by Ryan Dalton
“I’d been planning to go back sometime and never got around to it.” Malcolm’s head dropped. “Now no one will.”
The ground shook beneath them. In the crater’s direction, a blue flash arced fifty feet into the air, flinging a military vehicle in its wake.
Valentine recoiled. “What was that?”
“Force fields.” Oma Grace shook her head. “They never did that before. It appears his methods have improved.”
“Guard’ll never break through that,” Walter said. “But if it’s something new, maybe we should take a closer look.”
“Yes, to avoid any surprises,” Oma Grace said, sounding every bit the soldier that Walter did. “You two come along. Knowledge may save your life.”
Walter found a gap in the detour barricades and parked the Jeep behind a half-collapsed restaurant. They continued on foot to the raised earth surrounding the crater mouth. As they approached, bustling sounds of activity reached them.
“Stop right before the crest,” Walter instructed. “Just high enough to see over it.”
Halting at the designated spot, Valentine scanned over the edge. Her jaw dropped at the sea of uniforms around the crater mouth, assembling temporary structures and bank after bank of test instruments.
Where an empty hole once gaped, there was now a curved dome of pulsating energy. On the far side, a twisted heap of metal decorated the hill. She guessed it to be the vehicle they’d witnessed on its maiden flight.
“Two people did this by themselves,” Malcolm whispered. “And we’re about to challenge them to a duel.”
“I’m trying to ignore how crazy it is,” she whispered back. “But I wish we had the glasses. Can you imagine what’s going on with that force field?”
Malcolm reached into his jacket and handed her the silver frames. “Clive had a feeling you’d want them.”
Despite the danger, a thrill raced through her. She accepted the spectacles with reverent care and slid them on. Two blinks later, the lenses came alive, and multiple readouts cascaded across her field of vision. She wondered if some of the military tech was classified.
As the data scrolled, her face fell. “I can’t read the force field. It’s like the glasses don’t even see it.”
“The source is likely back at the house,” Oma Grace explained. “You wouldn’t pick up any details here.”
“Oh.” She shook her head in frustration. “I still feel like we’re missing important details.”
“That’s war,” Walter said. “You make do with what you have.”
“Hey.” Malcolm pointed toward a center of activity. “Is that who I think it is?”
A tall, gray-haired man in an FBI windbreaker skimmed the edge of the bubble, stopping to examine it every few feet. A line of younger agents and soldiers followed behind and peeled off to carry out his commands.
Mr. Carmichael marched next to him, gesturing vehemently. In his sport jacket, the tiny man looked out of place next to trained operatives. He appeared to be engaged in a passionate speech, and the FBI agent appeared uninterested.
The teacher swung around to face the agent, standing in his path. Valentine couldn’t hear the words, but his voice grew more insistent. Mid-sentence, the agent cut him off with a shout and pushed past him. The entourage moved on, leaving him dejected and shaking his head.
“What on earth is he doing here?” Valentine said.
As if he’d heard, Mr. Carmichael’s gaze came up in their direction. With renewed enthusiasm, he trotted toward them.
“You survived!” He gathered the twins in an affectionate hug. “I worry for my students, and now two favorites appear unharmed.” He pulled back and nodded a greeting to Oma Grace and Walter. “However, I must know why you haven’t abandoned this place. We can’t know if the danger has passed.”
Valentine cleared her throat. “Um, just trying to help out, I guess.”
Mr. Carmichael gave a tired smile. “That is admirable. I’ve been attempting to convince the authorities to evacuate everyone. With an occurrence this strange, is it possible to be too cautious? Apparently, though, I am a teacher and not a ‘real scientist’ and can therefore be ignored.” He cast a resentful glare back at them. “Small-minded fools.”
This was the first time Valentine had seen her teacher so discouraged. Angry, even. “At least you’re trying.”
He nodded gratefully. “And I must continue trying. The dullard in charge here cannot be the final authority. You two I am able to help right now, but only if you promise to leave. Just get in your vehicle and drive and do not return until the danger is gone.” He squeezed their shoulders. “Please. For me.”
The twins exchanged a glance, and Valentine weighed the possible responses. Agreement may not be honest, but what else could they say?
“We’ll try to leave as soon as possible. Promise.”
He smiled. “You give me hope, and I will enjoy seeing you in better times.” Stepping back, he gave a formal nod to each of them. “Farewell for now, friends.”
The teacher turned and headed toward a group of half-standing buildings on the edge of the blast zone. In moments, he disappeared among the maze of alleyways.
“Odd man,” Walter observed.
“Super smart, though,” Malcolm said.
“Smartest man I know,” Valentine agreed. “And he’s trying to help, even though he’s not from here.” With those words, an idea struck her like a bolt. She grabbed Malcolm’s arm with urgency and emphasized every word. “He’s smart. He’s determined. And he wants to help.”
Malcolm’s expression morphed to match hers. He clutched her arm in return. “He’s obviously open-minded and not afraid to stand up to people.”
“And we can show him proof about what’s happening!”
“What are you two saying?” Oma Grace demanded.
“Oma,” Valentine said. “Let’s add another ally to our team.”
“Absolutely not!” Walter snapped.
“Walter, he’s smarter than all of us,” Malcolm said. “And we trust him.”
“The more people involved, the more chance of our plan going belly-up.”
“You would’ve said that about us a week ago,” Valentine countered. “And we proved you wrong.”
Walter stared her down. “Careful, girl. You managed to stay alive once, but don’t forget who’s still in charge here.”
She bristled. “Well, I don’t recall asking you for permission.”
He took an aggressive step toward her. “If you think for one second—”
“Walt.” Oma Grace rested a hand on his arm. “Listen to them. I don’t care for it either, but they’ve earned some trust. Allow them a decision and things may even work out for the better. Can you do that?”
Valentine hid a triumphant grin as Walter hesitated, then looked away and nodded. Few could stand against Oma Grace, with that earnest tone and pleading expression.
“You saw which way he went?” Malcolm asked.
“Yeah,” Valentine pushed Clive’s glasses farther up the bridge of her nose. “If I run, I can catch him.”
The connecting alleyways formed more of a maze than she remembered. Valentine slowed to catch her breath. Noise from activity around the crater echoed off the walls, and she strained her ears to catch any footsteps.
Rounding a corner, she stepped into a dead-end passage at the meeting of three buildings. A wooden utility shed sat in one corner of the dead end, while a large metal dumpster occupied the opposite corner. Her teacher stood next to the dumpster. Found him! Valentine began to approach, then stopped short.
Mr. Carmichael retrieved a small backpack from behind the dumpster and stripped off his jacket. It went inside the bag, leaving him in a short-sleeved button-up shirt, which he also began to unbutton.
Valentine’s eyes fell on his exposed skin and her heart dropp
ed into her stomach. Disbelief shattered her thoughts.
His left forearm was crisscrossed with two angry-looking red cuts—deep, painful, and recent. She watched him flex his left hand absently, as if working out the discomfort by habit. She held onto enough sense to duck back behind the corner and peek around at him.
Okay, wait. Coincidence. You didn’t even see what Mal did to the shadowed man. He just described cutting something like an arm. You’re getting paranoid.
She chided herself for overreacting. This was Mr. Carmichael, not a time-traveling super villain. Shaking her head at her own foolishness, Valentine rounded the corner again. At that moment, he finished unbuttoning his shirt and let it fall open.
Clive’s glasses went crazy.
Readings cluttered her field of vision. Glowing grids appeared over a six-inch, rectangular metal plate strapped to Mr. Carmichael’s chest. The image magnified and broke into pieces, revealing a myriad of buttons and the functions assigned to each. She recognized some of them.
Hop.
Skip.
Power.
Speed.
Lightning.
Silence.
Valentine’s thoughts screeched to a halt at the last function.
Shadow.
She leaned against the wall, praying for it to hold her up. It can’t be. This CAN’T be happening. But in her aching heart, she knew.
Mr. Carmichael was the shadowed man.
Chapter 23
How could I have been so wrong? Valentine shuffled, swimming in a haze of confusion.
Loose gravel crunched under her feet and Mr. Carmichael whipped around. In her shaken state, Valentine had stopped in full view of the teacher. She snapped to attention and their eyes locked. For a tense moment they stared in silence, each seeing that the other knew the truth.
“You . . .” she began. Fiery anger and hurt and betrayal distilled into one echoing thought.
STOP HIM.
Then she was sprinting, not away like her instincts screamed, but toward him. With the accelerator ring on, her muscles pumped harder and she ran faster than should have been possible. Valentine plowed into the small man and drove him back against the dumpster with a clang. She clutched his collar in her fists.
“Why?” she shouted, slamming him against the dumpster again. “WHY?”
Scorching emotion pushed her forward. The metal at his back bowed from the force. Don’t, a voice inside whispered. Don’t kill him.
He wants to destroy us all!
Don’t do it.
Desperation gripped Valentine like a vise. Here was the man trying to destroy her home, her family and friends. She had a chance to finish this. It’s up to me.
She gripped his throat and began to squeeze. “Not going to let you . . . not going to . . .” She whispered in a frenzy, her thoughts a whirlwind, not sure if she spoke to him or herself. “Can’t let you. Can’t—”
She was falling apart inside, and she knew it. Everything felt jumbled and broken. She tried to make herself squeeze harder, struggled to want to kill him. Tears flooded her eyes and she choked them back with fury, willing herself to harden, to do what was necessary.
I can’t do it.
She couldn’t save them this way. She wasn’t like him. Her determination ebbed and she searched his eyes for something to bolster her resolve. To push her to the edge.
Mr. Carmichael’s eyes drooped with grief, the corners of his mouth turned down. Gently, he grasped both of her wrists and pulled them away. Somewhere in her mind, Valentine realized the device on his chest made him much stronger than her ring. He didn’t attack—only held her at bay.
“I’m so sorry, Valentine. I don’t want to hurt you, or anyone.” He shook his head. “I just want to go home.”
His words quenched her rage, leaving confusion in its wake. She had expected venom and violence, anything but this. Was it real?
“My people, my time—they need me,” he said. “They’re naked without me, without my guidance. Please try to understand, I only want to save them!”
She hesitated. What would Malcolm do now? From behind, she heard an outcry and a loud whooshing sound, like a fire flaring up from too much gasoline. The ground trembled.
“They’ll never get through my shield.” The teacher leaned closer. “Run, Valentine. Leave this place and live. I cannot bear to think of this world losing you.”
“Then call this off!” she pleaded. “Find another way. Or stay. Stay here and make a life. Help us!”
“I wish it were that simple.” Mr. Carmichael stared at the ground and sighed. “But . . . shadow.”
Valentine blinked. A razor-sharp edge replaced the sadness in his eyes, the chest plate beeped, and her glasses confirmed that a function had been activated. Then she understood.
“The fact is,” his voice altered as blackness slid from dark corners and flowed around his body, “this town died long ago. TTTHHHEEEYYY JJJUUUSSSTTT DDDOOONNN’TTT KKKNNNOOOWWW IIITTT YYYEEETTT.”
The storm of shadow enveloped him. He moved away from the dumpster, pushing against her with ease. Valentine’s heels dug into the pavement as she struggled to hold him back.
Her arms disappeared into the darkness. She tried not to be unnerved by the ice cold shadows touching her skin. He’s just a man. Just a man with fancy toys—flesh and blood. She focused on his treachery, gritted her teeth, and shoved harder.
Staring into the shadows with defiance, she looked where his face should be. “We are going to stop you.”
“TTTHHHEEERRREEE IIISSS BBBRRRIIILLLLLLIIIAAANNNCCCEEE IIINNN YYYOOOUUU, VVVAAALLLEEENNNTTTIIINNNEEE,” the voices shouted. “BBBUUUTTT TTTHHHAAATTT’SSS NNNOOOTTT GGGOOOIIINNNGGG TTTOOO SSSAAAVVVEEE YYYOOOUUU.”
Valentine felt herself lifted off the ground by her arms. Then she was flying. Head over heels, she tumbled across the alley and crashed through the utility shed. The front wall splintered, and she rolled to the floor in a heap.
Grateful for the ring’s power, she ignored the pain and sprang to her feet. Dizziness lingered and lights flashed behind her eyes. Still, she kept her fists up and stumbled out of the hole.
Lucius Carmichael was gone.
Her brow knit. He’d had her beaten but chose to leave. How much of what he said was true? How much had been meant to manipulate her? So many questions. Through the jumble, however, two thoughts rang out like a bell.
First, we can’t go home. His identity is compromised. Who knows what he might do to protect it? Everyone in the group, all our families—we have to get somewhere safe where we can plan.
She knew the perfect spot. Gathering herself, Valentine charged out of the alley and aimed toward her family.
Second, the plan has to happen TODAY. We’ve run out of time.
Chapter 24
“Dad’s okay. He’s helping around town.” Valentine flipped her phone closed. “He thought we were still home in bed. I wish I could’ve told him to leave town.” She frowned and flipped the phone open again.
“He’d never go without us.” Oma Grace turned to Malcolm. “Right, young man?”
Malcolm snapped to attention. Planted on Fred’s enormous couch, he’d been trying to absorb the news that his chemistry teacher was actually a time-traveling super villain. Of all the high school problems they warn you about, this was not on the list.
“Uh, yeah. If we stay, he’ll stay.”
Oma Grace turned to Winter and Fred. “And what of your families?”
“Out of town seeing a cousin,” Winter replied.
“Dad’s gone on business a lot.” Fred sank onto the couch next to Malcolm.
Until now, Winter and Fred had busied themselves with closing the blinds on every window and door. They had hours to hide and wait since the attack wouldn’t happen until the cover of night.
Malcolm knew in his gut that it wa
sn’t enough time. “What’s next?”
“We finish the plan and get ourselves ready.” Clive descended the curved staircase, clutching long rolls of paper.
Walter followed behind him with a military duffle bag. “And we’ve got to move fast.”
Lucius. Malcolm refused to think of him as Mr. Carmichael anymore. He wasn’t their teacher—he was a murderer, and he’d attacked Valentine. Well, technically she’d attacked him, but that was beside the point. He was the enemy now.
“Where’s the best place to lay all this out?” Clive asked.
“Billiard room, that way.” Fred pointed to one of the long hallways.
Malcolm recognized it as the hall that led to the kitchen, sitting rooms, and game rooms. Strange, Fred’s party seemed like so long ago. Had it really only been a few months? He peered at his sister, but her back was turned as she murmured into her phone.
“Your family’s back home?” Oma Grace called after Clive.
“Safe and sound two counties over.”
Walter paused at the hallway and shot her a questioning look. “Miranda?”
“I called her an hour ago.” She frowned. “Can’t imagine what’s keeping her.”
Walter shrugged and followed Clive down the hallway.
“What about his family?” Winter asked. “Are they safe?”
Oma Grace gave her a soft smile. “That remains to be seen, dear. We are his family. Or, as near to family as he’s got.”
Valentine turned back to them with a frustrated huff. She stuffed the phone into her front pocket and pulled Clive’s spectacles from her jacket. The frames had bent from her impact with the shed. She pried gently at the bridge, seeming desperate to do something with her hands.
“Still no answer?” Malcolm asked.
She shook her head. “I feel like I’ve left twenty messages. Where could he be?”
They’d driven by John’s house, but found it locked and dark. Since then, Valentine had been edgier than ever. Malcolm had no answers, so he searched for something to change the subject.