The Otherworldlies

by Jennifer Anne Kogler

  Sam, Fern, and Eddie stampeded back to the dining room table in time to be seated as they had been when Mrs. McAllister left them. She sat back down and put her cloth napkin back in her lap, continuing to eat as if nothing happened.

  “Who was that?” Sam said, forcing the issue.

  “Mr. Summers. He came by to thank all of us for our help today.”

  “That was nice of him,” Eddie said.

  “Yes,” the Commander said. She got up from her chair. “Eddie, could you make sure all the windows are closed and locked before you go upstairs to call Kinsey?”

  “Sure,” Eddie said.

  After the plates were cleared and her children had retired to their rooms for the evening, Mary Lou McAllister moved to her office. She knew that she should go talk to Fern and set the record straight about Phoebe. But not knowing precisely how to approach Fern, she reasoned it could wait a little longer. It was important that she say exactly the right thing to Fern. The business with Mr. Summers had put her on edge. Maybe Mr. Summers was actually interested in her, but she was beginning to think that Sam might have been right all along about his obsessive interest in Fern. Could he possibly be involved in this whole vampire mess?

  Flipping through her Rolodex, she picked up the phone and called Alistair Kimble. At first she had trouble convincing his dingbat secretary that her call was of the greatest urgency. She was soon connected to him. Mrs. McAllister explained the events of the day. When she finished, Alistair Kimble jumped in.

  “Fern is unhurt?”

  “Yes, she’s okay,”Mrs. McAllister replied, sensing an unfamiliar edge in Mr. Kimble’s voice. “Who is Vlad, Alistair?” she demanded. “Why is this man stalking my child and sneaking up on her in abandoned orange groves?”

  “We have all that under control.”

  “You have nothing under control!”

  “Anger will do little to help Fern, Mrs. McAllister.”

  “I want you to listen very carefully to me, Alistair. Either you start giving me some answers—and I mean actual information—or I will take Fern and my family and run so far and so fast, you’ll never hear from us again.”

  “That would be a very foolish decision.”

  “People don’t usually get very far by underestimating me.”

  “I assure you, that is not my intention.”

  “If you have no interest in answering my questions, in full, then I’m afraid we have nothing more to talk about. Good-bye—”

  “Wait . . . please, Mrs. McAllister, wait one moment,” Mr. Kimble said. He was acutely aware that Chief Quagmire had given him explicit instructions to do whatever it took to get Mrs. McAllister on board with their latest plan. As much as he didn’t want to furnish a Normal with any actual information, he would have to, if that’s what Mrs. McAllister required. “What is it you want to know?” Mr. Kimble asked.

  “Who is Vlad and what is he hoping to accomplish?”

  “He is a revolutionary and the unofficial head of the Blouts. Vlad has been under the impression for many years that he’s Dracula’s messenger.”

  “Dracula’s messenger?”

  “In the fifteenth century, Blouts came into prominence under the brutal reign of Vlad Tepes. You probably know him as Count Dracula. Most Otherworldly historians credit Count Dracula as the founder of the Blout movement. Dracula was so notorious, however, that even Normals knew about him—but what Normals know about him only scratches the surface. His legend grew. Count Dracula wanted vampires to emerge from the shadows as the master race. Assimilation was not a viable option—the entire Blout belief system was founded upon this principle. Dracula’s brutality against Normals was the beginning of a larger plan.

  “The man Fern met in Anderson’s Grove also calls himself Vlad, though that’s not his real name. He began referring to himself as that during the Blout resurgence and the name stuck. It’s impossible to say if he actually thinks he is Dracula’s messenger or if his name is the marketing ploy of a madman. But it’s worked to a large degree. Lately, he’s gained a substantial following. His army calls itself the Legion of the Hundred-Handers.”

  “Excuse me? The Legion of the Hundred-Handers? It sounds like you’re making all this up.”

  “I wish I were, Mary Lou. The Hundred-Handers get their name from a fearsome mythological beast called the hecatonchire, or ‘hundred-handed.’ Have you heard of it?”

  “No.”

  “These creatures have one hundred hands, as you might have guessed, and were arguably the most powerful beasts in ancient Greece. The Legion of Hundred-Handers hopes to inspire the same kind of fear the hecatonchires do. There are fifty or so ‘official’ members of the Legion. Their loyalty to Vlad is unswerving and they are known for using the most brutal tactics to terrorize anybody who stands in their path. A group like the Hundred-Handers survives by feeding off other people’s fear.”

  “Are you and the Blouts at war then?”

  “No, not really. Both Blouts and Rollens still depend upon keeping a low profile. Can you imagine what might happen among the Normals if our existence was common knowledge? Neither group has enough of a population to survive the kind of persecution that would inevitably occur. Our need for secrecy acts as a mutual deterrent that keeps both Blouts and Rollens from overtly escalating any conflict.”

  Mary Lou McAllister processed all the new information. After a minute of silence, she spoke. “I appreciate the fact that you’re finally being forthright with me, Alistair, but you still haven’t explained why Vlad is after my daughter.”

  “I was about to get to that. Vlad feels that it’s his duty to finish what Dracula started.”

  “What exactly is that?”

  “World dominance and the subjugation of all those who disagree with him. Those who call themselves Rollens grew out of a resistance movement to the Blouts’ views. Rollens, and specifically the Vampire Alliance, believe that Normals and vampires can coexist peacefully.”

  “Why is he so powerful?”

  “He’s a naturally gifted Otherworldly. His ability to morph into other forms sets him apart from most of our kind. He also has the appearance of a very powerful man. Many people speculate that his watch, nicknamed ‘the Keeper,’ holds tremendous power. Some believe that it was once owned by Dracula himself and that its wearer inherits the power of those who possessed it before. Vlad does an excellent job of portraying himself as all-powerful.”

  “And Vlad thinks Fern can help him, then?” Mrs. McAllister let fear slip into her voice.

  “Yes.”

  “But she’s a little girl.”

  “To be perfectly frank, if the prophecy is true, Fern will be one of the only people able to stop Vlad. Because of this, we—Chief Quagmire, Bing, and myself—have always assumed that should he find Fern, he would try to kill her—as he would any Unusual he encountered.”

  Mrs. McAllister, not known as a gasper, huffed into the phone as if she were choking. Alistair Kimble continued.

  “But he was right there in front of her and he did not kill her. He must want something else. Are you certain Fern told you everything?”

  “Yes, I’m sure.”

  “Mary Lou, we can’t risk your daughter’s safety any longer. You must allow us to bring her to headquarters. She’ll be safe there until we figure out what Vlad is planning.”

  Although Alistair Kimble endorsed the idea of Fern going to headquarters, the plan was not his. Less than ten minutes before, he’d received a phone call from Kenneth Quagmire introducing the idea. Kimble’s job was to convince Fern’s mother to let Fern go. Though Kimble had struggled to keep Mary Lou on the phone, the hardest part of his task was still ahead.

  “Absolutely not,” Mrs. McAllister said, keeping a steady tone despite her panic. “We can hire security for the house and inform law enforcement in the area and have them patrol.”

  “This is not a problem that can be dealt with using the measures you’re accustomed to, Mary Lou. There is no security detail in the w
orld that could stop Vlad. Surely you must understand that?”

  “What can you offer her that I can’t?” Mrs. McAllister insisted.

  “Protection in a secure place that no Blout has ever succeeded in infiltrating. It’s a stopgap until we know more.”

  “I must be allowed to go with her,” Mrs. McAllister said.

  “I’m afraid we cannot permit that. We have a background check that takes months before a person’s even allowed in the front gate. It will be a struggle to convince the committee to allow Fern there, but a Normal? They’ll never reveal the location for that.”

  “Unacceptable,” Mrs. McAllister blurted out. “If Fern’s so precious to you and your cause, you’ll do anything to protect her, right? That includes allowing me to accompany her.”

  “The harsh reality of the matter, Mary Lou, is that the Alliance will go to great lengths to protect her, but they will not compromise headquarters to do it.”

  “You are heartless!” Mrs. McAllister barked. Alistair Kimble let the word roll off him—in his long lifetime, he had been called much worse.

  “I’m willing to do everything I can to protect Fern. But I’m not in a position to make the rules. The Alliance is a democracy.”

  There was a pause as both Mary Lou and Alistair considered their positions. Alistair spoke up.

  “What if Fern carries my mobile phone with her at all times? We’ll hide her away for the week. You’ll be able to call her anytime you want,” Mr. Kimble said, reasoning that although Fern would be hundreds of feet underground and outside of cell phone reception, Mrs. McAllister could call her anytime she wanted. She just wouldn’t be able to reach her. “Allow our people to try to locate Vlad, gather intel, and after the week is over, we’ll reevaluate.”

  “I can’t let you just take her!” Mrs. McAllister said, beginning to sound like a broken record. Alistair Kimble sensed slight doubt in her voice and pressed on.

  “Do you really want the blood of your only daughter on your hands, knowing you could’ve protected her? Is that what Phoebe would have wanted?”

  The two paused at the mention of their long-dead mutual friend.

  “I don’t know what Phoebe would have wanted,” Mrs. McAllister said, her voice full of sad resignation. “I’m not sure now I ever really knew her, Alistair, considering the fact that she kept all this from me all those years.”

  “Being a vampire does not change who a person is, Mary Lou.”

  Overcome, Mrs. McAllister placed the receiver on the desk. She held her head in her hands, shaking from the inside out. She resolved not to break down. She must think about this rationally.

  Though it would nearly break her heart, the Commander decided to make a tactical decision. After taking a single deep breath, Mary Lou reached for the phone once again.

  “When can you come and pick her up?”

  Alistair Kimble had known Mary Lou McAllister for three decades. Still, he had never heard her voice so full of steely resolve.

  “It’ll take me several hours to get the clearance and transport together.”

  “When will you be here?”

  “Noon tomorrow.”

  “Fine.”

  Mary Lou McAllister hung up the phone shortly thereafter and told herself she would talk to Fern after she took a shower.

  Fern didn’t sleep much that night. She lay in her bed, tossing and turning. Feeling antsy, she got up out of bed and wandered out of her room. She half expected to find Vlad’s condor perched on the windowsill. As she made her way down the dark hallway, she noticed the sound of her mother’s printer whirring away. It was unlike the Commander, who kept strict hours, to be working so late, so she tiptoed to the end of the hallway.

  Sam sat behind the Commander’s desk, his face bathed in the dim blue light of the computer screen. Mrs. McAllister had vacated the room after her phone call an hour or so earlier, hoping to take a long shower and formulate how she would break the latest news to Fern.

  “What are you doing?” Fern whispered across the desk at Sam.

  “Something for school tomorrow,” Sam said. He was acting very jumpy. “I’ll be done in a few minutes,” he insisted.

  “Okay,” Fern said. She didn’t want to press Sam, but she was confused.

  “I’ll come to your room as soon as I’m done, Fern,” Sam said, annoyed that Fern was lingering by the doorway. “You better head back there, though, before Mom hears us.”

  Fern moped dejectedly down the hallway and back into her room. What was Sam doing that he couldn’t show her? Though she had tried to banish the thought from her head, Vlad’s predictions of her isolation troubled her. She returned to her bed, her body taut with worry. Was everything going to change now?

  It was an hour before Sam was finished with his project. Creeping down the hall, avoiding the spots in the floor that squeaked, he slipped into Fern’s room. But now, Fern had lost the urge to talk. She just wanted to be left alone, to fall asleep and be released from the thoughts that endlessly plagued her.

  When she heard Sam open the door, she shut her eyes and pretended to be asleep. Fern could sense that Sam was standing above her, watching her. He placed something gently next to her head on her pillow. Fern remained still. The door didn’t open again. Before long, she heard Sam’s heavy breaths coming from the foot of her bed. She raised herself up. Sure enough, curled up at the foot of her bed, Sam was fast asleep, snoring.

  Fern picked up the object Sam had left on her pillow. She held it up in the light from the open window. It was a palm-sized book, loosely bound with twine. The cover had the title The Disappearance Directory stenciled in with a Sharpie. Inside, Sam had written a message in his distinct handwriting.

  Instructions: When you’ve disappeared to somewhere you don’t want to be, look at one of these pictures and get yourself home! Practice makes perfect. The last picture is sort of a joke. —From Sam

  Fern flipped through the book. Sam had printed pictures and pasted them in the book. There was a picture of Fern’s bed, the jacaranda tree, the grove, a fuzzy Internet picture of Pirate’s Cove, and the McAllister living room.

  The last picture made Fern struggle to keep her laughter inside and not awaken her slumbering brother. Sam had taken a picture of the McAllister toilet, unflushed. Her twin brother had been known to clog the toilet from time to time, causing Eddie to call him the John Jammer. She shook her head with a sly smile. Fern had placed the drawing Vlad had given her, of Rhea’s Rock, inside her copy of Island of the Blue Dolphins, now resting on her nightstand. Almost instinctively, she fished it out and slipped it into The Disappearance Directory.

  Fern looked appreciatively at her brother. She got a blanket from her closet and covered him. Sam still accepted her, Fern thought. He still wanted to be friends, to be close to Fern. Would he feel that way if he knew she was a Blout? Fern shut her eyes. Sam’s kindness was just enough to make her forget her other more troubling thoughts. It was only minutes until she fell asleep. Sam snored loudly below her. Fern clutched The Disappearance Directory until morning came.

  Chapter 14

  the backyard experiment

  Sam knew he should let his sister sleep, but his excitement prevailed. He shook her awake, standing over her as she opened her eyes. There was still an hour before they had to depart for school. Enough time, Sam thought, to experiment with The Disappearance Directory.

  “Fern, wake up!”

  The middle McAllister child’s blond hair sprouted like a weed. His face was marked with red zigzags from the rug. Fern rubbed her eyes with her fists. She’d never been a morning person. However, things had gotten much better since she’d received her W.A.A.V.E. products from Lindsey Lin. Reaching for her nightstand, she grabbed the bottle of eyedrops. Her Breakfast Sunglasses, now rarely worn, were gathering dust next to her alarm clock. Two drops in each eye, some lotion on her face, and she was ready to go.

  Both Sam and Fern changed into their school uniforms and raced outside. The backyard was filled
with the immaculate light of sunup. The pool had been painstakingly refilled with the hose, and the jacarandas, oak, and elms were tranquil. Fern hadn’t let The Disappearance Directory out of arm’s reach since Sam had placed it on her pillow. She clutched it now as the birds chirped wildly behind her.

  “Let’s start small,” Sam said, as the twins stood on the grass in the middle of the yard. “Why don’t you try to go from here to your room?”

  “Okay,” Fern said, opening the Directory. “Should I just stare at the picture?”

  Sam started laughing. “I don’t know,” he answered. “I’m not an expert or anything. You’re the one who’s done it before.” Fern shrugged her shoulders at her brother, slightly embarrassed. She looked at the picture of her bed and desk. Her bed was unmade and a few of her white polo shirts from school lay strewn about. If the Commander had seen the picture, she would have called the state of Fern’s room a disgrace. Fern refocused on the picture. She had to concentrate. She zeroed in on the bed, closed her eyes, and thought hard.

  She reopened them and Sam stood directly in front of her.

  “No luck, huh?” Sam asked.

  “I don’t know why it happens when it does happen,” Fern said, frustrated.

  “Well, what are you thinking about right before it happens?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “When you were reading Lord of the Flies, you don’t remember thinking anything? What about when we were having dinner with Mr. Summers? Nothing?”

  “I don’t know, all right?” Fern grimaced. “I’m sorry, Sam,” she said. “I’m just in a bad mood.”

  “If we get you on track with this teleporting stuff, then if you are ever in danger, you can just teleport your way out of it,” he said. “We’ve got to figure it out eventually.”

  “Wait! I know,” Fern said, as a thought struck her. “Usually, right before I teleport, I think to myself that I would rather be some other place. Either because of a happy memory or because of something unpleasant.”

  “Do it, then,” Sam said.