by Brandon Mull
“Don’t count us out,” Pigeon said. “Ironhides might still prove to be the best candy for downhill racing. Summer fell a long way, but I’ll fall faster.”
“Hopefully I won’t fall at all,” Nate added.
The walkie-talkie crackled. “She made it to me. Just over one minute.”
“That’ll be hard to beat,” Pigeon conceded.
“We’ll see.” Nate pulled out a stick of Peak Performance gum. Unlike Pigeon and Summer, who had bought junky secondhand bikes for this contest, he was riding his own bike. To be safe, he had on elbow pads and a helmet, but he expected that the heightened state of awareness and coordination provided by Peak Performance would allow him to make it down without any mishaps.
He put the gum in his mouth and started chewing. It was hard to feel the effects of Peak Performance unless you were in motion. He had used the gum on many occasions, and it had never failed him. “Tell Trevor to start the stopwatch,” Nate said.
“Ready with the time?” Pigeon asked into the walkie-talkie.
“Just a second,” came the reply. “Okay, I’m ready.”
“On your mark,” Pigeon said into the walkie-talkie. “Get set. Go!”
Nate started down Dead Man’s Run. It still looked freaky, but now that he was moving, he had an instinctive sense for where to guide his bike. Subtleties of balance and momentum that he had never perceived suddenly felt like second nature. He pedaled hard but resisted going as fast as he could. He could sense the limits of what he could handle without losing control.
With the wind in his face, Nate rode as he had never imagined possible. He let his rear wheel slide as he rounded tight corners. He took jumps to avoid rocky patches. When the way was straight, he tucked forward, zooming with suicidal confidence, only to hit the brakes and fishtail around a hairpin corner. Dirt sprayed. Rocks tumbled. His stomach lurched as he jumped to a lower portion of the trail, shortening a switchback.
He knew he should be terrified. Without Peak Performance, he would have wrecked his bike a dozen times. Yet somehow he managed to enjoy the exhilaration rather than fear the danger.
The exertion did not tire him. Chewing Peak Performance meant you could run at a full sprint without ever feeling winded. Maximum effort seemed like no big deal for as long as the magic lasted.
Trevor and Summer came into view. Trevor was quite a bit taller than her now, having gained a few inches during the school year. The way was getting less steep, so Nate pedaled with everything he had, skidding to a stop after he passed Trevor.
“A minute twenty-one,” Trevor reported.
“What did Summer get?” Nate asked.
“A minute six,” Trevor replied. “You looked awesome coming down, though. I wish I had it on video!”
“It felt pretty awesome,” Nate admitted, disappointed that he had come in second. Still, coming in fifteen seconds behind somebody who had glided most of the way down the mountain wasn’t too bad. And unlike Summer, he hadn’t trashed his bike in the process. Now the only question was whether Pigeon would put him in last place.
Trevor relayed the exact time through the walkie-talkie.
“Pretty quick,” Lindy replied. “Pigeon is ready to go. Is the timer set?”
“Ready when you are,” Trevor responded.
“Great. Ready, set, go!”
Trevor tapped his stopwatch.
Nate looked up the hill. The contours of the landscape currently hid the top of the trail from sight. The brush on the hill was golden brown in response to the dry summer weather, interrupted by jutting rocks, patches of dirt, and an occasional oak tree. Evening was fading. They had timed their contest carefully, hoping the hillside would be deserted by sunset, since most bystanders would have had questions about a girl flying hundreds of yards through the air. So far, nobody had disturbed them.
Pigeon was sucking on an Ironhide as he came down the hill. The jawbreaker would prevent his skin from tearing and his bones from breaking. It made him no stronger or faster, but while the candy lasted, it would be just about impossible for him to get injured.
When Pigeon first came into view, he had clearly already fallen. The Ironhide did not prevent him from getting dirty, nor did it prevent his clothes from ripping and accumulating prickers from the weeds.
Of the five friends, Pigeon was the least confident on a bike. It showed. He took a corner too fast and plowed into a small boulder, catapulting over the handlebars and landing in a cloud of dust and sliding rocks. He was on his feet instantly, scrambling up the trail to retrieve his bike.
Back astride the bike, he reached the steep run where Summer had left the trail by jumping off the banked turn. Pigeon hit the same ramp at a high velocity, but instead of floating a ridiculous distance through the air, he demonstrated what gravity was supposed to do when somebody rode a bike off a cliff.
Losing his forward momentum, he fell with increasing speed before slamming into a cluster of jagged rocks, his husky body tumbling and cartwheeling, arms and legs flailing loosely. The rusty bike crumpled on impact and bounced along beside him. It was the kind of spine-crushing accident that should have been fatal. Even knowing that Pigeon was sucking on an Ironhide, Nate found himself wringing his hands.
Once Pigeon stopped somersaulting and sliding, he got up. He hustled to the bike, but the front tire was shaped like a taco and the frame was bent or maybe broken. Turning, Pigeon raced recklessly toward them on foot, falling twice as he jumped off small ledges.
Panting and sweaty, his clothes torn and dusty, Pigeon reached Trevor and flopped to the ground. Although he seemed exhausted, there was no blood on him.
“One minute, fifty-three seconds,” Trevor reported.
“Last place?” Pigeon wheezed.
“You had the best crash,” Summer consoled.
“Did it hurt?” Nate wondered.
Pigeon sat up. “No. It freaked me out, though. I thought I was dead for a second there.”
“Here comes Lindy,” Trevor announced.
Nate turned to watch. She was using Peak Performance and riding her own bike, just as he had. He wondered if her magic eye would give her an advantage.
Lindy had been missing an eye when Mr. Stott took over as her guardian, but a powerful magician named Mozag had provided a replacement. The glass eye looked perfectly real but could see better than a normal human eye. With her replacement eye, Lindy could see in the dark, zoom in on distant objects like a telescope, and even recognize different temperatures.
Whether the eye was helping or not, Lindy came tearing down the hillside like a professional stuntwoman with a death wish. Nate wondered if he had looked that good while taking wild jumps and careening around corners. She skidded to a stop near the others with impressive precision.
“What a rush,” she said with a huge grin.
“You were cruising,” Trevor complimented. “You should have had me time you.”
Lindy shook her head. “Three contestants, one for each candy.” She looked down at Pigeon, who was still sitting in the dirt. “You look like you were hit by a train.”
Pigeon gave a weak smile. “Welcome to my life. Not only did I come in last, I’m also the most tired and filthy.”
“I wasn’t timed,” Lindy said. “Let’s say you beat me.”
“I don’t need your pity,” Pigeon said, getting to his feet. “You looked just as fast as Nate.”
Trevor stuffed his stopwatch and walkie-talkie into a backpack. “Moon Rocks definitely won as the fastest way down the mountain.”
“I thought they would,” Lindy reminded everyone. “But Peak Performance wasn’t far behind.”
“And my bike wasn’t totaled,” Nate chimed in.
Lindy nodded thoughtfully. “If we could mix Peak Performance with an Ironhide and a sturdy bike . . .”
“Can’t risk mixing candies,” Pigeon said. “Instead of a combined effect, you might get something unexpected. Like your head bursting apart.”
“I said ‘if,’�
�� Lindy pointed out. “If we could find a safe way to mix the candies, great skill and much riskier jumps might combine to have a chance.”
“I lost a lot of time going back for the bike when I crashed,” Pigeon said. “And I’m a lousy sprinter.”
“I could have hit the jump a little better,” Summer said. “I could probably shave a few more seconds off my time.”
“If we were mixing,” Nate said, “Peak Performance and Moon Rocks would probably beat Peak Performance and Ironhides.”
“It’s all speculation,” Pigeon complained. “We can’t test it out.”
“It can still be fun to speculate,” Lindy said.
Pigeon shrugged.
Trevor elbowed Nate and jerked his head in the direction opposite from the hillside. Nate looked where Trevor had indicated and saw a pair of blocky men in suits walking toward them.
“Am I seeing double?” Nate asked.
“There are two of them,” Lindy confirmed. “And yes, they look almost identical. They must be twins. One has a small mark on his neck. It could be mistaken for a mole from a distance, but it’s actually a tiny tattoo of a rosebud.”
The men evidently saw the kids looking because one of them waved. The pair strode directly toward them. Both men had dark hair, and binoculars hung from their necks. Nate waved back. “What do you think they want?” he murmured.
“They don’t have bikes,” Trevor noted. “They’re not dressed for hiking.”
“They have binoculars,” Summer observed. “Were they spying on us?”
“I knew we shouldn’t have used the candy in such a public place,” Pigeon groaned. “Without white fudge clouding people’s minds, it was only a matter of time before we got caught.”
“This isn’t a very public place,” Nate said. “We’re practically in the wilderness. And it’s late. We were keeping watch.”
“Apparently not well enough,” Pigeon said. “Do we make a run for it? You guys could use your bikes. Summer and I can use Moon Rocks.”
“What if they’re just bird-watchers?” Trevor said.
“In suits?” Summer replied doubtfully. “Here? Now? They look like government guys.”
“They look really similar,” Lindy said. “Maybe they’re clones.”
“We should start moving away from them,” Nate said. “We don’t need to run. We can just act like we’re heading home. If they chase us, then we can start using candy.”
“Sounds good to me,” Trevor seconded.
They turned and started marching away from Dead Man’s Run in a direction that would let them avoid the men in suits. Nate, Trevor, and Lindy walked their bikes so that Pigeon and Summer could keep pace.
“A moment of your time,” one of the men called.
Nate looked back. One of the men had his hands cupped around his mouth. The other was waving both hands over his head.
Nate stopped walking. “We need to get home,” he called.
“We have a mutual friend,” the man called back. “John Dart.”
Nate exchanged glances with his friends. They hadn’t heard from John in months.
“What do you think they want?” Pigeon asked.
“They could be faking,” Trevor warned. “They could be bad guys.”
“What do you want?” Nate hollered.
“Just a few words,” the man called back. “We know all about you. John is in trouble. We’re all on the same side.”
Nate looked to his friends again.
“If they found us here,” Summer said, “they’ll find us again.”
“Might as well get it over with,” Pigeon said.
“Stay ready for trouble,” Nate warned before raising his voice. “All right. Let’s talk.”
Reversing his direction, Nate led the others toward the heavyset men. The duo waited patiently as the kids approached. Their dark gray suits had faint pinstripes. The blue handkerchiefs peeking from their breast pockets matched their neckties. Both suits looked worn and a little rumpled. The men had stocky necks and wide builds, and both wore large black shoes. Their blunt faces were not handsome, with heavy eyebrows and fleshy lips. Weighty rings adorned each thick-fingered hand.
Nate stopped about five yards from the men. “Who are you guys?”
“We work with John Dart,” said the man on the left. His deep voice was slightly hoarse. He enunciated each word clearly.
“That isn’t an answer,” Summer pointed out.
The other man shrugged. “I’m Ziggy Battiato, and this is my brother Victor.”
“You’ve been watching us?” Nate asked.
“You’ve been sloppy,” Victor replied. “We’ve tailed you for three days. We know where each of you lives. We see you frequenting the Sweet Tooth Ice Cream and Candy Shoppe. We’ve seen you using magical enhancers out in the open.”
“We’re careful,” Pigeon protested.
“You take some rudimentary precautions,” Ziggy allowed. “But anyone intent on learning your secrets would have little trouble.”
“John is missing,” Victor said. “When did you last see him?”
Nate held out a hand for the others to keep silent. “How do we know you’re not bad guys using us for information on him?”
“We haven’t tranquilized you,” Ziggy said, opening his coat enough to flash a pistol.
“We’re here to help,” Victor said steadily.
“What can it hurt?” Lindy said. “It’s been some time. We last saw him in March. March twelfth.”
Nate glanced at her. For somebody who had forgotten her identity, she sometimes had an uncanny memory.
Ziggy gave a nod. “Makes sense. He didn’t want to interfere in your lives more than necessary. John went missing a month ago. He was last seen not far from here. But you never heard from him? No final message?”
Nate shook his head. “Nothing since March.”
Ziggy and Victor shared a look. Victor faced the kids. “John would be angry with us for asking, but would you be willing to help us find him?”
“Yes,” Nate said. “As long as you’re really his friends.”
Ziggy gave Nate a measuring stare. “Good answer. You’re smart to be cautious.” He held out a business card. Nate accepted it.
“You kids spend time with Sebastian Stott,” Victor said.
“Let him have a look at that card. If we check out, come to Schwendiman’s All-You-Can-Eat Buffet tomorrow at noon. We’ll talk more then.”
Chapter Two
Advice
Nate and the others accompanied Lindy home to the Sweet Tooth Ice Cream and Candy Shoppe. She lived with Mr. Stott in the apartment above the store. By the time they arrived it was almost dark.
The shop had recently closed, but Lindy had a key. The interior looked much the same as when Mrs. White had run the business. Tables and chairs with chrome legs were arranged on a black and white checkerboard floor. A vast assortment of candy both familiar and exotic crowded the shelves behind the long, L-shaped counter. None of the magical candy was on display. All supernatural treats were stored in the back.
Lindy led the way to the stairs and up to the apartment. She opened the door and called, “Dad!”
Sebastian Stott came into view, wearing a tweed jacket with patches on the elbows. Underneath his coat was a blue T-shirt with a picture of a frowning stick figure. The words FEED ME were printed beneath. Mr. Stott’s neatly trimmed beard had two thick, dark streaks interrupting the silver. His eyebrows were a bit unruly. Despite his age, he was robust, with a hearty voice and searching eyes.
“Hello, Lindy,” Mr. Stott greeted with grandfatherly warmth. He looked at the others. “I wasn’t expecting all of you. How did the experiment go?”
“Moon Rocks won,” Summer said. “Peak Performance took second, Ironhides third.”
“Hard to beat jumping down a mountain,” Mr. Stott said. “Is everyone all right?”
“We had some visitors,” Nate said, handing over the business card. “They said they know Joh
n Dart. I guess he’s missing.”
Mr. Stott studied the card. He held it up to a light and squinted at it from varying distances. Then he gave the kids a long stare. “The Battiato brothers have quite a reputation.”
“Are they on our side?” Trevor asked.
“They’re certainly on John’s side,” Mr. Stott answered. “All magicians are a little wary of their kind.”
“They’re policemen like John?” Nate asked. “Policemen for magicians?”
“That’s how they see it,” Mr. Stott said. “Not all such operatives wield their authority as responsibly as others. I could tell you some stories. But yes, the Battiatos work for Mozag. I’ve never met them, but this card bears markings that confirm their legitimacy. What did they want?”
“They want us to help them find John,” Summer said.
Mr. Stott nodded vaguely. “I had heard that John went missing.”
“You heard?” Pigeon exclaimed. “Why didn’t you tell us?”
“I didn’t want to upset you,” Mr. Stott replied. “And frankly, I didn’t want you involved. It isn’t safe. These thugs should be ashamed for asking children to do their dirty work.”
Nate raised his eyebrows. “We’ve had some experience.”
“I seem to remember other people making use of us in the past,” Summer added.
Mr. Stott cleared his throat uncomfortably, his eyes flicking to Lindy. “That was then. You were already involved, and it was an emergency.”
“If John is missing, that sounds like an emergency to me,” Pigeon said.
“John dealt fairly with us,” Mr. Stott acknowledged. “I wish him no harm. Quite the contrary, I would help if I could.”
“We know,” Trevor said. “You can’t leave your lairs. It’s either this store, your house, or your ice cream truck.”