Mystics 3-Book Collection (46 page)

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.”

Z
oey 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?”

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.”

Tristan had the goofiest smile on his face.
“If that’s what I get for bailing you out of trouble - then please
let me
bail
you more often.”

Zoey pushed him away playfully, mortified
that she had actually
kissed
him. What was wrong with her?
She
didn’t kiss boys. Silly girls did that.

Simon cleared his throat as he struggled to
keep his mustache in place. “I hate to kill your big
Casablanca
moment, but we’d better get out of here before
the old man figures out he’s been played.”

Zoey glanced past Simon. Agent Wise had his
glasses on and was reading the note.

“How did you get an order?” she asked.

“I didn’t,” said Simon, with a cheeky grin
on his face, “It’s my mother’s grocery list.”

“Guys, get ready, here he comes,” said
Tristan.

Agent Wise marched up to them, waving the
piece of paper over his head. His face was wrinkled in fury.

“Is this your idea of a joke? This is no
order form! It’s just a grocery list.”

He glared at them. “Who are you? I want
names. You’d better start explaining yourselves. I’ll be reporting
this to your superiors! You’ll be expelled for this.”

“RUN!” ordered Tristan, with a mischievous
glint in his eyes. The three of them galloped past Agent Wise, who
raised a fist at them, and dashed through the chamber doors.

“This is not protocol!” Zoey heard Agent
Wise bellow as she scrambled up the stairs to the first floor.