked, looking frantic. “Why did you tell him it was from Heaven?”
“To get rid of him,” Dexter said, watching Nora watch him. “Because he obviously has some serious screws loose.”
“But it’s gone!” Quinn shouted. “And it’s your fault! You’re not supposed to be an obstacle!”
“What?” Dexter knew he was utterly at fault. Daphna’s reaction to those pages left little doubt that it was another sacred book. He had no idea why he knocked it to the ground. That was how he used to act—before learning to think first. He only knew he hated this boy, really hated him. “Why should I care about your stupid book?” Dex demanded, digging the hole deeper.
Daphna missed this exchange because she was watching Mr. G careen around the corner. Was she surprised by this turn of events? No. How could she be?
“You have no idea what that book can do!” Quinn raged.
“I don’t really care what you think it can do!”
“Dexter,” Daphna said, turning back to the boys, trying to stay calm. “That book makes people disappear.”
“It what?”
Quinn nodded to confirm this, trying his best to calm down as well.
“Oh, crap.”
“Okay,” Quinn said, deciding something. “It’s only a complication. We’ll just have to—”
“Let’s just figure out how to get it back,” Daphna insisted. She wanted to light into Dex, too, for his outrageous, obnoxious, asinine behavior, but she knew that wouldn’t help matters right now. He’d hear it from her later, though, that was for sure. Not helping was one thing, but actively hindering things? This was going too far.
“Okay,” Quinn agreed. “That teacher—Did he say he’s been watching you your whole lives?”
“No,” said Daphna, slipping Mr. G’s key into her pocket while watching the last of the students flee from the cops, who were now marching across the athletic field. “He said he was ‘assigned to us.’ I have no idea what that means, but I can promise you one thing: it doesn’t mean helping us. He did help us in some ways, though, by accident, maybe. Or maybe not. Anyway, he was my favorite teacher.”
“We should go to his house,” Quinn said.
“No.” Daphna was adamant. “We need to go somewhere to ta
lk first.”
“No, really,” Quinn insisted. “One way or another, there’s always someone who helps. There has to be someone who—”
“What are you talking about?” Dex could hardly believe this joker. “I can promise you one thing, too,” he said. “There is never somebody who helps.”
“I don’t trust him.” Daphna’s tone was final.
“Well,” Quinn said, looking distraught at these developments, “I think I got pictures of the guys in the car.” He peered at the screen on his phone. “I got the license plate, too,” he added, “but it’s hard to make out.”
The police van with Antin and his thugs was finally ready to go. As it pulled away, one of the cops spoke through the speakers on its roof.
“By order of the city,” he proclaimed, “a curfew is under effect. All youths under eighteen years of age must proceed to and remain in their homes.”
The announcement was repeated as the van drove off.
“Jeez,” said Daphna, when it faded away, “do you think there are riots all over—?”
“I can’t go home,” someone whimpered. Nora.
“Who is she?” Quinn demanded.
Daphna couldn’t agree more. “Yeah—”
“Who are you?” Dex snapped at Quinn.
“Forget it,” Daphna said. She turned to Quinn and asked, “Can we go to your house? It’s closer. Can we download the photos there?”
“Yes,” Quinn said. “We better hurry. I have to get that book back!”
“Quinn,” Daphna said grabbing his arm as he turned away, “what is that book?”
Nora screamed.
Branwen and four boys were running down the front steps of the school—Branwen with her trophy, the others wielding hockey and lacrosse sticks like swords and lances. They must have been waiting for the cops to clear off with the gang.
“Here!” Dex cried, picking up a bike lying on its side just a few feet away. Bikes were everywhere. Daphna and Quinn each grabbed one as well, and both jumped on.
But Nora did not. She simply stood where she was, frozen. Her eyes were once again unfocused, her lips moving soundlessly.
She looked almost peaceful.
“Let’s go!” Daphna cried. “Let’s go! Let’s go!”
Branwen and the boys were maybe thirty yards away.
Dex waved Nora over. “Come on,” he urged. “It’s okay. You can ride with me!”
She didn’t seem to hear him.
“Leave her!” Daphna cried, poised on her pedals. “She’s going to get us all killed!”
When it was clear that Dex didn’t know what to do, Daphna peddled close to Nora and slapped her right across the face. Nora’s eyes spiraled, but then focused. She ran to Dex, who got her on the seat behind him.
Daphna and Quinn took off, pumping for the sidewalk.
Dex took off just behind them, but before he could gain any kind of momentum, something struck him hard in the temple. The blade of a hockey stick.
Dex saw nothing but stars for a second and wobbled severely on the bike. But somehow, his legs kept churning. Nora screamed as the bike rocked, but he managed to keep it upright. Mercifully, he could see again.
They were off.
CHAPTER 11
that new bookshop
Dex hurtled down the sidewalk fronting the school just behind his sister. It was partly the adrenaline, but Nora didn’t seem to weigh much. Branwen shrieked somewhere behind them like some starving predator narrowly missing its last chance at a meal.
Nora was holding on to him like her life depended on it.
Why did he feel so compelled to help this total, and rather pathetic, stranger? It felt like some sort of ‘assignment’ now that Dex thought about it.
And why didn’t she just laugh at him or run away when he talked about having been to Heaven? Any normal person would’ve done that, though she obviously wasn’t entirely normal talking about Jesus and Heaven the way she had. There was something off about her, especially with all that muttering to herself, not to mention her outburst in the auditorium. But then, he’d never known a religious person before. People like her must be especially vulnerable to nutcases like that pastor.
Dex didn’t know his own mind today, but he knew he wasn’t sorry he’d found her.
He pedaled on.
Quinn, who was out in front, veered suddenly into the drive separating Wilson from the elementary school. Daphna fell in line right behind him, so Dex followed her. But as they passed the school, doors swung open in several places, and moms with wailing children poured outside. Quinn, Daphna, and Dex all had to stop to avoid running them over.
The thunder crashed again. Immediately after came the snap of wild lightning. The kids flew into an absolute frenzy.
Cringing at the volume of screaming and crying, Dex lead Nora after Daphna, who was following Quinn toward the rear of one of the shops on the main road—the same shops they’d stopped in front of after nearly being run over themselves. Dexter’s plan was to find out what this new book was all about, deal with it, then get rid of this floppy haired poser as soon as possible. Then he’d help Nora sort out—whatever she needed to sort out. And then maybe back to his retirement.
He’d forgotten about that.
The main road, which had finally been cleared of the accident, was visible between the last shop and the pharmacy next door. Dozens of kids galloped past in a long, spooked herd. Police vehicles broadcasting the orders for the immediate curfew were just audible from distant streets.
Following Quinn’s lead, the twins set their bikes against a wall. Quinn took some keys out of his pocket and began opening the back door of a shop.
“Who is this guy, anyway?” Dex asked.
“Quinn,” Daphna said. “Who the heck is she?”
Nora looked at them both like they were deciding whether to let her live.
“Ah, Nora,” Dex said.
Daphna could see liability written all over this girl. “Oh—kay,” she said, “but who—never mind. Let’s just get inside before some housewife tries to murder us.”
Quinn had the door open and was already part way up a flight of steps behind it. Daphna followed him, wondering whether her brother had lost his mind hauling around this useless girl. Dex and Nora brought up the rear.
The entry’s walls were plain white plaster, chipped all over. Some of the stairs were cracked as well. At the top was another door with peeling paint. Once they were all through it, Quinn locked them in.
It was an apartment—not a very nice one.
While everyone caught their breath, the twins looked around. A paltry kitchenette with a sink full of large lemon-colored dishes was in the back. A round table sat on scuffed linoleum. It was covered with all kinds of odd shaped tools: knives and little picks, and some spatula-like implements. There were various sized bottles with stoppers, stacks of old looking parchment, and a few empty leather bindings.
A TV nearly buried in stacks of DVDs was talking quietly on a counter next to the rusting stove. What wasn’t the kitchen was a living room, which contained two futons with a lopsided wooden end table between them. A box of books sat under it. A laptop was set on top. The carpeting was threadbare, to be generous.
But it was the walls that commanded the twins’ attention, chiefly Daphna’s. They were lined with shelves, all of which were filled with neatly arranged books. Little cards, labels, and tags were affixed under most of them. Daphna couldn’t help but gravitate to one for a closer look. She spotted valuable old editions of Peter Pan and The Lord of the Rings quickly enough, The Odyssey as well. She was suddenly certain that Quinn had read everything in the room.
“This is that new bookshop,” Dex finally realized, watching his sister browse.
“What’s wrong?” Daphna suddenly asked, noticing Nora in the kitchen watching the TV, looking as if she were going to throw up.
Everyone moved over to see what Nora was reacting to. News was on. Quinn turned up the volume.
&n
bsp; “—Repeat, there is no cause for alarm. We would like to emphasize that there is no agreement in the scientific community about the nature of this weather anomaly, nor its implications. All indications thus far are that while the thunder is both extraordinarily loud and widespread, it is not in and of itself dangerous, though earplugs are recommended. It has been determined that the tremors that follow are triggered by the tremendous sound waves generated by the claps. Damage has been minimal. The lightning effect has not been fully analyzed, but it appears to be harmless as well. Nevertheless, because of the severe psychological reactions observed among minors, as a precaution, curfews are in effect in cities worldwide.”
“Did he just say ‘worldwide’?” Daphna heard it—she just couldn’t believe it.
Nora nodded. “There’ve been riots in schools today just about everywhere.”
Clips of exactly that came on. The four stunned kids watched scenes of children wreaking havoc at schools from Ann Arbor to Sydney.
“I don’t believe it,” Daphna said.
“Yeah,” Quinn said, “it’s unbelievable.”
“No,” Daphna clarified. “I mean, I don’t believe it. It can’t be real. They’re—It’s all fake—to make us—”
“What? Like in 1984, where the government makes all the news?”
“Why not?” Daphna said. “The President lied to the entire country on national TV about having a cure before they really did.”
“But that was surely to calm people down,” Quinn argued. “This will freak people—”
“A ha!” Dex crowed. He’d turned away from the TV and was searching for something to prove this Quinn jerk was a fraud, and lo and behold he’d just spotted four large boxes on the floor in front of one of the shelving units, four large boxes full of damaged books—burnt books if he wasn’t mistaken.
Daphna saw what her brother was pointing to. With eyes narrowed, she walked to the boxes and squatted down to inspect a book.
“So, who are you supposed to be, again?” Dex now triumphantly demanded of Quinn.
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