After a brief conversation on his cell phone, Agent Barnes ordered everyone out of the theatre. He told Zoey to sit tight while they waited for their ride. The rain had stopped, and bright stars winked from a dark blue sky. Agent Lee leaned on the theatre’s front wall, eyeing her suspiciously from a distance. He stood with his right hand on his hip like a cowboy ready to draw. He hadn’t forgiven her for the blow to his kneecap. Since she had made up her mind to join them to go to whatever this hive was, she sat on the edge of the sidewalk and tied her wild red mane into a ponytail and waited.
Tristan came and sat next to her. “So, how long have you been a foster kid?”
At first she was taken aback by the question. Her skin tingled at his nearness almost as though there were another monster nearby. But the sensation soon vanished, as though it had never happened.
After a moment, she answered. “Since I was four, so about ten years.”
“Do you remember your real parents?”
Zoey stared at her shoes, a heavy weight on her heart. “Not really. I get images sometimes. I know my mother had red hair like mine, but that’s it, I don’t remember my father at all.”
“Do you know what happened to them?” asked Tristan, his voice soft and full of compassion.
Zoey shook her head. “No. All they could tell me back at the orphanage was that I was dropped off without a name at one of the facilities. I don’t know who they were, or if they’re alive or dead. Without a real name, it’s not like I can look for them either.”
Tristan threw a pebble into the street. “So who gave you the name Zoey St. John?”
“The orphanage did.”
She felt a sting in her chest as she always did when she spoke of the orphanage—it always made her uncomfortable, like she was a second-class citizen. Seeing her name written down had made it seem more real to her, even though she knew it wasn’t her given name. One day she would discover her real name, she promised herself.
“I was named after the St. John’s orphanage in Toronto,” she continued, “that’s how they name the nameless kids. They chose names for kids alphabetically, and when I was dropped off they were up to the letter Z. They gave us easy names to remember I guess. I’m just glad they didn’t call me Jane Doe.”
“I think Zoey St. John is a cool name.”
Zoey felt the heat rise on her face.
She thought it was best to change the subject before she began to sweat and before her face turned the same color as her hair. “So, how long have you been an agent?”
Tristan scratched the back of his neck, his face reddening as well. “I’m not an agent. I’m just an operative.”
Zoey noticed the dimples on his cheeks when he smiled. It was a very handsome face, and she felt herself drawn to it. “What’s an operative?” she asked, still staring.
“Well I guess you could say it’s what we call agents in training,” he answered.
He avoided Zoey’s stare. “You need to be accepted in the operative program first—it’s a very selective program amongst our people. Not everyone has what it takes to become an agent.”
He was very interested in his sneakers.
Somehow, Zoey felt more at ease seeing his own discomfort, and she took comfort it in. “So how long until you become an agent, then?”
“Three to four years,” he told her brightly. “You have to be at least fourteen years old to be considered for the program. I started six months ago with a few others. It’s always been a dream of mine, to become an agent.”
Something was nagging her. “Why did Agent Barnes call me a Drifter? What is that exactly?” She had a feeling it wasn’t a good thing.
“A Drifter is a Seventh who’s been on their own for a very long time and lost to the agency,” answered Tristan. “Like you, they have no idea that there are others like them in the world. Usually, if the agency hasn’t found them when they’re really young, they start to believe they’re crazy. They eventually go insane.”
Zoey looked away. “Sounds great.” A shiver rolled down her back. She couldn’t help but wonder if that might have happened to her.
“So…how many more operatives are there? Are there some at this hive place where we’re going? Is that where you train, at the hive place?”
“Yes, there are a few of us.”
Zoey couldn’t help but be fascinated.
“So if you don’t become an agent, what else is there?” She imaged herself as an agent battling monsters like a ninja.
Tristan laughed softly. “You ask a lot of questions.”
Zoey did her best to hide her excitement in her voice.
“I’ve been waiting all my life to ask them. I feel like my head’s going to explode if I don’t ask them—you have no idea.”
Tristan watched a car roll by and disappear around the corner. “Well, it depends on the Seventh. Some try to live normal lives, away from the agency, but even they get basic combat training to protect themselves from dangerous illegals. It’s really up to each Seventh to decide what he or she wants to do. There’re loads of opportunities for them. They could teach, own a business, do research, or even work in management.”
“Am I going to be an operative, too?” she asked. She knew that her eagerness showed on her face. Just the thought sounded too good to be true. How could she be anyone important? Her stomach twisted.
Tristan didn’t answer right away. “I’m not sure exactly. Management will decide, I guess. Sorry, but I really don’t know.”
Before Zoey could ask more questions, Agent Lee moved towards them, holding up his cell phone.
“Just got a call from the agency,” he said, and then he lowered his voice. “You won’t believe this—an interloper’s been stolen at the Boston hive. Sounds like the thieves put up a pretty big fight, too—lots of casualties, very violent, eight agents were killed. They’re sending reinforcements.”
Agent Barnes’ face darkened, and he stood silent for a moment. “There’s only one reason why someone or something would want such a dangerous device. The interloper was securely bound. Nobody should have been able to get it. How did they get past security?”
“I don’t know,” answered Agent Lee, perplexed. “I’ve been asked to investigate.”
“The interloper’s location was a heavily guarded secret,” Agent Barnes said. “It was well hidden and protected. Whoever is behind this had inside knowledge. I’m sure of it.”
Agent Lee looked grim but said nothing.
Zoey wondered what an interloper was. It had to be something of great importance. She longed to know what it was. The situation sounded really serious. People had lost their lives because of it. She was itching to know more about this device.
As she opened her mouth to ask Tristan, a black SUV with tinted windows pulled up to the curb. Agent Barnes walked up to the vehicle and opened the back door.
“In you go, Little Red,” he said and gestured to Zoey. He still looked angry. “It’s getting late, and we have a long drive out of the city.”
Agent Lee snapped his fingers at Tristan. “We should go. I hate these kinds of things—now everyone’s a suspect. Keep your eyes open for anything unusual, even if you think it’s minor.”
Tristan got up. “See you later, Zoey,” he said and started to walk away.
Zoey jumped to her feet. “What? You’re not coming?”
The idea of being alone in a car with Agent Barnes wasn’t exactly a pleasant one. She preferred the company of someone her own age. The anxiety was choking her, she hated not knowing where they were going or what these Sevenths were going to do with her.
Tristan turned around, and Zoey could see he was holding a round metal compact the size of his palm. On the top was a ring dial with a series of engraved numbers around the edges like the face a clock. And in its center was a needle that pointed to locations on a map. She could see it had mirrored surfaces on the inside.
A compass, thought Zoey. A very fancy compass.
“Can’t,” answered Tristan as he continued to manipulate the device.
“I have to go with Agent Lee to Boston—it’s part of my training as an operative—to work with an agent out on the field. I got lucky today.”
He smiled at her. “But don’t worry, Agent Barnes is a big teddy bear—he doesn’t bite, not always.”
Agent Barnes cleared his throat awkwardly. “Hey, I do bite when I have to.”
Agent Lee pulled out a similar mirrored compass from the folds of his trench coat. He flipped it open, stared at himself through it, and after adjusting his hair he folded the two sides together just as Tristan had done.
Zoey watched as they both held out their mirrors in front of themselves, angling them as though trying to catch the best reflection. They stood still for a moment, and then suddenly their bodies started to shimmer like a mirage until they were no more than glowing shadows. She could see right through their bodies to the other side of the street, as though they had turned into translucent and eerie ghosts. Then, with a small pop, they disappeared.
“You can close your mouth now,” laughed Agent Barnes, seeing the utter disbelief on Zoey’s face.
She ran to where Tristan and Agent Lee had stood seconds before. “But…but it’s impossible! They’re gone? Disappeared? They just vanished? People just don’t vanish? What happened? How is this possible?”
“It’s called traveling by DSM,” said Agent Barnes.
He pulled out an identical round compact and flipped it open for Zoey to see.
“Feast your eyes on this baby. This, my dear girl, is the only smart way to travel. Can’t leave home without it,” he said and laughed at his own joke.
But he stopped laughing when he saw Zoey’s confused expression. “This baby is a DSM—double-sided-mirror. It can take you anywhere in the world. I’m sure you’ll have your chance at it, too—once we figure out what to do with you. It’ll all make sense once we get to the hive. In you go, come on now.”
Reluctantly, Zoey climbed into the back seat of the SUV. Tristan had said they’d meet up back at the hive, and she was curious to see if he’d still be in one piece, or if his legs had stayed in Boston.
Agent Barnes sat in the front passenger’s seat and whispered something to the driver, a man with white hair and glasses that covered most of his face. As they drove away, the orphan district disappeared, and Zoey’s stomach gave a lurch. But it wasn’t from leaving her old life behind—it was from excitement of the unknown that lay ahead.
Zoey was quiet during the drive out of the city. Agent Barnes and the driver were deep in conversion, keeping their voices low, but she caught the word interloper at least five times. It was clear that this device was on everyone’s mind, whatever it was.
After about an hour’s drive the SUV pulled onto a dirt road.
“Cold Creek,” announced Agent Barnes, and he turned around in his seat. “It’s a wildlife and forest conservation area, nobody around for miles. It’s the perfect location for a hive. It’s always best to be away from prying eyes—wouldn’t want any Mutes in our backyard—if you know what I mean?”
No? Zoey wanted to say, but she didn’t. She had no idea what Mutes where.
“I was around your age when I first came here. I remember it like it was yesterday. It was the best day of my life. I’d always wanted to be an agent, you know. My parents are retired now, but they both worked for the agency. Ah, enough about me. I’m sure you’ll like it here. For one thing, the air’s a lot better than that filth you were breathing before in the city.”
Green forests ran for miles on the opposite sides of the narrow road. Rolling hills loomed in the distance, and she could see a river snaking through acres of swamp. Zoey had never been in the country or so far north. She had lived surrounded by dirty concrete buildings and smelly paved streets for as long as she could remember. She had never seen anything so beautiful. It was like stepping into a National Geographic magazine.
The SUV climbed a short rise and then descended into a circular valley surrounded by mountains. A giant building made of metal and glass rested in the middle of the valley. As they got closer , Zoey could see it was made in the shape of a capital A, lying flat. A for Agency, she realized. It sparkled in the moonlight, and yellow light seeped out through rows of windows. It stood alone and proud—set back from the forest—keeping the wilderness at a respectable distance. It looked out of place in the rough country, like an alien spacecraft that had just landed.
They drove around a circular driveway and parked the SUV in front of the building. The driver kept the motor running.
“Let’s go, Little Red,” said Agent Barnes cheerfully as he clambered out of the car.
He opened Zoey’s door for her. “There’s a boardroom filled with important people waiting to see you. I think they’re still in shock, to tell you the truth. It’s been a while since anyone’s seen a Drifter. You’re quite the mystery to all of us. I can’t wait to see the look on Director Martin’s face when he sees you. I just might take a picture.”
Zoey climbed out of the back seat and stood on a stone walkway at the entrance of the building.
They were all a mystery to her as well. She clenched her trembling fingers into fists so that Agent Barnes wouldn’t see how nervous she felt. The building looked like a research facility or a giant laboratory, imposing yet cold and probably super clean—nothing like the foster homes she’d lived in before, with her friends the cockroaches and Mr. and Mrs. Rat.
Grand double glass doors stood at the entrance, like the gateway to some other world. She could see shapes moving inside, and her stomach did a summersault. The ground began to waver, and when she realized she was holding her breath, she exhaled and did her best to breathe normally, even though she could feel a panic attack on its way. She couldn’t decide it if was from the excitement or the fear in the back of her mind. This was still new territory. Agent Barnes was nice enough, but he was a stranger. This whole thing could still be a trap.
Agent Barnes drew himself up proudly and said with a smile, “Welcome to the hive number 416, the best darn place on earth, if you ask me. It is the only place where mystics and humans work together…and don’t kill one another.” He tapped his gun, and Zoey could see a glint of mischief in his eyes.
“Come along, Red. They’re waiting for us. Be prepared to be amazed.” He strolled up to the front entrance with a hop in his step and held the doors open.
Bracing herself, Zoey walked through the front doors and stepped into a vast marble hall.
At first it looked like the normal lobby of a government building with high ceilings, windows, and a comfortable seating area with brown leather sofas and plush chairs. But the further she went, the more obvious it became that this was no ordinary government establishment. She had never imagined such a peculiar and wonderful place.
Tall mirrors lined the walls on either side of the great hall in the same way that important portraits of past officials lined the walls of government buildings. The mirrors were round, square, rectangle, some were even triangle shaped, and they all hung low to the ground. They were made of gold, silver, bronze—every metal imaginable. Some were even dressed with multicolored jewels and looked as though they belonged in some make-believe castle. Some of the mirrors were old fashioned, with brass frames and blackened mirrors—marked with age as though they were hundreds of years old. Others looked new, with no traces of wear. They reflected the light like a river catching the rays from the sun in the early morning.
Two men in green uniforms were delicately removing a large cracked mirror and leaving a large rectangular stain on the wall as though the mirror had been there for ages. Another man with a broom was sweeping up the pieces.
As she strolled past, Zoey leaned forward for a better look. Above each mirror were two light bulbs, a red one and a green one. Most of the red lights were on—all except for one.
She could hear a low humming, and a sudden draft brushed her cheek as though a gust of wind had rolled by. But there were no open windows nearby. Then the only mirror without a red light shimmered as though the mirror itself was made of water. The green light bulb flickered on, and a man in a yellow rain coat stepped out, leaving a wet trail behind him.
Zoey’s jaw dropped.
The man smiled as he passed Zoey and said, “The rain is really coming down in Bangkok.” She closed her mouth, embarrassed when she realized she had been staring at him.
Did he just say that he just came from Bangkok?
There was a sudden loud buzzing from the opposite side of the hall. The light bulb on another golden mirror flashed green, and a woman walked out. Her body covered in orange smoke like she had just stepped out of a volcano. The woman dusted herself off and walked calmly away with her chin in the air, as though everything were normal.
“Keep moving, Little Red,” said Agent Barnes with a smirk. Zoey moved along, but she kept turning around, trying not to miss anything.
And then she saw something that made her gawk even more.
An impressive glass panel on the right wall was a directory for the building. The large black lettering read:
THE AGENCY
North American Branch No. 416
SUPERNATURAL AFFAIRS, Room 4A
MYSTICS LAWS AND REGULATIONS, Room 3B
CREATURE CONTROL, Room 2C
INTER-DIMENSION TRADE, COMMINUCATIONS & TRANSPORTATION, Room 2A
MILITIA AND DEFENSE, Room 1B
SEVENTHS’ ACADEMY, Room 1D
ILLEGALS, DETAINEES, OR ANY UNLAWFUL AND HOSTILE MYSTICS, Basement level
A small note at the bottom added:
For all other matters, please see Ms. Andrews at the front desk.
Zoey was mesmerized. As she passed, she could see her own astonished face reflected in the countless mirrors that lead off the main hall. It reminded her of the one time she had sneaked into the circus’s fun house, where the mirrors distorted your face and body. But these weren’t ordinary carnival mirrors, these were much more unusual.
Suddenly the entire hall buzzed, and masses of people stepped out of mirrors all around her—people and monsters.