by Dean Lorey
Minutes later, having returned to the Academy, Charlie walked down one of the many ramps that wrapped around its gigantic trunk as Theodore bounded alongside, babbling excitedly. “Sure it may be useless,” he said, “but it’s rare. That’s so excellent. Did you hear the Headmaster? One born every twenty or thirty years. We’re all unusual—I mean the Gift only affects like two percent of the population—but you, my friend, you are a mutant. My best friend is a freak!”
“Will you stop that already,” Violet said, walking up between them. “It’s obvious you’re making Charlie uncomfortable.”
“No, I’m not, Miss Busybody. Are you uncomfortable, Charlie? Am I, in any way, shape, or form, making you uncomfortable?”
“I guess not,” Charlie said, clearly uncomfortable.
“See,” Theodore crowed triumphantly, “we’re men. We’re not as weepy and emotional as you mere girls.”
Violet turned to Charlie. “You’re really not going to tell him how you feel?”
Charlie wanted to say something, to tell Theodore that he’d spent his entire life feeling like an outcast, but now that he was in a place full of kids just like him, the last thing he wanted was to hear how different he was. But he just couldn’t bring himself to do it. Theodore, odd as he was, was becoming a real friend, and Charlie was desperate not to jeopardize that.
“I’m fine,” Charlie said to Violet. “Really.”
“Ugh! Well, if you’re not going to stick up for yourself, I’m certainly not going to stick up for you.” She pushed past the two of them, heading down the ramp.
“I stick up for myself,” Charlie lamely called after her, but by then she was gone.
“There he is,” an angry voice suddenly chimed out from behind them. “The psycho who almost destroyed the Nightmare Division!”
CHAPTER NINE
THE MEANING OF POGD
Charlie and Theodore turned to see a tall girl about fifteen years old walking toward them down the ramp. She was breathtakingly beautiful. Her blond hair was long and looked like it had been carefully styled. In fact, everything about her was carefully done—from her carefully applied makeup to her carefully chosen outfit, which was far more fashionable than anything else Charlie had seen at the Nightmare Academy.
Following behind her like an eager dog on a leash was a good-looking teenage boy about her age. Broad and muscular, with blond hair and blue eyes, his only weakness, near as Charlie could tell, was that he was trying desperately to grow a mustache with no real success.
“You’re that Charlie Benjamin, right?” the girl asked.
“I guess so,” Charlie replied.
Conflicting emotions warred inside him. She clearly was getting ready to attack him in some way and he knew he should prepare to defend himself, but she was so pretty that it nearly made him dizzy. He had never had a girlfriend, never gone on a date, never even held a girl’s hand, but now he was getting the undivided attention of one of the most beautiful girls he had ever seen.
Unfortunately, it was only because she clearly hated him.
“I’m Brooke Brighton,” she said with a tone that suggested he should already know who she was. “I’m a Facilitator. And this is my boyfriend, Geoff Lench.” She threw a quick backward glance in his direction. “He’s a Facilitator, too.”
Geoff leaned toward Charlie, stroking his embryonic mustache as if it made him seem years older than he was. It didn’t. “We heard you almost let a Named into the middle of the High Council chamber last night—Noob.”
“I didn’t mean to,” Charlie replied weakly.
“Didn’t mean to?” Brooke countered, stepping closer. “Is that what you said to Director Drake after you almost killed everyone? That you didn’t mean to?”
A clear winner was emerging in the emotional battle raging inside Charlie. Brooke was certainly pretty—beautiful, in fact—but the attraction he felt toward her was quickly giving way to anger over the way she was treating him.
“If I was your Facilitator,” she continued, “I’d see to it that you got put on probation pending an investigation under Article 36 of the ND bylaws—Drake edition. In fact, I’d see to it that you were Reduced. What do you think of that?”
“I think,” Charlie said, struggling to find a way to respond to something so unbelievably cruel, “that you’re just mad at me because I still have the Gift and you lost it. I mean, that is why you’re a Facilitator, isn’t it?”
Charlie heard several sharp intakes of breath as the other kids on the ramp looked around nervously. Clearly, he had crossed some kind of line.
“What did you say to me?” Brooke asked, her voice hardly more than a whisper.
“I’m just wondering why you lost it,” Charlie continued, bracing himself. “The Gift, I mean. It probably wasn’t your fault. Did you get too interested in clothes? Or TV? Or boys?”
Suddenly, Geoff snatched him by the front of his shirt and yanked him so close that Charlie could smell the mint gum he chewed. “You watch how you talk to her, you miserable little Noob, or I’ll toss you off the top of the Academy just to see if you can fly. Got me?”
But before Charlie could answer, Theodore took off his glasses. “Hold these,” he said.
“Why?” Charlie asked, taking them.
Without answering, Theodore turned and, out of nowhere, took a wild, loping swing at Geoff. He connected solidly with the side of his tanned face, dropping him to his knees on the hard wood of the ramp. The gum sailed from his mouth like a stray tooth.
“No fair!” Brooke yelled. “You sucker punched him, you little cheat!”
Theodore was now full of adrenaline. His herky-jerky scarecrow features were flushed with excitement. “And I’ll do it again and again if you mess with Charlie Benjamin! I will destroy you! Both of you! I will eat your souls and feast on your bones! I will—”
But before he could utter the next meaningless threat, Geoff leaped at him, knocking him backward into the trunk of the giant banyan tree. Even though Theodore got the first shot, Geoff was a foot taller and had twice his weight, all of it muscle. He pounded Theodore relentlessly with blow after crushing blow.
“Stop it!” Charlie yelled. “You’re really hurting him!”
“Shut up, Noob,” Geoff snarled. “You’re next.”
“GEOFF LENCH, KNOCK IT OFF RIGHT THIS SECOND!” a voice bellowed from the end of the ramp.
Charlie turned and was shocked to see that the voice belonged to Mama Rose. She barreled toward them like a wrecking ball, and students who didn’t get out of the way quickly enough were knocked aside like pins in a bowling alley.
“He started it,” Geoff said defensively, backing up. “He swung first.”
“He may have swung first, but I saw what happened, and he didn’t start it,” Mama Rose replied. “This isn’t the first trouble you got into this year, Geoff Lench. Heck, it’s not even the first trouble you got into this week.”
“But I have to be able to defend myself,” he protested.
“Please,” Mama Rose said dismissively. “Look at the boy. He’s a toothpick. Do you remember what happened the last time you broke the rules and got yourself hauled in front of the Headmaster?”
“She sent me into the Nether,” Geoff said sheepishly.
“What ring in the Nether?”
“The 2nd ring.”
“And what happened to you while you were there?”
Geoff looked around uncomfortably. “A Nether-snapper bit my big toe off.”
“Bit off your big toe, didn’t it?” Mama Rose bellowed. “And did that big toe grow back, Geoff Lench?”
“No.”
“Of course not, because human big toes are not like lizard tails! They do not grow back! Now, unless you’d like to take another trip into the Nether—maybe the 3rd ring this time, where the creatures might have a taste for something softer and more delicate than a big toe—I suggest you get out of here and leave these Noobs alone.”
“Yes, Mama Rose,” Geoff said,
pale now with the thought of exactly what soft and delicate bits she was referring to. He raced off down the ramp.
“And you, Little Miss Sunshine,” Mama Rose said, spinning toward Brooke. “I greatly, sincerely recommend that you stay far away from Charlie Benjamin.”
“I didn’t do anything,” Brooke replied innocently. “It was Geoff who punched him, not me.”
“Who do you think you’re talking to, missy?” Mama Rose shot back. “That dumb lunk is no better than a puppet you yank around with all your little flirty bits. He’s too stupid to know how stupid he is. Now get outta here.”
Scowling, Brooke Brighton walked off down the gangplank as Charlie helped Theodore to his feet. His nose was bloody and his upper lip was already growing fat.
“You know where the infirmary is, boy?” Mama Rose asked.
“Yeah,” Theodore said, slurring. “But I’m okay.”
“No, you’re not okay. You look about as good as a hog in a wood chipper. Now, you’re gonna go to the infirmary and then you’re gonna head to your first class—Neophyte Nethermancy starts in three hours. And, listen to me closely, boy.” Mama Rose leaned in only inches from his face. “The next time you throw a punch, follow through with your body. You swing like a girl.”
And with that, Mama Rose stalked off, leaving startled students in her wake.
The infirmary was a large tent that had been constructed on a platform about midway up the trunk of the banyan tree. The tent itself was made of coarse ivory-colored fabric from the sails of a ship. It rippled slightly in the breeze. Inside, Theodore held an ice pack to his fat lip as a nurse put antibiotic cream on his bruises. His face had swollen slightly, which, oddly enough, made him look more healthy—he didn’t seem quite so skeletal.
“Why did you do it?” Charlie asked. “He was twice as big as you.”
“He was messing with you,” Theodore said, slurring, as if that was answer enough.
“Well, let me fight my own battles next time, okay?” Charlie said. “It’s not like I’m totally helpless.”
Theodore shrugged. “Can’t make any promises. When my best friend is in danger, my fists take on a mind of their own. They become forces of destruction. Weapons of death.”
“You’re good to go,” the nurse said, screwing the cap back on the ointment. “And try to keep those weapons of death locked up until you heal a little bit,” she added with a wry smile.
“I’ll do my best,” Theodore said grudgingly, handing her back the ice pack. “But sometimes my fists start talking before my feet start walking—that’s just the way I roll.”
Charlie was astonished that Theodore could be so confident, so incredibly sure of himself. As much as Charlie had desperately wanted to get out of the house and be around kids his own age, now that he was reminded how truly mean some of them could be, he was filled with self-doubt. His parents might have been smothering and overprotective, but they had loved him totally. And there had been moments of real joy. Charlie suddenly grinned at the memory of the trip to the local amusement park they had all taken on his last birthday. His mom, of course, had refused to go anywhere near the roller coasters—she called them “puke machines”—but he and his father rode them with a manic glee.
“The Benjamin men face their fears!” Barrington shouted triumphantly during the car’s long, slow climb before its first delicious plunge. “The Benjamin men are not afraid!” And then they raised their hands high in the air and the coaster plummeted and they screamed together in delightful terror.
A stabbing pang of homesickness shot through Charlie.
“You okay?” Theodore asked, staring at him with concern.
“I’m fine,” Charlie said, trying his best to snap out of it. “Just remembering something. I have to run, actually. Beginning Banishing starts in a few minutes.”
“I wish I could go,” Theodore moaned. “But I have to wait for stupid Nethermancy.”
“I’ll be there, too, after I finish up my first class.”
“Double-Threat means double the work, huh?” Theodore said with a smile.
“Looks that way.”
“Well, good luck. I’m sure I’ll be joining you in Banishing soon enough—after the Headmaster realizes a tragic mistake has been made, I mean.”
Charlie nodded supportively. “I’ll try my best to remember what happens so I can fill you in when the time comes. See you later.”
And with that, he headed off to his first class in the Nightmare Academy.
Beginning Banishing took place in an arena that had been carved out of the limestone interior of a cave near the coastline, far away from the Academy itself. At the center of the arena was a round sandy pit, surrounded by stone bleachers that rose upward like a coliseum, giving the spectators a clear view of what was happening below. The place felt so ancient that Charlie imagined Roman gladiators duking it out in that pit long ago.
“There you are,” a familiar voice said. Charlie turned to see Violet, sitting on one of the stone benches with about fifteen other kids, drawing on her sketchpad. “I heard you got into a fight.”
“Well, technically, Theodore did,” Charlie said, walking over to her. “At least he was the one throwing punches and getting beat up.”
“He loves that stuff, doesn’t he?”
“I don’t know if he loves it, but his dad is a Banisher—maybe it’s just in his blood. The desire to fight, I mean, not the ability.”
Violet leaned in confidentially. “Don’t you dare tell him this, but he really should be here instead of me. I have no interest in fighting, none.…I’d rather just draw.”
“What are you working on?”
She held up her drawing. It was a detailed sketch of a dragon in flight, clutching an egg in its talons as it breathed fire at another dragon in furious pursuit. “I call it The Egg Thief. This dragon has stolen the egg of the mama dragon behind it and she’s mad. What do you think?”
“It’s amazing. It looks absolutely real—for something that’s not real, I mean.”
“Thanks, but I have a long way to go before I can compete with the pros,” she said with a dismissive wave, clearly happy for the compliment all the same.
Suddenly, the large wooden doors leading into the pit below flung open and Rex strode through, cowboy hat confidently cocked on his head, lasso and short sword hanging at his hip. “All right, let’s get on with this,” he said to the assembled students scattered across the stone bleachers. “Last one in the pit gets forty lashes.”
The students scrambled down the stone steps and into the arena; no one wanted to be last on the first day.
Rex surveyed them skeptically. “So, you’re the future Wranglers of the ND, huh?” He shook his head sadly. “We’re in big trouble.”
“Sir?” Violet asked.
“I just go by Rex. What?”
“You called us ‘Wranglers.’ I thought we were Banishers.”
“Wranglers, Banishers, you say po-tay-to, I say po-tah-to. It doesn’t matter. Look, bottom line—I don’t want to be here. I’m a field agent, not a babysitter for wet-behind-the-ear Noobs, got it?”
Everyone nodded.
“That said,” Rex continued, “here I am and here I’ll stay till some ugly politics are ironed out, so we may as well all make the best of it. Sooner we get started, sooner we get done, so let’s rock and roll. Who knows what P-O-G-D stands for?”
The students were silent.
“No one, huh?” Rex said, baffled. “Not a single one of you knows the most basic rule of Banishing? Wow. Okay, POGD stands for point of greatest dark. Wish I had a chalkboard or something so I could write that down. Anyway, what it means is that a Nethercritter—Nether creature if you want the hundred percent correct terminology, Miss Only One Way to Call Something.”
He fixed Violet with a stare. She blushed furiously.
“Anyway,” he continued, “what it means is that your basic boogeyman will almost always seek the darkest place around after it portals into our
world. Because they’re usually coming in through a nightmare and because nightmares usually happen in bed, eighty percent of the time your basic Nethercritter is gonna be found in the darkest place in a kid’s bedroom. Any thoughts what those places might be?”
A short boy of Native American descent raised his hand tentatively. “Yeah?” Rex said, pointing to him.
“Under the bed?” the boy suggested.
“Under the bed, of course! You get a gold star—not really, but you know what I mean. How many times have we heard about ‘the creature under the bed’? Well, that’s because, half the dang time, that’s where they hide! Name another place.”
Several students, emboldened by the first kid’s success, raised their hands. Rex pointed to the youngest of them, a little round-faced girl in pigtails.
“You—Pigtails. Speak.”
“In the closet,” she said with a gulp.
“In the dang closet, thank you!” Rex bellowed. “Creature under the bed, boogeyman in the closet, ghost in the attic—we hear about these things all the time because they’re true. So when you’re first called to investigate a house where there’s been a suspected portaling—you instantly look for the what?”
“The point of greatest dark,” the class shouted back at him.
“My God, there’s hope for you yet,” Rex said with a hint of a smile. “But before we start giving each other high fives, let’s get down to the business of Banishing.”
He walked over to a rough wooden table, on top of which was a variety of used-looking weapons—beaten-up swords, chipped axes, maces with busted handles. It wasn’t very inspiring.
“Now, I know this stuff looks like junk, and that’s because it is, but you don’t deserve better, least not until you know what to do with a real weapon. Even though they’re crap, they’re still a dang sight more useful than a normal weapon, least for our purposes anyway. See, these were all created from materials in the Nether—iron ore, rope, that kind of stuff—so they’ll respond to people with the Gift. Now, go ahead and grab yourself one.”