“You’re not the only one who’s read Phoebe’s letters dozens of times.” The Commander became more distant. “I’ve always thought he was responsible for the bad turn Phoebe’s life took near the end.”
“Why didn’t you ever tell me that?” Fern asked accusingly.
“I was never positive. And why would I burden you with information like that when I couldn’t be sure?”
Fern thought about the Commander’s words. As much as she wanted someone to blame, Fern knew she’d have done the same thing in her mother’s position.
“Well, according to Mrs. Lin, he never knew that Phoebe had a daughter. He doesn’t know that I exist,” Fern added. She left out the part about Haryle Laffar wanting to kill her as revenge for what she had done to his brother Vlad. The Commander already had enough information to digest for one cab ride.
“I’m sorry, Fern. What a horrible thing to discover,” she said. “Wait. Mrs. Lin told you?”
Fern winced as she thought about how she’d deliberately kept the Commander out of the conversation with Mrs. Lin. She moved on quickly so she wouldn’t have to think about her own guilty feelings.
“He’s planning to steal the last ingredient tomorrow, and I think he may hurt Miles after he’s done using him.”
“Do you know where Haryle Laffar is keeping Miles? Can you get there on foot, without teleporting?” the Commander asked.
“He’s keeping him underneath an exhibit at the National Zoo.”
“Well we’ve got to tell the Alliance and get Alistair and some of the others on their way to rescue the boy.”
“We can’t tell anyone,” Fern said in a low voice.
“What do you mean we can’t tell anyone? You can’t be expected to take care of this on your own!” the Commander insisted. “What about the Lins?”
“Mr. Lin was already captured trying to rescue Miles. He’s down there with him,” Fern explained.
Mary Lou gasped at this additional disclosure.
“Well, that proves it’s far too dangerous to attempt a rescue on your own!” The Commander realized she was shouting. The cabbie glanced up at his rearview mirror, and she smiled at him.
“I have to go. If Laffar gets that potion to work, he’ll be after every single Unusual, including me.”
“Fern, this is insanity. You’re thirteen years old, for pete’s sake.”
“I won’t be able to live with myself. . . . I have to at least try to stop him . . . try to rescue Miles. This is what I’m supposed to do. Don’t you understand?”
Mary Lou McAllister didn’t understand at all. She tried, but sometimes she recognized she would never fully comprehend her daughter. How could she? Fern had already experienced things Mary Lou couldn’t begin to imagine. She put both her hands to her face and began to rub. She thought of Phoebe’s letters. She had read them and reread them countless times. Over the years, Mary Lou had come to realize that the biggest reason her best friend had fled San Juan Capistrano was because she felt alone and isolated—Phoebe believed there was nobody in the world who understood her. Mary Lou was not about to let that happen to her daughter . . . to their daughter.
She forced the words out of her mouth.
“What can I do to help you?”
“You’re going to help me?”
“Fern,” the Commander said earnestly, shifting in her seat so that her knees were touching her daughter’s. “We’re in uncharted territory here, kiddo.” The Commander put her hand on Fern’s shoulder. “Believe it or not, there is no parenting book on dealing with a teenager who vampires think is some fulfillment of a centuries-old prophecy, or one who seems to have terrible people looking for her and who has an evil father out there kidnapping children, or one who can disappear and move water with her mind—“
“I forgot to tell you, I can move objects now. Telekinesis.”
The Commander opened her mouth. “Really?”
“I’m not sure I can move water anymore, but I kind of moved a full bottle of Coke across the room and dumped it on Blythe and Lee,” Fern said sheepishly.
“I’ll bet they weren’t very happy about that,” the Commander said, grinning.
“Not really, no,” Fern said.
“Were you responsible for the food fight?” Though the Commander’s question sounded like an accusation, Fern could tell by the tone of her mother’s voice that it wasn’t meant to be one.
“No, Blythe and Lee started it. But Sam and Lindsey did nail them afterward in retaliation. With entire vats of ketchup and mayo.”
The Commander brought her hand to her mouth to stifle a laugh. She shook her head in disbelief. “Sam would eat his own hat if it meant saving you pain.”
“I know,” Fern said.
“We all would, Fern. My point is . . . I want to help you in any way I can. Besides, what else am I going to do? Ground you? You’d just teleport wherever you wanted anyhow.”
The Commander was right. Fern had already made up her mind. Tomorrow (which had technically already arrived, since it was now after midnight), she would figure out a way to rescue Mr. Lin and Miles and stop Laffar.
The cab stopped in front of the Woodley Park Marriott. Fern got out first while the Commander paid the fare. The temperature outside was frigid—it had dropped several more degrees since they’d left the Lincoln Memorial. She blew on her hands, which reminded her of playing the harmonica. The memory of it as it floated before being snatched out of the air by Laffar bothered her. She dreaded telling Preston that she’d lost it. Jamming her hands deep into her pockets, her left hand felt something. She pulled it out. It was a folded piece of paper. She unfolded it. Messy handwriting covered the top half.
Meet me in the lobby at six a.m. tomorrow. I need to show you something.
Fern scrutinized the note for a moment. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the Commander scooting across the seat toward the cab’s open door. Quickly she refolded the note and placed it back in her pocket—she’d revealed enough for the time being.
Still, Fern couldn’t stop thinking about the strange message as she and her mother crossed the lobby and rode up in the elevator to their seventh-floor rooms.
When could someone have slipped it in her pocket? Why wasn’t it signed? At first she suspected Candace. But Candace roomed with her and could talk to her anytime. Lindsey Lin was the most likely candidate. After all, the last time Fern had received a note like that, it had floated in through the window of her bedroom in San Juan. Lindsey had thrown it there because she wanted to confirm her suspicions that Fern was an Otherworldly, just like Lindsey was herself.
In the back of Fern’s mind, an alarm went off. There was the possibility that it was a trap. Maybe Laffar knew where Fern was staying and had slipped the note in Fern’s pocket in order to lure her somewhere.
The Commander walked Fern all the way to her room and wrapped her daughter up in a tight hug before saying good night.
As soon as Fern opened the door to her dark room, she could hear the uneven snores of Blythe and Lee. Suddenly the snores were interspersed with the pitter-patter of quick footsteps.
Candace Tutter jumped out of bed and surged toward the opening door. Upon spotting Fern’s backlit outline against the light of the hallway, she jumped forward, throwing her arms around her friend.
Both girls tumbled to the floor in a pile. They slammed into the half-open door, closing it with the force of impact.
“You’re okay!” Candace whisper-shouted into Fern’s ears. Their limbs were tangled together.
“Yeah, Candace, I’m okay.” Fern let out a muffled laugh. Only Candace would sneak up on Fern in the darkness and tackle her—all because she was glad her friend was safe.
“What happened? Did you see Laffar? Is Miles okay?”
Fern tried to lift herself up, but Candace’s body was on top of her legs.
“Everybody’s all right,” Fern whispered, untangling herself from Candace and getting up. “But we shouldn’t talk now. Lee and Blyt
he can’t know I’ve been gone.”
Candace got to her feet too. She ran back to the bed she and Fern shared, and Fern followed, collapsing on her side. Candace fell asleep shortly, and Fern could hear the soft breaths as her chest rose and fell in perfect rhythm.
Fern looked at the alarm. Though she set it for five forty-five a.m., she wasn’t positive she would keep the appointment with whoever had slipped her that note. Deciding she would make a game-time decision in the morning, she fell into a shallow and restless sleep, waiting for what the morning would bring.
Chapter 22
Answers
As soon as the alarm rang at five forty-five a.m., Fern slammed her wrist on the snooze bar and then turned the alarm off completely.
“I’m gonna take a shower,” Fern said to Candace, half-awake. Candace rolled back over, taking Fern at her word.
Fern had fallen asleep in her jeans and jacket and felt listless and dirty. She went into the bathroom and started the shower running. She debated with herself whether or not to meet the note sender in the lobby. The students on the St. Gregory’s DC trip had a later start than usual this morning—they weren’t due in the lobby, in single-file lines behind their group leaders, until seven thirty a.m.— so there was time. The more she thought about it, the more she knew that there was no way she could resist the temptation. Yes, there was a chance that it was Laffar or some other dangerous person, but the lobby was a very public place. Someone couldn’t kidnap her with two hotel desk attendants looking on. She thought about telling Sam, Lindsey, or Candace that she was going down to the lobby, so that if something did happen to her, they would know. But if she alerted them, they would only insist on accompanying her.
She stepped out of the bathroom and closed the door. Silently she opened the door to the hallway and guided it shut behind her. Now that her grogginess had worn off, her nervousness reignited. Fern pushed the button for the lobby. She counted each floor as the elevator descended. 6. 5. 4. 3. 2.
The lobby was empty, and Fern crept along the edge of the large space, hoping no one would notice her moving toward the left corner, which offered a vantage point of the entire room.
At first she didn’t see a soul. But when she rescanned the room, she noticed someone, sitting in one of the chairs on the right side of the lobby, next to the hotel’s large revolving door.
Fern moved quickly toward the chair.
“Sam?”
The towheaded boy stood up and turned around. He was wearing his snow jacket and blue corduroy pants, already dressed for the day. His hair was still damp from a recent shower. He had a backpack, which he swung over his shoulder when he stood up.
“You’re early,” Sam remarked. “I wasn’t watching for you yet . . . because you’re never early.”
Fern was very relieved it was only her twin brother waiting for her in the Marriott lobby, but she was also surprised.
“Who wrote the note? It’s not your handwriting.”
“I wrote it with my left hand so you wouldn’t know.”
“What’s with all the secrecy? Why didn’t you just tell me that you wanted to talk or something?”
“Believe it or not, Fern, with mini-girl-genius and the Lins constantly around, it’s kinda hard to get any alone time with you.”
Sam had a point. Whether it was walking home from school or doing their homework, the twins normally spent many hours together, just the two of them. Yet since they’d landed in DC, Fern couldn’t recall a single conversation they’d had where someone else wasn’t nearby.
“Well, what is it?” Fern asked. Sam wasn’t one for drumming up drama with secret meetings.
“We can’t talk here,” he said, his face darkening. “Follow me.”
“Tell me what’s going on first,” Fern said impatiently, grabbing her brother’s arm.
“There’s something about the potion you don’t know,” Sam said. His face contorted into a pained look.
“What are you even talking about?” Fern was confused by Sam’s odd behavior.
“Fern, if Laffar gets all the ingredients to the potion, he is going to kill Miles.”
Fern’s jaw hung open.
“Are you crazy? How do you even know that?”
“Not here,” Sam said, raising his voice and then clenching his teeth. He began walking toward the western wing of the hotel. Unless she wanted to create a scene in front of the two desk clerks, Fern had no choice but to follow her brother.
Fern couldn’t take her eyes off the leather-bound volume. It was the most expensive-looking book she’d ever seen. The cover was shiny red, and the title shone in engraved gold letters on both the cover and spine: The Undead Sea Scroll, 287th ed.
After Sam finished grilling his sister about her run-in with Haryle Laffar, he had placed the book on the table in front of them.
“Where’d you get this, Sam?”
Fern was sitting next to her twin brother in a padded office chair behind the closed doors of the Woodley Park Marriott’s business center. They were alone. The three computers were all in sleep mode.
“On eBay,” Sam responded, laughing a bit nervously. Fern still couldn’t get over the fact that Sam had produced a copy of The Undead Sea Scroll out of his backpack—there were less than a hundred in existence, and it was one of the Rollens’ most secretive texts. Supposedly, it detailed what was known and rumored about every fact and myth throughout the history of the Otherworldlies. It was like an encyclopedia explaining Rollen secrets. It was from The Undead Sea Scroll that Fern had first learned about the prophecy surrounding the Unusual Eleven.
“This isn’t funny! You stole it from the Lins, didn’t you?” Fern accused.
“Lower your voice, Fern. We don’t need someone coming in here to check on us.” He paused and then began flipping through the large volume. “Who cares where I got it from?”
The print was so tiny, it almost required a magnifying glass to read it. Sam flipped through entries on Giants, Ogres, and Cyclopes. He turned the gold-lined pages until he finally came to the one he wanted.
“If someone finds out that you were the one who took it, you could get in big trouble. They’ll send you to—“
“They’re not going to send me anywhere, because they’re not going to find out!” Sam insisted. “Unless you go telling them.”
Fern ignored Sam’s passive-aggressive accusation.
“Why didn’t you ask to see it, Sam? Stealing isn’t like you,” Fern said. “The Lins probably would have shown it to you. They are our friends.”
Fern was inexplicably saddened by the fact that her brother had stolen the Scroll.
“Lindsey’s our friend, sure. But Mr. and Mrs. Lin?” Sam questioned, his voice hardening by the second. “We don’t really know much about them. They’re your friends now, while it’s still convenient for them. But beyond that, who knows?”
“Why did you bring it here, to DC? And why steal it at all?”
Sam swiveled his chair to face his sister, stopping his half spin by slamming his arm on the computer desk.
“I did this for you, Fern! You have all this pressure on you, and all these people are after you . . . they want to control you, and no one really ever tells you anything. Doesn’t it drive you crazy?”
Fern nervously bit her lip, checking the glass pane in the middle of the business center door. There was no one there.
“Look, Sam, I want to know everything too, but the world doesn’t work like that.” She almost felt sorry for her brother. Sure, the uncertainty of her life was maddening. It seemed like one unbelievable revelation followed another and she never knew what crazy thing would happen next. But sneaking into the Lins’ house and stealing something that belonged to them, when he had no reason to believe that the Lins were anything but allies, was wrong. It was desperate.
“Well, I’m not going to keep it. I brought it here because I wanted to read the whole thing before I gave it back. And I’m glad I did!” Sam pointed to a bold subject headin
g in the middle of the page, titled Everlasting Elixir. Fern began to read:
INGREDIENTS: Though not much is known about the Everlasting Elixir, rumors about the magical potion appear to have originated from a southern clan of Otherworldlies, who lived primarily in the Americas. The ingredients have been the subject of much speculation, but the feather of a Siren is believed to be a key ingredient, as well as the golden tip of a famous warrior deity’s arrow. Some scholars theorize that the ingredients are being kept in the northeastern part of the Americas.
POTENTIAL EFFECTS: The Everlasting Elixir, if created with the right ingredients, will provide any person who drinks it with immortality. Additionally, some hypothesize that the Elixir, if mixed with the blood of an Unusual, will cause a transference of powers from the Unusual whose blood is taken to the drinker of the potion. The Unusual whose blood is used will, according to most estimates, expire.
Fern’s eyes hung on the word “expire.” She repeated it out loud.
“You’re not misreading it, Fern . . . expire as in dead.” Sam closed the book. “Which means that if the Everlasting Elixir is the same thing as the Ah Puch Potion—I think we both know it is—and Laffar knows that the potion can transfer powers, he’s probably going to use Miles for his teleportation and invisibility powers; then he’s going to use the potion to make himself as powerful as an Unusual. And he’s going to kill Miles in the process.”
“When I tried to rescue Miles and Mr. Lin, he closed me in the cage too!” Fern marveled, terrified. “He’s going to get the last ingredient tonight, and he was probably hoping he’d be able to transfer both our powers.”
“And kill you both,” Sam added, wide-eyed.
“But how do we know The Undead Sea Scroll is right about the potion?” Fern said, her mind doubling back.
“We don’t. But wouldn’t you rather know it’s a possibility than not know anything?”
Fern’s empty stomach rumbled. The stakes for stopping Laffar from obtaining the last ingredient of the potion had been raised dramatically. Fern began to panic, wondering what the last ingredient was. The Undead Sea Scroll offered no guidance at all.
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