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.
“Yes, Mum,” Ms. Richter said, smiling. “Thank you for bringing this to me.”
“It’s my pleasure, love,” Mum gushed. “I’m sorry I’m a bit late, but Bob abandoned me in the kitchens. I was able to manage as I always do,” she sighed, “but I think we may have to let him go….”
“Yes, Mum,” Ms. Richter said patiently. “I’ll be sure to speak to Bob. Now, if you’ll please close the door on your way out.”
Mum bowed, then suddenly stopped and sniffed the air with a quizzical expression on her face. She shot a panicked glance at the vye on the settee and gave Ms. Richter a horrified stare. Cupping her hands to her mouth, Mum spoke in a whisper heard by everyone in the room.
“Director,” she hissed, “there’s a V-Y-E in the corner!”
With a spastic jerk of her head in the vye’s direction, Mum fixed the Director with a knowing look.
“Yes, Mum, we are quite aware of the vye,” said Ms. Richter, pouring herself a cup of coffee.
“Would you like me to eat it? It’s no trouble at all!” offered Mum, a hopeful note in her voice.
“That’s very sweet of you, but no—not just at this moment. Now, if you please, Mum.”
With an indignant flip of her lank hair, Mum turned on her heel and marched to the door. Stopping in the doorway, she whirled and grinned at the vye, peeling back her lips to reveal rows of smooth crocodile teeth. With a sudden giggle, she slammed the door and was gone.
The vye looked ill.
“Ms. Richter,” asked Cynthia, “would you really feed that vye to Mum?”
“Absolutely not,” she replied, shaking her head. “Mum’s been putting on too much weight and vyes are enormous. Now, back to business.”
Sipping her coffee, Ms. Richter walked over to the digital map. With a brisk tap of the screen, she zoomed in on a satellite image of a large city.
“I am happy to report that progress has been made. Nine separate operations have independently converged on the city of Istanbul in Turkey. We have long suspected that there exists a honeycomb of chambers deep beneath Topkapi Palace that may have been tunneled long ago by the Enemy. A number of our Agents believe the Potentials may be there; other teams suspect a site in northern Hungary.”
“So why don’t they just go in and get them?” asked Connor.
“I wish it were that simple,” replied the Director. “Can any of you see why that might not be the wisest course of action?”
“Well,” said Cynthia, “if it’s a palace, there are probably lots of people around—tourists and such. They could get hurt, or at the very least, there would be a lot of explaining to do if they saw a bunch of vyes and Agents running around.”
The Director smiled and nodded, glancing from face to face for more answers.
“You said the underground chambers are secret—or supposed to be,” Max added suddenly. “If that’s the case, I would want to spy them out. Even if the Potentials aren’t there, the Enemy might be using the place for something else important. If so, I wouldn’t want them to know that I’d found them. I’d wait to pick my moment.”
Ms. Richter raised her eyebrows and turned to Max.
“I’ll have to inform Mr. Watanabe that you’re holding back in Strategy,” she said. “Any other suggestions?”
“It could all be a trap,” murmured David, his eyes wandering over the map before locking on to Ms. Richter’s.
“Indeed,” replied Ms. Richter, searching David’s face for several moments. “Well done—all of you.”
Max flushed with pride; Ms. Richter was notoriously spare with her compliments. Looking at her watch, she frowned.
“I need to have a word in private with David and Max. Cynthia, you and Connor may go. I hope this little chat has reassured you that many forces are at work to resolve this situation. And lest you think that you children will be the only ones privy to such terrible secrets, we will be sharing this information with the rest of the school. Now, I suggest you hurry off to the kitchens and see if there’s anything left to eat.”
Connor gave Max and David a curious look as he and Cynthia made their exit.
“Cooper, you may go as well,” said the Director. “Please be sure to get treated for that scratch immediately. We don’t need any complications.”
Cooper nodded and opened the French doors that looked out onto the orchard. Closing the doors quietly behind him, Cooper led the vye out into the night. Ms. Richter turned her attention back to Max and David.
“I have asked the two of you to stay because I would like to hear precisely why over four dozen books on art history and a pair of forbidden grimoires are missing from the libraries.”
David’s eyes widened and he shot a glance at Max, but Max only dropped his head, certain of imminent expulsion.
“Cooper was quite impressed with your disappearing act,” the Director said with a small smile. “Rowan has had rumors of a back door to the Archives for some time.”
“I’m sorry, Ms. Richter,” said David. “I got curious—I’ll return the books tonight.”
Ms. Richter shook her head.
“I’d prefer it if you did not, David,” said the Director. “As far as I am aware, you are the only person on this campus capable of using those grimoires without peril. As such, I am more interested in hearing what you have learned than devising some sort of punishment. Would you care to share your thoughts?”
David stood. “Astaroth was never destroyed,” he said abruptly. “I knew from the stars in our room.”
Max was amazed at the change that had come over his roommate. David’s downcast eyes kindled with energy and assumed a darting intensity that seemed to gather and process information continuously. Ms. Richter said nothing but gestured for David to continue.
“I knew Astaroth was alive,” continued David. “Everything suggested he was imprisoned somehow. My first guess was that the paintings might be clues to where he was imprisoned…but the grimoires told me something else.”
Ms. Richter sipped at her coffee and listened intently.
“Because Astaroth was so strong, I was curious what kind of prison could hold him,” said David, pacing about the room. “I kept imagining a mountain or something huge. The answer was actually the opposite. Interwoven spells of Old Magic were used to bind him within something small and precious—a painting.”
“Why a painting?” asked the Director.
David nodded. “That was my question, too, but it’s not random. Paintings are perfect prisons for things like this; secret symbols and guardians can be infused into the materials, images, composition, everything….”
“Do you know in which painting Astaroth is hidden?” asked Ms. Richter pointedly.
“No,” said David, shaking his head.
“Really?” said Ms. Richter, raising an eyebrow and leaning forward.
David tried to meet the Director’s gaze but looked away and began coughing. Max was surprised that his roommate, normally so timid, was not more cooperative.
“I don’t know if I should say,” said David quietly when his coughing had stopped. “I mean, you’re the Director…. Why don’t you know? Maybe nobody’s supposed to know. Maybe they just wanted Astaroth to fade away in a prison no one even knew existed, much less where to find or break it?”
“A fair point,” conceded Ms. Richter. “Indeed, it has long been rumored among our faculty that Astaroth was imprisoned in a painting, but I am not aware that any Director has ever had the specifics. Based on what you’ve said, however, I think that time is past. We must know where Astaroth is and if the Enemy has already taken possession of him.”
David cleared his throat.
“I don’t know exactly which painting, but I have hunches…,” he said.
Ms. Richter glanced at the French doors and closed the curtains with a wave of her hand. David began pacing around the chair once again.
“First of all, the painting will have been completed sometime close to when Astaroth was defeated. That’s when he was weak and we had the Tuatha de Danaan as allies—they had the Old Magic needed for the binding spells. I know the Enemy has taken modern paintings, too, but that’s all just a cover-up to disguise who’s stealing the art and why.”
“You’re sure?” asked Ms. Richter.
“Yes. Astaroth’s too powerful to hold in something temporary or move from one prison to another—all of that’s too risky.”
Ms. Richter nodded, stirring her coffee and watching David carefully as he continued.
“I also think it would be by a famous painter. The idea is that the Enemy would assume any prison would be hidden away. Famous paintings might be in plain sight, but they don’t change ownership often and can be guarded really well.”
“Leading candidates?” asked Ms. Richter, nodding.
“Rembrandt and Vermeer,” said David.
“Why these artists, specifically?”
David shrugged.
“Time period fits best and others had access to their paintings while they were being made,” said David. “I don’t think either artist would have even known their work was involved; one of our people—a student of theirs or someone who had access—would have played the pivotal role. Nothing in the Archives’ records says that Rembrandt or Vermeer was one of us. Personally, I think the painting is a Rembrandt, but it’s most likely any one of these four paintings.”
David got up to take a pen from the Director’s desk and scribble on a slim pad of paper nearby. Ms. Richter snatched up the paper and glanced at it.
“The good news is they haven’t been stolen,” said David.
Max tried to glimpse the names through the paper as the Director held it up but was unable to make them out in the soft light. Ms. Richter glanced at him, as though she suddenly realized that he was still there.
“Thank you, David,” she said, placing the sheet facedown on her desk. She motioned for David to be seated once again. Opening her drawer, she produced a folder Max had seen before. His pulse began to quicken.
“Now for you, Mr. McDaniels,” she said, removing the glossy photograph and flipping it around to face him. Max blinked at the picture of Ronin staring furiously back at him. “Can you explain why you still have not shared the fact that you had a conversation with this man on this very campus?”
Max had not heard from Ronin since Halloween; he had assumed enough time had elapsed that Cooper’s suspicions had been unreported or dismissed.
“I’m sorry,” said Max quietly. “I just thought—”
Her interjection was calm and even.
“You chose not to report this despite the fact that I told you this man was dangerous. You chose not to report this despite the fact that vyes infiltrated this campus several weeks prior.”
“Is he a vye?” asked Max, horrified.
Ms. Richter stood and walked to the window to open the drapes and watch snowflakes float about the outside lights like tiny moths. “No, Max, he is not a vye. Your original instincts about him were on target, nonetheless—he is dangerous. I’m sorry to say he is a graduate of Rowan—a supremely gifted one who is quite misguided. He was cast out several years ago. His name is Peter Varga.”
“But he tried to save me in Chicago and at the airport,” said Max, confused. “He did save me. Why was he cast out? What did he do that was so bad?”
The Director’s reply snapped through the air with finality.
“He made contact with the wrong people.” Her figure remained framed against a backdrop of swirling snow and frosted glass. “You had best go get some supper, Max. You are not to speak to Mr. Varga again or say anything about David’s research to anyone. I will emphasize to you that these are not polite requests I am simply making of a student; these are field orders issued by the Director of Rowan. Do you need me to explain the difference?”
“No, Director,” said Max, his face reddening.
“Good,” said Ms. Richter in a gentler voice. “Please get some dinner and some rest. David, I would appreciate it if you would remain a bit longer. Good night, Max.”
Max left the room as quickly as he could, skirting several students and hurrying down to the dining hall, where Bob had put aside a special plate for him.
The next few weeks were a whirlwind for the students at Rowan. Everyone had been brought up to date by their respective advisors. The news of missing Potentials caused quite a shock as did the distribution of security watches to every student. These watches were thin and silver with a digital screen that was to be pressed hard if danger threatened. While these developments had triggered a buzz among the students, the real shock and gossip began one evening when Cooper brought his hunched and shambling vye to the dining hall.
“We’re seeing more of these,” Cooper announced to his petrified audience. “We caught this one sniffing round the gates, so the Director thinks it best you see one now—in captivity. Some of you may think you know all about vyes from your books; I thought the same until I met one in Oslo….”
Cooper then gave a very practical and targeted explanation of how to spot and handle vyes. According to the Agent, a fair fight was not what they wanted. The vye’s objective was to catch you unaware, even trusting. The key was early detection: a vye was much less likely to attack if it thought it had been identified. In human form, their eyes were often watery, and they had a meandering, indirect way of speaking.
“They like to think they’re clever.” Cooper smirked. “Catch yourself in conversation with a vye, and it’ll be using ominous words and violent metaphors—toying with its prey. Turn the tables; introduce a riddle into the conversation. Vyes love riddles—it will almost always get distracted and try to solve it. Catch-22s are gold: say that you’re applying for a job that requires experience, but that you can’t get experience without the job. Drives them crazy—a record skipping in their heads.
“Don’t just rely on your gut to spot a vye,” Cooper cautioned. “I know that’s the going tip, but it’s wrong and risky. Some people can sense a vye in a heartbeat; something about it triggers a response in their genetic memory and they know a predator is near. Some people aren’t so lucky. Be alert and remember to check the eyes and speech patterns. Also, remember that vyes almost always work in pairs; always be wary of a second vye if one is spotted. Always! The one you see might just be distracting you. If their teeth or claws ever puncture your skin, you’ve got seventy-two hours to get the antidote or you risk contamination.”
Jason Barrett, looking very serious, asked Cooper how best to combat one.
“That depends on you and your strengths,” he mused. “I think of vyes as knife-work, but that’d be risky for students. They don’t burn easy, but they sure don’t like bright light or bitter cold. They’re quick, but not quick enough to keep pace with you if you’re much of an Amplifier. There are many ways to tangle with a vye. You’ll just have to figure out what works best for you.”
“And how are we supposed to do that?” a nervous-looking Third Year asked.
“On the Course,” Cooper hissed. “On my recommendation, vyes will be randomly inserted into your training scenarios. Effective immediately.”