“Charlie, listen to me. Giving out your address is a big no-no. Remember Stranger Danger from, like, the first grade?”
But Charlie had already typed a brief message stating his home address. He was about to click the mouse to send when his hand suddenly shot out and knocked both the mouse and the keyboard off the desktop. Charlie looked around to see who had done that. His jaw dropped in shock.
“Plenty more where that came from,” Walter said, sounding like a cowboy. “Next time you don’t listen to me, I’ll crack you upside the head with the monitor!”
Charlie closed his mouth and picked up the keyboard. “I’m sorry, you’re right. I got excited. What am I supposed to tell him?”
He didn’t have to type anything.
Another message blipped on the screen.
Maybe that’s a bad idea. Don’t tell me your address. I hope I didn’t freak you out. Sorry I asked.
“Ask him where the book came from,” Walter demanded.
Charlie typed his question, and Wisdom responded immediately.
The original Summoner's Handbook was written over a thousand years ago in Romania. It is believed that Igor Yad, a known demonic sorcerer, developed a unique and previously unheard-of relationship with a banshee.
“Wahoo! I told you banshees existed,” Walter erupted.
“You were right. So what? It doesn’t mean you know more than me.”
“I didn’t say that.”
But Charlie knew what Walter was thinking.
Wisdom’s message continued.
With the help of the banshee, Yad compiled every known summoning incantation, including the Gateway spell, within the book’s pages. Centuries of unrecorded wars broke out over the book until it finally vanished from existence in the year 1817. Charlie, if you have indeed discovered The Summoner's Handbook, you have found one of the most sought-after treasures in existence.
“Eighteen seventeen?” Walter said. “How old is the mall?”
“It wasn’t in the mall.” Charlie scoffed. “It was buried next to it.”
What do I do now? Charlie typed.
Give me some time to research it. I’ll check back in with you in the next day or two.
“We’ve got to think about our next step,” Walter said a few minutes later as Charlie crawled under the covers of his bed. “Don’t read any more out of the book, and keep it hidden.”
“Stop talking like I don’t know what I’m doing,” Charlie said, annoyed. “I’ve been involved in paranormal research for most of my life, and I’m not stupid.”
From outside the bedroom window, something screamed.
Charlie shot up and kicked the sheets completely off the bed. “Did you hear that?”
Walter groaned. “Yes. Please tell me that was just one of your birds.”
Inching toward the window, Charlie peeked through one of the slats of his blinds. A shadowy figure stood below, on the street. Its red robes flickered behind it in the breeze like tendrils of smoke. Dangling on each side were long claws scraping against the asphalt.
“It’s a wraith!” Charlie whimpered.
The wraith didn’t move much, only hovering in the air a couple of feet off the ground. But there was no mistaking where it was staring. Charlie took a deep breath and released it slowly through his nostrils. “It’s okay. Wraiths are very dangerous out in the open, and they’ve been known to physically attack humans in certain conditions, but they can’t pass through doors or windows. We should be safe in here.”
One of the wraith’s claws pointed toward the window, beckoning Charlie to come down with a rhythmic flick of its finger.
“It can’t come in here,” Charlie said again, closing the blinds and backing away slowly.
“Fine. Then I guess we’ll just hang out in your apartment for the rest of your life?”
Charlie shook his head. “No, it’ll be gone by morning. Wraiths can’t tolerate the sunlight.”
“You know way too much about these things,” Walter muttered.
“Yeah, but it sure is coming in handy, since you don’t know anything. What kind of guardian angel are you?” Charlie climbed into bed and burrowed down deep under his sheets.
“For the last time, I’m a Guardian Agent,” Walter corrected him.
Charlie covered his eyes with his forearm and sighed. Everything he had studied was real. His parents had never believed him. They wanted him to stop fooling around with nonsense and grow up. Boy, had they been wrong. In a matter of a few days, the world as Charlie knew it had changed. In a way, he was excited, but it also meant the world was no longer a safe place to live.
The door at the top of Hoonga’s staircase opened, and a hooded figure covered in dark-green robes stood in the entryway. Hoonga watched him approach the desk, turning his head from side to side in search of a chair, his eyes lingering on the wriggling, rolled-up carpet. At last, the figure shook his head and sat on a footrest.
“Not very polite,” he commented.
Hoonga shrugged. “You caught me at a bad time. Business, you know.”
“Unfinished business, from what the shades tell me.”
Hoonga’s upper lip curled as a snarl hung in his throat. “Don’t believe everything a shade tells you,” he said, controlling his temper. “Shades are imbeciles.”
The cloaked figure made a clicking sound with his tongue. “Yours may be, but mine are well trained. And they tell me you’ve failed, not once but twice now, at your task.”
“I wouldn’t call it failing. Not exactly.” Hoonga shifted in his chair.
“Hoonga, I hired you because I was told you were one of the best at this line of work. But by the looks of things, I see you’ve only found time to play.” The hood tilted toward the box containing the game of Bones.
“What’s wrong with a little recreation now and then? It keeps my head clear. Besides, these things take time.” Hoonga drummed his clawed fingers across the desk and then shoved the game of Bones into one of the drawers. “What are you so worried about?”
“What kind of pathetic, worthless—”
“Watch your tongue!” Hoonga rose from his chair, muscles rippling in his arms. He leaned across the desk, lunging for the cloak, but the figure reacted more quickly. He rose and extended his hand from the robe, revealing a large, glowing stone clutched in his fingers.
Hoonga roared in pain and shielded his eyes, retreating back to his seat. “All right, you win. Put that away!”
The figure held the stone out for a few seconds before tucking it back inside the cloak. “Next time I’ll stick it in your eye! Don’t you get it? This is not just some menial assignment. This is The Summoner’s Handbook! An opportunity like this only comes around once in a thousand lifetimes, and I’m not going to allow you to sit and squander it away. This book can open the Gateway so that your kind can enter the world outright at full strength. No more being invisible. No more slinking in the shadows. No more cowering away from human beings in your weakened forms!” He stomped his foot on the carpet roll. Whatever was trapped inside released an unnerving cry of pain, thrashed about, then rolled sideways until the carpet collided with the refrigerator.
Hoonga reclined in his chair and yawned. “You’re not telling me anything new. What I still don’t understand is how you’ll gain from this book. You’re not from here. You’re not one of us.”
“I have my reasons.” The figure took a cautious step away from the rug and returned his focus to the Cyclops. “You just make sure you follow through with the plan. I need both the boy and the book for this to work, and we’re running out of time. There are already too many eyes watching my every move. You need to strike again tonight!”
Hoonga shook his head. “Can’t. It’s not going to be raining in that area for at least a week.”
The figure hissed. “So you’re not even going to try?”
“I thought you knew the rules. Demons need the atmospheric changes brought on by rainstorms to manifest aboveground. Without it, I can onl
y send shades, and what are they going to do? Whisper the kid to death?”
“What about a wraith or a lesser demon? Can’t they go to the surface whenever they want?”
“Some can.”
“Then why haven’t you sent one?” the figure demanded.
“What good would that do? A full-fledged demon had trouble with the boy. You expect a wraith or a lesser demon to be more successful?”
“What about the banshee? You can use the shades to summon one of those, can’t you?”
Hoonga shook his head adamantly. “Only in a thunderstorm. Besides, the boy’s Agent is far more troublesome than you led us to believe. As long as the two are linked, we can’t use a Dark Omen to bring him to the Underworld.” Hoonga picked some meat from his teeth and examined it in the light. “To be honest, I don’t see why you can’t just go and take the book yourself.”
The figure’s hands dropped to his sides. “Are you out of your mind? For starters, I would be spotted for sure. And secondly, do you have any idea what is required in order for a non–Underworld dweller to open the Gateway? Even with my stone, it is all but impossible without a demon present.”
Hoonga raised his eyebrow.
“As it is, we must entrap a human soul within the pages. The Gateway won’t open without it. You know that The Summoner’s Handbook makes a connection with the first living human it contacts. That bond can’t be broken or substituted by anyone else. That’s why it was so critical that you use the banshee to bring Charlie and the book directly to the Underworld.”
A low purr emitted from Hoonga’s throat. He blinked his eye slowly and rubbed a thumb along one of his tusks. “Then I guess you’ll have to wait for the next thunderstorm.”
“Just be ready to do your job when the time comes.”
With the visitor gone, Trutti returned to the room and scampered onto the desk. “May I ask you a question, master?” the bat-eared creature asked.
Hoonga’s eye still lingered on the office door, his upper lip noticeably quivering. “You may.”
“Why don’t you just kill it?”
Hoonga’s eyelid snapped shut and then opened again with rapid speed. “What?” He stared down at Trutti. “Kill him?” He pointed to the door.
“Yes.” Trutti gave a curt nod. “I’ve never heard of any creature above or below that gets away with saying such degrading words to you. Kill it and then…let’s eat it.” Trutti scratched an itch on the end of his nose.
Hoonga released a deep, low growl, which transformed into belly laughter. He smacked the desk with one gigantic hand, an action resulting in Trutti bouncing to the ceiling. “Oh, you make me laugh! I do want to kill him. But for now, I will tolerate his insolence because he’s approached me with an intriguing opportunity. Don’t you think it would be nice to run around above ground with full strength? Terrorizing everything in our path? Rain or shine?”
“Yes, but”—Trutti’s tiny chest inflated with a sad sigh—“I don’t like it. With its robes and its demanding voice. Kill it, please.”
“I don’t know that I could kill him. Not while he controls that large shard of Celestial stone.”
“Where did it find such an awful trinket?”
“I don’t know, but believe me, if he drops that stone for even one minute, I’ll make a move.” Hoonga placed his hands behind his head. “But I don’t think I’d kill him outright.”
“No?” Trutti looked shocked. “Why not?”
“Well, I’d want to have a little fun with him first, of course. Wouldn’t you?”
“Ah, yes.” Trutti rubbed his hands together quickly.
“Now!” Hoonga reached into the desk drawer. “You’ll be pleased with the new assignment I’m giving you, Trutti. It will be fun, I assure you.”
Trutti’s ears perked up slightly. “Fun? What kind of fun?”
“All in due time. But first, I believe we have a bit of a tournament to finish.” Hoonga once again pulled out the Bones game box.
Trutti’s ears drooped until the tips grazed the desktop.
“I still think you should’ve said you were sick,” Walter grumbled as they arrived at school. “It’s too risky.”
“Well, it’s not any safer at home. And my mom never lets me stay home unless I have a fever,” Charlie whispered. He shoved his locker closed and tightened the strap on his abnormally heavy backpack. The one thing the boys had agreed on was that they shouldn’t leave The Summoner’s Handbook lying around unguarded. “Anyway, there’s nothing for us to do until we hear back from Wisdom.”
Just then, several pretty girls rounded the corner clutching their textbooks tightly in their arms, with Melissa Bitner walking at the center of the group.
Walter whistled, and Charlie turned an alarming shade of pink. Occupying his time fidgeting with a random combination lock on one of the lockers, he hummed quietly to himself until the girls were out of earshot.
“Why did you do that?” Charlie snapped. “Did you whistle at girls when you were alive?”
“Yeah,” Walter said.
“You’re lying. I know you’re lying.” Charlie meandered through the hallways, lugging the heavy load on his back.
“Okay, I never whistled to a girl’s face. But those girls are cool! Why don’t you ever talk to them? Get to know them?”
“Why would I waste my time? I’ve got more important things to do.”
“Like make videos of shopping malls?”
“Or exorcise a demon out of my head.”
Walter laughed but stopped short. “Hey, I’m not a demon.” He actually sounded offended.
“Close enough.”
During lunch, Charlie nibbled on his pimiento cheese sandwich and thought about The Summoner’s Handbook. He thought about how he had suddenly been able to read the words, and he wondered what sorts of things he could do with it. He thought about how excited Wisdom Willows had become when he learned that Charlie had found the book. The memory made him chew his sandwich with vigor.
“Please tell me you’ve been paying attention,” Walter said, breaking Charlie out of his deep pondering.
“Paying attention…” Charlie stopped when he realized he had started to speak out loud. He quickly covered his mouth with his hand and spoke discreetly while chewing. “Paying attention to what?”
“Your buddy at table number three. No! Don’t stare at him!” Walter groaned as Charlie turned to look. Mo Horvath made eye contact, and a satisfied grin spread across his face. Oswald, Vincent, and Wheeler were smiling as well.
Charlie swallowed the gooey mass of pimiento cheese. “Great.”
“Yep. Recognize that look?” Walter asked. “That’s the look someone gives when they plan on pounding somebody. I’ve given that look many times.”
“Mo always has that dumb expression on his face.” Charlie stuffed his uneaten Doritos and carrot slices into his crumpled paper bag and dropped it on top of The Summoner’s Handbook in his backpack.
“You’re as good as dead, my friend,” Walter said.
“Shut up, shut up, shut up!” Charlie hissed.
“I could help you. I actually have a plan.”
Charlie stared longingly at the cafeteria exit, but knew he wouldn’t have a chance to escape before Mo caught up with him. And running would make him look even more ridiculous in front of the school. “Fine. I’m listening. What do I do?”
“For starters, don’t give them access to your juice box,” Walter instructed.
“Brilliant.”
“Do you really want my advice?”
Charlie nodded.
“Okay. Do and say exactly as I tell you. No exceptions. Can you do that?”
Charlie hesitated with his answer. “I’ll try.”
“Right, because here they come.”
Charlie started to turn around.
“Don’t do anything yet,” Walter said. “Just…just act like you’re bored, and don’t be afraid to throw out a few insults. I’ll tell you what to do when the time
comes.”
Mo draped his arm over Charlie’s shoulder, and his awful breath wafted across his face. The other three goons sat down around them. Mo sat practically on top of Charlie.
“I need some money,” Mo said as his hand dug painfully into the pressure point on Charlie’s shoulder. “You got any money?”
Wheeler’s sniveling voice chattered next to Charlie’s right ear. “Get ’im, Mo,” he said. “Get ’im!”
Charlie could never figure out why Wheeler had been allowed to go this far through life without receiving similar treatment. If Charlie could be classified as a dork because of his looks, so should Wheeler. He had a heavily freckled face, or maybe they were zits. Whatever they were, Wheeler had a lot of them. Plus, he was practically cross-eyed. But he was mean.
“You don’t have any money, do you?” Mo whispered. Charlie slowly shook his head, crumpling from the pain on his shoulder. “You live in those dumpy apartments over on the boulevard, don’t you? The ones by the pound?”
“Pound?” Charlie raised an eyebrow. “Oh, you mean the veterinarian clinic. A pound is something completely different.”
“Is that right?”
Charlie nodded. When was Walter going to share his brilliant plan?
The other boys sneered, and Wheeler piped up once more. “Hit ’im, Mo. Hit—”
“Shut up, Wheeler,” Mo ordered, then turned back to Charlie. “How is it your dad can transport all that money every day, and yet you and your dumb family never get any of it?”
Charlie closed his eyes. He was having a very difficult time acting bored. Insulting his family was going too far.
Charlie cleared his throat. “My dad drives an armored truck for Carmichael. He just delivers the money to banks and stuff.”
“Did I tell you to talk?” Mo ground his teeth together.
“You asked me a question.” Charlie tried to sound tough.
The goons’ lips poked out in shock, and they mouthed the words “Oh no,” followed by hysterical laughter.
Charlie wished he had held his tongue. Why hadn’t Walter spoken up yet?
The Afterlife Academy Page 8