15
UNEXPECTED GUESTS
Following Cooper’s dinner demonstration, there was a sharp decline in Course usage. Max had reluctantly continued his scenarios but had yet to encounter any vyes. What he did encounter was incessant teasing at the hands of other students as tales of Kettlemouth’s song flooded the campus.
Julie now avoided him whenever she could. When their paths did cross, she muttered “Hello” and hurried off, usually flanked by a protective phalanx of girlfriends. The Valentine’s Day dinner and dance had come and gone without Max in attendance. The only consolation was that Mum had reportedly hounded Connor throughout the evening, claiming he still owed her a date from Halloween.
Max put Julie out of his mind, however, as he jogged with Rolf and Sarah on the muddy path to the Smithy. It was mid-March, and there was a brisk, wet wind in the air as Rowan shook off the vestiges of winter. Small buds sprinkled the branches, shoots of grass peeked from the soil, and the sky teemed with convoys of pink-tinged clouds rolling in from the sea. The trio quickened their pace as Old Tom chimed five o’clock.
Their class had been attempting more complex scenarios as teams, and the three hoped to complete one before dinner. Three other First Years had just set the best mark, a thirty-one, on a Level Three scenario requiring them to track and capture a golden fawn. To complicate things, the scenario also offered opponents: a pack of mischievous hampersprites who attacked in swarms, clinging to one’s legs until the victim was toppled and bound with tree roots.
Sarah punched in the security code, and they entered the building. Moments later, Max felt his usual queasiness of anticipation as the elevator opened to the familiar granite walls of the Course’s trophy room. Sarah’s speech came rapid-fire.
“Don’t forget—communication is the key,” she said. “Our goal is to use sunbursts and frighten the fawn to the central clearing, where we can converge on it. Rolf, you’ll camp in the clearing so at least one of us is already there; plus, you’re the best at Hypnotics. Max, can you Amplify whenever you want?”
“No,” said Max. “But I’m getting better—Miss Boon’s been giving me lessons.”
“Will you try during the scenario? I think it’s probably our best chance to catch it.”
Max nodded but felt uneasy. There were times he feared that his body simply couldn’t contain the energy that Amplification generated. Others feared it, too; Miss Boon often kept her distance during their lessons, instructing Max from across the room.
While they waited for the elevator, Max wandered over to a heavy mail gauntlet suspended in one of the cases. The gauntlet was enormous, forged for a hand twice Max’s size. Its rings and plates were twisted and battered. It was the Gauntlet of Beowulf, and next to it were inscribed the names of those students who had demonstrated exceptional courage. Max’s eyes wandered over the list, wondering what deeds the students had performed to merit the award. Craning his head, he did a double take. Etched above in fiery script was the name Peter Varga.
Max blinked. According to Ms. Richter, that was Ronin’s real name.
Sarah’s voice hissed, “Max—come on! The elevator’s here!”
Level Three was paneled in tortoiseshell, the swirls creating illusions of depth in contrast to its flat silver doors. Sarah went to door three and punched codes into its console.
“Everybody ready?” asked Sarah, clapping her hands with excitement. With a twist of the knob, they stepped into another world.
Max instantly noticed the different aromas; polished wood and metal had been replaced by moss, earth, and pine. His eyes adjusted quickly to the light as he scanned the deepening sky and gauged the distance across a meadow of tall grass and low bushes bordered by an encircling hedge of forest. The sun’s last rays shone orange through gaps in the western trees. Some movement caught his eye; deer were grazing in the meadow, but there was no telltale glint of gold to signal their quarry.
“Rolf, take a position near those bushes in the center,” said Sarah urgently. “Keep low and choose a path downwind from those deer. Max and I will split up and head in opposite directions around the forest. Remember what Mr. Watanabe said: slow and steady. Our chances are best on the first try, so make it count!”
Max nodded and slipped into the forest, hugging the trail and avoiding the twigs and branches. He moved quickly; the sun was setting, and its light would be valuable in spotting their target’s golden coat. The air was cool, but perspiration formed on Max’s brow as he scanned the forest for the reflective eyes of hampersprites. Periodically, he would stop to listen but heard only the beating of his heart and the buzzing of mosquitoes.
Suddenly, a fountain of red sparks erupted like firecrackers above the forest canopy across the meadow—Sarah was in trouble! Max burst out of the forest and raced across the clearing. The deer scattered; Rolf stood up from his hiding spot. “Stay hidden!” Max hissed as he raced past him, his body beginning to Amplify. Seconds later, Max had reached the other side, leaping over a low hedge and into the dark forest.
Three hideous lime-green creatures with mossy hair and yellow cat’s eyes clung to Sarah’s legs like stubborn toddlers while a fourth wrestled with her hands. Hampersprites. To Max’s alarm, another gang of five had taken hold of a tree root and were lugging it like a fire hose to bind her.
“Solas!” he yelled, flexing his hand and filling the forest with a brilliant flash of light. The hampersprites shrieked and shielded their eyes, permitting Sarah to fling one aside and begin peeling the others off her legs.
Max leapt away as a howling hampersprite came charging at him. He took hold of its little arm and tossed it at those carrying the tree root. The little creatures were dashed to the side, losing hold of the root, which promptly resumed its rigid state.
Sarah had by now raised a low ring of red flames around herself. A half-dozen scowling hampersprites prowled around it, cursing in their high-pitched, jabbering voices. With a yelp, one tried to hurdle the flames, but succeeded only in catching its loincloth on fire. The creature fell to the ground while several others rushed in to smother the flames.
From the corner of his eye, Max caught a golden gleam. Watching the action, with an inquisitive tilt of its delicate head, stood the golden fawn.
“Sarah—on the path!” he hissed. “There it is!”
Sarah risked a quick turn of her head, just as she raised a burst of flame to singe a hampersprite that had slunk behind her.
“Go get it, Max!” she panted. “I’ve got this under control. Run!”
As if sensing the upcoming chase, the fawn swished its tail and bolted down the path. With a predatory leap, Max was after it, his feet kicking up bits of bark and soil. Max quickened his pace and ignored the sting of branches that whipped at his face, but the golden fawn always managed to bound ahead just out of reach, holding to the gentle curve of the trail.
I’ll never catch it this way, thought Max. This must be part of the scenario—speed alone can’t catch it. It’s sticking to the path—I have to head it off!
Veering to the left, he sprinted out into the meadow, estimating the best angle at which to cross the clearing and intercept the fawn. He ran fast and low, trying to make use of whatever cover was available. Slowing almost to a stop, he crawled on his belly through a thicket and reentered the forest. He grinned as he heard the soft thud of trotting footsteps coming down the path. Scanning about for cover, Max leapt twelve feet straight up, onto a thick branch overhanging the trail. A moment later, he was perched above the path like a great cat lying in ambush.
The approaching footsteps slowed; something was now moving very deliberately. Max hushed his breathing and wiped the sweat out of his eyes. Squinting, he saw a shape emerge from the shadows, walking slowly and clearly too big to be the fawn. Max flickered with annoyance as he thought it was Rolf abandoning his post. Annoyance, however, withered to sickening dread as the figure stole closer on the forest floor below him.
It was the ears that triggered Max’s initial rush of terror.
The vye had ears like a wolf, only longer, and they twitched with alertness as it suddenly shifted its gait and rose onto its hind legs. It took a quick step to the right, crouching to investigate the depths of the dark thicket. Then it stopped. It sniffed the air and swept its great head in Max’s direction. Max held his breath, fighting the urge to scream as the vye abandoned the thicket and crept toward Max’s tree.
The vye was huge: over eight feet of rangy muscle, matted hair, and sinew. It edged closer. The top of the vye’s gray-black head was only a few feet away when it stopped at the base of the tree. Its head was bowed; its panting breath was hoarse and quick. Suddenly, it spoke in the voice of a woman, its tone calm and with a hint of playfulness.
“Do you have him, my love?”
“Yes, my love.”
The reply was whispered from behind Max. He whipped his head around to see the leering face and bared fangs of a second vye inches from his own.
Max screamed and let go of the branch. He flailed and kicked in anticipation of rending claws and ripping teeth.
Nothing happened. With a croak, he opened his eyes and saw that he was sprawled on the blank white floor of the spacious scenario room. Rolf and Sarah were looking at him with a mixture of shock and concern.
“What happened?” asked Rolf. “Was there a malfunction?”
“I don’t know,” breathed Sarah. “Max, did you get the fawn?”
Max shook his head; his chest rose in rapid beats while sweat poured off his body. He took a long, quivering breath.
“There were vyes in the scenario—” he said.
Before Max could finish his sentence, the door to the chamber opened. Nigel Bristow stood in the doorway, out of breath and agitated.
“We have unexpected guests, Max,” he stated flatly. “Your father is at the front gate with another man, a Mr. Lukens. Get your things and come quickly.”
On the elevator ride up, Nigel gave Max a frank look.
“Max, did you know that your father was planning to visit?” asked Nigel.
“No,” Max breathed, simultaneously thrilled and terrified at the news of his father’s arrival. Seeing Nigel’s expression, Max blurted, “I swear I didn’t, Nigel! He mentioned in his last letter that he had a surprise for my birthday next week, but I thought it was just a present.”
“Who is this Mr. Lukens?”
“He’s my dad’s boss,” replied Max. “He owns the agency where my dad works. Oh my God, Nigel, what are we going to do? I know my dad—he’s going to want to see my room, meet my friends…everything!”
Nigel placed a steadying hand on his shoulder.
“Relax, my boy. A bit of a surprise, granted, but it’s not as though this is the first unexpected visitor we’ve received. We know how to keep up appearances,” explained Nigel, guiding Max on a brisk walk out of the Smithy. “At the gate, your father and Mr. Lukens received special visitor badges that will filter their experience. Instead of the Rowan you know, they’ll be witness to nothing more than a posh little prep school. Have faith—the badges are really quite marvelous.”
“If you say so,” Max said. A sudden wave of realization washed over him: his dad was here. His father whom he had not seen in over six months was here, and Max would get to see him any moment.
A sly smile crept across Nigel’s face. Stopping abruptly, he scratched his chin, as though pondering a difficult question. “By the way, how do you think you would have scored on that scenario?”
Max rolled his eyes and started trotting ahead, calling back over his shoulder.
“I dunno—a six, maybe seven….”
“Hmmm. And how do you think the vyes scored?” inquired Nigel with a chuckle. “An eighty? Ninety, even? Always look for the second vye, Max! Always!”
“Yeah, yeah,” groaned Max, “like I’ll ever forget now. See you there!” Max ran ahead of Nigel, making for the Manse, whose windows now shone bright and cheery.
When Max opened the door, he saw his father’s mountainous figure in the foyer, wearing his olive trench coat and gesturing wildly to Mr. Lukens, who was dressed neatly in a topcoat and fedora. A large, gift-wrapped box sat on the floor, and both men wore white badges on slender cords around their necks. As Max walked inside, Mr. McDaniels stopped in mid-sentence and turned around.
“There he is!” his father exclaimed, his blue eyes brightening. “There’s my guy! Surprise!”
“Dad!” Max exclaimed as he was abruptly hoisted six inches off the ground.
“Ugh, you’re getting too big and tough for your old dad to lift! Bob, is it me or has Max grown half a foot since August?”
“A foot at least,” said Mr. Lukens, tipping his hat. “Good to see you, Max. Happy birthday. I hope I’m not intruding—your father was kind enough to let me tag along after our pitch in Boston. Funniest thing, though, trying to find this place. I could have sworn it wasn’t on the map until your dad finally spied it! I must be getting old.” He chuckled and retrieved a slim black box from his coat.
“Hi, Mr. Lukens,” said Max, stepping over to shake Mr. Lukens’s hand and accept the present. “It’s very nice to see you. Thank you for the gift.”
“Oh, it’s nothing,” said Mr. Lukens with a dismissive wave. “I hope you like it. It’s a tad personal so you might open it in private.”
Max nodded and slipped the package into his pocket.
“Actually, we’ve got Mr. Lukens to thank for letting me tag along,” gushed Mr. McDaniels. “Told me a few weeks ago I’d be going to the meeting—this was his idea! It was everything I could do not to spill the beans that I’d be popping in for your birthday!”
Nigel quietly slipped into the foyer and gave a little wave.
“Dad,” said Max, tugging at his father’s elbow, “this is Mr. Bristow. He’s—”
“In admissions,” Nigel interjected, engaging Mr. McDaniels in a friendly handshake. “I had the pleasure of meeting you at the airport.”
“Of course, of course,” Mr. McDaniels said, pumping Nigel’s hand. “How could I forget? Nigel, please meet Bob Lukens—head honcho of my agency. Actually, if you’re in admissions, you’re probably just the guy Bob wants to see. He has a niece interested in—”
“Scott,” Mr. Lukens interjected, “let’s not torture Mr. Bristow just yet. It sounds as though dinner is being served. Maybe Max can give us a tour and we can corner Mr. Bristow before we have to catch our flight…?”
“I’ve got an idea,” said Nigel. “Allow me to take you to dinner to celebrate Max’s birthday. I’d be happy to answer your questions there. Max, why don’t you show your dad your room while I offer Mr. Lukens the express tour? Meet back here in twenty minutes?”
“Perfect,” said Mr. McDaniels, looping an arm around Max.
Max hoisted the gift-wrapped box and started up the staircase, turning back to see Nigel leading Mr. Lukens into a sitting room. Mr. Lukens smiled politely, his eyes following Max and his father’s progress up the stairs.
“So,” said Mr. McDaniels, his face shiny from the climb, “surprised to see me? Think I’d miss your initiation into the terrible teens?”
“I’m really glad you’re here,” Max said, relieved to see his third-floor hallway empty. “I missed you!”
He gave his father’s badge a hopeful glance and opened the door.
“Well,” he said, wincing, “here it is….”
His father took a step inside the doorway and stood silent for a moment. Max froze. The light from David’s reading lamp was reflected in the glass dome where Andromeda was fading in the night sky. David was curled up in bed, an open grimoire on his lap, while he closely examined a large Vermeer print. He spoke without so much as a glance at the door.
“Hey. How was the scenario?”
Max shut his eyes tight and gulped.
“Uh, fine,” said Max. “Dad, this is my roommate, David Menlo….”
David’s head snapped up to gape at Mr. McDaniels, who stepped past Max, laughing and extending his hand. David started coughing profusely as he slid the grimoire under his pillow, alternating panicked looks between Max and his father.
“Nice to meet you, Mr. McDaniels,” David peeped.
“Call me Scott, David. Mr. McDaniels is my father,” he said amiably while looking around the room. “Well, they sure don’t give you much space, but I guess this is cozy enough!”
Humming to himself, Mr. McDaniels ambled down the stairs to examine a framed photograph of their family taken before Bryn McDaniels had disappeared. David poked Max in the shoulder.
“What’s going on?” David hissed. “Does your dad know about Rowan?”
“It’s okay,” whispered Max. “He’s wearing a visitor badge that hides anything funny. Why aren’t you at dinner?”
David shrugged. “Got wrapped up in my book—wasn’t hungry.”
“Did I hear you say you haven’t eaten?” said Mr. McDaniels, his head popping up from the stairwell. Both Max and David jumped.
“Uh, yeah,” said David. “But I can get something later—they usually keep leftovers in the kitchen.”
“Nonsense! You’re coming to celebrate Max’s birthday with us!”
“Oh, that’s okay,” muttered David. “Thanks, though.”
“Nonsense again!” cried Mr. McDaniels.
“Give in, David. He’ll drag you if he has to,” Max said with finality.
“It’s true!” Mr. McDaniels conceded, planting a kiss on top of his son’s head. “Oh, it’s good to see my birthday boy! Let’s unwrap your present and get going—my fuel tank’s near empty.”
“If you insist.” Max grinned, sliding the large box across the floor. He peeled off handfuls of wrapping paper while Mr. McDaniels chuckled in anticipation and winked at David.
“Wow, it’s, uh, great!” said Max, trying to sound enthusiastic as he studied the box. “Thanks, Dad!”
“What is it?” asked David, leaning forward.
“It’s a Beefmeister 2000!” crowed Mr. McDaniels. “You boys will be able to grill your favorite meats and veggies right here at school!” Max’s father seemed to swell with pride.
“Oh, it looks really neat,” offered David. Max shut his eyes and waited.
“‘Neat?’” exclaimed Mr. McDaniels. “Is the Great Wall of China neat? The Grand Canyon? Then don’t make the mistake of underestimating the Beefmeister 2000! David, what would you say if I told you this product could handle anything desired by the summer sportsman? Anything—from steaks to rotisserie chicken to a delicate salmon fillet! And with its EZ-Clean patented surface, cleanup’s not just easy, it’s fun!”
David’s eyes widened. He shot an incredulous glance at Max, who merely shrugged.
“And that’s not all,” said Mr. McDaniels with a sly wink. He slipped an envelope out of his pocket and handed it to Max.
Max tore it open and read the enclosed certificate.
“It says twice a month, I’ll be receiving a shipment of assorted meats…. Thanks again, Dad.”
“That’s a great present, Mr. McDaniels,” said David, his hand positioned oddly in front of his face. “Awesome.”
The McDanielses left David to change and walked back to the foyer, but Mr. Lukens and Nigel had not yet returned. The sounds of supper could be heard from the back stairs off the great hall.
“Let’s go take a peek down there, Max,” said Mr. McDaniels, veering toward the stairwell. “It’d be fun to meet some more of your classmates!”
“Uh, we’d better not. David will be here in a minute, and so will Mr. Lukens.”
“Aw, c’mon,” chided Mr. McDaniels, already disappearing down the stairs.
In desperation, Max looked once more for Nigel before scurrying after his father. He froze at the bottom of the stairs as he heard his father’s voice call out.
“Miss Aloha! How are you?”
Max hurried around the corner to see Mr. McDaniels standing by the head table, shaking the hand of a very surprised Miss Awolowo. His broad face was beaming as he surveyed the large hall full of students, who had stopped eating to gape at the unexpected intrusion.
“Hi, everyone,” Mr. McDaniels boomed, giving a friendly wave. “I’m Scott McDaniels—Max McDaniels’s dad!”
The room was silent; a few students gave awkward waves. Max saw Alex Muñoz doubled up with laughter at one of the tables. Catching Max’s eye, he puffed out his cheeks to mock Mr. McDaniels’s girth. Anna and Sasha were red and shaking with laughter.
Undaunted by the silence, Mr. McDaniels rocked back and forth.
“Visiting from Chicago,” he explained with his usual good cheer. “Max’s birthday’s coming up—the big thirteen!”
Max felt hundreds of eyes shift from his father to him. Ears burning, he nodded and tugged at his father’s sleeve. Suddenly, Nigel descended the stairs accompanied by Mr. Lukens and David.
“I thought you might have stolen down here,” Nigel chided, looking at his watch. “I told the Grove we’d try to be there by seven, so we’d better be on the move.”
As Nigel finished his sentence, the dining hall was illuminated by a flash of light. Mr. Lukens smiled and placed a small camera back in his pocket.
“Wonderful shot,” he explained, upon seeing Nigel’s frown. “My niece will love getting a sense of daily life—”
“I’ll be happy to send you some brochures, Mr. Lukens,” Nigel replied tersely. “Please do not take any more photographs of the students; it is illegal to do so without their parents’ permission.”
“Of course,” said Mr. Lukens. “Please accept my sincere apologies.”
“Apology accepted,” said Nigel, taking Mr. Lukens by the arm and lightly steering him toward the stairs.
Four unfamiliar adults were waiting in the foyer. As Max reached the top of the stairs, Ms. Richter’s voice called to the new arrivals from the hallway that led to her office. They nodded at Nigel and filed past Mr. Lukens to disappear down the hallway.
“Well, now,” Mr. Lukens quipped, as though speaking to himself. “Someone quite important must be down that hall….”
As Nigel held the door for Max and David, another flash illuminated the foyer.
“Mr. Lukens,” Nigel snapped. “I thought we’d agreed that photographs are not permitted.”
Mr. Lukens held up his hands in a defensive gesture.
“I thought the prohibition was against having students in the photographs. Surely you don’t object to a photo of this magnificent chateau?”
Nigel said nothing, but Max saw a vein throb in his forehead. Mr. Lukens breezed past him and down the steps to the fountain.
Dinner was a tale of two conversations, with Mr. McDaniels entertaining Max and David at one end of the table while Nigel and Mr. Lukens were engaged at the other. Mr. McDaniels was describing the many merits of Bedford Bros. Crispy Soup Wafers to an attentive David when Mr. Lukens called over.
“Scott, Mr. Bristow just asked what it takes to be successful in advertising. What do you think?”
“That’s easy,” chortled Mr. McDaniels, wiping his mouth before continuing to speak. “You’ve got to love your client and love their products! Without that, it’s just a job, and if it’s just a job, you won’t be successful.”
“Cheers to that,” said Nigel, raising his glass. “Here’s to doing what you love—what’s that they say? ‘If you love what you do, you’ll never work a day in your life?’ Anything to add, Mr. Lukens?”
Mr. Lukens paused a moment, shooting Nigel a mischievous grin. Max thought he looked like a little boy who had been caught cheating at something trivial.
“Oh, I think Scott said it well enough,” he said. “A bit idealistic, perhaps. My bias is that successful advertising requires you to shock your audience—catch them unaware and, eh, go for that jugular.”
Mr. Lukens beamed and shrugged his shoulders.
“Most of the time, you’ve only got that one shot to get them, so it’d better count,” he added, before glancing at his watch. “My God—is that the time? Scott, I hate to say it, but we’ve got a plane to catch.”
Mr. McDaniels looked at his watch and frowned, looping an arm around Max in the process. “I guess we do,” he said softly, forking a last bite of potato.
Nigel had Mr. Lukens drop them at the gate, insisting that it would save valuable minutes for their trip to the airport. They all piled out of the car and said their good-byes. After Nigel had collected the visitor badges, Mr. McDaniels gave Max a long, fierce hug and whispered that it would not be long until Max would be coming home.
Max watched as the car’s taillights shrank to small red dots before finally disappearing. David waited patiently near the gate as Nigel put a hand on Max’s shoulder.
“Happy birthday, Max,” said Nigel. “I’m very glad you could see your father, if just for a few hours. Now, if you don’t mind, I’d like you to tell me anything you know about the irrepressible Mr. Lukens.”
“I don’t know,” said Max, fighting the heaviness in his heart. “He seems nice—he brought me a present.”
Nigel’s smile wavered.
“What was it, if I might pry?” asked the Recruiter.
“I don’t know yet,” said Max, retrieving the slim case from his pocket. “He told me to open it in private.”
“Max,” said Nigel, “that is a decidedly odd request. Do you mind if I have a look?”
Max shook his head. Nigel plucked the box from his hand and removed its silver ribbon. A moment later, Max saw a glint of gold as Nigel flipped open the black velvet lid. Inside was a jeweled dagger with a green handle. Nigel studied it a moment before his eyes widened in apparent recognition. The blood drained from his face.
“Dear God,” he muttered, fumbling in his pocket.
“What?” said Max as Nigel retrieved a slim phone and began frantically punching numbers. Nigel held up a finger for quiet.
“Gabrielle? Nigel. Abort the mission. Dear Lord—abort, abort, abort! I’ll explain everything—have to go!”
“Nigel!” Max yelled, feeling a queasy sense of panic. “What’s going on?”
Nigel ignored him and pressed another button on his phone.
“This is Nigel Bristow, Senior Recruiter. Emergency intercept requested of two subjects in black rental sedan bound for Logan Airport. First four characters of license plate are DL42…. Top priority! Apprehend both subjects—use caution and do not harm them!”
“Nigel!” Max screamed, trying to snatch the phone from the man’s hand.
Nigel hugged Max close to him.
“It’s going to be okay,” he said, herding Max over to where David stood looking petrified. “But we need to get inside immediately.”
Clutching the dagger, Nigel led them toward the Manse, their footsteps spraying wet gravel as they ran.