Charlene put her hand on his shoulder and rubbed the tightness away. He wanted to ask her to stop, but didn’t. He wanted to ask her about what Amanda had said, but didn’t know how.
She was about to put herself at as much risk as he was. They were attempting to tackle forces with powers far greater than their own. There was little to no chance they could prevail on their own.
“This is only going to work if we time it right,” she said, as if reading his thoughts. How could she do that?
How could she know him so wel ?
“Just what I was thinking.”
“So I’d wish you luck, but that would mean I thought you need it, and I don’t. I don’t think any of this is about luck or chance or fate. You know? Destiny maybe. I think somehow we are supposed to be here right now. The five of us. The seven of us. Not because Wayne wants it, or we want it.
But just because.”
“Because,” he echoed.
“Yeah. Think about where each of us was before we tried out to be the Disney Hosts. Does that even feel like you? Like the same person? Not me. I can tel you that. It’s al so total y different.
I was like this yahoo cheerleader, right? I don’t know that girl. Not now.”
“I know what you mean.”
“Right?”
“Yes. It’s al different.”
“We are where we’re supposed to be.”
“You sound like my mother,” he said. “She’s always laying that stuff on me.”
“I’m freaking,” she said. “And when I freak I talk too much. Al I meant to say is that if anything happens—”
“Do not say it.”
“But—”
“No! Do not go there.” He felt his hands shaking.
Over the speakers, he heard the mirror speaking to the Evil Queen.
“…in Mickey’s imagination, beauty and love will always survive.”
“Beauty and love! Did you hear that?” Charlene asked.
“I…yeah.” Beauty and love. They seemed to define Charlene.
It was time to return for the sword. Maleficent would be on the stage soon.
“That’s our cue,” Charlene said.
“Right.”
“Okay then,” she added.
“Okay.”
43
GLADIS PHILBY, wearing a Hawaiian housedress over her nightgown, stood sobbing in the halway outside her son’s bedroom as paramedics with the ambulance service moved her comatose son from his bed to the wheeled stretcher that would move him to the vehicle.
As they lifted him, not a muscle responded. He looked…she couldn’t bring herself to think it.
But that was the way he looked, and there was no holding back the tears.
Her husband came out of the room. “Okay, they’ve got him ready to move. They’ve started an IV. They’ve got monitors on him. They’l be in touch with doctors from the back of the ambulance and may give him something on the way. I signed a release al owing them to treat him. If it’s…you know….”
“Drugs?”
“Then the IV should help. In any case, they’l do blood tests at the hospital and figure this out soon enough. One of us can go in the ambulance with him, but I told them I wanted to stay with you.
We should change—quickly—and try to fol ow them to the hospital.”
She nodded. She couldn’t get any words out.
“I know it doesn’t help much, but they say his vitals—it isn’t a deep coma. They say it’s more like…he’s just sleeping soundly.”
Now she found the strength to speak. “Do not tel me that you believe for one second al this nonsense about—”
“I didn’t say that, Gladis. Al I said is, he seems okay. We need to change and get in the car.
The best way to help him now is to be with him.”
She nodded again, but Mrs. Whitman’s words flew through her thought like a wounded bird: We can’t just sit by and do nothing, you see?
“Frank,” she said to her husband, “they’l be testing him for an hour or more, don’t you think?”
“Yes, two or three, I suppose. It’s never fast. Why?”
“And you say he’s sleeping comfortably.”
“What is it, dearest?”
“I want to be with him, it isn’t that. I’m his mother. But more than anything I want him free of this.”
“Gladis?”
“I think…I’m not saying I believe any of this, you understand. But I think for the time being we can put ourselves to better use than sitting around a hospital waiting room.”
“Whatever are you talking about?”
“There’s a phone cal I have to make.”
“At this hour?”
She drew in a large breath, swel ing the housedress and fil ing her face with color for the first time since she had discovered her unresponsive son.
“We’re going to Disney World.”
44
JESS HAD NO IDEA what she was doing. Dressed in a black T-shirt, a black fleece, and black jeans
—al courtesy of the Studios’ costume shop—and wearing a black basebal cap and a headset, she was currently wandering the maze of hal ways and staircases at the back of the Fantasmic!
stage. The black clothing helped reduce the glow from her DHI. Every so often she paused and closed her eyes and tried to summon whatever it was that al owed her dreams to turn to visions. If you’d asked her a week or two earlier if she could bring on this state she would have answered an emphatic no. But since the visions of Wayne had begun, since she’d picked up something while awake in the middle of walking around Epcot, she’d convinced herself otherwise. Why should such
“powers” be limited to sleep? Besides, she had a secret weapon working for her: technical y she was currently asleep; her body was lying in bed at Mrs. Nash’s, snoring softly, no doubt. Being a DHI didn’t count as being awake; it didn’t even feel like being awake. So why, if her sleeping self could imagine and dream, couldn’t she tap into that as a DHI and experience it here, now, wandering the hal ways of Fantasmic!—why?
Jess understood the potential risk of her efforts. You didn’t summon the dark thoughts of someone—something—like Maleficent without uncertainty. Who knew the depth of her darkness, the gravitational pul of her menace? What if once Jess got inside Maleficent’s mind there was no way out—what if it was a mental maze that took you prisoner and never relinquished you? What if Maleficent had been waiting for just such an opportunity? What if she were powerful enough to manipulate her own thought so skil ful y that she could send an image to Jess that was a lie? What if she could use such a lie as a tool to mislead the Kingdom Keepers? Wouldn’t she, Jess, then qualify as the traitor?
Layer upon layer her doubts began to accumulate. Jess felt like she had worms in her stomach and wondered if she possessed enough strength for this task. Maleficent had feared her, had captured and imprisoned her—twice!—had made her a target for some time now. Maleficent saw Jess as the obstacle to the Overtakers’ success, whether because of Jess’s ability to see the future, or because of some other quality Jess had yet to recognize in herself. But actively seeking a way into an evil fairy’s thoughts suddenly struck Jess as crazy. What had she been thinking?
Worse: how had the others al owed her to do this?
But it wasn’t the others. It was only Maybeck and Wanda, and Jess stil didn’t know how much she trusted Wanda anyway. What if Wanda was Wayne’s traitor? It helped that Wayne had mentioned her in his video message—it helped a lot. It helped that Wanda had gotten up in the middle of the night and taken huge risks to smuggle her and Maybeck into the Studios. But there was something stil bothering Jess about the woman. The performance at Mrs. Nash’s house had been impressive, and yet it had also felt somewhat authentic, as if Wanda had bigger plans for her and Amanda than working with the Kingdom Keepers. Perhaps she intended to place them both in a boarding school far away from here. Jess didn’t like other women making plans for her: Maleficent had pl
ayed mother for months.
Never again, Jess swore to herself.
She felt it then: an eerie cold, and a strange feeling, as if an animal had crawled inside her and were looking for a way out. Images flashed in front of her eyes: colors in the sky; a jet airplane; a man wearing a beret; Mickey Mouse, but with Japanese anime-style eyes.
OMG! Finn. Was he conducting an orchestra? Directing traffic? And Maybeck and… Wayne, hunched over in some kind of box, struggling to breathe.
She threw her head to the side because there was the horrid face of Chernabog bearing down on her as the chil increased to a deep freeze. She squeezed her eyes tightly shut and then forced them open and, Thank goodness, she was standing in the subterranean hal way beneath Fantasmic!
I’m close, she thought. She’s nearby. Where was Amanda?
Jess worked the phone Finn had left for her.
She wrote a text to al of the others:
I can feel her. lower level 1. she’s here.
But not for long. The door swung open. Jess lowered her head, putting the brim of the cap between her face and the person who came out of that room. She could see only the feet.
It wasn’t a person at al . It was a black robe with purple trim. And as the robe parted slightly it revealed…green ankles and shins.
“You!” the familiar voice cal ed out. A voice like breaking ice. “I’m late for my cue. Are you the one taking me? Where is Annie? Are you going to answer me? Hel o? Listen, sweetie, if Annie’s late, if she’s not going to do her job, I’l need you to throw the switch on the lift. Rehearsals! Why are they so understaffed? Do you think you can handle that? Hmm? ”
“Yes, ma’am,” Jess said, lowering her voice to disguise it. “The switch.”
“Wel , hurry it up! We haven’t got al day.”
The cold was intense. Jess realized it was seeping out from beneath the door—Maleficent had the temperature in the dressing room turned down to icehouse freezing. She had no idea where the Cast Member playing Maleficent had gone; but this thing was no Cast Member.
Jess fol owed the flowing black robe deeper down the hal , fol owed into the depths of the structure, through two more hal ways and down a narrow stairway like something on a ship. The show’s soundtrack grew louder than could be explained by the smal speakers along the wal , backstage monitors that al owed al the Cast Members to hear the music and action onstage, so that they could keep track of their cues.
Jess fol owed the icy creature as if she had no choice, wondering when the thing would figure out who it was coming up behind, and knowing she couldn’t al ow that truth to be revealed. Finn would be up there waiting.
Finn and the sword: the Kingdom Keepers’ best and perhaps only chance to defeat it.
* * *
Charlene found exactly what she wanted: a long length of pirate chain, complete with an old lock and key. There were three lengths of the chain coiled backstage alongside a stock of bows and arrows and some rope. The chain was impossibly heavy and cumbersome, but she draped it around her shoulders like a Hawaiian lei and looked straight up the emergency ladder that led down to the back of the stage from the very top of the mountain.
There was no time to waste: someone could arrive at any moment and stop her. She struggled to keep herself upright with the newly added weight, took hold of the ladder railings, and began to climb.
Five feet into the climb she heard voices approaching. She managed two more rungs and then froze, her face pressed against the cold metal. The two men Finn had heard now stood directly below her, with her feet no more than a few inches from the top of the head of the tal est one.
“Do you think they’l find it this time?” one of them said. It was impossible to tel who was doing the talking.
“No. For one thing he’s supposed to appear only on film. For another, it doesn’t happen al the time. It’s like a typical glitch, you ask me. Can’t make it happen when you want to fix it, can’t stop it from happening when you don’t.”
“I’m done with these early morning tech-rehearsal cal s.”
“You and me both.”
“Think they’l cancel the show if they can’t get it right?”
“Dah! Who are we talking about? Of course they’l cancel. And then you and I wil be laid off until they resolve it.”
“You think?”
“No. I know.”
“But what are we supposed to do about it?”
“Don’t ask me.”
“But I am asking you.”
“But you shouldn’t be.”
Back and forth they went, sniping at one another. Charlene dared not move for fear the chain might rattle or clank against the fire ladder and give her away.
Unless or until they moved, she was trapped here.
And if she didn’t get up to the top soon, then Finn would be in serious trouble.
* * *
Wearing a Security guard costume, Maybeck watched from stage left as the Evil Queen turned into the Hag from Snow White as a bubbling cauldron appeared in front of her. She summoned
“the forces of evil” to turn the dream into “a nightmare Fantasmic!”
This was Finn’s cue, the only time the title of the show was mentioned from the stage. It was also significant that this seemed the mission of the Overtakers as wel —to turn the dream into a nightmare—to stop Jess’s dreams. It al made so much sense al of a sudden. Everything Wayne had asked them to do at Magic Kingdom and Animal Kingdom focused laserlike into the storyline of Fantasmic! The good becoming bad; the bad wanting to ruin the dreams. It was as if Fantasmic! were the outline for an Overtakers’ charter of evil.
One thing seemed certain: whatever happened here in the next few minutes was to be cataclysmic, irreversible, and it would affect the Kingdom Keepers for a long time to come.
Without any real evidence, Finn knew this to be true.
Because someone’s going down, he thought. And it had better not be us.
* * *
Philby had changed the timeline, blocking Mickey’s trapdoor lift and Maleficent’s flashy exit.
Maybeck or Amanda or Wil a—or al three—would stil have to stop the Cast Member playing the Brave Little Tailor Mickey from getting in the way, but Philby had no control over that.
What he could control…
Philby’s arm stung. It felt as if someone had pricked him on the inside of his elbow.
His head swam; he felt lightheaded and slightly sick to his stomach. His arm burned and his vision blurred and he looked down to see a computer mouse in his hand and he couldn’t remember why he was holding it.
There was stil something incredibly important to do.
A dragon?
What did he know about dragons?
He blinked rapidly, reaching for his arm and trying to remove whatever was making it sting so badly there—it felt like he’d been climbing a tree and had caught a splinter in his arm—but his fingers came up empty.
Fire. It was something to do with fire. Stopping the fire? Starting a fire?
There was a pounding on the door to his right.
Where was he?
A show was happening onstage beyond the window. The colors were beautiful—the lights amazing.
A man’s face appeared in the glass. Some older dude wearing a bal cap. He looked frustrated as he tried to cup his eyes to the window, but he clearly couldn’t see in. Something told Philby the glass was treated with a mirror surface on the outside, but he wasn’t sure how he knew this. He wasn’t sure how he knew anything. Why was his brain suddenly void of al the random thoughts that always fil ed it? He spent his every waking hour awash in numbers and facts. He drowned in them, morning to night. Yet now, ever since that stinging in his arm had started, things seemed much more peaceful. Dreamy.
He felt tired. He didn’t like the feeling at al .
The woven office chair he occupied was unusual y comfortable. As comfy as a couch.
What could a little nap hurt?
The doo
r jiggled again. Someone wanted in.
Philby stood to open the door, but caught himself when his hand was only inches away from the door knob.
I’m not supposed to open that.
He didn’t know why, exactly. Just that he wasn’t supposed to.
He looked back and saw the flat panel. The computer mouse.
Something to do with fire. And dragons. Or was it only one dragon?
His parents had lectured him about drugs and about drinking alcohol. He had no interest in either. Drugs and drinking messed up your mind and Philby valued his mind far too much to go experimenting with its chemistry. He understood chemistry at an advanced level. He understood a lot of things that not many other kids his age understood and he took great pride in that fact.
Yet he felt drugged. Or drunk. He didn’t know the difference, so he wasn’t sure which. That is to say, he didn’t feel himself. Something strange had overtaken him from the moment he’d felt that sting on the inside of his elbow.
His foggy mind sought an explanation, for that was the way his mind worked: question/answer. Logic lived inside him like a prized gem in a vault.
For every action there’s an equal and opposite reaction.
He was definitely on the reaction end of things. But no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t think why he couldn’t think. He couldn’t place what action might have made him this way.
The thought of that got him laughing. Softly at first. To himself. But then the sil iness of the moment spread through him like a wildfire and—
Fire.
There it was again: something about fire and that flat-panel computer screen and that mouse.
But even that seemed funny.
His laughter began anew and he found himself owning the cozy office chair, bouncing to the rhythm of the music— good music—and wondering what it was about that flat-panel screen that was so incredibly important.
* * *
Jess kept her head down and moved to the rectangular box with the red and green buttons inside.
Big buttons that reminded her of the controls outside the Mission: Space pods. Above the box was a smal er green light—dark for the moment.
Kingdom Keepers III Dinsey in Shadow Page 32