The Afterlife Academy (13 page)

T
hat night, the Dewdle family sat down to dinner as usual. Charlie smiled almost nonstop as he slurped each bite of delicious, gooey lasagna. He couldn't get over what he had accomplished that day at school. Charlie had beaten Mo Horvath! And suddenly, everyone had started acting differently around him. He wouldn't go so far as to say he was popular, but besting Mo in the packed cafeteria definitely boosted his chances of no longer being labeled a total geek. Even Melissa Bitner was taking notice. Yes, she seemed annoyed with his methods, but she didn't know what it was like to be in Charlie's shoes every day at Cunningham Middle School. Being picked on. Being ignored. Maybe Walter was right. All Charlie had to do was stick up for himself and his problems with Mo and every other moron would come to an end.

“That's it!” Walter exclaimed in Charlie's ear.

Charlie yelped.

“What's wrong? Is it too hot? Did you bite your tongue?” Charlie's mother asked.

“I'm okay,” he mumbled. He had bitten his tongue, but not because of his lasagna's temperature. There had to be other Guardian Agents who handled themselves more appropriately, particularly during a family dinner.

“All right. Just listen to me.” Walter's voice returned to normal volume. “I know you can't answer, but I want you to do something extremely important.”

Charlie didn't respond. He kept his mouth clamped tight and stared at his dinner plate.

“Sniff once if you understand.”

Charlie sniffed.

“Your dad works at Carmichael Armored Vehicles.” Walter paused to laugh almost wildly. “This is so awesome! Okay, ask your dad who he works for.”

Charlie fidgeted with his fork and scattered a few peas across his plate. He looked at his dad and shook his head. They had a healthy father-and-son relationship, but his dad had come straight from his stressful job—he hadn't even changed out of his uniform—and he enjoyed eating his dinner in peace.

“Just do it!” Walter ordered. “Ask him about his boss!”

Charlie lowered his fork. “Hey, Dad. Who…uh…who do you work for?”

Mr. Dewdle looked up from his plate, his mouth semi-full of lasagna and salad. “Carmichael Armored Vehicles.” Then he took a long gulp of water from his glass.

Charlie nodded and exhaled. “I know that. I meant what's your boss's name?”

“Why?” his dad asked. “Is this some sort of school project or something?”

“Uh…”

“Yes! Say yes!” Walter blurted out. “That's a perfect reason!”

“Yeah, we have a homework assignment.”

Mr. Dewdle wiped his mouth with a napkin and gestured to his wife to pass the platter of lasagna. “I work for a guy named Howser. Lawrence Howser. He means well, I guess. He's a young guy. Inexperienced. But he has his graduate degree. So…”

“That's why you're going to get your master's, dear,” Charlie's mom whispered. “So you don't have to put up with what your father goes through every day.”

“Right.” His dad ladled another heaping serving onto his plate.

“Great! Thanks,” Charlie said.

“No, that's not good enough,” Walter said. “You need to dig deeper. This could be the breakthrough we need to help us get out of this mess. Ask him who's in charge of Howser. Who's the top guy?”

Charlie scratched his ear, and his knee began to knock up and down against the bottom of the table. “So…there's Howser, but who's
his
boss? Who runs the whole company?”

“Of Carmichael? Like the CEO?” Mr. Dewdle asked, before shoveling a forkful into his mouth.

“Yes!” Walter exclaimed.

“Yes!” Charlie exclaimed as well before clearing his throat and answering in a calmer manner. “The CEO. Exactly. What's that guy's name?”

“The CEO of Carmichael is a man named Sheldon Underhill. He's been there for several years.”

“Jackpot!” Walter cheered. “Ask him where he lives.”

Charlie whimpered. Really? Did he really have to continue?

“Ask him!” Walter said, unrelenting.

“Where does Mr. Underhill live?”

Mr. Dewdle folded his arms and stared at Charlie; his eyes narrowed with suspicion. “What kind of homework assignment is this? Some kind of career-day project?”

“Sure. I mean, yes,” Charlie answered. “We're supposed to learn about corporate businesses and about where their CEOs live.”

“Nice one,” Walter said.

“Thank you,” Charlie replied, failing to catch himself before responding to Walter.

“That's so polite, Charlie. You're learning your manners. You should always say thank you.” Charlie's mom beamed as she poured dressing on her salad.

“He owns a big house in Pressley. We went there once for a company dinner. Remember that, Dana?” Mr. Dewdle asked. “They had that indoor basketball court and the swimming pool with that hot-tub grotto.”

Mrs. Dewdle's eyes lit up and she smiled. “Oh yes, I remember.”

“Okay, Charlie. Last question. Ask him if Mr. Underhill has any kids your age.”

Charlie fell silent and shook his head. Enough was enough. Now Walter was just trying to make things uncomfortable for him. What did the age of the CEO's kids have to do with their problem? What did any of this have to do with anything?

“Do it, please!” Walter begged.

“I'm not gonna ask that,” Charlie mumbled under his breath, and then covered it up with a loud cough.

Walter released a grunt of frustration. “If you don't, I'll make you throw your lasagna in your father's lap.”

Charlie tried to imagine how his parents would react if Walter carried through with his promise.

“Don't test me,” Walter warned.

“So, Dad, does Mr. Underhill have any kids my age?” Charlie nudged his fork away from his plate.

“He's got a few kids,” Mr. Dewdle said. “Maybe his son is your age. I don't know for sure….” He once again glanced at his wife.

“No, I think Tyrone's in high school, isn't he?” Mrs. Dewdle said.

“Tyrone!” Walter shouted. “That's it! Excuse yourself from the table, and go get on the computer. If your parents catch you, say you're researching for the project.”

Charlie breathed a sigh of relief and excused himself.

“Okay, what the heck was that all about?” Charlie sat at the desk, his fingers gently nudging the mouse. The screen saver of random Dewdle family photos disappeared, and Charlie clicked on his folder where he'd saved the pictures from
The Summoner's Handbook.
“We still don't know what to do about this,” he whispered, waving the cursor over the pictures. “Demons are going to keep attacking until we figure out what to do with the book. And I don't have any emails from Wisdom Willows. Even
he
can't figure out what to do. How are
we
supposed to?”

“Well, I might just be able to help with that. Do you have a Facebook account?” Walter asked.

“Facebook? Yeah, I guess, but I don't get on there much. And I don't really have a lot of friends.”

“Just log on to your account. Trust me.”

Charlie did as told, and an awkward picture of him wearing wax vampire lips and dark, drawn circles around his eyes stared down at them. Also staring at them were the words “17 Friends.”

“I'd probably have more friends if I—”

“Don't worry about it,” Walter interrupted. “I don't care how many friends you have. Search for Tyrone Underhill.”

“The CEO's kid? Why do you want to do that?”

“Please, just do it!”

Several different Tyrone Underhills registered in the search field, forcing Charlie to research a few of them before finding a match. Tyrone was a dark-skinned boy of about sixteen. Most of his information had been blocked from public view, but Charlie could see that Tyrone went to Afton High School in the neighboring town of Pressley, Iowa.

“Wow! He's pretty popular,” Charlie said, taking note of Tyrone's three thousand friends. “Are you happy now?”

“Is there an address?” Walter asked.

“It doesn't say. That information's blocked.”

“I guess that's okay,” Walter said. “We'll just have to go find him at the school—hold on, maybe his father's listed in an online directory.”

“Okay, I'll check.”

“There it is! Sheldon Underhill, Twenty-Two Richfield Lane. We can wait for him to get home after school. Just skip last period and take a transit bus or something. We can look up how to get there from the nearest bus stop.”

Charlie leaned back in the swivel chair and stuck his index finger in the canaries' cage. They immediately fluttered down to peck lovingly at his fingernail. “Okay. Now what's so important about this Tyrone guy?”

“Tyrone Underhill is currently being guarded by an Afterlife Academy Agent named Ronald Logan. I know him! I met him right before I came to your place. When I saw your dad's name badge tonight, I finally remembered.”

“So what's this have to do with our problem?” Charlie asked.

“Ronald's a fully trained Agent. He knows what to do when demons attack. And maybe he'll have an idea what we should do with
The Summoner's Handbook.
Maybe they teach how to destroy it in the Afterlife Academy.”

Charlie leaned forward in the chair. “How good is he?” A hint of excitement rose in his voice.

“He's awesome!” Walter answered. “I guess. I really don't have a clue, but he's had four years of Afterlife Academy training. He has to be better than me.”

“That's not saying much.” Charlie folded his arms.

“And since I'm so happy about this news,” Walter said, “I'm going to ignore that and not make you do something painful to yourself.”

Charlie once again navigated to SpiritSpy.org. There was still no message from Wisdom. He leaned over and unzipped his backpack.

“What are you doing?” Walter asked.

Charlie pulled out
The Summoner's Handbook
and flipped it open on his lap. “Maybe there's something in here that could tell us who keeps attacking us.”

“Like the mastermind behind it?”

“Exactly.” Charlie began turning the pages and reading the headings.
Befriending Banshees, Enslaving Lesser Demons, Warding Off Angelic Pests.
He smiled. “That could come in handy.”

“Don't do anything stupid,” Walter warned. “I'm the only one keeping you alive.”

“I'm not going to
do
anything. It's just good to know I have options.”

The computer chirped as an instant message from Wisdom Willows appeared on the screen.

Charlie held his breath.

How are things going?
Wisdom asked.

Charlie flexed his fingers and typed his reply.

Okay, I guess. It hasn't exactly been quiet around here.

What do you mean?

Charlie briefly filled in Wisdom on the demon attack and the appearance of the wraith outside the apartment. He was about to include the part about being possessed by his Guardian Agent, but Walter erupted.

“Don't tell him about me!” Walter shouted.

“Why not? He's just trying to help.”

“He doesn't have to know everything. And what if he tries to do some weird voodoo magic to pull me out of you and I end up inside something else? Like one of your dumb birds?”

“He won't do that.” Charlie's finger hovered over the mouse.

“I don't want anyone to know about me just yet, and I should have a say in that, don't you think?”

Charlie sighed. “Fine.” He deleted the line about Walter and added another question.

Have you found out what I should do about the book?

Not yet. There's not a lot of information available.

“Ask him about how we can find out who's behind the demon attacks,” Walter said.