Billy: Messenger of Powers (19 page)

Billy grinned sleepily. “I don’t know if he’ll be able to, dear,” said Billy’s mom, clearly a bit concerned. “Look how tired he is.”

“You okay?” asked Billy’s father. And to Billy’s surprise, his father sounded much more worried and…involved…than he had in a long time.

Everything’s fine, Billy thought. I was almost fried to a crisp by a blue dragon, and was taken to a place called Powers Island where I found out I may be someone who destroys a world full of wizards. Oh! And I died, too! So it’s been a pretty normal day.

But he didn’t—couldn’t—say any of that. Instead, he just grinned as broadly as he could and managed a weak thumbs-up. It was convincing enough for his folks, though, since his mom immediately launched into a tone-deaf rendition of “Happy Birthday” before watching Billy blow out his candles and then insisting that he cut the cake.

The cake was great, made of three whole layers of chocolate, and enough fudge topping to float the Titanic. Billy’s present was equally wonderful: a cool watch that not only told the time, but also had a stopwatch, five alarms, and a thermometer. He hugged his mom and thanked her, grateful that he was old enough now that he wasn’t required to add an embarrassing kiss on top of the hug, and then turned to his father.

“Fourteen,” said his father, with a strange, far-away look in his eyes. “Did you know that a long time ago, that was old enough to be considered a man?” Billy hadn’t known that, and he didn’t really know how to reply. Thankfully, his father made it unnecessary to do so. He held out his hand and shook Billy’s somberly, then said, “I think you’re well on your way.”

Billy tingled all over.

He went to bed a little while after his father left for another shift, barely able to keep his sleepy eyes open, his new watch on one wrist and the brown bracelet Mrs. Russet had given him on the other.

He kissed his mom good night, and slept, and dreamed. But he didn’t dream of Cameron Black pummeling him, or of his new watch, or even of Powers Island. He dreamed of a note and a smile. He dreamed of Blythe Forrest, who had protected him, and asked if he was all right. He dreamed about a friend.

The next day, he arrived at school five minutes early, and was the first one seated in history class. Mrs. Russet was writing on the chalkboard. She nodded at him when he came in, but other than that she gave no sign that she had ever done anything other than teach Billy or occasionally scold him in the halls for being too slow to get to his classes.

Billy was disappointed. Wasn’t Mrs. Russet supposed to be his Sponsor? Wasn’t she supposed to be guiding him through a series of magical tests? How could she be writing homework assignments on the board?

He looked at his bracelet. Still brown.

Harold Crane and Sarah Brookham came in the class together a minute later. The two members of the Torture Brigade glared at Billy, and Harold flicked an imaginary booger at Billy as he walked by. Billy flinched. Even though he had been to an amazing place, and knew things that almost no one else in the world knew about, he also knew that he was still at the mercy of Cameron, Harold, and Sarah. The locker-stuffing wouldn’t stop. It would probably get worse, actually, since Cameron wasn’t likely to forget that Billy had managed to give him a bloody nose.

To Billy’s surprise, though, when he accidentally bumped into the bigger boy during the passing period between first and second classes, Cameron didn’t shove him into a locker or pound him. Instead, the bigger boy punched him mock-playfully on the shoulder. “Don’t worry about it,” said Cameron. He laughed, the sound a bit nasally since his nose was still swollen.

Maybe he found out I’m a Messenger, or an Object of Prophecy, or whatever I am, thought Billy. Maybe now he wants to be friends.

Then Cameron leaned in close to Billy and whispered, “My turn is coming soon, human.”

The way he said “human” froze Billy’s heart. He knew instantly that Cameron, like his mother, was a Darksider. And he knew that Cameron now knew that Billy had been to Powers Island.

Most of all, he knew that Cameron still hated him.

But for some reason, Cameron didn’t do anything else. He just laughed that nasty laugh again, and moved on down the hallway, leaving Billy to worry when the next meeting of the Torture Brigade would be held, and what dastardly plan of torture and destruction they would hatch.

After his fourth class of the day, Billy meandered to the lunch line, as he always did. He got his lunch—today it was a repulsive mass of intestinal-looking goo that the cafeteria somehow managed to call “spaghetti” with a straight face—and went to a table, as he always did. He sat alone, as he always did.

But then something different happened. “Hey,” said a voice. An orange plastic lunch tray slapped down on the table beside his tray, and before he could fall over dead from the shock of it, Blythe Forrest sat down next to him.

“So, did you get in trouble with Mrs. Russet yesterday? You bugged out of fifth period before I could talk to you.”

She popped a straw in her juice box and sucked the box dry in a single intake, as though she did this every day. As though she sat next to the least popular kid in school all the time. As though she actually wanted to know something about Billy.

Don’t blow this, thought Billy. Be calm, be calm. You survived a blue dragon attack yesterday, you can survive this.

“I’m okay,” he said.

Way to go! he thought. Two whole words without a single mistake!

He thought about saying something else, but then decided not to press his luck.

“What did Mrs. Russet do to you?” asked Blythe. She took a huge bite of the disgusting spaghetti-like substance, managing to slurp about a pint of it into her mouth without getting a single speck of tomato sauce on her chin. Billy thought he had never seen anything quite so cool.

“Nothing,” he said. “Just, you know, gave me a talking to.”

“Ugh,” Blythe said, shivering. “I think I’d rather get hit by a garbage truck. Speaking of which…”—she took another gigantic bite of her food. “You managed to slug Cameron pretty good. His nose looks like he got stung by a bee.” She laughed. Billy laughed, too. He sounded like an idiot to his own ears, laughing like a moron just because Blythe was laughing.

She didn’t seem to mind, though. She even looked pleased when Billy laughed. At least, he thought she did. Though his experience with girls was so limited—meaning nonexistent—that he could have been mistaken.

“Anyway, I’m going to see you next period, right?” she asked. She took another bite of food, and Billy realized in amazement that she had managed to eat her entire meal in three huge bites.

“What?” he asked, momentarily distracted by the petite girl’s ability to put down food like a Sumo wrestler.

Stupid! he thought. Stupid, stupid, stupid! First rule: pay attention to what the girl says, even
you
know that, you idiot!

Blythe rolled her eyes. But she didn’t seem too irritated. More like she was amused. “You’re going to next class, right?” Billy nodded. “Cool,” she said. She picked up her tray. “See you there.”

“Wait!” Billy shouted.

Blythe had already turned toward a trash can, but she turned back around. “Yeah?” she said.

Billy didn’t know what to say. Actually, he
did
know. But he couldn’t believe he was actually going to do it.

“Uh, I was wondering,” he began. “That is, well, uh….” He wanted to ask her if he could walk to class with her. But he didn’t know how to say it in a good way. “Can I walk to class with you?” sounded like something a three year old would say. But he couldn’t think of anything more suave. His mouth worked up and down, and he was sure he looked like trying out for an open spot in the National Idiots Association, but he couldn’t stop it, and couldn’t manage to say a word.

Blythe waited for a long couple of seconds. Then she looked at the wall clock. “Look, it’s almost time for class, and I can’t wait around here all day while you learn how to talk. You got something to say?”

Billy couldn’t do it. He couldn’t make
any
words come out of his mouth, let alone make the
right
words come out.

He shook his head, his entire soul aching with remorse at his inability to make his voice do what he wanted it to.

Blythe grinned mischievously at him. “Okay, well, I’m going to be at my locker in five minutes. If you learn to talk before then, maybe we can go to class together.”

And then she was away in a puff of strawberry-smelling air, going to another table where a group of popular girls sat giggling. A few of them glanced in Billy’s direction, and he wondered if what had just happened was some kind of dare or something. Maybe if he went to Blythe’s locker in five minutes she’d be waiting with a can of spray paint to write the word “loser” across his chest in big letters or something.

Billy shook his head. No way she actually
wanted
to talk to him. No way at all. This had to be part of some mean trick. Maybe the Torture Brigade was behind this.

But Billy knew that no matter how slim the possibility was that she really wanted to be friends with him, he was going to go to her locker anyway. He’d take his chances.

Four minutes and fifty-three seconds later—he timed it with the stopwatch feature on his new birthday watch—he was standing in front of Blythe’s locker, waiting for her. His mind raced, frantically trying to work out two things at once: what he was going to say to her, and the best way to dodge out of the way of spray paint, just in case.

He saw Blythe a second later, coming down the hall with three or four of her friends. One by one, the other girls pealed off to their classes, and soon Blythe was coming directly toward Billy. She was smiling almost shyly at him. And he didn’t see a can of spray paint anywhere near her.

Oh my gosh, thought Billy. She actually wants to walk to class with me. With
me
!

His heart started hammering against his rib cage. Faster and faster, harder and harder.

She was within twenty feet of him. Still smiling. Still no spray paint.

A cool feeling tingled along Billy’s arm. He thought for a moment he must be having a heart attack, his body shutting off before the sheer impossibility of walking to class with Blythe could take place.

But then he realized what was
really
happening. It was much, much worse than a heart attack.

Oh, no, he thought. Not now. Not
now
.

He looked down at his wrist.

The bracelet was blue. It was time for his first test to see if he was a Power.

Billy looked at Blythe. She was only ten feet away.

His heart stopped hammering at the inside of his body. It stopped beating entirely as Billy smiled, then waved quickly before turning away from Blythe.

He had a momentary glimpse of her face, which seemed confused and angry and upset as he turned away.

But the blue bracelet was almost burning him, it was so cold. Billy had to find a doorway, and fast. He turned a corner, running into the boys’ bathroom as quickly as he could. There was no one in it. He ran to one of the stalls and opened the door to the toilet. He didn’t know if a stall door counted as a door for purposes of a Transport spell, but he had to get to the test before the bracelet froze his arm off.

He swung the stall door open, said “Elephant,” and then took two steps forward and one step back. He remembered to hold his breath at the last second as the world exploded in bright light around him, and he once again felt the jerking sensation of instantaneous travel.

The whiteness dimmed. Billy expected to find himself in the Accounting Room in the tower, where he would be issued a “Billy—unDetermined” tag.

But he wasn’t in the Accounting Room.

He didn’t think he was even in the tower.

He didn’t think he was even on Powers Island.

In fact, he wasn’t even sure if he was still on the planet earth.

He heard Mrs. Russet’s voice: “Welcome, Mr. Jones,” she said. “Welcome to your first test.”

CHAPTER THE NINTH

Billy was standing on sand. But it wasn’t like beach sand, or the sand he had played with in the play areas at school when younger. This sand was infinitely finer and softer. Not only that, but there was also the fact of its colors. The sand was deep purple, but as Billy watched, its hue shifted and the sand became blue. Then red, then yellow, and then green before going back to blue again.

And the sand wasn’t the only thing that was an odd color: when he looked down at the ground, Billy saw that he himself was glowing as well: a pale blue aura surrounded him, extending about three inches from his body in all directions. He used a blue-glowing hand to touch his also blue-glowing leg. He half-expected a flash of light or a crackle of electricity to hum through him, but he saw and heard nothing out of the ordinary, and the only thing he felt when he touched his leg was that his knees were knocking in fright.