Mystics #1: The Seventh Sense (11 page)

T
he second time Zoey used the DSM
was just as terrifying as the first.

Her body was stretched like an elastic band, as though she had no
bones and was just a bag of blood and guts. She floated as if she were swimming
without water. And finally she spun dizzily, before light exploded all around
her, and her feet met solid ground.

At first, she could see only gray shapes. Slowly her vision cleared
and her motion sickness lifted. She was still in once piece. She took a moment
and looked around.

She stood in a dark room, like some sort of storage unit. What light
there was seeped in between heavy old curtains that hung on the only window.
Tables and chairs were stacked in piles against the walls. Boxes were piled on
top of one another. The air was stuffy and smelled like old socks and the musty
carpets from the orphanage. Her nose itched, and she felt the sudden urge to
sneeze. She had no idea where she was, but one thing was for sure, this was not
the hive.

An old mirror on carved lion’s feet stood behind her. It was round, and
its silver frame was a snake chasing its tail. It looked ancient, older than
any mirror she had seen back at the hive. She was sure that it was a
mirror-port anchor, but why was it hidden away in a storage room? Zoey’s
intuition told her that there was something very wrong with this picture. There
was only one reason a mirror-port anchor would be kept hidden—to be used in
secret. The question was, who was keeping it secret and why?

Voices came from behind the walls, and her heart leaped into her
throat. There was more than one voice, and they were arguing. She pocketed her
DSM, tiptoed across the room and pressed her ear against the wall. It was definitely
a heated discussion.

“It will never work,” said a man’s voice angrily. “It can’t be done.
It can’t.”

“It must—and you
will!”
shouted a woman’s voice.

Zoey tried to melt against the wall to hear more clearly. Most of the
conversation was muffled by the walls, as the two people moved around in the
next room. She heard a crash, like a chair hitting the floor. She strained to
listen.

“…now is our chance, we have the
interloper
,”
said the woman.

Zoey froze. She couldn’t believe what she had heard.

The woman continued, “We will begin the necessary preparations
immediately. I have been waiting patiently for fourteen years. Now we must play
our cards right. The plan has been set in motion—nothing can stop us—not even the
agency.”

Goosebumps riddled Zoey’s skin. She had heard it, clear as rain,
interloper
. They were arguing about
something to do with the stolen interloper. And this woman had just told Zoey
that
she
had it. Maybe she had it on
her right now? What did it look like?

Zoey knew that she should use her DSM to report back to the hive as
soon as possible. Agent Vargas and her friends would be worried that she’d had
a mirror-port accident, and that her parts were scattered to the ends of the
world. Moreover, she wanted nothing more than to punch Stuart in the face for
bumping her arm just as she had used her DSM.

But she couldn’t bring herself to make the jump back. Something kept
her where she stood—she couldn’t go just yet—she
needed
to know more.

She had read enough about police work to know that she had to figure
out where she was. And after that she knew that she needed to identify these
people. She needed to
see
their
faces. It wouldn’t do any good to return without proof. A quick look was all
she needed. She knew that if she could do this, the agency would have no more
doubts about her—she would truly belong. Better yet, if she
found
the interloper and
brought
it back
¼

She could see a door behind a mountain of boxes. She made for it.

The handle was cool against her skin. She took a deep breath, pulled
it open, and peered through the crack. She could see a dark passageway with
rounded walls like a tunnel. A single light flickered from the ceiling. The
smell of mildew was heavy, and Zoey could feel the damp against her skin as she
crept inside. By the looks of the decrepit limestone walls, she was in some
sort of old cellar. Water trickled down the walls. The concrete floor was
cracked, and water seeped through the crevices. This was definitely horror
movie material. Was this what a castle’s dungeon looked like?

Zoey could hear the voices more clearly now. The light increased as
she slowly crept towards them. Cobwebs stuck to her face. She pulled them off
and wiped her hands on her jeans. As silent as a cat, she made her way forward.

She reached the end of the passageway, and from what she could see it
opened up into a dimly lit chamber. She couldn’t see them, which meant they
couldn’t see her. She flattened herself against the wall and listened.

“…You’ve already accepted your part in this,” the woman was saying. “You
can’t back down now—it’s too late. You’ve made your choice and you
will
see it through. We still expect lots
from you...”

There was a pause, and then the man spoke. He was clearly rattled, and
his voice was high pitched and desperate, as though he had inhaled some helium.

“I should have never let you talk me into this! It’s only a matter
of time before the agency finds out what I’ve done—and they
will
find me out! I can feel their eyes
on me already. They suspect me already, I know it—I feel it. And then what will
I do! There’s no place for me to hide? It’ll be all over for me.”

“Stop crying like a little girl,” the woman breathed, in a bored
kind of voice. “I told you I would take care of you—”

 
“How? How are you planning on
doing that?” said the man.

Zoey heard his footsteps pacing around the room. “Do you know what
the punishment is for treason? A trip to the Nexus—never to return to our world—that’s
the fate that’s waiting for me! Do you know what mystics do to agents over
there?”

“I can imagine,” said the woman calmly.

“How can you be so calm about this?” shouted the man. “I’ve put my
life on the line!”

“Because nothing is going to happen to you, my dear man.”

Zoey heard the sound of heels on concrete. “Now sit down. You’re
giving me a headache with all that deplorable crying.”

Feet shuffled and then Zoey heard something heavy sit in a chair. She
leaned a millimeter forward.

She heard heels scratch the floor again.

“We know how much you’ve given up for us,” continued the woman, “and
you will be paid handsomely for your help.”

“I don’t care about the money,” said the man. “I care about my
life
. What’s the use of money if I can’t
spend it because I’m dead?”

“We will keep you
safe
. Do
not underestimate us, or our power. There are things which you still do not
understand, but for now you must stay at the agency—until the time is right.”

“I don’t know if I can keep this up,” said the man, his voice
wavering. “I feel like I’m going crazy with all the lies.”

“You will,” said the woman after a moment. “You must. This is still
an ongoing operation, and you still have a part to play. It is not over—not yet.
Soon you will have nothing to fear from the agency ever again. I promise you
that.”

Zoey frowned. The couple stopped talking. If she didn’t chance to
look at them now, she feared she’d get caught. They only had to move slightly,
and they would see her. She had already wasted too much time eavesdropping.

With her heart thundering in her ears, she leaned forward.

The man sat with his back to her. His head was in his hands, and his
shoulders shook as if he were crying. All she could make out was that he had
thinning gray hair, wide shoulders, and hardly any neck.

But the woman was staring straight at her.

Zoey stopped breathing. It was the most disturbing face she’d ever
seen. It was chalk white, and the skin was pulled back severely. She looked
constantly surprised. She had small black eyes like buttons that peered out
below a hairless brow, and her nose was flat with tiny slits for nostrils. Her
large pronounced cheekbones looked out of proportion. It was a face of too many
plastic surgeries gone wrong—she had the face of a cat. Her short, slick, white
hair was the only seemingly normal looking thing about her. Her large red lips were
puffed out like sausages. She opened her mouth in wonder when she caught sight
of Zoey.

“Who do we have here?” said the woman, her voice as soft as silk. “A
little girl? Come here, little girl. Don’t be afraid. I won’t harm you. Come
here into the light so I can see you better.”

Zoey tried to take a step backward, but her legs wouldn’t move. She
couldn’t take her eyes off the woman’s face.

The cat-faced woman walked towards Zoey. Her bursting lips were twisted
in what looked like a smile, something that took her a lot of effort to make.

“How did you get in here? Did someone let you in? Don’t be afraid. You
can tell me. I’m your friend.”

From the corner of her eye, Zoey saw the man get up.

“Get her!” Hissed the woman suddenly. “She’s one of those kids like
you!”

Zoey broke free from her paralysis. She stumbled backwards and fell
as she reached for her DSM.

“Quickly, before she escapes,” yelled the woman. “She’s heard too
much. Don’t let her get away!”

With the adrenaline kicking in, Zoey jumped to her feet and sprinted
down the passageway from which she had come. She heard the man panting close
behind her. She didn’t want to think of what they were going to do to her.
There was nowhere to hide at the end of the passageway.

It was now or never.

She flipped open her DSM with trembling hands and tried to stand as
still as a statue, even though her heart threatened to burst from her chest. Her
DSM trembled in her grasp—her reflection was moving too much—she strained to
keep steady.

The only light in the passageway went out. Zoey was left in complete
blackness.

She could hear his footsteps and heavy breathing right behind her. She
felt the air move. She kicked out low with her right leg and felt it connect.
She heard the man growl in pain. Her eyes adjusted to the blackness, and she
saw him make a grab for her. She ducked at the last moment and kicked at him
again. He went down, but swung his fist viciously and caught her on the leg.

 
She crashed to the ground,
and before she could register the pain, his hands were on her, around her neck,
choking her. She tried to break his hold, but he was too strong. He hurled her
into the wall. Her head crunched horribly into the stone, white light exploded
in her vision, and she tasted blood in her mouth.

“You’re dead, little girl,” said the man. “Shouldn’t have been
eavesdropping. And now I’m going to kill you.”

Zoey still couldn’t make out his face. He was going to come at her
again.

Somehow she had held on to her DSM.

The shadow of the man came at her, swinging.

She held her DSM steadily, and just as his arm reached out to hit
her, she shimmered and disappeared.

“W
hy don’t you believe me?” Zoey looked
hopefully at Agent Vargas and Agent Ward. Her debriefing back at the hive
wasn’t going as Zoey had expected—she had expected them to
believe
her.

“And you’re sure you heard them using the word
interloper
?” asked Agent Ward for the third time. His hypercritical
tone was causing Zoey to doubt the agent’s desire to trust her at all.

 
He continued, “From what
you’ve told us, they were in the room next to you. Is it possible that you
misunderstood them?”

“I didn’t
misunderstand
them,” said Zoey exasperated.

She tried to control her temper. She wiped the blood from her lip
with a cloth. “I heard them say it more than once. I’m telling you the truth. Why
won’t you believe me?”

“Calm yourself, Zoey,” said Agent Vargas. “We’re just trying to make
sense of it all. It is a lot of information to process—and you only just
started today. I know you’re desperate to prove yourself to everyone—you just might
be a little overzealous. After your fight with the nitro-fairy, and then
mirror-porting somewhere else, it’s no wonder you’re a little
confused
. That’s a pretty large bump you
have on her head. Perhaps what you heard was not, in fact, what you believe you
heard.”

Zoey’s face burned. “What I
heard
was that you have a
traitor
in the
agency—a man. It was dark, and I didn’t see his face, so I can’t identify him. But
he is the one that made it possible for that woman I told you about to steal the
interloper. Maybe if you check the Boston hive—”

“The one with the cat-like face—” said Agent Ward shortly. She
crossed her arms over her chest. “—the gang leader in your opinion, correct? A
woman with a severe disfiguration who, according to you, was able to waltz
right past the heavy security and into the Boston hive, murder the agents
protecting the interloper, and then walk right back out without anyone seeing
her. Is that about right?”

“Well, I don’t know how she did it, but yes,” said Zoey, sounding
less and less confident by the minute.

“The woman said she had it. She has the interloper, I’m telling you
she does.”

The words felt heavy in her mouth, and even she had started to
second-guess her story. The way Agent Ward eyed Zoey made her realize it was
hopeless. She had felt so important just moments ago. She felt proud that she
had acquired intelligence for the agency, but now she felt deflated.

It didn’t make sense—why didn’t they believe her? Was it because she
was a Drifter? As soon as it came into her mind, she started to believe it
herself. It had to be the reason. She doubted they would have treated Tristan
or Simon like this.

Agent Ward eyed her suspiciously. “Overzealous indeed. Fabricating
stories to elevate oneself is a serious offense at the agency. I don’t know
much about how orphanages operate, but here, we don’t take too kindly to liars.”

Zoey’s mouth fell open. “You don’t believe me? You think I made it
all up, don’t you? You think I would actually lie about this? I’m bleeding. How
did I fake that?”

She felt her eyes sting and forced them to stay dry. She would not let
them see any of her angry tears. Not now. She lifted her pant leg and showed
them the nasty purple and red bruise the man had left on her leg.

 
“What about this? How do you
suppose I got that?”

“Children get bruises all the time,” said Agent Ward, and she raised
an eyebrow. “It doesn’t prove anything, my dear.”

Zoey felt the color drain from her face. Her lips trembled. Her
voice stuck in her throat. She should have known they wouldn’t believe her—after
all she was the
Drifter
.

Agent Vargas shared a look with Agent Ward, and then he looked at
Zoey. “You’re safe with us now and that’s what matters most. We are very happy
to have you back here in one piece.”

He gave Zoey a kind smile. “You can go now, Zoey. We’ve heard what
you had to say, and now Agent Ward and I need to have a moment to discuss the
matter further. We’ll let you know if we need further assistance from you.”

Zoey swallowed hard and turned without another word. She felt that the
world around her had closed in and was suffocating her. She couldn’t breathe.
Her hands were clammy, and she wiped them on her jeans. She felt so humiliated—the
agents thought she was a liar. How could they believe that she had made this up
to bring more attention to herself—like that was something she lacked.

Tristan and Simon were waiting for her outside the door.

“And?” asked Simon eagerly as he and Tristan walked with Zoey down
the hall. “Is the agency going on a mission-impossible to sniff out the DA?”

Zoey wrinkled her face. “The district attorney?”

“He means
double agent
,”
answered Tristan. “The traitor. The man that attacked you.”

Simon emptied a bag of chips in his mouth. “You’re totally going to
be upgraded to full agent status,” he said with his mouth full. “Man, you’re so
lucky. I wish it could’ve been me. I mean, all I got going for me is my flawless
skin and perfect hair—you’re going to be involved with top-secret stuff, you
know. You’re the only one that can identify him and the plastic lady.”

Zoey stopped walking. “It’s not going to happen. Sorry to disappoint
you—but they didn’t believe me.”

Simon spit out his chips and nearly tripped. “What? Are you
serious?”

Tristan lowered his eyes. “I don’t believe it.”

“Believe it. I’m very serious,” said Zoey. “According to Agent Ward,
I made the entire thing up to get attention.”

Tristan shook his head, looking angry. “The old woman’s senile,
forget about her. What about Agent Vargas? What did he say?”

“I don’t think he believed me either,” said Zoey.

The whole experience was feeling more and more like a bad dream.
Part of her wished it never happened. “Let’s just forget about it, okay.”

“But he
has
to believe
you,” pressed Tristan, his voice rising. “What’s wrong with them? They have to
report every piece of information that threatens the agency—it’s their job!
They can’t just pretend it didn’t happen. What you told us is too important to
ignore—they have to warn management before it’s too late.”

“I don’t think they’re going to say anything to management,” said
Zoey. “I could just tell by the way they were looking at me, like I was a total
spaz.”

Tristan was silent for a moment. “Then we have to tell Agent Barnes.
He’ll believe us. I know he will.”

“Yeah, let’s tell him,” said Simon. “He’ll believe us for sure.”

Zoey doubted that Agent Barnes would believe her, but seeing how
much her friends believed that he would, she decided to tell him. “Okay, if you
say so.”

“Cheer up, Zoey,” said Simon. “We still have to get back at Stuart
for messing with the mirror-port.”

He smiled mischievously. “If he wants to be treated like royalty,
then I’ll just have to
throne
him a
few punches.”

Zoey laughed, she could always count on Simon to make her laugh. At
least her friends believed her, and that was something. She had never had real
friends before.

Following her friends’ advice, Zoey approached Agent Barnes the next
morning. Tristan and Simon stood beside her for support as she recounted the
events. After she was done, she stood and waited for him to laugh at her. But
he didn’t.

“You did a good thing telling me,” he said. “I’ve been saying all
along that it was an inside job. Now they’re going to have to listen.” And then
he stormed away.

None of the agents brought up the subject of the interloper again, but
Zoey couldn’t shake the feeling of dread that lingered in her mind. She knew it
was there, like a hand in front of her face in the dark, she couldn’t see it,
but she felt it was there.

She hadn’t expected the rumors. Somehow, the other operatives had
gotten wind of her experience with the mirror-port, and it had become a running
joke.

“Hey watch out! The cat lady is right behind you!”

“Meow! Meow!”

“
Yo
, catnip.”

Tristan and Simon had to pull her away kicking and screaming a few times.
Although she was still furious, and her pride was hurt, she had willed herself
to ignore their taunts. She had really wanted to start a fight, but she
couldn’t afford to get into trouble.

The agents watched Zoey constantly. It wasn’t just Agent Ward or
Agent Vargas—all the agents at the hive appeared to be on watch duty for Zoey.
She got looks from everyone. Even Mrs. Andrews at reception gave her
questionable looks. The way they kept eyeing her suspiciously—it was almost as
though they thought
she
had something
to do with the stolen interloper. But how could she?

Being watched constantly put a damper on her plans to avenge herself
on Stuart. Instead of telling the agents that Stuart had pushed her, she had
told them that it was her fault—she had tripped and caused the DSM to
malfunction.

Zoey wasn’t a rat, and she preferred to settle her battles her own
way. Stuart had not realized that Zoey was waiting for an opportunity to get
back at him, and he strolled the agency’s hallways as if he owned the place, confident
that he was untouchable. That was his first mistake. She would get her revenge
one day. Stuart was going to pay.

As they entered September, the nights became cooler and Zoey slept
with her windows open. With lots of work, dedication, and ongoing help from
Tristan and Simon, she had finally caught up with the rest of the class. She could
recite all the mystics in the first rank by heart and was now half way through
the second rank. She had also grasped the art of mirror-porting, and could make
ten jumps in one day—all without throwing up. She beamed when Agent Vargas had
told her she was a natural.

She could hardly believe she’d been at the agency for over three
months. The hive felt more like home than any foster home ever had. Her lessons
in theory and practical had also become more exciting now that she had mastered
the basics. She liked belonging to something more important and bigger than she
was.

Even Agent Ward hadn’t failed her. In fact, Agent Ward had smiled at
Zoey one morning and congratulated her on her essay,
Ogres, Big and Small
. Agent Ward had never smiled at her before.

Zoey, Tristan, and Simon were just returning to the Academy after
lunch when they were mustered with the others outside.

“Everyone outside—wait by the main entrance!” barked Agent Vargas as
he escorted everyone outside with him.

He wore a big stopwatch and a whistle on a string around his neck.

“Off you go, all of you. You need to be physically fit to be good agents.
Around the hive four times.”

“Come on, Stacey, you need to be faster than that,” he called to a
pudgy girl with a red face. “
Nela
, James, hurry up—off
you go now!”

Zoey ran alongside Tristan and Simon. She was grateful that she
hadn’t had the cheeseburger and fries, and had stuck with the house chicken
salad for lunch. Simon tripped a few times, and lied that had asthma so he could
avoid the last lap. Zoey thought her lungs were going to burst, but she made it
to the end and collapsed on the ground with the others.

 
“He means to kill us by
exhaustion.” Simon collapsed on the ground beside Zoey. “I think I’ve lost a
lung.”

A whistle blew. “Everyone back to class!” With a smile, Agent Vargas
strolled back through the front entrance.

Tristan laughed. “Don’t be a baby. It’s all part of the training.”

He offered his hands to both Zoey and Simon and lifted them to their
feet. He let go of Simon right away, but clung to Zoey’s hand a little longer.
Their eyes met, and there was an uncomfortable silence between them. She looked
into his eyes, and she felt something deep within her that caused her entire
body to stiffen.

“Guys, I think I’m allergic to air,” said Simon, as he held the
cramp at his side. “Seriously, I think I am—look—” He wheezed overdramatically
and pointed to his mouth. “That’s not normal! I think I’m dying!”

Zoey’s throat still felt like she had swallowed razor blades after
the run, but she wasn’t making a big thing of it.

Tristan rolled his eyes and let go of Zoey’s hand.

He nudged Simon playfully. “Come on freak,” he said and made for the
front entrance.

 
Simon still pretended to be
suffocating.

Zoey hesitated. Why did Tristan make her so nervous? No one ever
made her nervous—she hated the feeling. He was just another boy—her friend—that
was
all
. It was her own fault he was
looking at her in
that
way, her and
her big mouth.

She followed Tristan and Simon back to class. As they entered room
1D, most of the operatives were already there, breathing hard and sweaty. They
were all hunched over the back table, talking excitedly. She wasn’t the only
one looking forward to the weapons training session they were going to have
today.

The table was covered with a collection of sparkling black slingshots,
crossbows,
dartlike
weapons,
ninjalike
stars, silver daggers, and boxes that overflowed with metal balls the size of
marbles.

A single golden boomerang caught her attention. In the shape of a slightly
curved V, it winked at her from under a pile of daggers. She couldn’t explain
it, but somehow she was drawn to it. Excitement fluttered inside her and she had
to restrain herself from reaching out and grabbing it. The other operatives drooled
over the slingshots—they looked really cool—but her eyes kept going back to the
boomerang.

Tristan only looked mildly excited. She knew he had used a slingshot
before. She had seen it on him on the very first day she had met him, but she
had never asked him about it.