The Candy Shop War

by Brandon Mull

  Nate sprinted along side streets until he reached Main. After waiting for a car to pass, he dashed across and cut through Summer’s neighborhood. He ran up to Mayflower to avoid the creek, and then rushed along the jogging path toward Monroe Circle, senses alert.

  When he reached the bottom of Monroe, Nate saw a gray horse walking down the middle of the street. The sight was so unusual that he retreated into the undergrowth by the creek and fell flat. He watched the horse wander onto the jogging path and clomp away toward Mayflower.

  Once the horse was out of sight, Nate raced up the street to his house, flung open the door, and locked it behind him. He rushed around the ground floor, making sure all the windows and doors were locked, then did the same upstairs. He went to his bathroom, where the light remained on, but Trevor was not in the mirror. He flashed the light on and off and waited a moment, but his friend did not appear.

  Nate went to his room and set the mangled ship in his closet. The Stargazer was a mess, but it was mostly in one piece. Even the broken masts were held to the boat by tangles of netting and string.

  Nate took out his cell phone and called Summer. She answered on the second ring. “I’m glad you called,” she said. “Did you deliver it?”

  “No, the big guy from the candy shop was waiting to ambush me. It seemed like he had others with him. So I came home. I figured my mom could swing me by there on the way to school. Are you and Pidge okay?”

  “We rode home on a talking horse,” Summer said.

  “I think I saw it!” Nate said. “Was it gray?”

  “That’s the one,” Summer said. “He was really friendly.”

  “Nice use of the Brain Feed.”

  “We left our bikes behind, which might come back to bite us, but honestly, I’m just relieved we made it. That was scary.”

  “I know, what was with the monster candy? It was like Melting Pot Mixers on steroids!”

  “It was freaky,” Summer said. “Are you going to school tomorrow?”

  “For sure,” Nate said. “With all the people around, school is probably the safest place for us right now.”

  “I don’t want to see Denny there,” Summer said.

  “Neither do I,” Nate agreed. “You think he’s okay?”

  “I’m sure. Eric and Kyle would have been after us faster if they hadn’t been helping him get unstuck.”

  “Maybe we can hide out during lunch,” Nate said.

  “Bring your candy just in case.”

  “Always. Hey, Summer, you were amazing tonight. You saved the day with that Sun Stone.”

  “What are friends for?” She sounded very pleased. “See you tomorrow.”

  “Yep.”

  He hung up.

  His digital clock said it was not quite two-thirty. The whole escapade had taken place in less than ninety minutes. Nate spit his gum into the wastebasket by his bookcase and turned off the lights. He leaned back on his bed, told himself he would undress after he rested his eyes for a moment, and faded off to sleep.

  *****

  Nate snapped awake, certain he had heard glass breaking. His room was dark; the clock read 3:46 a.m. He lay still, straining his ears, hearing only silence. Had it been a dream? He had smashed through a lot of glass earlier in the night—maybe his subconscious had been reliving the adventure.

  He could not shake the conviction that the sound had been real, and decided he had better check it out. He reached over, clicked on his reading light, and saw a bubble floating over his bed. Chills raced down his back. It was the size of a baseball, like the bubble they had seen in the alley by the museum, like the bubble Pigeon had described hovering near the Nest.

  Transfixed, he stared at the little sphere, uncertain exactly what it meant, knowing it was a bad sign. The floor in the hallway creaked. Terrified, Nate forced himself to move, plunging a hand into his pocket. The bubble streaked out the door. Nate got up, putting an Ironhide in his mouth, watching the doorway, wondering if he should call his parents.

  The wrinkled wooden Indian from the candy shop walked into his room, clutching a tomahawk.

  Nate screamed as he had never screamed before, an involuntary, desperate wail. The Indian reacted by running at him and hurling him onto his bed. The Indian sprang to the closet, tore open the door, crouched, and seized the Stargazer.

  “No!” Nate yelled, diving off his bed, wrapping his arms around the painted buckskin jacket. The Indian fell against the wall, a couple of headdress feathers snapping off. Nate reached for the ship, and the Indian elbowed him in the face. The blow knocked him back, but it didn’t hurt, so he hugged the Indian’s legs as the chief tried to rise, and wrenched him to the ground.

  The fallen Indian kicked Nate viciously, shoving him backwards, and scrambled across the floor toward the door. Unafraid to use his indestructible body as a projectile, Nate sprang onto his bed and leapt off, hitting the Indian with a flying tackle as he was rising.

  The Indian released the Stargazer, picked up Nate, and rammed him into the bookcase, upsetting shelves and sending books and trophies cascading to the floor. Again Nate felt no pain and kept struggling, so the Indian clamped him in a headlock. The chokehold had no effect, and Nate managed to pick up the heavy Indian and thrust his head through the bedroom window. The Indian grabbed the windowsill and pushed off, falling to the floor beside Nate.

  “Everything okay, champ?” Nate’s dad asked, standing in the doorway in his undershirt and boxers.

  “A wooden Indian is trying to kill me!” Nate hollered.

  “It’s just a dream, try to get some shut-eye.”

  No longer holding back, the Indian punched Nate in the face. The blow did not hurt, but it had enough force behind it to send him reeling. Nate landed on his hands and knees.

  The Indian ran toward the door, grabbed the ship, and knocked over Nate’s dad on the way out. Refusing to admit defeat, Nate gave chase.

  “You guys need to settle down,” his dad said as Nate ran by. “Your mom and I are trying to sleep.”

  The Indian was quick, but Nate had his chance on the stairs, diving from the top step and colliding with the wooden chief halfway down. They tumbled together, the Stargazer crunching beneath them, and landed in a tangle at the end of the staircase.

  The Indian again abandoned the Stargazer to concentrate on Nate. The chief picked him up, carried him across the room, and flung him through the sliding glass door into the backyard. Nate got up and rushed back inside, chasing the Indian to the front door. When the Indian reached the door, the ship under one arm, Nate lunged, but the Indian turned and chopped him in the side of the head with the tomahawk.

  As always, Nate felt no pain, but the fierce impact flung him brutally onto the living room carpeting. The Indian raced out the door. Nate got up and pursued him out onto the street, but soon found that in the open, the Indian ran considerably faster than he did. He gave up and watched the Indian dash to the bottom of the street and turn down the jogging path toward the candy shop.

  Nate stared impotently at the empty street. He tried to devise a plan to fix things, but there was nothing he could do. The ship was gone.

  He trudged back into his house, closing the front door. Cool air wafted in through the glassless sliding door. He pulled the curtain shut in front of it. A window in the family room was broken as well, presumably where the Indian had entered.

  Nate climbed the stairs. He peeked into his parents’ room.

  “No more friends over on school nights,” his dad stated in a harsh whisper.

  “Okay,” Nate said.

  He returned to his room. Nate wanted to cry, but no tears would come. He had no idea what he would tell Summer and Pigeon, what he would tell Mr. Stott, what he would tell Trevor. He had failed everyone. Now Mrs. White had the advantage. If she found the treasure first, they were all doomed.

  Nate plopped down on his bed, taking in the disaster his room had become. He spit out the Ironhide.

  The Stargazer was gone.


  Chapter Sixteen

  The Substitute

  The train of cars rolled forward a little at a time. Nate clutched the cell phone Mr. Stott had given him. The power was off in order to avoid receiving a call. His mom pulled forward, finally getting her turn alongside the curb at the front of Mt. Diablo Elementary.

  “Here we are,” she said. “Remember, come straight home after school.”

  “I will,” Nate said.

  He opened the door and got out, shouldering his backpack. His parents had concluded that the house was trashed because Nate had had friends over late. They had grounded him for a week. No television, no friends. In a way, he was glad they had at least noticed something, even if they had it all wrong.

  Caught up in the flow of kids flooding into the school, Nate debated skipping his class. He wanted to hitchhike to San Francisco and stow away on a cargo ship bound for the Southern Hemisphere. Or maybe hop a train to a distant city and check himself into an orphanage. Or even just roam off into the wilderness, build a shack, and start a new life as a mysterious hermit. Anything to avoid admitting that the Stargazer had been stolen by Mrs. White.

  In rebellion against his grandiose schemes, Nate’s treacherous feet carried him toward his classroom. He looked at the cell phone. Should he call Mr. Stott? The sooner he confessed, the sooner they could formulate new plans. He put the phone away. He would tell Summer and Pigeon first; then they could all go tell Mr. Stott in person after school.

  Nate entered Miss Doulin’s classroom. He slouched into his seat, wondering how he was supposed to sit through another unprepared lesson, considering all the stress he was under. Only then did he notice that Miss Doulin was not sitting at the desk at the front of the class.

  In her place sat a broad-shouldered man in an overcoat wearing a brown fedora with a black band. He had a strong jaw and heavy eyebrows. Nate instantly recognized him as the man who had chased him on the night they had stolen the pocket watch from the museum. Fear flooded through him. Somehow the man had tracked them down! Nate glanced over at Summer and Pigeon, already in their seats and looking as uncomfortable as he felt.

  The bell rang.

  Using a cane, the man stood up and limped to the chalkboard. Taking a piece of chalk from the tray, he wrote MR. DART in large capital letters before turning to regard the class.

  “I’m Mr. Dart,” he said in a confident voice. “Today I’ll be standing in for Miss Doulin, who I am told was not feeling well. As long as you keep it to a low roar, I’ll basically leave you alone to read or study or do whatever floats your boat. But first I want to share a few thoughts on an important subject.”

  He turned back to the chalkboard, erased his name, and wrote in imposing letters: DON’T TAKE CANDY FROM STRANGERS!

  Nate squirmed.

  “Now, that may not seem like news to anyone,” Mr. Dart said. “This message, in various forms, has been drilled into children across many cultures for centuries. Why do you suppose this message gets repeated?”

  April Flynn raised her hand. Mr. Dart nodded at her.

  “Because strangers might lure you into their car to kidnap you,” April said.

  “A common response, and a real threat,” Mr. Dart said. “Or maybe the stranger tampered with the candy and made it unsafe. I want to propose a lesser known reason. There are magicians in the world who are capable of creating powerful spells that work only on children. They blend these enchantments with candy to entice youngsters. These magicians consider children a disposable resource. They put kids in danger, get what they can from them, and then cast them aside when their usefulness has passed. None of these magicians can be trusted. They are not a new phenomenon. Some of the oldest children’s tales contain warnings about them. Who knows the story of Hansel and Gretel?”

  Several hands went up.

  John Dart continued as if he had not asked the question. “Two children get lost in the woods and stumble upon a delicious house made of candy. Attracted by the sweets, the kids are captured by a witch, who continues feeding them treats. Why? The witch is fattening them up so she can eat them.”

  Mr. Dart paused, staring at Nate, who dropped his gaze to his hands.

  “Moral of the story? Don’t take candy from strangers. You can find similar warnings in other tales. My message today is: Do not trust magicians who exploit children for gain.”

  Walt Gunther timidly raised his hand. Mr. Dart nodded at him.

  “Are you sort of making up a fairy tale?” he asked, sounding concerned that Mr. Dart might be insane.

  Mr. Dart smiled. “Something like that. I’m trying to prove a point to anyone who might be feeling confused about the issue. If any of you want to talk with me more on the subject, I’ll be at my desk. Otherwise, find a task to perform quietly.”

  Mr. Dart returned to the desk and sat down. He took out a pen and began writing in a notebook.

  Nate tapped his desk nervously with his pen. Whatever Mr. Dart was doing here, it was clear that he knew about the magicians and the candy. There was no point in trying to act naive. The man was on to them. It would be better to confront him directly. Mustering his courage, Nate got up and walked to the front of the room.

  Mr. Dart looked up from his notebook. “Pull up a chair.”

  Nate grabbed a chair, glancing over at Summer and Pigeon. Summer pointed at herself and then at Mr. Dart. Nate shook his head. He did not want Summer or Pigeon to reveal themselves until he learned more about the unexpected substitute.

  Nate sat down by Mr. Dart. “Do you know me?” Nate asked quietly.

  “I do,” Mr. Dart said in a deep, hard voice. “I don’t know all the details, but I know you’re in way over your head. If you’ll fill me in, I can help.”

  “How do I know you’re different from any of the other magicians?”

  Mr. Dart almost smiled. “First of all, I’m no magician. Second, I’m not after what they’re after. I’m only here to stop them. Third, unlike them, I’ll tell you everything I know once I’m convinced you’re on my side.”

  Nate rubbed his knees. “If that’s all true, I may talk to you. But first you need to prove yourself.”

  Mr. Dart leaned back in his chair, thick fingers brushing the brim of his hat. “Look, I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t have a hunch you were basically a good kid. Belinda can be sly. She could cajole an honest kid into serving her. It seems clear you caught on to what she really is and that you were trying to fight back. Without help, it’s a fight you’ll lose. My guess is you’re involved with Sebastian as well.”

  “He seems like a pretty good guy,” Nate said.

  Mr. Dart exhaled sharply, not quite a chuckle. “Compared to Belinda, yes, he is the lesser of two evils. But I expect he is keeping secrets, just as she did. Has he even told you what he is after?”

  “An ancient treasure,” Nate said.

  “What ancient treasure?”

  Nate shrugged.

  “Do you understand that most of the treats these magicians prepare for you would not work on themselves? They’re too old. It’s the catch-22 of magic.”

  “Mr. Stott explained that.”

  “Do you understand that the unattainable miracle all magicians pursue is the ability to reduce their age? They can prolong their years, but they can’t make themselves a second younger. If these wise old magicians could only turn back the clock, their power would increase exponentially.”

  “I sort of knew that, I guess.”

  Mr. Dart leaned closer and lowered his voice a little more. “Then it might interest you to know that the prize Belinda White and Sebastian Stott are seeking is a draught from the Fountain of Youth. Funny how neither of them mentioned it. Chew on that for a minute, and see if Sebastian still strikes you as such a nice guy.”

  Nate nodded thoughtfully. “Why do you care?”

  By the look on his face, Nate sensed that Mr. Dart approved of the question. “I’m no magician, but magicians know me. I help keep them in line. I’ve fulfilled some import
ant assignments, but nothing tops this. If either Belinda or Sebastian drinks that water and reverts to a younger state, it will be a really big problem. I’m not just talking about a problem for magicians, I’m talking about a problem for all humankind.”

  “How do I know this isn’t a setup? You could be working for Mrs. White.”

  “Before we were formally introduced, I broke my leg helping you escape Mrs. White. I shot the dwarf.”

  “That was you in the car!”

  “The dwarf was an Energizer. A Kinetic. He can store and release mechanical energy inside his body—jump with the force of fifty jumps, that sort of thing. He was storing up to follow you onto the roof of that antique store, so I simultaneously shot him with a rubber bullet and a crossbow. The quarrel from the crossbow struck him in the leg.” Mr. Dart smiled. “Sort of knocked him off-kilter, and he leapt into the wall. Little guy busted himself up pretty good.”