Simon Bloom

That Monday evening, Sara Beth Doe sat quietly in a corner of the Stoneridge Public Library. Simon Bloom would have been interested to know that she was relaxing through reading. She was deep into a book about a girl who defied her world’s rules, disguising herself as a man to become a knight of great skill and magical power.

Sara Beth frowned as a shadow fell across her. She looked up and saw a man—average height, middle-aged, nothing special. But there was something about him . . .

“Listen, there’s nothing to worry about. I’m a teacher from an elementary school in Lawnville. I’ve come to help you. To save you,” he added in a hushed voice.

That freaked her out. “Look, buddy, I’m no idiot,” she said. “Get out of here before I get a librarian to call the cops.”

“Please, Sara Beth. I know who you are. Who you really are! I can tell you why you can’t remember anything . . . and I can even tell you about your tattoos.”

Sara Beth glanced down at her covered arms and legs. Had this nut job been watching her? But what if he really did know something? What if he could help?

“Fine, but get out of the way.” She gestured for him to move aside so she had a clear path to run. “And if you act creepy, I’m screaming. Loudly.”

“Sir. Sirabetta. That’s who you really are. Can’t you remember? Formerly Sara Beth Daly, you were a member of the Order of Psychology. You should have been Keeper. You tried to serve the greater good and were punished for it.”

Sara Beth stared at him. What was this crazy person saying? “That’s it—get out of here.” But her voice had no conviction; something was nagging at her.

The man made no move to leave. “The Union couldn’t keep you down; you had a way, some secret method of fighting off their memory wiping. A way to remember your true self. You gained tattoos of tremendous power.” He pointed to her arms and legs. “You found other people who wanted freedom from the strict rules and injustice in the Union. You were going to overthrow it, starting with Ralfagon Wintrofline.”

“The Keeper of the Order of Physics. We put him in the hospital so you could take his Book, the Teacher’s Edition of Physics. That brat Simon Bloom got to it first.”

“Yes! He and his friends stole the Book, took its powers, fought you, fought me, fought that idiot Mermon Veenie. They won. Somehow they defeated you, made you a child instead of your true age. Ruined your tattoos. But I’m here to set things right. Those fools in the Order of Physics never suspected where my loyalty truly lay. And your faithful followers are waiting for you to resume control. To lead us to glory. Now is the time, Sir. It’s time to restore your greatness!”

Sara Beth frowned. The man sounded like a babbling psycho, but somehow every word he said almost made sense. It was on the tip of her mind, just out of reach, but so close. So close. “My greatness?”

“Once you’re back to your proper age, your tattoos should work again. You’ll be able to control all that power and use it to destroy our enemies!”

Sara Beth’s heart pounded, and her head throbbed, as if something was pushing, straining to get free. She pulled up her sweatshirt sleeves and stared at the colors. Yellow, green, silver, blue. Were they ever more than just blotches?

“This is it, Sir. We’ll take a secret route to the Order of Biology, where allies will restore your proper age. That should also restore all your magnificent power. We’ll topple the Council of Sciences, tear apart the Keepers, and destroy Simon Bloom!”

“Order of Biology? Council of Sciences? Keepers?” Part of her was starting to see. To feel how right this all was. Whatever was fighting inside her mind was winning . . . breaking free of its chains.

“We won’t go by Gateway, of course—the Union would know. We’ll use another method, not as fast, but safer. Come on, Sir—remember. Embrace the truth!”

The man’s face was bright red from his excitement. He was practically foaming at the mouth. He looked completely bonkers. And yet . . .

“I know you?” she asked, tentative at first. But then, “I do know you.” She pulled out a small mirror from her bag and stared at her reflection. It had never seemed so artificial. “You have powers? Show me.”

“Of course, Sir.” He pointed to a nearby cart filled with books. “Keep your eyes on that!” He spoke what sounded like nonsense to Sara Beth and then pointed at the cart. It started to spin around, faster and faster, its wheels squeaking as it rotated on the carpet.

The books went flying in all directions; Sara Beth had to dodge as one soared at her. Finally, the cart smashed into the far wall, clanging loudly.

Sara Beth gaped at him. Her first quick thought was about the damage to all those books. Then she realized what she’d just seen . . . how was that possible? But deep down, she knew. Whatever barrier there was in her mind was crumbling. She pushed up her sleeves and stared at the colors there. That blue blob on her right arm . . . she associated it with air expanding, making things explode. She patted at a spot on one leg, where her jeans covered another blue mark. It made her think of blazing, all-consuming heat. And that silver tattoo below the knee of her other leg gave her an image of a glowing ball of light that could shatter solid steel.

These thoughts shattered more than steel. Memories that were supposed to have been destroyed were returning, coming back from where they’d been safely stored by an old Order of Psychology trick she’d taught herself years before.

“Yes. YES. Your name . . . you are Willoughby Wanderby!” He nodded eagerly. “And I . . .” There was pain, now. A piece of her, deep inside her head, was disintegrating and beneath it—inside it—was another thing entirely. Her everything. Her self.

“I remember!” she shouted, triumphant. Her hands were clenched into fists, both held above her and shaking. Trembling with rage. “I remember everything.” She finally, truly saw. The books around her were filled with pathetically limited knowledge. The Outsider librarian rushing over, probably to investigate the noise, was a helpless fool. Her own thirteen-year-old hands were her prison. And the novel in one hand that just minutes ago had offered her such peace was only a distraction from her true purpose, from the blood and pain she’d have to dispense before she was done.

Sara Beth Doe stared at the book in her hand. Then Sirabetta tossed it aside. There was no room for peace for her now. It was time for war. And vengeance.