“Well,” quipped Nolan, giving a casual wave of his hand to slowly extinguish the bonfire, “it’s no secret anymore, is it, Tweedy? But I’ll be sure to speak to the Director to see if there are some precautions we should take with Kettlemouth.”
A few students snickered while Tweedy stood on his hind legs, bristling and uncharacteristically speechless. Finally, Tweedy hopped after Nolan, who was now walking with several students toward the Sanctuary tunnel. Omar ran after them, erupting in periodic snickers. Lucia had taken Kettlemouth back into the Lodge, slamming the door in Connor’s face. Max shivered, watching it all unfold before running after Julie, who was hurrying up the path with a girlfriend.
“Julie, Julie, wait up,” huffed Max, slowing to a walk next to her. “I thought maybe you could help me with some homework I have for Strategy—”
“Sorry,” Julie muttered, avoiding his eyes. “I have a practical in Devices. Gotta run.”
Max watched the two girls disappear into the tunnel. He sighed and started for the tunnel when he heard Cynthia screech behind him.
“Whatever, Connor!”
As David looked on, Connor was doing a funny, albeit cruel, impersonation of Cynthia applauding Nolan’s efforts on the fiddle. He jumped up and down, clapping wildly before clasping his hands in a sudden swoon.
Cynthia looked furious and near tears. “You shouldn’t talk, Connor! You were just as big an idiot as any of us!”
“Please,” dismissed Connor. “Boys, are we going to let Cynthia off the hook so easily?”
Without a word, David took Julie’s digital camera out from his pocket. Scrolling through several photos, he stopped at one and thrust the camera before Connor’s eyes.
Connor’s smirk vanished. He swallowed and blinked.
“Right, then,” he said. “Well—we’re late for dinner, and I’m starving.”
Connor crunched through the snow for the tunnel. David slipped the camera back into his pocket and sauntered after, whistling “Daisy Bell.” Squealing with delight, Cynthia rushed past Max.
“David Menlo! Let me see that photograph!”
The foyer was wet with small puddles of melted snow and boots that had been cast aside. Sounds of laughter and the smell of meat loaf issued from the stairwell to the dining hall. Just as the four children tossed their boots into a corner, Ms. Richter appeared from the hallway leading to her office. With a small frown, she looked at the mess. Suddenly, the icy puddles evaporated from the tiles while the boots arranged themselves in neat pairs against the wall. Then Ms. Richter’s attention abruptly shifted to them.
“You four come with me. Now.”
It was not a long walk to her office. Max shuffled along in his socks, ignoring Connor’s attempts to get his attention and keeping his eyes locked on the floor ahead of him. Pushing open the door, the Director motioned them inside.
Max looked up. He intended to scream but found instead that his mouth merely opened and closed as if he were a goldfish scooped from the water.
Inside the office was Cooper. Tethered to Cooper was a vye.
14
MEETING THE VYES
Towering over Cooper, the vye fixed each of the children with a dark, feral stare. Its snout was wet, and its thick tongue rolled in its mouth as it shifted its weight from one hind leg to the other. Max, Connor, and Cynthia huddled together in the doorway, while David took one look at the vye and fainted, slumping to his knees and toppling over almost casually. Sighing, Ms. Richter reached down to lift David and settle him into her desk chair, stroking his hair and cupping his chin.
“Cooper,” she said, “please lead that thing away from the children.”
Cooper nodded and tugged gently on a silver tether that was fastened around the vye’s neck. Responding with a display of jagged yellow teeth, the vye followed him slowly to a yellow settee near the French doors. Max noticed four dark streaks of dried blood on Cooper’s cheek.
“Why isn’t it attacking?” breathed Cynthia.
“Because Cooper’s caught it in a Passive Fetter; you’ll learn to make them by your Sixth Year. Very effective on vyes, but tough to get on them. Shorts out their aggression and makes them susceptible to your command. That’s why the Enemy’s never wholly relied on them, despite their uses.”
“Where did Cooper catch it?” whispered Connor, letting go of Max’s shoulder.
“Prowling near the highway into town, disguised as a salesman,” replied the Director. “We think this one may have infiltrated our campus several months ago.”
David stirred and sat up, and Max saw the vye shift its attention from him to David. Ms. Richter stepped away from her desk to the middle of the room.
“While Cooper’s capture is relevant, it’s not the sole reason I’ve asked you here,” the Director continued. “It’s my understanding that the four of you have had a very confusing ordeal—that you’ve been frightened by stories of vyes, missing Potentials, and the incompetent Director who’s endangering you all.”
Max said nothing; he didn’t want to get Mr. Morrow into trouble. Furthermore, he found the monstrous vye that sat watching him quietly from the yellow settee to be a considerable distraction. As if sensing his discomfort, the Director raised her hand and addressed the vye in a commanding voice.
“Assume your false form and do not speak.”
The creature’s eyes glistened darkly as Cooper draped a blanket over its still form. It looked at Max, its twisted wolf-face smiling in a chillingly human manner. Max shuddered as the creature’s form began to tremble, shrink, and contort; its features melted away to reveal a balding, middle-aged man with watery eyes now sitting naked beneath the blanket.
“Revolting, counterfeit things,” muttered the Director. “Now we can focus on the topic at hand. Mr. Morrow is a wonderful man, but he is very ill. He said some things I am sure he now regrets, and well he should. And he is not the only one. I am a bit disappointed that some of you would discuss topics you have been specifically instructed not to.”
Max shrunk before Ms. Richter’s gaze. Her expression was grave, but not angry.
“Now that you’ve been given certain information, I’d like to set the record straight. The first and foremost question is ‘Are children missing?’ Specifically, Potentials. The answer, as Max apparently overheard, is yes. There are currently forty-two children whom we believe have been intercepted and captured by the Enemy shortly after becoming known to us. Mickey Lees is unique—the only child taken by the Enemy after passing the tests.
“Despite what you may have heard, however,” Ms. Richter said, walking over to a large antique map of the world, “we have not been idle.”
Ms. Richter placed her palm on a scanner, and the antique map slid soundlessly into the adjoining wall. A digital map of the world was revealed with numbered codes in different colors scattered across its surface. The majority, Max noticed, were clustered in New England, North Africa, and Eastern Europe.
“Each of these numbers represents a different mission involving our operatives. As Director of Rowan, I am privy to all of these missions. There are currently three hundred and twelve nonclassified missions in various stages of completion. Forty-two of these initiatives involve our missing Potentials—one mission for each child. Master Agents have been called out of retirement, the Prescients Council has been convened, and we have initiated a number of DarkMatter—er, classified—operations concerning this situation. Mr. Morrow—and he represents only one among many—is aggravated because he does not have access to all the facts. Incomplete data leads to incomplete conclusions. I am willing to suffer their frustrations because I must keep certain information and initiatives secret. That is the grim necessity of these times.”
There was a knock on the door. Mum scurried into the room carrying an elaborate silver coffee service. The hag recoiled when she saw David, averting her eyes as she gave him a wide berth.
“Another late night, eh, Director?” inquired Mum in an anxious voice.