“From where?”
“A book that belongs to my parents. It’s called The Undead Sea Scroll. They publish an updated version every ten years or so. I hid it here because it’s a special page that relates to you, Fern.”
“This is crazy. The Undead Sea Scroll? You’re just making all of this up,” Sam said.
“Just hear me out. Fern, I think you’re an Otherworldly.”
“An other-what?”
“An Otherworldly. Listen. You know how there are different species of snakes or rabbits or whatever? You’re a different species of human. One that has special powers.”
“Special powers?”
“Yes. All Otherworldlies live a lot longer, are sensitive to the sun, and can predict or influence the weather—stuff like that. Some can talk to dogs. Culturally, they’re not supposed to enter a house unless they’ve been invited.”
“How do you know all that?” Sam said.
“Because I am one.”
Sam and Fern froze, if only for a moment.
“What are you saying?” Sam exclaimed.
“Otherworldlies have existed for a long, long time, but because normal humans might persecute us, we keep it to ourselves. It’s a little bit like a secret society—which is why I had to make sure that you were actually one before I spilled the beans.”
“If you’re an Otherworldly, then what’s your special power?” Sam questioned dubiously.
“My whole family has the same talent: We can see events even when we’re not there. I’m not developed enough to really use mine yet, though.”
“Then how do you know you have it?” Sam said, wondering if maybe he hadn’t developed his yet.
“I just know. The point is, Fern must be an Otherworldly—that’s why she has these powers.”
“Do all Otherworldlies have a special power?”
“Almost all do. It’s usually a trait passed down from a person’s parents.”
“Wait a second. If Fern’s an Otherworldly, why aren’t I? Why isn’t Eddie? If she’s a different species, wouldn’t it be like a cobra living with a family of rattlesnakes?”
“That’s what I can’t figure out. Either you just aren’t exhibiting signs yet, Sam, or your mother knows something we don’t.”
Fern grabbed the sheet of paper Lindsey had laid out on the floor and began reading aloud.
“A Poseidon, so named after the Greek god of the sea, maintains an especially strong connection with the elements. His or her powers are at their strongest when surrounded by water. Powers may include but are not limited to water telekinesis and the manipulation of water’s fundamental properties and the weather. Although Poseidons remain the rarest of all Otherworldly genotypes, their lifespan remains similar to that of other Otherworldlies, at nearly two and a half centuries. They share such Otherworldly attributes as an attachment to origin soil and a sensitivity to the sun. Poseidons are specifically susceptible to ulcers, esophageal hernias, and other stomach ailments.”
Fern looked up, aghast. Sam looked equally shocked. “Lindsey, where did you get this?” Fern asked.
“I told you. It’s a page from The Undead Sea Scroll.”
“What does that even mean?”
“It’s a book, which dates back to ancient times. It’s like a compendium for all things Otherworldly.”
“How do we know you didn’t just make this on the computer?”
“Trust me, it’s real. I would have taken the whole book, but my parents keep it under lock and key and would have noticed if the whole thing went missing. The book is dangerous if it falls into the wrong hands. Do you know how hard it was to break into my parents’ office and get hold of their files? The penalty for showing an outsider is really severe.”
“So that’s why you called me a Poseidon?” Fern asked.
“Yes,” Lindsey said, looking somewhat ashamed as she remembered her rage.
“Then why did you call me a Blout?”
Lindsey took a deep breath. “The thing with Otherworldlies is, there are two, um . . . tribes, kind of. There’s the good kind, like me and my family. We’re called Rollens. And there’s the bad kind, called the Blouts. What you did with Headmaster Mooney and the water glass—well, normally a Poseidon has to be taught that kind of thing. I thought that someone was teaching you. That you were a Blout and you were just playing dumb.”
“Why on Earth would I play dumb about all of this?”
“You’re some kind of prodigy, Fern. That’s why people are after you. I thought the Blouts had gotten to you.”
“What about your parents? Why were they talking about me?”
“The investigate really special Otherworldlies. You’re in that category because your powers have developed so early.”
There was a knock on the door.
“Lindsey?” Mrs. Lin said through the door, almost on cue.
“Yes, Mom,” Lindsey said, trying not to sound panicked as she wadded up the page from The Undead Sea Scroll into Moby Dick and snapped the cover shut. Not knowing what else to do, Lindsey sat on Moby Dick in order to conceal the book.
The door opened. “Lindsey, there’s a girl named Kinsey Wood from St. Gregory’s on the phone who needs to speak to you. She says it’s urgent.”
Mrs. Lin walked into the study and smiled graciously at Fern and Sam. She held the cordless phone out for Lindsey.
“Hello?” Lindsey said into the phone. Mrs. Lin waited expectantly.
“Oh, I see,” Lindsey said. “No, I understand completely.” The cordless phone beeped off.
“We need to go back to school,” Lindsey said calmly. Fern’s eyes bulged. What kind of trouble had they landed in this time? Had someone figured out that Kinsey had let them go illegally?
“Why?” Mrs. Lin questioned.
“Oh, it’s nothing; we just left some important supplies and research there. We’ll just work there.”
“Well, that’s a shame,” Mrs. Lin said, her voice still sweet. “I was looking forward to having company for lunch,” she said. “We’ll just have to have Fern and Sam over again soon! I’ll see you downstairs.” Mrs. Lin walked out of the study and closed the door behind her.
“What was that about?” Sam demanded.
“Kinsey said Mooney showed up randomly and was asking all sorts of questions about where we were. She said that she said we were going to be back from picking up trash in a few minutes. So as long as we get there soon, we’ll be fine.”
“Why is Mooney at St. Gregory’s on a Saturday?” Sam said.
“Probably because he wants to inflict the punishment he assigned us himself. He really hates you, Fern.”
“Maybe he’s a Blout,” Sam said.
“That’s giving him too much credit,” Lindsey replied.
The threesome packed up their things and headed downstairs. Sam and Lindsey were waiting on the porch for Fern, who desperately needed to use the rest room before running back to school.
Mrs. Lin stood motionless in the living room.
“Fern?” Mrs. Lin said in her melodic voice. She walked close to Fern near the doorway. Fern looked at Mrs. Lin’s almond eyes. They were brimming with compassion.
“Was it instantaneous?”
“What do you mean?”
“At Splash Mountain.”
Fern was taken aback. How much did this woman know about her?
“Things turned black for a little first, but then I was there,” Fern said, deciding to trust Mrs. Lin.
“I thought so.” Mrs. Lin said, smiling at Fern. “I’m so glad Lindsey can call you a friend,” she said earnestly. “I have a very good feeling about you, Fern McAllister.”
“Thanks,” Fern said, feeling slightly embarrassed.
“I know these years will be very hard for you. If you ever need help of any kind, please don’t hesitate to ask. You may count on us for that.”
“Okay,” Fern said, somewhat dumbfounded. Mrs. Lin’s kindness made Fern even more uneasy. What did she mean by “these ye
ars will be very hard”? Why had there been pity in Mrs. Lin’s voice when she said it?
She walked out the front door of the Lin house.
“Race you to school,” Fern said to her fellow Saturday school escapee.
Lindsey smiled at Fern. All that had transpired—the talk of Rollens, Blouts, Poseidons, Otherworldlies—
disappeared in the brightness of Lindsey Lin’s smile.
“You’re so on,” she replied. The two girls raced through the streets of San Juan, past the mission and the depot, as Sam trotted behind, keeping careful watch over his sister.
Chapter 10
the sagebrush of hyperion
Though Fern had all of Sunday to recover, her hand still ached from the ten-page essay that Headmaster Mooney had insisted both she and Lindsey write. There was a vengeful tone in his voice as he chided the girls to write faster, pacing around the classroom and threatening to keep them even longer than was required. Kinsey Wood gave both girls sympathetic glances whenever she made eye contact with either of them.
As Sam and Fern walked to school on Monday, Fern felt a deep sense of dread. The first day back at St. Gregory’s after her appearance on Splash Mountain was bound to be torturous. Fern, however, felt a little different. Her stomach had begun to hurt less. The knowledge that she was an Otherworldly, that she was part of a group, bolstered her spirits a little. She had a secret now—a secret that Blythe Conrad or Lee Phillips couldn’t touch.
Sam, on the other hand, had a less positive view of Saturday’s revelation. Though he was happy there was some explanation for Fern’s oddness, he felt a slight twinge of something else: jealousy. Why was Fern so different from him? He felt like they must not have all the information. Lindsey was hiding something. Though he and Fern had scoured the Internet for more information on Otherworldlies, they had come up with nothing.
Fern’s and Sam’s thoughts were interrupted by the sight of Lindsey Lin running down the street straight at them.
“Fern, I need to show you something!” Lindsey yelled, running behind the twins as they exited the grove.
“Well, hello to you too, Lindsey,” Sam said sarcastically.
“We don’t have time for greetings. Fern’s in serious danger, Sam,” Lindsey said, raising her voice. Lindsey’s lanky body rose two inches above the top of Sam’s blond head.
“Lindsey, this had better be good. The last thing Fern needs is to show up late to school,” Sam said, trying to be the voice of reason.
“What is it you want us to see, exactly?”
“I was using my power—I’ve been doing that lately, just to, you know, see what’s going on.”
“Well, what is it?” Sam said, as both he and Fern followed Lindsey back into the heart of the grove. She led them to the farthest corner of the grove, in front of a knee-high silver shrub that grew at the base of one of the orange trees. Upon closer examination, Fern recognized that the shrub was singularly out of place amid the brown trunks and waxy green trees of the grove. The plant had wedge-shaped leaves, and Fern noticed that they had a blue hue. A few clusters of white flowers adorned some of the taller wedges. Lindsey kneeled down, slowly fingering the stalks of the shrub. She looked like she was gently awakening the plant out of a deep sleep.
“What are you doing?” Sam said, losing patience.
“It’s a Sagebrush. I planted it here four years ago,” Lindsey said, still rubbing the bush.
“So you like planting and petting shrubs,” Sam said. “I really don’t see what that has to do with your powers or Fern. Let’s go, Fern, we’re going to be late.”
“It’s not that kind of sagebrush,” Lindsey said, excited and impervious to Sam’s anger. “They call it a Sagebrush of Hyperion.” Lindsey announced the name as if it was of utmost importance.
“Hyperion?” Fern asked, frowning.
“It means ‘watching’ or ‘observing,’” Lindsey said. “It’s like the term Poseidon. I’m a Hyperion, and I can use the Sagebrush.”
“So what does it do, exactly?” Sam asked.
“Sagebrushes of Hyperion are plants that allow you to watch someone or something—to track someone even. They’re sort of like a video camera, only much, much better. You have to know how to handle them—there’s skill to it—but I know enough of the basics.”
“Wait a second,” Sam said, full of scorn. “I thought you said that you couldn’t use your power yet.”
“I can’t use it fully. I know enough to get by. The Sagebrush must first be acquainted with the subject, whether it’s a person or a place. You have to expose the plant to the source somehow.”
“Why isn’t it showing us anything?” Sam said skeptically.
Lindsey had regained her confidence. She stroked the bush once more. It began to sway violently.
Lindsey released the bush, backing away slowly. The Sagebrush, moving back and forth as if Lindsey were still rubbing it, crackled. A slow popping gave way to what sounded like a thousand sheets of paper being crumpled at once. The noise was overpowering. Sam and Fern stepped closer to each other, mesmerized. Within seconds, the top of the bush was alight with flames as blue as the Pacific.
“Whoa,” Sam said.
Fern, Lindsey, and Sam crept closer to the Sagebrush of Hyperion as the blue flames died down and gave way to a round image. A circle the size of a trash can lid shone so brightly, it forced the threesome to shade their eyes. Fern could hear a voice, small and slight, coming from the bush. Then she heard another. Both voices were as faint as distant echoes.
“I took it from my parents and planted it here,” Lindsey said. “They have all sorts of these under lock and key. This one was labeled ‘Mr. Alistair Kimble.’ Normally what I find isn’t that interesting. It’s politics and stuff, like watching C-SPAN. But this morning I almost couldn’t believe what I was seeing. So I ran to get you.”
Staring into the light made Fern dizzy, but her lightheadedness soon gave way to a view of something more concrete: a room. The room came into focus as she began to see a woman take shape. The woman was so small, Fern felt as if she were staring into a telescope with borders of white light. But there was no mistaking what lay at the end of the scope. Surrounded by red leather furniture and maple shelves with dusty volumes, Mary Lou McAllister sat on one side of a large desk.
“Fern’s in danger,” a familiar voice boomed from the middle of the plant.
Her mother, Fern deduced, was sitting directly across from none other than Alistair Kimble, the Man Most Likely to Scare a Child on a Day Other Than Halloween. She couldn’t see him, but she recognized his low monotone.
“What you’re seeing is from Mr. Kimble’s perspective. They’re in his office,” Lindsey whispered to Sam and Fern as if she were worried about being overheard.
“What in the world . . . ,” Sam marveled.
The twins could do little else but stare at the image. They looked more like twins at that moment than they had before, with their faces aghast and jaws hanging open.
“What do you mean she’s in danger?” Fern watched her mother shift in her seat and lean forward toward Alistair Kimble as she spoke.
“Her disappearances have drawn attention to her,” Alistair Kimble said. Fern shuddered at the calm coldness of his voice.
“Why? What would anybody want with Fern?”
“Fern is different, Mary Lou. Surely you must have recognized that by now.”
“We’re all different, Alistair,” Mrs. McAllister said. Fern had rarely seen her mother so earnest.
“Not like Fern, we’re not. Fern’s special—so special, in fact, that there will be people after her,” Mr. Kimble said. Fern instinctively pulled her eyes from the glowing image, looking over her shoulder. Apart from Lindsey, Sam, and herself, the grove was empty.
“People? What kind of people? Why are you speaking in such vague terms?” Mrs. McAllister questioned.
“What makes Fern special, unlike most anybody else, isn’t simply a difference in degree; it’s a diff
erence in kind,” Mr. Kimble said. Fern noticed apprehension creep into his voice. “It’s human nature, I’m afraid; someone will want to find her to exploit this difference—or worse, to extinguish it entirely.”
“What exactly are you saying?” As the Commander panicked in front of her, Fern felt strangely detached from the conversation. It was almost as if she were watching herself watch her mother.
“I’m saying that this is no time to be indecisive. We must remove Fern to a place where she can be adequately protected.”
“Over my dead body! You’ve told me nothing; you’ve answered none of my questions and instead have used these ridiculous scare tactics to bully me into seeing things your way. Now you want to take my daughter somewhere because of some perceived threat that no sane person would believe!” The Commander’s face reddened as she got up from her chair.
“I came to you, Alistair, because we both knew and loved Phoebe.” Fern’s stomach began to feel raw inside as her mother continued. “You may have been responsible for bringing Fern to me, but she is my daughter, and if you won’t help me—if you won’t give me answers—I’ll find someone who will.” Mrs. McAllister pivoted on her inside foot and stormed toward the exit of the office on the top floor of Kimble & Kimble.
The large door had opened before Mrs. McAllister could open it herself. Mrs. McAllister gasped. In front of her stood Mr. Don Camille, director of operations at Disneyland.
“I’m afraid I can’t let you do that, Mrs. McAllister,” Camille said.
“Mr. Camille? What are you doing here?” Mrs. McAllister said, all the while trying desperately to keep herself from reeling backward. Don Camille, still in his wire-rimmed glasses, was now wearing a dark suit with dark shirt and tie beneath it. He looked like a strange mixture of banker and mortician. His graying sideburns and fine features only added to the effect.
“Mrs. McAllister, I’m sorry that I had to disguise who I was earlier. I had a lot of clean-up work to do at Disneyland to get Fern out of there safely. Needless to say, I’ve been waiting to meet you for a long, long time.”
“I . . . I don’t understand,” Mrs. McAllister said, unsure of herself. Fern remained motionless as disbelief and confusion coursed through her body.
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