Van swallowed.
The screen gave off a bright red flash, snagging his attention. The four boys who had been playing handed over their controllers to the four boys who had been watching. Nobody mentioned giving Van a turn. He waited for a few minutes, watching futuristic soldiers charge across a nighttime desert, trying to decipher the muddle of sounds that came from the game and from the boys playing it.
When there was a lull in the shooting, Van asked politely, “What’s the name of this game?”
The other boys kept their backs to him, but one of them nudged Peter in the arm.
Peter whipped around, scowling. “I was talking,” he snapped.
“Oh,” said Van. “I couldn’t tell. Sorry.”
Peter turned back to the screen without answering the question.
Van edged backward across Peter’s gray bedspread, pulling himself toward the distracting shelter of the shelves. He examined a row of tiny metal soldiers. Their uniforms had tiny wrinkles, and they carried teeny guns, and their faces wore teeny-tiny expressions of stoicism. Van’s eyes wandered down to the next shelf. This one was filled with miniature animal figurines. There was a bear, and a stag, and an otter, and a raccoon—and beside them, its tail quirked like a sideways question mark, was one tiny, pale gray squirrel.
“Sniper behind the watchtower!” one of the boys shouted. “Use your flamethrower!”
“No, use the grenade launcher!” shouted someone else.
Van’s fingers perched on the edge of the shelf. They sat there casually, pretending not to be interested. There was a BOOM from the video game, followed by a cheer from the eight boys. Van’s fingers closed around the squirrel. In one quick, smooth motion, they wedged the squirrel into his pocket and darted out again to sit innocently in Van’s lap.
Van’s heart thundered.
He couldn’t believe he had just done that. Or that his fingers had. The things in his collection had been lost, or forgotten, or thrown away by someone else. Van had rescued them. He’d never stolen a single one.
But he needed this squirrel, Van reasoned. There were so many things in Peter’s room—not just on the shelves, but in every corner and on every surface—that he would never notice one missing figurine. That squirrel had probably sat on the shelf, neglected and ignored, for years. In a way, Van was rescuing it.
Van swallowed again.
The thunder in his chest began to fade.
“Guys!” The nanny’s voice was muddled by distance and electronic bombs. “Come down for agonized screams!”
Before Van had figured out that she’d probably said Come down for cake and ice cream, the other boys had jumped up and stampeded toward the door.
“I call a corner piece!” someone shouted.
“It’s my party,” said Peter. “I get to decide who gets the corner pieces.”
“So, can I have one?”
“Maybe.” Peter’s voice dwindled into the hall.
When the last of the boys had shoved his way through the door, Van stood up. He touched his pocket, making sure the bump of squirrel was still there. Then he followed the crowd down the staircase.
The table was set in the dining room.
Van hung back as the other boys grabbed their seats. They were all talking at once, and the noise made his head ache, and Van didn’t know whose face to look at. He looked around the dining room instead.
This room was too neat and stylish to have many interesting things in it. But he noticed that the light switches were the funny old push-button kind, and the beveled crystal knobs on the doors were shaped like giant engagement rings, and tall, narrow windows gazed out over the walled backyard. One of the windows was standing open. The branches of a birch tree leaned close to it, its pale green leaves fluttering into the room like a bunch of impatiently waving hands.
“That was amazing.” Someone’s voice cut through the din. “I can’t believe you hit him from that distance!”
“It’s like the game knew it was your birthday,” said a boy with freckles.
“Yeah! Happy birthday, here’s a dead alien!”
“Oh man,” sighed a boy with tight black curls. “That’s what I got you.”
The other boys laughed.
Van remembered the duplicate Lego spaceship waiting in the pile of presents. His stomach began to tighten. He stared at the open window. The birch tree’s delicate branches swayed.
“Here we are!” sang the nanny, bustling into the room with a big sheet cake.
She set it in the center of the table. The boys craned forward, kneeling on their chairs for a better look. From a few steps away, Van looked too. The cake was frosted with a swirling blue-purple galaxy. Spaceships zoomed between the planets, shooting flares of white laser icing. Twelve candles stuck up from frosting stars.
“I call a spaceship!” shouted the freckled boy.
“I said I get to choose who gets what,” said Peter.
“All right, everybody lean back.” The nanny picked up a box of matches. “I don’t want to set anyone on fire.”
“Shouldn’t we—” said Van, before he could stop himself.
Everyone turned to stare.
“Just . . . shouldn’t we wait for your dad?” he finished.
Peter frowned. “No,” he said, as if Van had just suggested that they squirt the cake with ketchup. “He’s at work. That’s why the nanny is here.”
One of the other boys snorted.
“Oh,” said Van. “I guess that makes sense.”
“Come and take a seat, Dan,” said the nanny distractedly.
Van stayed where he was.
The nanny struck a match, and everyone started shouting again. Van took a small step backward. He gazed past the table, toward the waving birch leaves. And as he watched, a pale, almost silver, squirrel jumped out of the birch tree and through the open window.
It perched on the windowsill for a second, its eyes bright, its tail twitching. Then it leaped toward the chandelier hanging above the table.
The nanny had finished lighting the candles. The other boys bumped one another, craning closer to the flickering cake. None of them paid any attention to the squirrel dangling from the chandelier just above their heads.
“Everybody ready?” the nanny prompted. “Happy birthday to you . . .”
The other boys joined in. Van’s lips moved along to the words, but his eyes stayed on the silvery squirrel.
“Happy birthday, dear Peter . . .”
The squirrel’s bright black eyes landed on Van.
The squirrel froze. So did Van.
The squirrel’s eyes flicked toward the backyard. So did Van’s.
His gaze landed on a familiar face—the face of a girl with a brown ponytail and a much-too-large coat. She was standing just behind the trunk of the birch tree, her eyes fixed on the squirrel. But now her eyes darted from the squirrel to Van. They widened.
“Happy birthday to you!”
“Make a wish!” crowed the nanny.
There was a cheer as Peter blew out the candles.
The squirrel twitched back to life. It coiled to the bottom of the chandelier, holding on tight with its back feet. Its tiny front paws reached out. Van watched as they snatched at the rising candle smoke. But as Van watched, he realized that what the squirrel had caught wasn’t smoke at all. It was something that looked like a wisp of curling, sparkling, silvery silk. With the wisp clamped in its teeth, the squirrel sailed back toward the open window.
Van had already surprised himself twice today. He had gone to a party with a bunch of boys he didn’t know, for a boy he didn’t even like. He had stolen a china squirrel from the birthday boy’s bedroom. Now he was about to surprise himself again. He could feel it.
Before the nanny could cut the first slice of cake or Peter could decide who got to eat it, Van bolted to the open window. He shoved the frame outward. If anyone behind him called out, Van didn’t hear. He wasn’t really listening, anyway. Keeping his eyes on the face behind t
he birch tree, he swung one leg over the sill, braced his arms against the walls, and dove out into the backyard below.
6
Spy vs. Spy
FORTUNATELY, the ground wasn’t very far away.
Van tumbled onto the damp grass. His knees hit the ground, which hurt for a second and would definitely leave a stain on his nicest pants. But he decided not to think about this. He decided not to think about the boys who were probably gaping out the window behind him either. He sharpened his vision into a straight, bright beam, just like he did when he was searching the sidewalks for lost treasures, and he focused that beam on the brown ponytail that was already flying over the brick wall at the very back of the yard.
“Hey!” Van yelled. “Girl from the park!”
The girl didn’t look back.
Van climbed onto a sturdy cement planter and hoisted himself over the brick wall. He landed on both feet in the alley just beyond. He gave the lump in his pocket another pat, making sure the china squirrel was still there.
Meanwhile, the real squirrel was bounding down the alleyway ahead of him, its tail brushing the hem of the girl’s long coat.
“I’m the one who gave you the marble, remember?” Van called, breaking into a run. “I just want to talk to you!”
The girl didn’t slow down.
At the end of the alley, she and the squirrel veered left. Van raced after them.
“Why won’t you tell me your name?” Van yelled. “Is it Anna? Is it Ella? Is it Bob?” Maybe if he guessed right, she would finally turn around. “Is it Rumpelstiltskin?”
The girl ran on.
They tore through blocks of quiet houses and rustling trees. With each block, the buildings got taller. Shops and restaurants grew thicker. The sidewalk got busier, and the world got louder. The girl and the squirrel slipped through the crowds like a pair of scissors through tissue paper. Van wasn’t as smooth, but he was small enough that no one seemed to notice him either.
“Why do I keep—seeing you?” Van was beginning to lose his breath. “Are you—following me?”
At that, the girl finally glanced back. “Am I following you?” Van heard her shout.
“Well—not right now,” he puffed as he chased her over a crosswalk. “But—it can’t be a coincidence—that in this whole huge city—I keep seeing you.”
The girl glanced back again. Her voice was clear enough that Van caught a few words, even though he was panting and traffic was grumbling and the wind was whipping the air between them. “. . . Can’t see me!” she shouted.
“Yes I can!” Van shouted back. “You’re wearing the same dark green coat as before. And there’s a squished French fry on the bottom of your right shoe. And—”
And, so suddenly that Van couldn’t even finish the sentence, the girl disappeared.
There was no puff of smoke, no trapdoor. She just wasn’t there anymore. The squirrel wasn’t there either. The patch of sidewalk they’d occupied was empty.
Van raced to the spot where the two of them had vanished. He looked carefully in all directions.
Just behind him was a store with a bright neon sign. EXOTIC PETS, it flashed, as waves of shifting neon light sloshed around it. Tanks of chameleons and anoles and snakes with skin like fancy bathroom tiles filled the huge plate-glass window. Farther inside, Van could see rows of bubbling aquariums, and gorgeously plumed parrots preening on high perches, and a giant cage of what looked like spiny hamsters. He didn’t see the girl or the squirrel anywhere.
Two doors down was a bakery. In its window, cakes drizzled with chocolate and topped with berries sat on sheets of paper lace. Delicate French cookies formed pastel pyramids, and cupcakes topped with icing roses glistened in the background. The dizzying smell of warm sugar floated through the bakery’s open door. The scent was so distracting, Van almost forgot what he’d been looking for.
The girl. That was it.
Had she gone into the bakery or the pet store?
Van took a small step backward, trying to choose. Bakery or pet store? He bit his lip. Pet store or bakery? And then, for the first time, he looked at the building wedged between them.
It was an office. A small, grayish, closed-looking office. Its single window was covered by plastic blinds. A colorless sign reading CITY COLLECTION AGENCY hung beside the door. It was the kind of place most people wouldn’t even notice. Van almost hadn’t noticed.
As if an invisible hand was pushing him closer, Van stumbled toward the office’s dingy front door. It swung open when he turned the knob.
Inside, the office was dark. Only a whisper of daylight slid through the blinds. As Van’s eyes adjusted, he saw that the office was not only dark, but empty. There were no desks, no file cabinets . . . no furniture at all. He patted the walls, but there didn’t seem to be any light switches either. A funny smell, like old paper and spices and candle smoke, wafted through the air.
He ventured across the carpet.
At the very back of the room, half hidden by a dividing wall, was another closed gray door. Van reached for the knob, expecting to find a musty little bathroom, or maybe an empty storage closet.
What he found instead made him gasp.
On the other side of the door was a steep stone staircase—a staircase so long that Van couldn’t see the bottom. It led straight downward, growing so dark in the middle that it seemed to disappear entirely. But farther down, from somewhere deep beneath the dingy office, far below the city streets, there glowed a green-gold light. A gust of spice and smoke fluttered the tips of Van’s hair.
Van inched onto the steps. The heavy door thumped shut behind him. Slowly, silently, he crept through the darkness, down toward that green-gold light.
7
Underground
THE scent of old paper and smoke grew stronger. The green-gold light grew brighter. Holding his breath, Van tiptoed to the bottom of the long staircase, pressed his back against the chilly stone wall, and peered out.
He stood at the edge of a massive underground chamber. Pale green stones tiled its floor, its walls, its high, arching ceiling. It almost reminded Van of a subway platform, except that there were no trains or tracks, and the space was ten times larger than any subway station he’d ever seen. Rows of tulip-shaped lamps with petals of green and gold glass dangled from the ceiling. Flocks of pigeons waddled over the stone floor, along with several rats and streams of scurrying mice. There was no girl and no squirrel to be seen, but Van had the feeling—the absolutely positive, skin-tingling feeling—that they had been there moments before, almost as if he could feel himself stepping in their footprints. Straight ahead, just beyond a green stone banister, Van spotted the head of another staircase.
He hurried to the banister and craned out.
Below him was a hole: a huge, hollow, whispering chasm. It was dizzyingly deep and impossibly dark. Flights of stairs hugged the walls around it, forming an angular downward spiral. At each landing, where the stairs made a sharp turn before plunging down again, entrances to other underground chambers branched away into the dimness. When he looked straight down, he couldn’t see any bottom at all.
The girl with the squirrel had to be somewhere down there.
A shiver rattled through Van’s body. The thought of heading even deeper underground, farther from light and daytime and everything familiar, filled his mind with a low, terrible hum.
He clutched the banister.
What was he doing here?
What was he thinking, wandering down into some giant sewer or station or bomb shelter or whatever it was, chasing a girl who didn’t want to talk to him anyway? He should turn around, climb back up the steps, and run back out into the daylight before anyone spotted him. He should find his way back to Peter’s house, and—
And what? an imaginary voice from his pocket spoke up. Go back to that awful party like nothing happened? Forget you ever saw that girl and that squirrel? Never learn what this place actually is?
Van slipped a hand into his pocket
. His fist closed around the miniature china squirrel. He’d come this far. He could go a little bit farther.
Before he could change his mind, Van started down the staircase. He clutched the banister with one hand, trying not to think about the bottomless dark on the other side, and held on tight to the little china squirrel with the other. The shuffle-pat of his feet hung in the chilly air.
Van slowed as he reached the first landing. An archway more than twice his height loomed ahead of him. Above the arch, tiled into the green stones with tall black letters, were the words THE ATLAS.
Van slipped through the archway.
He found himself in a chamber almost as large as the one above. It had the same pale green floor and ceiling, lit by rows of the same petaled glass lamps. Its walls seemed to be coated in layers of tattered, patchy wallpaper. When Van looked closer, he saw that it wasn’t wallpaper at all, but maps: maps of all kinds, some full of illustrated trees and houses, some grids of lines, some just mysterious swirls.
Several people in long dark coats were gathered at tables in the center of the room. Their heads were bowed. They pointed at things on huge sheets of paper. None of them were girls with squirrels on their shoulders, but as Van watched, one of them turned and strode straight toward him.
Van threw himself backward into the shadows. He pressed his shoulders to the wall, holding his breath. The man in a long black coat swished straight by. He came so close that Van could see the glittering black eyes of the owl on his shoulder. But the man strode through the arch and down the staircase.
Once he was sure that the man with the owl was out of sight, Van crept back out onto the landing. He looked down the next flight of stairs. At the bottom, disappearing through another archway, he spotted something that looked like a bulky green coat, topped by the puff of a pale gray tail.
The Collectors Page 3