Everyone gasped. Agent Barnes looked at her, but she kept her eyes on Claudia. She knew Claudia was jealous of her friendship with Tristan, but she’d never expected her to go this far.
Simon pointed to Claudia’s face. “You can’t take this nut seriously! She’s lying! Look - her lips are moving.”
Claudia ignored him and smiled at Zoey’s distress. “I always knew there was something wrong about her,” she continued, standing straight, glad of all the attention on her.
She moved toward Tristan. “I told you she was rotten, Tristan.”
“What’s rotten is your breath, woman,” said Simon. “What did you have for lunch - fertilizer?”
Claudia ignored him, but her cheeks flushed. “She’s not one of us. Can’t you see it now?”
“What I see is a pathetic excuse to get some attention,” answered Tristan hotly. “I can’t believe you would stoop so low, Claudia.”
Claudia’s face fell. “She did this! You’ll see.”
She raised her hand again and pointed a finger at Zoey. “The mirrors were infected right after I saw her conspiring with that Mystic. She’s the one responsible for the black oil. She’s the enemy.”
“Are you always this stupid or are you making a special effort today?” snapped Simon. “Zoey’s one of us. She’s not the enemy, and she didn’t poison anything.”
“It’s her,” she said again, louder. “I saw her do it. She’s the traitor. She poisoned the mirrors. The Drifter did it. She’s the enemy, and she wants to kill us all.”
Her words cut through Zoey like she’d been stabbed. Her eyes burned, but she strained to keep them dry.
“Now, wait here, missy,” said Agent Barnes angrily.
He made his way across the hall towards Claudia, careful not to step in the black oil.
“Zoey’s no traitor. She’s one of us. Besides, she’s just a girl. How could a girl come up with a virus like this? She would have to know some mystic technology. How could she? She didn’t even know of our existence a few months ago. There’s no way she could have done this.”
He turned to Agent Franken and raised his eyebrows. “Tell them, Agent Franken. Tell them how absurd this is.”
But Agent Franken was staring at Zoey strangely, as though it was the first time he had set eyes on her.
“Agent Franken,” said Agent Barnes again, more urgently. “Please tell everyone how ridiculous this is. There’s no way Zoey could have done this. Agent Franken?”
Agent Franken continued to stare at Zoey like she was an object of great interest to him. But he said nothing.
Agent Barnes dismissed Agent Franken’s inability to respond with a laugh. “This is crazy. I’m telling you all, Zoey had nothing to do with this. This, this girl—” he pointed to Claudia, who looked at him lazily, “is only trying to make trouble. You can’t honestly believe the fabrication? This is foolish.”
“Maybe it’s not so foolish.” Director Campbell stood with her arms crossed in front of her bright pink jacket. She stuck out her pointy chin and said, “Maybe there’s more to this girl than we know.”
She eyed Zoey suspiciously. “She was a Drifter until just recently. It’s possible that she is responsible. She could have been plotting in secrecy.”
“She’s not responsible,” said Agent Barnes angrily.
“Then why isn’t she denying it? I’d like to hear what she has to say for herself.” Director Campbell raised her eyebrows, and looked at Zoey accusingly.
Director Hicks raised his hand dismissively. “Thank you, Director Campbell. He turned around and watched Zoey carefully for a moment, as though he was trying to determine for himself if she was guilty.
“Zoey, is there any truth to what Claudia is saying? Did you meet with someone in secret today?”
Zoey looked at the director. Her voice was stuck in her throat. She saw Tristan and Simon shift uncomfortably, and although she felt their eyes on her she couldn’t look at them. How could she tell them about her abilities without betraying her mother?
“Did you do something to the mirrors?” asked Director Hicks more urgently. “Zoey, this is extremely serious. Did you or did you not speak to someone in secret?”
Zoey’s bottom lip shook. Her throat burned, but she couldn’t speak. She felt the room starting to spin. She was going to be sick.
Director Hicks looked away, shaking his head. He then whispered something to Director Johnson, who nodded and then walked away, briskly.
Zoey and Tristan exchanged worried looks.
Director Hicks exhaled loudly. “I’m sorry Zoey, but you give me no other choice. Agent Vargas, kindly take Zoey down to the basement. Have Agent Wise put her in a holding cell till we can figure out this mess—”
“What?” roared Agent Barnes. “You can’t be serious! Director Hicks, Zoey had nothing to do with this!”
“I’m sorry, Agent Barnes,” said Director Hicks, “but with the recent events, we can’t take anything lightly. Until we know more, she will stay in lockup.”
“No!” Tristan stepped forward with a wild look in his eye that Zoey had never seen before.
“This is wrong. Zoey wouldn’t do anything to jeopardize the Agencies. Besides, we were with her—”
“Yeah,” interjected Simon. “We were all in New York together. She couldn’t have poisoned the mirrors because we were with her when it happened. She didn’t do it. Scout’s honor.” He put his fingers up.
“Any virus takes times to fester,” rasped Director Martin. “It still doesn’t prove she didn’t do it. Why won’t she defend herself then, if she is innocent? Answer me that!”
Simon was about to object, but he stopped short when he saw Zoey shake her head. He and Tristan fell silent.
But she still didn’t speak. She wouldn’t.
She felt a presence near her and when she looked up she saw Agent Vargas’ bear-like body towering above her. He looked at her sadly. “Come on, Zoey.”
With her eyes on the ground she followed the big agent down the hall, leaving her friends, enemies, and everyone else staring after her. She felt like a witch on her way to be burned alive. She felt worse than she’d ever felt at the different foster homes. This was the home she cared about.
She followed Agent Vargas down the stairs to a set of large metal double doors that she remembered well from when she and her friends had been trapped inside with a group of angry illegal mystics.
She read the sign over the door:
WARNING!
Hostiles inside, proceed with extreme caution
Hostiles, she repeated in her mind. So she was a hostile now - a monster to be shunned.
An elderly man in a pinstriped shirt and navy-blue tie greeted them inside. He looked to be about two hundred years old.
He turned to Zoey and said, “And now to punish the culprit who poisoned our mirrors.”
Chapter 9
The Antidote
Zoey stared at the old man in shock, and then she blurted, “You’re alive!” Her voice came out louder than she had expected.
The old man’s smile was lost in all his wrinkles. He looked down and admired himself.
“Well if you call this old raggedy body of mine alive, then yes, I guess I am,” he said. His voice was throaty and low as though he hadn’t used it in over a hundred years.
Zoey remembered the old man. “But I thought that man had killed you! He hit you on the head really hard.”
The old man rubbed the back of his head.
“He didn’t succeed in killing me, but he succeeded in leaving a nasty bump and bruise.”
He inspected Zoey a little closer, and then his eyes opened wide. “So - have you come to finish the job?”
“Excuse me?” said Zoey, confused.
“Never mind.” He adjusted his glasses. “I’m told you are the one responsible for the entire racket about the mirrors.”
When Zoey didn’t answer he continued. “How can I be of service, Agent Vargas?”
�
�This girl’s name is Zoey St. John. Zoey, this is Agent Wise, one of our oldest serving agents,” said Agent Vargas.
Agent Wise saluted to no one in particular.
“Zoey needs to be put in a holding cell until further notice,” continued Agent Vargas, “Until we know more, she must stay there. Are we agreed?”
Agent Wise pursed his lips. “A holding cell, you say? I wish I had been informed earlier. I could have rearranged the cells. I hate last-minute requests.”
He mumbled to himself, but Zoey couldn’t hear.
“What are you fussing about, Agent.” said Agent Vargas. It wasn’t a question.
Agent Wise screwed up his face.
“Fussing! I’m not fussing. I’m saying a little consideration beforehand would have been much appreciated. There are no spare cells at the moment. Have you forgotten about all the illegals that crossed over recently? No? Well, most of them are here.”
Agent Wise waited for Agent Vargas to say something, but he didn’t. Agent Wise glowered and then shook his head. “Fine. Follow me.”
The old man shuffled across the room towards a cubicle that stood in the middle.
Zoey and Agent Vargas followed him. She took the time to inspect the room. It was exactly like she remembered—a giant prison for mystics.
They walked past the glass containment cells that lined both sides of the room. Each one was occupied by an angry mystic. One cell fluttered with a dozen black birds that looked like crows only twice as large. Another cell contained a white cat with a black top hat, and Zoey thought that it winked at her. Zoey had the distinct impression that she had seen the giant two-headed serpent in another cell before. She saw a woman covered in leaves with roots as hair, triplet boys with unusually large heads, and many other unfamiliar mystics.
When he reached his little office, Agent Wise raised his arms and gestured to both sides of the chamber.
“As you can see, all my cells are occupied at the present moment. I don’t have a holding cell for the girl, but you would have known that if anyone had bothered to ask me,” he added, grumpily. “What do you expect me to do with her? I’m not a babysitter.”
“I’m not a baby,” said Zoey, a little annoyed.
She pulled an empty chair from one of the desks, and let herself fall into it. Papers and books with titles like, How to train your Krakenite and Don’t be fooled by the Banshee littered the top of the desk. Zoey wondered if Agent Wise was some sort of mystic zoo-keeper. It only made her feel worse.
Agent Wise lowered his voice in an attempt to let only Agent Vargas hear, but Zoey heard every word. “There are rules about this sort of thing - we don’t hold young Operatives. It’s never been done before. It goes against every rule in the Agency. It goes against my own beliefs. It must be some mistake, she’s just a child—”
“I’m not a child,” said Zoey, loudly.
Agent Wise’s eyes widened. “Well, then. So that’s settled. She’s not a child.”
He tried whispering again, but his hoarse voice was even louder.
“This black oil business couldn’t have come from a girl. It had to be developed—brewed, with precise components not found in this world. To my knowledge, no agent has been to the Nexus recently. No ordinary child or agent would have enough knowledge, let alone a motive.”
Zoey sat stunned. At least the old man didn’t think she was guilty.
“It wasn’t me,” she whispered to herself, her spirits lifting.
As she stood there in silence, she started to contemplate a plan to clear her name.
“Agent Wise, please,” pleaded Agent Vargas, “I was given strict orders. Just keep Zoey in one of the regular cells until we can figure out what happened. Will you do that?”
“If Management requires it, of course I will.”
Agent Vargas leaned over Zoey.
“I’m sure everything will work itself out. It usually does.”
He looked at her with a strange, puzzled expression, and then he marched out. His long blond braid swished against his large shoulders as he disappeared.
Zoey felt abandoned. She bit her lip in an attempt to stop the tears from rushing back. She had a weird feeling they were going to lock her up forever.
“Don’t look so distraught, I’m not going to harm you.”
Agent Wise pulled out a handkerchief, took off his glasses, and wiped his forehead.
“Well, then, I can put you up with the Wooladangle for now. Follow me.” His knees cracked as he hobbled forward.
Zoey didn’t even bother to ask what a Wooladangle was. This entire experience felt like a dream. Her legs moved forward, but they felt detached from her body, like they weren’t hers. She followed him towards the back of the chamber to a small cell with a Plexiglas window. She stared at the holding cell and frowned.
A creature with cream-colored fur, short, hooved legs, and large sad brown eyes stood in the back corner of the cell. It looked like a cross between a gloomy sheep and a very depressed cat.
“That’s a woolibagle?” Zoey stared at the creature.
“Wooladangle,” corrected Agent Wise. He reached up and typed on the control panel. There was a click, and the lock retracted. He pulled the door open.
“In you go, dear,” said Agent Wise. “Bathroom breaks are every two hours, and I’ll bring you a tray with your dinner around seven o’clock.”
Zoey stepped into the cell and heard the door lock behind her. The room was small, with a single cot pushed against the far wall, a pillow, blanket, and a stack of cooking magazines. She had no idea what they were for. At least the Wooladangle seemed too sad to move, so she didn’t have to worry about getting a hoof in the face. Actually, it looked so sad that she started to feel sorry for it.
She watched Agent Wise return to his cubicle with a heavy heart. Angry and hurt, she took off her coat and sat on the cot.
After two hours of listening to the Wooladangle burp and grind its teeth, she saw Simon and Tristan waltz through the door. Zoey jumped to her feet.
Agent Wise looked up from his ledger. “What? What’s this? Who are you?”
Zoey stifled a laugh.
Simon was wearing a long black trench coat. He had combed his hair flat with the help of some gel, and below his nose was a large mustache. He held his head high as he crossed the room, giving himself the airs of a Duke.
Tristan was another matter.
He wore a black suit that looked more like a last-minute Halloween costume than a serious suit. It was tight around his chest and too short. Most of his face was hidden below a black fedora-style hat. He walked stiffly and looked around the chamber nervously. Finally, he spotted Zoey and gave her a little smile before putting his more serious face back on.
Zoey ran to the door’s slot, angling her head to hear better.
Simon approached Agent Wise.
“I’m Agent Bond,” he said, a little too jauntily, “And this here is Agent Capone.”
He winked at Tristan. “We are here to escort the prisoner Zoey St. John,” he added in a deep theatrical voice that sounded forced.
“Agent Bond, you say?” said Agent Wise skeptically. “Never heard of you. Why wasn’t I told of this?”
Agent Wise struggled off his chair and shuffled towards Simon and Tristan. “Where is the order slip, Agent Bond?”
Simon and Tristan looked at each other and then Simon said, “The what?”
“The order slip?” repeated Agent Wise as he eyed the two boys slowly. “You need an order slip if I’m to release any of the detainees.”
Simon’s eyes widened. “Of course, the order slip. Let me see, here…”
From the folds of his jacket, Simon pulled out a crumpled slip of paper and handed it to the agent. “From Director Hicks himself. Express order number 677-1. It clearly says that the prisoner is to be released to us immediately!”
Agent Wise frowned as he inspected the paper. “I don’t know of any express orders. Is that a new decree detail from Management?”<
br />
He brought the paper close to his face. “I can’t see a darn thing without my glasses.”
Simon patted the old man on the back and leaned over him. “You don’t need to see anything, my dear fellow. Agent Bond is telling you that’s a real order number,” he said importantly, and then cleared his throat. “You’ll see that everything is in order, and that we have been authorized to take her with us this instant! We’ll take the key code now.”
Agent Wise was mumbling to himself. “It’s B9033. But just a second, I need to read it first and then sign it, I need my glasses—”
PLOP!
Something brown and furry landed on the paper.
Agent Wise stared at Simon’s mustache. “What in the world do you call that?”
Just as he went to pick it up, Simon snatched it up and stuck it back on his face.
“Sorry, what?” he said smiling, his mustache back under his nose.
Agent Wise looked troubled for a moment. “I was just…” he looked from the paper to Simon’s face. “I thought I saw—”
“What?” said Simon, still smiling.
Agent Wise shook his head. “You look oddly young for an agent, Agent Bond. I don’t know what this Agency is coming to, having babes as agents. It’s preposterous.”
His attention went back to the paper. “It’s no good - can’t see a thing. Let me get my glasses. You two wait here,” he shuffled towards his cubicle.
“Tristan, go before he comes back,” whispered Simon.
In a leap, Tristan was already typing the key code on the side panel of Zoey’s cell.
Zoey pulled on her coat excitedly and waited. Finally, Tristan yanked the door open, and Zoey slipped through and jumped into his arms, hugging him.
“Thought I’d never see you guys again,” she said, beaming, and before she knew what she was doing she leaned in and kissed him.
“Uh…I don’t know why I did that,” she said awkwardly. “Forget that it ever happened, okay?” She pushed Tristan away. But then she added quickly, “Thanks for bailing me out, thanks a lot.”
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