by Brandon Mull
“I’ll grab John,” Summer said.
“I’m coming,” Nate said.
They got out of the Buick and hurried along Ingrim Place until they reached 2225, a modest home with a basketball hoop out front.
“Think he’s inside?” Summer asked.
“John?” Nate called in a loud whisper. “John?” There was no answer. “Let’s try the door.”
They ran up to the porch, knocked, and waited. Nate was reaching for the doorbell when the door whipped open. John was down on one knee, crossbow ready. “I said to stay in the car,” John said, lowering the weapon.
“We got a call from Pigeon,” Nate said. “He could hardly talk, like his mouth was taped shut. He said Gary has the key. He said we should hurry to his house.”
“Did he give an address?” John said, rushing from the house, running awkwardly, stabbing the ground with his cane to help support his left leg.
“No,” Nate said, chasing John down the street.
“You’d think after eighty years on the job I’d have better instincts,” John grumbled. “Looked like the Lester Haag family was on vacation.”
When they arrived at the car, John tore open the phone book. He leafed through several pages, eyes intense. His finger traced down a column of names. “Gary,” John said. “You two ever hear of Rosario Court?” Nate and Summer shook their heads. John yanked a map from the glove compartment and unfolded it. “Help me look.”
The three of them huddled over the map of Colson, scanning street names. “Here,” Summer said, poking the map.
“Good eyes,” John said, tossing the map into the back and diving into the car. He started the engine before he was situated, grabbing for his seatbelt as they accelerated down the road. He ran a stop sign. Swerving onto a bigger road, he cut off a minivan, earning a prolonged honk. After getting pinned at a red light, he raced around an empty school bus, took a left onto a smaller street, and zoomed through a neighborhood at an irresponsible speed. A few more turns, tires whining, and they found themselves on Rosario Court, a short street bordered by twelve good-sized, two-story houses.
John pulled into a sloped driveway. “That could have been worse,” he said. “Sit tight.” Leaving the keys in the ignition, he got out and dashed toward the front door, using his cane to pole-vault onto the porch. Nate and Summer watched from the car.
Holding his crossbow behind his back, John pounded the door. A skinny woman with short graying hair answered. John spoke. The woman laughed and touched his arm, using her hands expressively as she replied. John said something else, and she said something back. He said a few more words and limped away from the door, keeping the crossbow hidden.
John slid into the driver’s seat. “This is the home of Gary senior,” he said, backing out of the driveway. “His son Gary the custodian is unlisted. He lives at 3488 Winding Way.”
“Near our school,” Summer said.
“My fault,” John growled. “Sloppy . . . slow.”
The engine revved as they ignored another stop sign.
*****
Methodically, persistently, trapped awkwardly on his side, Pigeon tried to wriggle free of the extension cords that trussed him to the chair. He squirmed, bucked, wrenched, and flexed. He was making progress—the cords felt looser than when he had started, but they had not yet relaxed enough for him to free either of his arms.
Pigeon heard conversing women approach the office. He screamed as best he could around the gag.
“Did you hear that?” one of the women said.
Encouraged, he screamed louder.
“Hello?” the voice called.
Pigeon grunted and shouted. “Elm! Elm ee, elm ee!”
The doorknob shook but did not open. It was locked.
“Are you all right?” the woman asked.
“Uh-uh, urry, elm ee!”
“Just a minute, we’ll find somebody, hold on!”
Pigeon relaxed. There was no way he could squirm free of the cords before they found somebody to open the door. After a longer wait than he expected, a key rattled in the doorknob, and Ms. Jesky, the vice-principal, entered, followed by a pair of lunch ladies.
“Oh my goodness!” Ms. Jesky gasped, kneeling by Pigeon and tugging at the cords. When his arms were free, Pigeon yanked the gag from his mouth.
“I have to make an emergency call!” Pigeon insisted.
Ms. Jesky was still picking at the cords around his legs as he crawled forward to plug in the telephone.
*****
The Buick screeched to a stop in front of 3488 Winding Way, an attractive, split-level home with a white porch swing out front. There was no vehicle in the driveway.
“Stay put,” John said, exiting the car with the crossbow hidden behind his back. He limped briskly up the walkway to the front door and rapped on it with his cane.
Nate’s cell phone rang. “Pigeon?”
“Nate, they know about Gary!”
The door to the house swung inward. A column of orange jelly filled the doorway. John launched a pair of quarrels from his crossbow as the gelatinous pillar sloshed forward, heaving him onto his back. His fedora fell off, and his cane clattered down the porch steps. John fought to his knees, wearing orange ooze from the neck down. Swinging his arms jerkily, he shook off globs of jelly and staggered to his feet. Blood fumed up from his shoulder within the translucent gelatin.
“Too late,” Nate yelled, hanging up the phone. “We need Shock Bits!”
Summer was already shaking some into her palm. “I’m almost out.”
As they dashed from the car, Nate put half of the Shock Bits Pigeon had given him into his mouth. Across the yard, the gelatin slurped upwards, engulfing John’s head. Still flailing, he tumbled down the porch steps. The impact splashed apart some of the jelly, but the majority remained fastened to him. The blobs that had been jostled loose flowed across the ground to rejoin the squirmy central mass.
A tall, hideously deflated man stepped through the doorway, hand pressed to his bleeding shoulder. His lips parted as he launched a small jellyball at Summer, which liquefied when it shorted out her charge with a flash. A second jellyball missed Nate, but the third tagged him with a hiss and a crackle.
From inside the pulsing mass of gelatin, John aimed his dart gun at the man in the door, but it did not fire. John exhaled, stationary bubbles clustering in front of his face.
A baritone voice commenced chanting musically. The Fuse, his radiant birthmark slowly spreading, approached from down the street, arms spread wide, fingers splayed. The front lawn of 3488 Winding Way began to flutter and grow. Blades of grass enlarged into ropy green tentacles, snaking around Nate’s legs, pinioning Summer’s arms to her sides, plunging into the gelatin to entangle John.
Nate thrust an Ironhide into his mouth as the grass writhed higher, twisting and constricting. Saggy skin swaying, the tall man shuffled down the porch steps, crouched, and parted his thick lips. The orange gel abandoned John, leaving him wheezing in the winding grasp of the vines, and flowed toward the tall man.
The Fuse quit chanting and his birthmark stopped glowing, having spread to vividly tattoo more of his face. Grassy vines wound tightly around Nate, Summer, and John from shoulders to ankles. With the Ironhide in his mouth, Nate felt no pain from the squeeze, but he was immobilized. He couldn’t even wiggle his fingers.
The tall man swelled as his gaping mouth vacuumed up the orange gel, limp flaps of skin inflating until he was once again big and round. Behind him, Denny and Eric emerged from the house. “That was just sad,” Denny laughed.
“Denny, don’t do this, help us!” Summer cried.
Denny smirked. “Not my fault I’m playing for the winning team.”
“Where’s Gary?” John growled.
“Not here,” Eric said. “But we know where he’s going.”
“He has family on the edge of town,” Denny said. “Burt and Starla Haag—we’ll have him soon.”
“Can it,” the Fuse spat. “Go fe
tch the straitjackets.”
Denny and Eric ran off obediently, heading down the street.
“Well done, Mauricio,” the Fuse said.
The big round man nodded, lips glossy with jelly residue.
“How’d you get out?” John asked.
The Fuse arched an eyebrow. “None of your business.”
“I don’t get it,” John complained. “Your powers are null without your voice.”
“Shut up,” the Fuse said. “Maybe I pulled a Houdini, what do you care? You should have stuck to the shadows, John. Limping around in broad daylight doesn’t suit you. Although, to your credit, you caught up to us much quicker than we expected.”
Denny and Eric came running back up the street, each holding a stack of folded straitjackets. The Fuse investigated the jackets, selecting a large one and unfolding it. “John, I expect you’ll make this easy. I can crush your little sidekicks with a word.”
The Fuse mumbled, birthmark shimmering faintly, and the vines around John’s upper body slackened and fell away. The Fuse patted John and discovered a tranquilizer gun tucked away inside of his overcoat, along with a few throwing stars. He passed the weapons to Mauricio. John submissively slipped his arms into the straitjacket, which the Fuse tightened.
“How does your own medicine taste?” Eric taunted.
“No gloating,” the Fuse snapped. He mumbled again and the monstrous grass around John’s legs came free from the ground. “Mauricio, bring the car.”
The big round man strode away. The Fuse walked over to the Buick, opened the door, ducked inside, and came out holding the keys and the crossbow that hurled pellets. “Summer, you put on the next jacket,” the Fuse said. “Again, be nice, or your friends will pay.”
The Fuse chose a jacket, released the grass around Summer’s upper body, and secured her in the white coat. As he had done with John, the Fuse uprooted the grass around her legs, leaving them snugly bound.
Mauricio pulled a black Hummer into the driveway. He got out and lumbered over to the Fuse. “Load John and the girl into the Buick,” the Fuse said. “Then take Eric and Denny back to the shop.”
“What about the boy?” Mauricio asked, jerking a thumb at Nate.
“John Dart has considerable value as a hostage,” the Fuse said. “And keeping one of the brats could prove useful. We don’t need two.”
Mauricio heaved John Dart over one shoulder, dumped him into the Buick, fastened his seatbelt, and then lugged Summer over to the vehicle. Afterwards, the big man plodded over to the Hummer and drove away with Denny and Eric.
The Fuse waved a hand, and the vines binding Nate squeezed tighter and pulled him to the ground. He realized that the Fuse was trying to squeeze the breath out of him, so he pretended to go unconscious. Once he did so, the vines relaxed their grip. The Fuse entered the Buick and started the engine. When the car was out of earshot, Nate started squirming, and the grass binding him began to loosen. Grimly, Nate realized that he represented their last chance. The thought was overwhelming. Part of him wanted to just stay tied up there in the grass. How could he possibly succeed where people as experienced as John Dart had failed?
One hand came free and Nate started tearing at his grass bindings. The odds were against him, but at least he might have the element of surprise on his side.
*****
Sniffling in the backseat of the Buick, Summer squirmed inside of her confining coat. Her nose was running but she could not wipe it. She tried her best to rub her nostrils against her shoulder. John sat stoically beside her, eyes straight ahead, a red stain slowly spreading on the shoulder of his straitjacket.
“Your shoulder,” Summer said.
“Not much of a wound,” John said. “I only grazed him. It was a tough shot.”
Feeling frustrated, Summer twisted and wriggled.
“I’d hold still, Summer,” the Fuse said. “I can still use your bindings to crush either of you at will. Behave, and you might get out of this alive.”
“Every time you use your magic you get closer to dying,” Summer said.
“Making the grass grow big and tie you up took some real power,” the Fuse admitted. “Couldn’t be helped. But manipulating the grass requires almost none.”
“Why’d you have to leave Nate?” Summer said softly.
“Ahhh, missing your boyfriend already?” the Fuse snickered. “Want to know a secret? We already grabbed Gary Haag and his precious key! He was packing up when we arrived. He’s in the Hummer. We told Nate what we needed him to hear. He thinks I tried to crush him, but it was obvious that his body was magically reinforced. I loosened his bindings as we were leaving. Setting him free with that misinformation will get Sebastian Stott out of the way. We can’t have the old man meddling, not today. So sit back, relax. This will all be over soon.”
Chapter Eighteen
Blue
Jogging along Winding Way, Nate went over his plan in his mind. It had not taken him long to determine that soliciting help from Mr. Stott was his best option. Nate had betrayed the old magician by turning to John Dart, but Mr. Stott still didn’t want Mrs. White to get the treasure, and he had a vehicle. So, hopefully, after Nate brought him up to speed, all would be forgiven and they could chase down Gary Haag together. Even if it meant Mr. Stott ended up drinking water from the Fountain of Youth, that would be preferable to empowering Mrs. White. Unfortunately, Nate had left the cell phone in the Buick, or he could simply have telephoned.
Nate had considered using a Moon Rock to reach Mr. Stott’s house faster, but in broad daylight he felt he would be too conspicuous. Not everyone in town was consuming white fudge. Besides, leaping with a Moon Rock wasn’t that much faster than running. Thankfully, most of the way to Mr. Stott’s place was downhill.
Sucking on the Ironhide, trotting under the hot sun, Nate was bulletproof, but he was sweaty. He panted and rubbed the stitch in his side, wishing for a stick of Summer’s gum.
Eventually Nate diverged from Winding Way into Mr. Stott’s neighborhood. He noticed some kids around his age walking home from school, and felt a little jealous. He longed to be equally oblivious to magic candy and magicians and engineered apprentices. Of course, all he had to do was go home and devour a box of white fudge!
Which was not an option. He had to save Trevor. He had to save Summer and John. At least he had to try. Before long somebody would probably have to save him. He wondered if Pigeon needed to be saved.
Nate slowed to a walk for a block, then picked up the pace again. He turned onto Limerick Court, sprinting past the last few houses. His chest was heaving when he reached Mr. Stott’s house.
Mr. Stott opened the door before he knocked. “Come in,” he said.
“I’m glad you’re home,” Nate panted, entering. “I was worried you might be off driving your route.”
“I stuck around, hoping to hear from you,” Mr. Stott said, fingering one of the black stripes in his beard. “I tried to contact you this morning, but the phone was off.”
“I lost the phone,” Nate said. “I lost a lot of things. We had the Stargazer, but Mrs. White recruited bullies from our school who tailed us to the library. We got the ship past them, and I was running it here using Peak Performance gum, but as you know, I saw the fat guy full of jelly waiting near your house in ambush. His name is Mauricio. So I took the ship home, planning to bring it here in the morning, but the wooden Indian from the candy shop came and stole it.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Mr. Stott said, his gaze steady.
“It gets worse. This guy named John Dart was my substitute teacher today.”
The name John Dart gave Mr. Stott a start. “John Dart? Here in town?”
“He told us you guys are after a drink from the Fountain of Youth and that he had to stop you. He seemed honest, and filled in a lot of blanks, so we decided to help him. He kidnapped Eric, one of the bullies, and found out that the treasure room is under Mt. Diablo Elementary.”
“Under the school?” Mr. St
ott said. “Two Haags work at your school! One of them, Gary, is from the line that has been here in town since the old days. He was on my short list of suspects.”
“Gary was the guy,” Nate confirmed. “Summer and I went to his house with John to pick him up, but Mauricio and the dude with the birthmark beat us there. I barely got away, and they captured John and Summer. They missed nabbing Gary, but they know where he was going. Have you heard of Haags named Burt and Starla?”
Mr. Stott nodded. “They live a ways outside of town. We better get going. Run and say hello to the Flatman, and I’ll meet you in the garage.” He shook his keys and walked toward the door in his kitchen.