Disney in Shadow (15 page)

Finn thumbed his own chest and then pointed at the fat gray python, its tongue slurping into the air, searching for a scent. Finn banged his fists together.

At that instant, Gigabyte turned toward the Kingdom Keepers.

“Now!” Finn said.

F
ROM THE MOMENT FINN
took off running, he was afraid. He hated snakes. Any kind of snake gave him the weebies. A python as thick around as a basketball and nearly twenty feet long was the stuff of his worst nightmares—he’d never even had a dream that bad. Somewhere inside him he understood how stupid he’d been to offer to play the decoy. Somewhere in him he understood how fast a snake that big could travel across level ground and how if there were any small piece of him not fully crossed-over when the snake caught up to him—for Gigabyte would catch up to him no matter how fast he ran—that he would be caught, crushed, and consumed. But he ran straight at the snake, as fast as his legs would carry him.

At first, Gigabyte didn’t see him, concentrating on the group of six others. The snake moved over the grass in an almost lazy motion, as if filled with such confidence that catching the kids was never in question, that instead it was only a matter of when, and how many, and what to do with them once they were caught. Such confidence terrified Finn; it was the confidence of a predator, a killer.

Despite his proximity to the disgustingly large reptile, the beast didn’t turn in his direction. “Hey!” Finn shouted, trying to win his attention.

The huge head pivoted toward Finn, one yellow eye taking him in, but the giant tube of his body kept sliding ahead, aimed now at a precise point directly ahead of Charlene, who had just overtaken Philby in the footrace to reach the jungle’s edge.

It took Finn a second to realize what was happening: the snake wasn’t interested in having one kid for dinner when the opportunity for six remained only a few yards in front of him.

“Scatter!” Finn shouted. With that, he briefly closed his eyes and summoned the locomotive’s light in the darkness—the pinprick of purity that would allow him to fully cross over to all-clear. Shutting his eyes also had the advantage of eliminating the snake from his view, and thereby removing it from his thoughts and from an imagination that could easily picture him as an appetizer ahead of the main meal Gigabyte would make of the others. Not only did Finn think he was about to die, he thought he was also about to fail in his campaign to save his friends.

Finn opened his eyes to find himself within a few yards of the thing. Gigabyte, responding to the distraction, suddenly straightened out from the winding
S
that had been propelling him forward and bent into a giant
C
, with Finn at the center.

Out of the corner of his eye Finn saw the snake’s tail recoil and come at him with blinding speed—like the tip of a cracked whip. Gigabyte had no interest in biting Finn, despite the open mouth and tickling tongue. He intended to knock Finn off his feet, wrap himself around the boy, choke the life out of him, and swallow him whole.

The snake’s tail flew through Finn’s legs, making no contact. Gigabyte, having expected to hit the boy, rolled off-balance. The snake recovered quickly and took aim at Finn once more as Finn’s arms began to tingle and his physical sensations returned. He’d managed to hold the all-clear for a few precious seconds, but having a snake’s tail whip through his projection proved more than Finn could bear. Every piece of him was sparking and prickling—he was substance again, half hologram, half human, the same as the others. The human aspect of his DHI would prove crushable—if Gigabyte got hold of him, Finn was going down.

The snake folded in half, reminding Finn of a jackknifing semitruck. Finn jumped over the body like a hurdler but caught his trailing foot and tumbled to the ground. The snake reversed course, jerking into a mirror image of itself—more of a
V
than a
C
, with Finn at the center; from Finn’s right swung the huge head; from his left the pointed tail. The serpent was closing around Finn, who retained enough presence of mind to skid to a stop before those snapping jaws got hold of him. He’d seen a video in science class of a reticulated python catching and crushing a wharf rat; the snake had struck with lightning speed and snagged its prey in its mouth; it then ate the wiggling rat as it quickly coiled tightly into a death knot that hid all but the rat’s desperately quivering tail, which soon went still.

The look in Gigabyte’s eye as his head swept around told Finn that just such a strike was coming.

Finn turned—
trapped
—with the snake quickly closing around him. He shut his eyes and regained his focus. His arms lost their tingling.

A girl screamed.

* * *

To Finn’s six friends, Gigabyte’s head strike appeared to happen with the speed of a fighter jet. The massive head seemed to be feather light as it flew like a spear at Finn’s body.

Amanda screamed.

The head pierced Finn’s projection and drove right through the boy, once again making no contact. Once again, confusing the predator.

The snake lifted his head up into the sky, already twisting and turning its flashing tongue in search of the scent that connected to the piercing scream he had just heard.

Philby tugged hard on Amanda’s arm and got her running. The planting was thick; it would not be easy going for such a large snake. He could take nothing like a straight line to reach them, but was forced instead to stitch his way through the dense undergrowth. Perhaps this explained the serpent’s attraction to Finn, who was out in the open and looked like easy prey. If anything, the very size of the snake was an impediment. He was powerful and strong, yes, but his weight and mass slowed him and prevented him from traveling well in dense terrain.

Gigabyte launched himself in the direction of Amanda’s scream, cutting a rut into the soft lawn, throwing mud and grass to either side.

* * *

Finn, who lost his brief state of all-clear the moment he heard Amanda scream, was struck in the back by the snake’s departing tail and knocked six feet up in the air before sprawling onto the ground. Like a pendulum, the snake’s tail swept back toward him, this time aimed for his head. Finn reached out to block the blow, but for reasons unknown to him, ended up clutching to the tail and holding on for dear life. This softened the blow and prevented another, but left Finn rushing along the grass at nearly thirty miles an hour, swished from side to side, and wondering how long he could hold on.

Gigabyte sensed the parasite holding on to him. The snake didn’t give free rides. He turned his head just far enough to get a glimpse of the glowing boy clinging to his tail—but at the exact wrong moment.

The snake’s head collided with a light blue steel-rail fence. It bent and popped through the railing’s two center pipes which, as the snake turned, put him into a headlock, with his jaws stuck like a key in a lock.

Finn let go and took off running. The snake turned farther to catch sight of him, but in doing so further turned the key in the lock, preventing his own escape. He struggled briefly, writhing with the effort.

Finn ran, and ran hard.

Gigabyte, not able to pull free, went still. The snake dislocated his lower jaw, thrust his upper jaw forward and, as the mechanism came apart, pulled his head from the fence. He looked to the right, licking the air—the scent there was fading; to the left there was only a blur of light running away—no scent at all.

Finn heard a ferocious hiss charge the air from somewhere behind him. Farther and farther behind him, as it turned out.

He would soon try to describe that sound to others.

“Like it was…cursing,” he would say.

Upon reaching the rendezvous, Finn demanded that Philby return the borrowed pants and shirt, something even Willa believed beyond the call of duty, given the somewhat desperate nature of their current situation. But Philby did not object and took off, returning a minute later in only his underwear, having left the clothes outside the door of the store. Again he was subjected to a volley of cackles and derisive snorting.

“Don’t look now,” he said, out of breath, “but we’ve got visitors.”

Finn peered around the edge of the building and out toward the fountain.

“Did they see you?” he asked, over his shoulder.

“No, I don’t think so.”

“Who?” Charlene asked.

Philby answered, “It’s the Vikings and the caveman and his boy.”

“They’re looking for us,” Finn said in a whisper as he joined the others. “Must be.” He glanced around for a place to hide the fob, somewhere they could find it when they next crossed over. The gardens and grounds were out—Cast Members worked on the landscaping every day of the week. The stainless-steel water fountain had no hiding places; Finn couldn’t just leave the fob out in the open.

“We’d better think of somewhere fast,” Charlene said, who had nominated herself as scout and was keeping one eye on the fountain. “They’re getting closer.”

“How can this be so difficult?” Finn asked.

But it was. Unlike the teepees in the Magic Kingdom, there was no obvious out-of-the-way spot in which to conceal the fob.

“It’s going to have to be the bushes,” Maybeck said. “Someplace any of us can get to. We’re just going to have to trust that no one finds it.”

“Hurry!”
Charlene hissed.

Finn showed everyone where he was tucking the fob: nestled in beside the bricks that lined a raised garden of shrubs and flowers.

Maybeck produced a pen from his pocket and passed it to Finn. If any one of the kids held the fob as they crossed back over, the fob would travel with them. If Finn pushed the button with a pen, the pen would come along, but the fob would remain behind.

“Ready?” Finn asked.

Charlene abandoned her post and the Kingdom Keepers huddled together around Finn, alongside the raised garden bed.

He stabbed the button with the pen.

F
OR THE NEXT DAY
and a half the texts flew back and forth between the Kingdom Keepers. Finn used lunchtime to keep Amanda apprised of developments: no one had seen or heard from Wanda; Philby had buried himself in research, finding out everything he could about disappearing inks, and believing they should try to return to Wonders to try out his theories; Charlene was consumed with trying out for a dancing part in a school pageant.

“What about Maybeck?” Amanda asked Finn as they sat together in the lunchroom.

“He texted Philby to tell him to bring him the paper box this afternoon, after school. Said he figured something out.”

“That sounds promising,” Amanda said.

“What about Jess?” Finn asked.

“She’s fine,” Amanda answered dismissively, without a moment’s thought.

“I’m just asking,” he said.

“Who said you weren’t?”

“As in: has she had any more…uh-oh.”

Lousy Luowski was headed in their direction with a tray bearing only a dish of jiggling lime green Jell-O. Finn thought he had a pretty good idea what Luowski had in mind for the Jell-O.

“Hello, Greg,” Amanda said in a disarmingly warm voice.

Her tone stopped Luowski in his tracks. The dish of Jell-O bumped against the lip of his tray and stopped.

“We’ve got some unfinished business,” Luowski said. Mike Horton nodded at his side, like a translator.

“Greg,” Amanda said softly, drawing him in. “Have you heard about the wind here at school?”

“That’s a trick question,” Mike Horton whispered too loudly into Luowski’s ear. “Wind is invisible, in the first place.”

“That’s a trick question,” Luowski said.

“Think hard, Mike,” she said. “Science class about a month ago when Denny Fenner shoved Lois Long into the corner.”

“And all the beakers went flying off….” Horton stopped himself.

“And broke all over the floor,” Amanda said.

Horton nodded, his skin going pale.

“What’s going on?” Luowski asked, taking another determined step toward Finn.

“It wasn’t pretty,” Horton answered.

Luowski now had the dish of Jell-O in hand, but an arm’s length from the top of Finn’s head.

“What I’ve heard,” Amanda said, fixed on Luowski unflinchingly, “is that the wind is actually like some kind of ghost that inhabits the school and helps defend the innocent.”

At that moment, Luowski’s hair lifted off his oily face, blowing straight back. His shirtsleeves fluttered and rippled. Horton’s hair was caught by the wind as well, but not nearly in the same way. Luowski had to lean forward steeply just in order to remain standing.

“What…the…heck…is…happening?” The terror in his eyes conveyed Luowski’s predicament. If he stood up straight he was going to be blown over backward, but the gale-force wind seemed confined to him, with only a tiny fraction spilling past behind him.

The green Jell-O cubes were no longer square, but stretched into trapezoids. Several of them skidded across the dish. One escaped, splatting onto Luowski’s shirt.

“Stop it!” Luowski said to Finn, who just shrugged. “Stop it, you witch!” he said to Amanda.

“Me?” she gasped, backing her chair up as if afraid of it. “I don’t think ghosts hear so good, Greg. I’ve heard you have to scream to get their attention. You have to scream an apology.”

Whatever force held Luowski suddenly doubled.

He was leaning impossibly far forward, like a ski jumper, the soles of his running shoes fixed to the cafeteria’s tile floor.

Some of the other students turned. Only a few seconds had passed since the wind had begun to blow.

Amanda had never stopped staring at Luowski, whose red face was now gripped in such terror that he looked like a big baby.

“I don’t think they can hear you,” Amanda said.

“I’m sorry! I’m
so-o-o-o-o
sorry!” Luowski crowed.

At that instant, the Jell-O flew off the dish and into Luowski’s face and for a moment he wore a slimy green mask with only his eyelids popping through. Then the wind stopped all at once, as if a door had been shut, and the forward-leaning Luowski fell flat on his face, to the delight of most of the cafeteria.

There were cheers and applause.

Finn looked across the table to see Amanda’s face filled with the light of mirth, her eyes sparkling, her smile a mile wide. She chortled and covered her laughing mouth with her hand, and for the first time looked away from Luowski and over at Finn, whose startled expression clearly caught her attention. He shook his head faintly side to side. She wiped the smile off her face, suddenly self-conscious.

“I think the school ghost has your number, Greg,” she said, as she grabbed her tray and stood up. “I’d be careful of making threats if I were you.”

The green-faced Luowski rolled over and looked up at Finn, about to say something when he thought better of it. Instead he turned his growl onto Horton, who had laughed himself to tears.

“Where are we meeting after school?” Amanda asked Finn calmly as they were returning the silverware and dishes off their trays.

“That was you,” Finn mumbled. “You can direct it like that?” He’d seen Amanda use her power once before. There was no denying she was different.

“There are all sorts of things I can do that you don’t know about, Finn.”

“You can’t just…do that in school.”

“Of course I can,” she said. “Who’s going to believe
anyone
can do something like that? There will be a dozen explanations for what happened to Greg. None will involve me. Just wait and see.”

They left the cafeteria, on their way back to their lockers.

“Do other Fairlies act so—”

“Bravely?” she said, interrupting.

“I was thinking more like…stupidly,” he said.

“Ha, ha!”

“I’m serious. That was stupid.”

“Greg Luowski was going to smear green Jell-O into your hair. The least you could do is thank me.”

“You’re right: thank you. But you should follow the same rules as the rest of us. You’re a DHI now. You can’t draw suspicion.”

“I’m a DHI who’s about to be sent back to Maryland to a halfway house full of Fairlies. I’m desperate, Finn.”

“And how is misbehaving going to help your situation?”

“How’s it going to hurt it?” she asked. “If I can do a little good before I leave, isn’t that better than doing nothing at all?”

He knew he should have an answer for that. Even something trite would have been welcome. But a part of him understood that she was right: when it came to doing good, it was better to do something risky rather than nothing at all. He felt the same way about attempting to find Wayne.

“Where and when?” she asked, just before they split up off the stairs.

“Jelly’s place right after school.”

“Gotcha,” she said, ascending the stairs effortlessly, as if a stiff wind blew at her back.

* * *

Maybeck lived above Crazy Glaze, his aunt Jelly’s pottery shop. The shop’s front room was crowded with shelves of pale, unfired clay vessels that customers painted and adorned with glazes and other treatments, while its back room contained more raw stock, a desk in the corner, and a small kiln. The two big kilns were out back, as were three motorized pottery wheels, and two manual ones; the whole back area was covered in a gray wash that spoke of years of use. Adjacent to the desk in the back room was a drafting table, and next to it a sewing machine and a light table, each pertaining to a particular hobby of Maybeck’s multitalented guardian.

The heavyset woman, whose real name was Bess, had not been given her nickname as a result of her girth—substantial though it was—but on account of her own mispronunciation of the name Shelly as a child. Jelly had a choir girl’s smile, kind eyes, and four chins. Her voice was low and husky, and when she looked at you it felt as if she could see things others could not—like a fortune-teller or priest.

With all the Kingdom Keepers assembled in the tight space, Jelly opened the kiln and carefully extricated a baking sheet containing a dozen chocolate chip cookies, which explained the incredible smell of the place. She moved some bricks and pulled out a second sheet of the oatmeal variety. Maybeck headed upstairs and returned with a box of cold milk and the after-school ceremony began. Once lips were properly licked free of remaining crumbs and the last drops of milk had slid down sugary throats, Jelly left them, shutting the door to the outer room to deal with her customers.

“So,” Maybeck said, “I was doing an art project for school, this thing of layering colors, when something occurred to me, so I texted Philby. I suppose you know that or you wouldn’t be here. The point being, I could be way wrong about all this, and I didn’t mean to call a massive meeting or anything.”

“No one forced us to be here,” Willa said. “We wouldn’t have come if we hadn’t wanted to.”

“Yeah, right. The thing is,” Maybeck continued, “we all know how tricky
our friend
is. He’s always doing stuff that has multiple meanings, multiple
layers
. That’s what got me, I think: layers. Working with the colors. ’Cause the thing is, you layer yellow over red and you get orange, orange over yellow and you get yellow-orange. It’s all about what’s in front and what’s behind.”

“You kinda lost me there,” Charlene said.

“It’s the shapes on the box. They’re like symbols or something. Curves. Lines.”

“Code?” Philby said.

“Yeah, I think. In a way at least.” Maybeck extended his open palm and Philby produced the small paper box and handed it to him. Maybeck switched on the light box, which consisted of a sheet of white glass in front of a powerful, uniform white light, like the devices radiologists use to view X-rays.

“My theory,” he said, continuing, “is that Wayne expected us to figure out what others would not: that what alone looked like symbols combined to something more.”

“You mean, kind of like us?” Charlene said. “We make more sense as a group.”

“We’re capable of more,” Philby added.

“Exponential,” Jess added.

Finn realized this was something new—the DHIs talking about themselves as a group. It had always been there, lingering just below the surface—the idea that Wayne had intended them to act as a group, not as individuals, but this was the first he could remember anyone actually acknowledging it.

“The whole is greater than the sum of its parts,” Finn said.

“Yeah, like that, I suppose,” Maybeck said, “but all I’m interested in is layers.” He held up the box. “See, on this side is a parentheses—the left side. Turn the box around, and there’s another parentheses, also the left, like a stretched
C
.”

“Matching,” said Willa.

“You think they’re both meant to be capital
C
s?”

Philby asked Maybeck.

Maybeck didn’t answer. He spun the paper cube to show a different face. “And this weird shape.” He turned the box to show the opposite side. “And this one.”

“I’ve looked through a dozen languages and a few hundred fonts: Cyrillic, Greek, Roman, of course,” said Philby. “Those symbols aren’t part of any modern alphabet. A few of those marks are pretty close to some accents used in modern languages, but I don’t see where that gets us.”

“Because it’s Wayne,” Maybeck said. “If I’m right, it’s not about the individual symbols, but the way they combine.”

He moved the paper box closer to the light table, the left parentheses facing the kids. For a moment the box caught the light and glowed like a lightbulb; it appeared to grow between Maybeck’s fingers. Then, as he delivered it atop the light box’s glass plate, the mark on the opposing face came into crisp focus. The kids pressed together in a tight huddle.

Charlene gasped.

“OMG!” said Willa.

“I thought so,” said the ever modest Maybeck. “The left parentheses joins the right parentheses and together—”

“They form an
O
!” said Philby. “Our alphabet after all!”

Maybeck picked up the box, turned it, and replaced it. The letter was a backward
N
, but reversing the box formed the letter correctly. There was another, fainter,
V
, but it looked like something drawn and then erased. He rotated the box a third time. Each pair of images on the opposing sides of the cube’s six faces combined to form a letter.

“Turn it around!” Willa said. “It’s either a lowercase
b
, or a lower-, or uppercase,
P
.”

“Then it’s a
P
,” Maybeck said, “because the
O
and
N
are both uppercase.”

“Agreed,” Philby said, already grabbing a shaping tool and drawing the letters into some soft clay on the table beside him: P N O.

“Initals?” said Amanda. “A what-do-you-call-it?”

“Abbreviation?” said Jess.

“No,” said Amanda. “A…”

“
Piano
?” asked Charlene.

“Try again,” said Maybeck. “A different order.”

Philby wrote: N P O, then N O P.

Each of the kids was throwing out an idea of what the various letters stood for.

Philby moved the tool through the wet clay…O…

Before he’d reached the second letter Jess said quietly, “Open.”

The shouting stopped. The kiln hummed, or maybe it was the light box or the overhead lights.

“Open,” she said again. “O P N.”

“Open,” Maybeck repeated. “Of course.”

“That is
s
o Wayne,” Willa said.

Maybeck carefully found the edge, sealed with a thin strip of tape. It took him a minute to locate a razor blade, but no one was going to suggest they hurry into this and tear the box in the process. At last, he ran the blade through the tape and the flap was loose. Two more incisions through the gaps, and all sides were free. Maybeck carefully unfolded the box.

“I’ve done this in math a hundred times,” said Philby. “It forms a—”