Shadow Train (11 page)

“Yes. Maggie took them,” Zhai answered. “They're safe.”

Nass paused for a second, trying to decide if he should trust Zhai with the information he'd picked up at the police station or not. Finally, he decided he had no choice. Besides, even though Raphael had a problem with Zhai, he definitely would have put their differences aside with their sifu's life on the line.

“I was hauled down to the police station for questioning yesterday,” Nass said. “There's this government agent in town named Hackett. He's looking for that guy you were talking about—the leader of the Obies, Feng Xu. I guess they must have known that he came into the country somehow and tracked him here.”

Zhai seemed to consider this. “It makes sense,” he said.

“If Feng Xu came to town after the ring was destroyed, that must mean he thinks it still has some power,” Nass continued. “Maybe he's right. Maybe it does.”

Zhai nodded eagerly. “Master Chin thought so, too. That's why we were in the tunnels—we were using the broken pieces to try to activate the Wheel and get Raphael back. It sparked a little, but not enough.”

“So . . . we have to get all the shards,” Dalton guessed. “We have to put the ring back together for it to work.”

Nass and Zhai both nodded.

“It won't be easy,” Zhai said. “Not with the Obies looking for it. And if these government guys are trying to track Feng Xu, that probably means they're looking for it, too.”

“Well,” Nass said. “We know all the people who picked up the pieces. All we have to do is get everyone to give them back to us, so we can put the ring back together. How hard can that be?”

But the minute the words left his mouth, Nass knew it wouldn't be so easy. He didn't think Zhai could get the Toppers to cooperate—he wasn't hanging with them much anymore. And after what had happened to Emory, getting the Flatliners to cooperate with Zhai might not be so easy, either.

“I'll talk to the Toppers,” Zhai promised.

“I'll call a meeting of the Flatliners, too, and fill them in on the plan.”

Somehow, Nass felt that if they could just get Raphael back to Middleburg, everything would be okay. But the more he thought about getting the two gangs to cooperate, the more worried he got.

* * *

On Saturday afternoon, Li Shao sat at the kitchen table at her friend Weston Darling's house, her math homework laid out in front of her, along with a glass of untouched milk and a plate of uneaten cookies. It was impossible for Li to understand why his mom insisted on serving them such unhealthy snacks day after day, seemingly oblivious to the fact that Li never so much as nibbled on them. She only ate food that her mother's kitchen staff prepared for her—fare that was perfectly nutritionally balanced. But whenever Mrs. Darling appeared with that big Stepford-Wife smile and asked, “How about a little study snack, you two?” Li always smiled back and said, “Sure, that would be great.”

The studying was also a charade. Neither Li nor Weston needed any help on their homework—not in any subject. In fact, Li was certain they were probably the two smartest kids in the school. Li knew Weston believed that she came over on the pretext of doing homework together because she had a romantic interest in him. In fact, the idea almost made her laugh. Although not entirely without charm, Weston was a skinny, ineffectual pretty boy with shiny, blond hair and glasses that seemed to swallow up his face, and he dressed like a sixty-year-old college professor. If Li could have chosen, she would have much preferred spending her evenings with someone hot—like Raphael Kain. Too bad he'd up and disappeared like that. Bran Goheen didn't come up quite as far as Raph on the heat scale, but he was a pretty close second. But Li was not at liberty to choose who she spent her time with; she was here for a purpose. And today, it looked like that purpose might soon be fulfilled.

“That guy my dad's talking to,” Weston mused, causing Li to glance up from her schoolbook. “I wonder who he is.”

“Why?”

“Dad used to have to meet all the time with guys who looked like that, when we were living back in D.C. He called them spooks—they were government agents. I wonder if that guy is a spook.”

Li had caught a glimpse of the mysterious visitor when he'd arrived earlier, and she thought Weston was dead on—the cheap black suit, the crew cut, the humorless face—all of it screamed clandestine operations. But instead of agreeing, she said, “What would a government agent be doing in Middleburg?” Her tone was musical, innocent—and perfectly controlled.

“I don't know,” Weston confessed, lowering his voice. “But I always wondered why we moved
here
of all places when my dad's job at the White House was over. I always thought there had to be a reason.”

“Huh,” Li said and shrugged, feigning a lack of interest. This was a game she enjoyed very much. Her brother Zhai played the violin, but Li's instrument was people—and she played them like a virtuoso. After all, she'd learned from the best. She had learned from her mother.

Footsteps sounded, coming down the hallway, and Weston's father appeared in the kitchen. He was a heavyset man with thinning gray hair and thick glasses, and like Weston, he was wearing a sweater vest. Despite his stout physique, his deportment was that of a military man; he stood straight, with his shoulders back.

“Weston, can I have a word with you, please?” he said calmly, and then turned to Li. “Would you excuse him for a moment, Li? Our guest is an old friend of mine and I'd like him to meet Wes.”

Li smiled. “No problem, Mr. Darling.”

Weston gave Li an apologetic shrug and went with his father down the hall.

Li waited for a count of three before she followed. A cat could not have moved as silently as she did. It took her only a few moments to track the sounds of muffled voices to the room Weston and his father had entered. Silently, she pressed her ear to the door.

“Wade, this is my son Weston.” She recognized Weston's father's voice. “Wes, this is Agent Hackett.”

“Weston, good to meet you,” the voice that belonged to Agent Hackett said. “Listen, son, your father and I go way back—to the first Gulf war, isn't that right, Charlie?”

“Right,” Mr. Darling agreed. “Back to the good old days of George Bush Senior!”

“We're all friends here, Weston, so I'm going to be blunt with you,” Hackett said. “But everything I'm telling you is confidential. I need your help, but you can't repeat what I'm about to tell you, understand? You can't tell anyone.”

“Yes, sir,” Weston said quietly.

Li pressed her ear more tightly to the door. If she missed even a word of this exchange, her mother would be very displeased.

“My men and I have come to town looking for a man by the name of Feng Xu. He's an agent of the Chinese government and a very dangerous person. We believe he's come to town searching for some kind of treasure, an energy-generating ring. Have you heard anything about an item like that?”

“Yes, sir,” Weston replied, and he related the story, which everyone in school had heard by now, of Raphael Kain's disappearance.

“Here's the thing,” Hackett's voice replied. “From what I've heard so far, the ring was destroyed in the explosion. But the man I'm after wouldn't have come here all the way from China unless he thought there was still something important he could get his hands on—you follow me, Weston? What I'm trying to figure out is if there might be a part of the ring—or some of its technology—still floating around Middleburg somewhere. If we could locate it, we could use it as bait. Do you have any idea where it is—or who's got the pieces?”

“No,” Weston said. “I mean—not really.”

There was a pause, then Li heard Hackett say, “What do you mean?”

“Well, I saw some of the pieces—a while back. Some of the Topper kids were showing them around in the lunchroom one day. There were probably a dozen of them, at least. But no one's mentioned them lately.”

“And the names?” Hackett pressed.

“What?” Weston asked, and Li had to stifle a giggle. He sounded so nervous, like he was a fugitive being questioned by the FBI.

“The kids who had the pieces—what are their names?”

Weston proceeded to rattle off the names of all the Toppers and the Flatliners, and Li could hear the faint scratching of a pen as the man—Agent Hackett—wrote them down.

“Listen to me very closely, Weston,” Agent Hackett said. “We have to get all the pieces of the ring—but we have to be subtle about it, you understand? You willing to work with me here?”

“Yes, sir. I guess so.”

“Okay—here's what I need you to do. I'm going to give you my card. If any pieces of that ring turn up—if any of the kids mention that they still have them—I want you to call me. If you can manage to get your hands on any of them and bring them to me, that's even better. Can you do that, Weston? If you could, your country will be grateful—and I'm sure your father will be very proud.”

“Absolutely,” Weston's dad agreed.

“I'll do my best, sir,” Weston said. His voice was naturally quiet and timid-sounding, but there was an unusual hint of determination in it that Li found admirable.

“You'll have to be careful, Weston. Feng Xu and his men are extremely dangerous.”

As Agent Hackett launched into his warning, Li slipped back down the hallway. She'd heard enough.

A few minutes later, the agent departed. She only saw him for a moment, as he peeked into the kitchen to wave goodbye to Mrs. Darling, but Li made a mental note of his every feature.

When their schoolwork was done, Weston invited Li to go up to his room to play video games. Li knew that was just an excuse—he spent these video-game sessions trying to work up the nerve to kiss her, and she found it quite amusing to watch him squirm. This time, however, he didn't even bother to turn on his Xbox. Instead, he immediately confided everything that Agent Hackett had just told him, putting special emphasis on how important and dangerous the mission was. As usual, he was trying desperately to impress her.

“So I'm basically a government spy now,” he summarized, blinking wildly behind the fishbowl-like lenses of his glasses.

“Wow!” Li said, and she gave her trademark little giggle—the one her mother had taught her to use whenever she needed to convince someone that she was nothing but a pretty, inconsequential little creature, as delicate and placid as a flower—and not even half as threatening.

“So what do you think?” Weston said, breathless with excitement. “Will you help me? Will you help me track down the pieces of the ring?”

Li smiled sweetly. “Of course, Wes. You know I'd do anything to help you,” she said.

Inwardly, she was laughing.
Mother will be very pleased,
she thought. And she stood and gave Weston a big, lingering hug, just to spin her web a little tighter.

* * *

On Sunday evening, Bran and Rick rolled back into Middleburg. Bran was pretty much wiped out from three days of intense training and was looking forward to gorging on a meal of his mom's special spaghetti and flopping into his bed. But when he checked his voice mail, he found a disturbing message from his dad. The police had come by twice asking to talk to him. Rick checked his messages and found one from his father, too.

Two hours later, Bran sat in the waiting area of Jack Banfield's office. He had showered, and he was now wearing a dress shirt and a tie that felt like it was choking him to death. Mr. Banfield, irritated that the local authorities dared to insinuate that his son might have done something wrong, had made his lawyer drive in from Topeka so the boys could make a statement. Rick was recording his now.

Bran looked down at his hands folded in his lap, and his grandfather's admonition played through his mind once more: the truth always comes to light sooner or later. His grandpa had been a Korean War veteran and a staunch church-goer. He had taught Bran how to shoot a basketball, catch a football, and throw a punch. Before he'd passed away two years ago, he'd been Bran's favorite person in the world, even though he'd lived back in Alabama and Bran didn't see him much during his last few years. Still, he knew the old man would want him to tell the truth now—and that knowledge was eating him up. Because he also knew that his social life, his dad's job, and maybe even his survival required him to lie. The conflict seemed to be tearing a hole in the pit of his stomach.

He heard the door open, and Banfield's lawyer, a fat man with a catfish moustache and a gold pinky ring, invited him into the conference room. Bran took his seat and cleared his throat. Rick's dad, seated on the other side of the table, gave him an encouraging nod. Rick was leaning back in the leather office chair with his big feet kicked up onto the table, checking basketball scores on his cell phone. The lawyer—Bran thought his name was Mr. Davis—coughed and then activated a small digital recorder sitting in the middle of the table. He rattled off the date and time, stated his name, and then asked Bran to state his name.

“All right, Bran. We're going to get right down to business,” the lawyer rumbled. “On the night in question, did you see Rick Banfield harm Emory Van Buren in any way?”

A second passed, then two seconds. Bran could feel the sweat forming on his forehead, dripping down his temple, soaking through his shirt at the armpits. The lawyer leaned forward in his chair. Mr. Banfield's eyes narrowed. Rick looked up from his phone.

For a moment, Bran was frozen. Finally, with a mighty effort, he cleared his throat. “No,” he said. “I didn't see anything.”

Chapter 8

At noon on Monday, Maggie sat
at her old table in the lunchroom, but she felt like she was in another world. Dalton had gone to Miss Pembrook's room for a meeting of one of the numerous clubs she was in, and when Maggie had entered the cafeteria alone, Lisa Marie snagged her and led her over to her old place at the table where the cheerleaders and jocks always sat.

“We miss our Magsie!” she'd said sweetly, and Maggie knew resistance would be futile. It would invite more questions than she was willing to answer.

She looked around for Rick and found him at the far end of the table with his Topper crew. Lisa Marie, Bobbi Jean, and the other girls Maggie usually hung out with took up a big space in the middle, and Maggie was at the other end—as far from Rick as she could get. She hoped he wouldn't notice her.

By now, Maggie had grown accustomed to the special gift of insight that had suddenly, instantly, filled her at the homecoming dance, when the queen's crown was placed on her head. But it was more than insight. It was a special way of seeing what people were under the surface—what they were in their hearts, in the core of them. It was like she could see into their souls.

Lily Rose, Dalton's grandmother, who had given her
The Good Book
to help her try to understand it, said that it was a good thing. Maggie wasn't always so sure of that. She was getting used to it, but that didn't necessarily make it easier, especially when she looked at her so-called boyfriend. That was when it was strongest—when she looked at Rick. More and more often he appeared to her as a hideous, malformed demon, but this morning had been the worst.

When Maggie saw him standing at his locker before homeroom, she'd almost run the other way. His hands were big and grotesque, his face was hard and crusty like a moss-covered tree trunk, and his teeth were jagged, shark-like, and dripping with blood, as if he'd disemboweled someone on his way to school. Maggie had heard the rumors that were spreading quickly around the school as everyone speculated about what had happened to that poor Flatliner, Emory Van Buren, who now lay in a coma in the hospital, but Maggie
knew
Rick was responsible.

Some students had set up a shrine in the hallway of the school in the spot they called Four Corners. At its center was a large picture of Emory, surrounded by candles, photos, cards, stuffed animals, and other mementoes. Principal Innis had ordered all the candles extinguished—it was a fire hazard or something—but from where she was sitting, Maggie could still see, through the plate-glass windows of the lunchroom, the glow that surrounded the memorial. Its energy, bright with the prayers and good wishes of so many kids and teachers, outshone even the brightest auras of any she'd seen that day.

All, that is, except the aura of Aimee Banfield, who was just entering the cafeteria. Aimee drifted between the crowded tables as if in a dream, oblivious to everyone around her. She took a seat at an empty table across the room. As she moved among them, the white, star-like radiance of her aura still shone brightly, as it had the first time Maggie had seen it; only now fluttering fissures of blackness—the spoils of Orias Morrow's influence—shot through it like small flashes of morbid lightning, as if a storm were moving through her soul.

Rick's little sister had undergone a total change since returning to Middleburg High the previous autumn. Her short, black-dyed hair was blond again and was growing out at a rate that made Maggie wonder if she'd gotten hair extensions. Her nails, which she used to nervously bite down to nothing, were now long and she had a perfect French manicure. She had replaced her jeans and T-shirts with dresses that had long, flowing skirts and delicate floral patterns, and every day a new diamond, sapphire, ruby, or emerald sparkled from her wrist, her finger, or her earlobes.

In some ways, Aimee seemed to have reverted to the girl she had been before the traumatic death of her old boyfriend Tyler and the subsequent breakdown that had prompted her father to send her away to a boarding school in Montana. In other ways, she seemed like a different person altogether.

Before all that—before Tyler had died, or had been murdered—Aimee had been part of Maggie's crew and she and Maggie had been best friends. But when she came back to town, Aimee had forged a close friendship with Dalton—not that Maggie could blame her. She hadn't been so nice to Aimee back then—and she really didn't know why. Maybe she had been afraid of Aimee, afraid that the stories were true, and that Aimee had taken Tyler's life, like everyone said.

Since Maggie had come into her new power, her special way of seeing people, she was no longer afraid—and she no longer believed that Aimee had killed Tyler. But Maggie's gift, her new sense of strength, was no match for Orias, and Aimee had changed even more drastically since she'd started dating him. Now she was aloof and distant with everyone, even Dalton, and as unbelievable as it seemed, Aimee had even dumped Raphael Kain for Orias. Maggie couldn't help being glad about that—she still couldn't get that one kiss she had shared with Raphael out of her mind—but she didn't feel good about seeing Aimee with that slick manipulator, Orias.

She wished now that she had interceded the day she saw Orias take Aimee's hand, when he'd first infested her aura with the darkness of his incredibly magnetic energy. But now, it seemed, it was too late.

Maggie was lost in these thoughts (and half listening to Casey Swaddock ranting about her favorite reality show) when Zhai Shao came and took the seat across from her.

“Hey,” he said. “You got them?”

“Yeah. I've got them.”

Zhai glanced at the Topper girls sitting next to Maggie, as if afraid that they might overhear his conversation, but they were now engaged in a heated discussion about makeup. He relaxed as Maggie took a manila envelope from her purse and pushed it across the table to him. Inside were the shards of the ring she'd rescued from the tunnels, just before the Obies attacked.

“You still haven't told me how you got away from them,” Zhai said as he folded the envelope carefully and put it in the inside breast pocket of his blazer.

“A girl has to keep her secrets, right?” she tried to joke but somehow it fell flat. Often now she felt that in Middleburg, the time for joking was over.

Zhai smiled and shook his head. “Wow, Maggie. You're seriously the last person I would ever expect to be my ally in all this—but the way you've helped out, looking for Raphael, going with Master Chin and me to the Wheel, hiding the shards . . . thank you.”

“No problem,” Maggie said. “How is he? Master Chin?”

Zhai's smile disappeared. “Lily Rose is working on him. I stayed there all night, using my energy—” Zhai seemed to catch himself. “You know, my prayers and good wishes—to help him. But I'm worried. I'm going there again after school, if you'd like to come by.”

Maggie nodded. “I'll have to check with my mom first to make sure she doesn't need anything, but yeah. Anything to help.” She picked at a piece of her turkey wrap and nibbled on it.

“I talked to Nass yesterday,” he continued. “We both think it's really important to put all the pieces of the ring back together. It could help us get Raphael back.”

She gestured to Zhai's coat, where the shards were safely tucked away in his breast pocket. “Mine is in there too,” she said. “If I can get my hands on any others, I'll give them to you.”

Zhai nodded. “Thanks. I'm going to talk to Rick right now and call a Toppers meeting tonight, to get their shards back. Nass is going to call a meeting of the Flatliners, too.”

“Sounds good,” Maggie said.

“Just be careful, okay? As long as those Obies are out there, none of us is safe.” Zhai stood. “One of these days you're going to tell me how you got away from those guys.”

“Never,” Maggie said with a smile. “I'll take it to my grave.”

Zhai smiled. “Thanks again,” he said and headed over to Rick.

Good luck reasoning with—whatever he is now,
Maggie thought with a shudder.

“Just who the hell does she think she is?” Bobbi Jean was saying resentfully, and Maggie followed her gaze to where Aimee was sitting alone.

“Look at me with my fake blond hair, I'm so cool I don't even need friends,”
Casey mocked, and Bobbi Jean and Lisa Marie laughed.

“Why don't you guys shut up?” Maggie said sharply, and all three of them turned toward her, their eyes wide.

“What's wrong with you?” Bobbie Jean asked.

“What's wrong is that I'm sick of hearing you guys making fun of people,” Maggie snapped. “You want to judge somebody, judge yourselves.” She shouldered her purse, picked up her lunch tray, and walked away. Their stunned silence trailed behind her as she crossed the room and sat down across from Aimee Banfield.

* * *

It was three-thirty, and as the Flatliners invaded their usual booth in the back of Rack 'Em Billiards Hall, they had the place pretty much to themselves. Raphael had worked there before he disappeared, and it gave Nass an ache of sadness to see its familiar worn booths, the flashing pinball machine and the dark, polished wood of the bar, and know that his friend wasn't there. Every time he turned around, he half expected Raph to burst through the big swinging door that led to the kitchen with a bus tub in his hand and a look of hardworking determination on his face. Every time he didn't, Nass's disappointment stung anew. As painful as it was, the Flatliners came to Rack 'Em even more often now than they had when Raphael was with them. Nass knew it made all of them feel closer to him to be there, in the place he'd loved so much.

Nass wished desperately that he was here now. The meeting hadn't even begun, and already it wasn't going well.

“I just want to sit on the outside, okay?” Benji carped at Josh.

“Quit being a baby. Move over and let me in,” Josh snapped.

“Just for that I'm not moving at all. You can drag a chair over,” Benji said, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Don't be a jackass. Just scoot,” Josh said, pushing Benji. Benji pushed him back.

“Guys!” Nass said, unable to take it anymore. “Come on. We got important things to talk about. Benji, let Josh in. Josh, let Benji sit on the outside. He was there first. What's the big deal?”

There was a general grumbling as everyone settled down.

Nass reminded himself to cut his friends some slack. They were all stressed out about everything that had happened: Raphael was gone, Emory was in a coma, and it seemed like every family in the Flats was getting evicted. He was stressed out too, Nass thought as he glanced at his phone. Today was the deadline for the eviction notice his family had received. His dad had gone down to the rental office one more time to try to fight it, but so far Nass hadn't heard any news. When they were tossed out on the street, Emory's family had been forced to watch a crew of Jack Banfield's men throw all their stuff out into the front yard. The thought of going home and finding his mom, his dad, and Clarisse waiting on the lawn made him angry and afraid—but not knowing what was going on was even worse.

He exhaled sharply, trying to release all the pent-up frustration he was feeling, and plunged his cell phone back into his pocket.

“All right, let's get this meeting started,” he said. It didn't feel like much of a meeting. With Raph and Benji gone, it was just Nass, Beet, and across from them Josh and Emory. Four of them against the world.

“Okay, what's the big news?” Josh asked irritably. He'd been closer to Emory than anyone, Nass knew, and he was taking the attack on their friend even harder than the rest of them. He was snapping at everyone, and Nass was finding his attitude increasingly hard to take. But he forced himself to be patient and began.

“I talked with Zhai yesterday,” Nass told them. He says those kung fu guys in the crazy hats—the Obies—they're still around, and their leader is here now. He's this bad dude named Feng Xu. They attacked Master Chin yesterday. He's at Lily Rose's house, and from what Zhai said, he's barely alive.”

The guys reacted to this news with a mixture of shock, rage, and despair. Nass understood what they must be feeling. If Chin couldn't defend himself against the Obies, the Flatliners wouldn't stand a chance.

“What are you saying?” Josh asked. “You think it was the Obies that attacked Emory?”

Nass shook his head. “I don't think so. The knowing tells me it wasn't them . . . anyway, there's more. Remember those government guys who stopped Emory's building from being torn down? They're here looking for Feng Xu. And Feng Xu—he's looking for the shards of the ring.”

Beet frowned. “But—it's broken. Why would they want it?”

“Chin and Zhai think that it still has some powers,” Nass said quietly. “They think that if we put all the pieces together we'll be able to bring Raph back.”