“You know what color this palate is missing?” called one of the men in a thickly Slavic accent.
“Red!” his pal answered.
“We can call it Dead Red. A nice addition, I think.”
Finn peered around the edge of the upright table. A knife whizzed past, removing a clump of his hair. Strands floated to the carpet.
“To the door,” he said, gripping the table. “All together.”
Thwack! A knife lodged in the carpeted floor to either side. Finn crouched, waving Mattie and Amanda over to him; he had to keep the table low or risk having his feet diced.
“This is mine,” Amanda said.
“No,” Finn objected.
“They can’t hit me,” she reminded him.
“Just don’t try anything…else,” Finn hissed, looking at her. They both knew what he meant—use of her ability to “push” would weaken her substantially, perhaps resulting in the failure of the hologram’s immateriality.
“Don’t tell me what to do!”
Amanda stood. A cleaver flew through her head and clattered into the far wall. The harsh sound of breaking glass filled the room—one of the flat panels.
“Amanda, no! Stop!”
But Finn was too late. Amanda picked up a chair like a lion tamer.
She has to be solid to touch it! Finn thought, hysterical fear surging in his chest. And if she was solid, that meant—
Knives banged against the chair as Amanda marched steadily toward the two chefs.
“Go on!” she shouted. Reluctantly, Finn and Mattie moved toward the exit doors, the table held before them like a shield. With all attention on Amanda, only one knife flew in their direction. It slammed into the wall by the doors, and hung there, shivering violently.
Amanda crouched and called out loudly, “I’m counting to three. You will put down your knives or pay the price.”
“Oh! Listen to her! I’m terrified!” one of the chefs said to the other.
“One…two…”
Finn knew the timing was meant for him and Mattie more than the chefs.
“Three!”
Amanda dropped the chair and shoved her open palms at the two chefs. The men were lifted off their feet and crashed into the wall. One was nicked by a flying cleaver. Blood streamed down his neck.
“Criminy!” the other chef called out in an Australian accent.
“Go!” Finn said, shoving Mattie out the door.
He then surprised himself by picking up the table and throwing it as effortlessly as a Frisbee across the dining room. Like pulling the carpet in the auditorium. Again, the demonstration of strength shocked him.
The chefs saw the table coming fast, aiming to decapitate them, and slipped down flat on the floor. The table struck, punching a hole in the wall over the chefs’ heads.
“Such sweet children!” the Aussie said. He and the other man scurried on hands and knees back into the kitchen. Amanda limped for the door, drained of energy by her use of her powers. Finn reached for her—she’d lost her hologram—and helped her through the doorway.
He texted an emergency code.
In seconds, Charlene and Willa converged, rounded them up like Secret Service agents handling diplomats, and rushed the three upstairs to Storey Ming who, pointing to starboard, led the way. They were in the District, the ship’s warren of nightclubs and bars. Unlike the orderly layout of the rest of the ship, the District’s few hallways were curved, and clubs phased into each other, further confusing the visitor. The kids ran past a grouping of single-occupant restrooms. Storey skidded to a stop and ushered all of them into one. She closed the door and locked it. It was a small, crowded space. Storey kept her ear to the door and a finger to her lips. She held up her palm, like a traffic cop.
Footsteps could be heard. Then the thunk of a nearby bathroom door closing and locking. Storey nodded, as if to say, Okay. Quietly unlocking and opening the door, she checked both ways and signaled for them to follow.
Hurrying through the 687 Lounge, they drew immediate attention. All the ship’s bars were Adults Only. A Cast Member with unfocused eyes and an awkward gait approached from the far side of the lounge, clearly intending to intercept them. Another OT zombie.
As a group, the Keepers jogged into the neighboring District Lounge. Having violated the age rule there as well, they had two crew members after them—one zombie, Finn thought, one not. It was too dark to determine the color of the crew members’ eyes, but the Keepers weren’t sticking around for any close-ups.
Finn could no longer hold on to Amanda’s hologram arm, but realized as she jogged beside him that she was back to full power. They reached the District’s forward entrance where, unfortunately, they encountered a third crew member.
“We’re going!” Storey called out to the lady guard.
“Hold on a second!” the woman shouted. “We…want…to…talk—”
She took off after them. The kids broke into a sprint.
“Why are we running?” Willa panted.
“What are we going to do, tell them a couple chefs were practicing their knife throwing on us?” Finn said. “That would go over big.”
Rule #1: Kids are faster than grown-ups.
Rule #2: Disney crew members aren’t grown-ups, in the grown-up sense.
“I know who you are!” shouted the crew member, now only a matter of yards behind them.
“You…don’t…know…who…I…am!” Amanda charged the woman.
Finn and the others kept running. The crew member crossed her arms in preparation for a full-speed collision. Amanda’s DHI passed through her.
Slack-jawed, the woman stared at the hologram in disbelief. “Wow.”
“Pretty cool, huh?” Amanda stepped through the wall and out onto the jogging track. She waved back at the gawking crew member from the far side of one of the hallway’s large circular windows.
The woman’s fellow staff members arrived, out of breath. Two of them looked down the empty hall, and saw the kids were gone.
“Must…pursue,” one of them said in a strange monotone—like someone who’d been hypnotized onstage during one of the magic shows.
“For the record?” the woman said to the two. “I don’t even care about losing the kids. What I just saw? That was totally worth it.”
No one acknowledged her. The two men took off in a bizarre, stiff-legged run that made them look more like puppets than people.
* * *
The Cast Member beauty salon was like a prop shop for a horror show. Along the tops of the cabinets that surrounded the room and the six well-padded salon chairs were plastic heads wearing wigs—Snow White, Cinderella, Belle, and a dozen others—as well as latex prosthetics like noses, ears, chins, cheeks, and bald caps. The salon was a special effects laboratory possessing the theatrical cosmetics and technology needed to turn an ordinary Cast Member into an extraordinary Disney character—one who looked nearly identical to the character’s image in a Disney film.
Dillard Cole and Kenny Carlson entered the empty salon on top secret orders, received from Wanda Alcott by encrypted e-mail. They’d been told where to find the salon: forward on Deck 2 through a locked Cast Member–only door; the salon was part of the Walt Disney Theatre’s lower-level backstage area, shared by the stage productions and the character appearance groups. They’d also been advised of the safest time to be there: one hour past the conclusion of the Canal celebration, a rest time for the dozens of characters involved.
Dillard stepped through and locked the door from the inside.
“Find a hiding place. I’m going to put a chair by the door. If it opens, we’ll hear the chair slide. We hear that, we hide.”
Kenny found a closet of hanging crinoline petticoats; there was space enough to tuck in behind. It was the best spot in the small room for a boy so tall. Dillard was able to squeeze into a dark area under the makeup station farthest from the door; thus hidden, he was nearly invisible to the naked eye. A risky spot, but one he liked because it a
fforded him a view of the room.
With their hiding places planned, they followed procedures outlined in YouTube videos showing various techniques and practices of people working in salons. They’d memorized most of it.
The hair was not the problem. Both boys had previously booked appointments in the Senses Spa and Salon and brought magazine photos of the haircuts they desired. It was nothing new to the experts in Senses to work from such photographs—kids often wanted to look like their favorite film, television, or rock star.
The challenge was the choice of, and application of, the latex prostheses that would transform their faces as Wanda had requested. They tried a variety of different noses and cheeks, finally gluing them into place, each boy serving as the other’s beautician. Dillard had to shave off his eyebrows and use stick-ons to match color and shape; Kenny was able to use his freckles and red hair to his advantage. Twenty minutes passed. Thirty. Bit by bit, the boys saw themselves slowly transform. The coloring and application of makeup was a different matter.
“This is way harder than it looked in the video.”
“I don’t get how much time this must take for girls every morning. What do they do, get up at four or something?”
“I don’t think they’re as slow as we are.”
“You look like some ninety-year-old geezer with bright red cheeks and fake eyelashes.”
“You’re the one doing this to me.”
“And I’m really sorry about that, but you look ugly and ancient and a lot like a girl.”
“Get it together, would you?”
“I’m trying.”
“Try harder.”
Dillard had done a good job on Kenny, but the reverse was not true. No matter how many times Kenny cleaned up Dillard’s face—itself a time-consuming job!—and reapplied the cosmetics, Dillard looked only slightly better, and still nothing close to the person he was supposed to resemble.
“It’s going to work, but I need more practice,” Kenny said.
“Yeah, you’re pretty pathetic at this.” Dillard couldn’t keep it in any longer. “We should tell Finn what we’re doing.”
“Wanda said not to.” Kenny tried adjusting Dillard’s latex nose.
“He needs to be told.”
“You worship that guy,” Kenny said.
“Do not.”
“Do too.”
“We’re neighbors. I’ve known him since first grade.”
“So what? You are so weird about him. It’s like he walks on water or something.”
“Shut up.”
“You shut up.”
“He’s the leader. He should be told.”
“Wayne’s the leader and Wanda’s his daughter, and she says no.”
They left the salon ten minutes later, still arguing.
* * *
The new Keeper stateroom, 9603, was another unoccupied room that Storey Ming had found. An internal cabin, it had no windows to the water. But the Imagineers had once again outdone themselves: a high definition circular porthole on the wall played live video of the view as would be seen through any other stateroom window on the ninth deck. The result was a sense of the horizon and the weather; you didn’t feel like you were locked up in a windowless room.
But the cabin was small, and with the five Keepers crammed into it, smaller still. The two girls sat up against the bed’s headboard. Maybeck was stretched out sideways at their feet. Finn and Philby stood. Amanda’s hologram sat on the floor by a recycling can. Mattie Weaver sat on a plastic trash basket turned upside down. She looked uncomfortable, knowing only Amanda well.
“I know where he’s hiding,” Mattie said, speaking of Luowski. “And I know what he was told to do.”
“You see their memories.” Professor Philby studied her like she was something under a microscope for him to pick apart with stainless steel probes.
“Their thoughts, sometimes their feelings. I get glimpses, because some people think visually. I get pictures in my head.”
“Like Jess,” Willa said.
“Except she sees the future. Not me. I suppose I see the past some, but mostly it’s the present thought, I think. I don’t know exactly. I get feelings. A sense of things.”
“And what about Luowski?” Finn shifted foot to foot like a runner getting ready for a race. Nerves.
“Turmoil. Worry. Concern. He’s horribly conflicted. If I touch someone who’s happy, I’m happy. When I touched him I nearly passed out. He’s this angry jumble of mixed-up emotions. He is to get one of you for them.”
“The sacrifice,” Finn said.
“Who?” Willa barely got the word out.
Mattie shook her head. “He doesn’t know, but he knows it means death. A horrible death. He sees a knife dripping with blood.”
Silence, followed by Maybeck. “The hyena killing.”
“I don’t see the past,” Mattie reminded them all. “He fears that knife. The blood. He’s terrified. He was out there on the deck, but none of his attention was on the celebration. He’s worried, for himself, and for one of you.”
“Sacrifice,” Philby repeated, making it sound like a homework assignment. He said to Willa: “The journal.”
Finn addressed Amanda’s hologram. “Jess’s drawings.”
Amanda met eyes with him but said nothing. She looked frightened.
Mattie said, “The guy is haunted.”
“Think how we feel!” Maybeck said. Everyone but Philby laughed.
“Any images?” Philby asked.
“There were metal stairs. Darkness. But I wouldn’t put too much into it.”
“We have to protect Charlene,” Maybeck said.
“And Willa,” Philby added. “It’s girls they want. Willa, you said so.”
“That was fifteen hundred years ago, FYI.” Willa contemplated the gathering. “It could be any of us.”
“I think he’s afraid it may be him,” Mattie said, winning their attention. “That he betrayed them somehow.”
“When he warned us,” Maybeck said, reminding Finn again.
“Could be,” Finn said. “If Maleficent found out—”
“That other guy was there,” Maybeck reminded them.
“Dixon.”
“And he’s a total zombie,” Charlene said. “He was one of the stagehands Willa and I ran into.”
Philby waited for the resulting chatting to settle down. He addressed Mattie. “Can you make contact with him again?”
Mattie said, “Some people sense when they’re touched. It’s like when you go cold all of a sudden for no reason. Luowski felt me doing it.” She looked first at Philby, then the others. “The more times it’s done, the more the person can sense it. I’m basically stealing their thoughts. They feel it.”
“And Luowski knew,” Willa said. “Could that have been what he was afraid of?”
“I don’t think so,” Mattie said. “It’s possible, I suppose.”
Finn withdrew the printout of Amanda’s e-mail and passed it to Mattie. “Did you ‘see’ anything like this?” He passed it to Mattie.
“No. But as I’ve said, I don’t see the future the way Jess does.”
“We thought it was Aruba,” Finn told her. “Even though it came a little late.”
“It doesn’t look like a cave,” Mattie said of the drawing. “More like a tunnel. The walls are straight and smooth.”
“But that doesn’t fit with whatever you saw.”
“No. I’m sorry.” She passed it back. Finn returned it to his back pocket.
“We’re scheduled to guide the zip line group tomorrow,” Maybeck said. “It’s the perfect place for more blue-sky lightning.”
“Do you want to stay behind,” Charlene said, “after what happened to you? We’ve got no problem with that.”
The Keepers all mumbled agreement.
“I didn’t say that. What I meant was—”
“We know what you meant,” Philby interrupted.
Finn said, “Charlene, it’s you who
should stay behind.”
“Safety in numbers,” Charlene said. “And besides, I’m probably safer off the ship than on.”
“If I signed up for the zip line,” Mattie said, “if I could move through the passengers on the excursion, I might sense something.”
“You have no documentation,” the Professor pointed out. “Besides, those excursions were fully booked a long time ago.”
“The gathering spots,” Finn said. “All excursions meet as a group on the ship and leave from there. Mattie could cruise among the passengers, passing out pencils or something so she has the excuse to touch them.”
Philby nodded. “Could work.”
“But the problem is, we don’t know if Luowski’s orders have anything to do with the zip lines. He could be planning to toss one of us overboard, for all we know.” Finn moved to stand next to Philby, addressing the others. “Our rule has always been to pair up. That’s kept us safe so far. So we’ll pair up, but everyone keeps an eye on Charlene. Anything weird, and we get her to the bus, or whatever. We keep her safe.”
All the Keepers nodded.
“Okay,” Finn said, “so we’ll pair up where possible. Mattie, you’ll let us know whatever you find out.”
“Where do we find you, anyway?” Charlene asked. “Where are you sleeping?”
“If you need me, just stay after one of the movies in the Buena Vista. When you’re sure the theater is empty and the Cast Members have left the projection booth, call out, ‘Mad Hatter.’ I’ll meet you in Shutters Photo Studio a few minutes later.”
“And if you don’t show up?” Philby asked.
“Then I’m either out trying to make contact with other people like Luowski, or…” She hesitated. “Or something’s happened.”
THE SHIP’S D LOUNGE, the gathering place for the Costa Rican zip line excursion, was known for its nightclub decor, dim lighting, and dance floor. But under full light at seven in the morning, it was home to a large group of guests wanting to hang in a harness and fly across steel wires in the mountains of a foreign country.
“Something’s different about Finn,” Charlene said to Willa. “And Philby, for that matter.”
“It’s seven in the morning. We said we’d pair up, and they’re paired up. We also said we’d stay away from each other, and they’re staying away from us.”
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