THIRTY-THREE

“Bad news from our network,” said Huxley. “Gareth sent a message. Arius is closing in on the second crystal.”

The refrigerator door slammed shut so loudly the contents rattled. Professor Reilly turned around, his expression grim. “That is bad news. Did he give a timeline? Or see anything that can help us get to the bloody thing first?”

“I’m afraid not.” Huxley pulled up a high backed-stool, set his glasses on the granite countertop, and rubbed his eyes. “But the image was clear. Arius is starting to make preparations, and Gareth wasn’t able to pick up anything about a location or timeline. He’s doing everything in his power to slow them down, but I’m afraid it might not be enough.”

“Who’s Gareth?” asked Thomas.

“Gareth Garibaldi.” Huxley looked at Thomas with an expression that was both tired and puzzled. “He was here when you first arrived. I was under the assumption that you and he had been introduced. Is that not the case?”

Thomas shook his head, but one of the missing pieces snapped into place. It was Garibaldi’s office where he’d emerged from hiding. He was the man with the rough voice and thick leather boots. “He left before I came out of the ventilation system. Who is he?”

“He’s one of us,” said Professor Reilly. “He specializes in information retrieval and counterintelligence. He’s helping us keep tabs on Arius and his crew while we try to teach you something useful.”

“What can we do to help?” asked Thomas.

“Our best bet is to focus on your training,” said Huxley. “The closer Arius gets, the more important it is that you be ready for action. That’s doubly true if we aren’t able to get our allies off the sidelines. At the moment, nobody believes us about Arius, so we may be on our own.”

“I’m ready whenever you are,” said Thomas. He’d managed a short nap and was itching to get to the next lesson. “Let’s go.”

Huxley smiled. “That’s the spirit. If you’re ready, we can head back to the training room. Professor, I believe Ling Sun is in the other kitchen finishing the special dish you ordered. Perhaps you could pick it up and join us downstairs.”

“I’ll meet you there in just a minute,” said Professor Reilly.

• • •

“Making an object disappear isn’t as simple as it might seem.” Huxley once again pulled the dangling chain in the training room, bathing the once-forbidding room in light. “When you send a thing away from where you are, it doesn’t cease to exist. It goes somewhere. It has to. And you, the magician, have to dictate where that somewhere will be. If you just try to make a thing disappear, nothing happens. It doesn’t work.”

“Like sending Earl back.” Thomas leaned forward and rested his elbows on the metal table where he’d made the orange appear. “He can’t just disappear. I have to send him to his spot at the zoo. I get that.”

“Exactly,” said Huxley. “As before, we’re going to start here, with small things, and work our way toward efforts of greater complexity. No matter what the size or scale, it is essential that you hold a clear image of the destination in your mind. Precision is key. Is that clear? Do you have any other questions?”

“Does it work with people?” Thomas pictured Sean Parker whisked from his house and deposited in the monkey exhibit at the zoo, the one place where he might really belong.

“You may one day learn to teleport, if that’s what you’re asking,” said Huxley. Thomas felt a rush of excitement. It hadn’t yet occurred to him that he might be able to zoom around the globe. “But the results of improperly sending or summoning a living thing can be quite horrifying. The practice requires exceptional caution.”

“Why? What happens if you get it wrong?”

“Bad things,” said Professor Reilly, causing both Thomas and Huxley to turn around. Thomas was surprised he hadn’t heard him coming. “Things no decent person would want on their conscience.”

“Imagine what might happen if your image of the destination was incorrect, or that something had changed since the last time you saw the place,” said Huxley. “Then, instead of an empty room, a person might materialize in exactly the same place as another person. Or a chair or sofa.”

“Two things can’t occupy the same physical space without their substance becoming entangled,” said Professor Reilly. “And once they’re entangled, there’s no way to put either one back exactly the way it was before.”

Thomas grimaced. The image was sufficiently unpleasant to discourage further discussion. “Right. That would be bad. So, where do we start?”

“Food worked pretty well last time, so we’re going to try it again.” Professor Reilly wore a mischievous expression as he produced a silver platter with a domed lid. A familiar and distinctly unpleasant aroma hit Thomas’s nostrils. He turned from Professor Reilly to Huxley, his eyes wide and face horrified.

“What is that?”

Professor Reilly winked and whisked the lid away. “Your mom thought you might react a bit like that. She sends her sincere apologies, along with her wishes for the lesson to be learned swiftly and with minimal suffering.”

Thomas stared, horrified. Spinach. An entire plate covered in cooked spinach. Mom! He couldn’t believe she’d sold him out like that. The very smell made him want to puke. Being the same room for an extended period would be completely unbearable. “My mom told you to torture me with spinach?”

“More or less. We wanted to find ways to motivate speedy learning. She supplied a list of your most and least favorite foods. Judging by your reactions so far, I’d say she was spot on.”

The taste of bile tickled at the back of his throat, causing Thomas to gag. He covered his nose with his sleeve and took a shallow breath, silently vowing to pay them back. Some things simply can’t be forgiven, and spinach is at the top of the list.

“Well, we’ll leave you to it,” boomed the professor. He thumped Thomas on the back and stepped into the hall, looking decidedly pleased with himself. “Good luck, my boy!”

“Sincere apologies,” said Huxley, following close behind. “And speedy success.”

The heavy bolt slid into place with a jolt. Thomas sat reeling, left alone in the tiny space with nothing but silence and the pile of green mush. His stomach turned. It was all he could do to keep from vomiting. “They are so going to pay for this.”

Thomas muttered soft curses as he turned his mind to making the offensive stuff disappear. He closed his eyes and pictured it splattering against the hallway wall. He visualized the whole platter in the garbage can in the kitchen. He pictured the particles reassembling on the floor outside in an equally disgusting pile. The effort left him with a spinning head and a room still full of the horrific smell.

He stuck his nose into the front of his shirt and used the cloth as a filter. It helped, but each breath was still tinged with hints of nastiness. He closed his eyes and tried to gather his thoughts. Over and over, he tried to make the stuff disappear.

Hours passed, and Thomas’s stomach began to grumble. He wanted to puke and eat all at the same time. His body and brain argued vehemently, but the more he tried to ignore his hunger, the more dominant it became. Soon all he could think about was food, but there was absolutely no way he’d take even a single bite of the now-cold pile of slime. Starvation would be better.

Inspiration struck. The lesson was sending, sure, but nobody told him not to use his summoning skills. A container of zipper-seal freezer bags appeared on the table, along with a large cloth napkin and a serving spoon. He wrapped the napkin around his face and shoveled the spinach into the bag. He gagged, but only a little, and managed to get every scrap of disgustingness sealed away. The bag went into the far corner of the room.

Now on to food.

He’d seen a sandwich in the refrigerator earlier. Turkey, bacon, and avocado or something like that. It appeared, followed by a carton of milk and a package of chocolate chip cookies. There was writing on the see-through sandwich bag. Prof Reilly. The letters scrawled in tall black letters. Thomas grinned and took a bite. Phase one of revenging himself on the evil perpetrators of spinach torture had begun.

When the sandwich was down to scraps, he grabbed a cookie and, mouth still full of chocolatey deliciousness, washed it down with a gulp of milk straight from the carton. He ate a second cookie and took another swig.

“Errrrrrrrrrrrrrp.” His burp bounced from the walls like a ping-pong ball. He smiled and burped again. An aftershock, as Enrique would have called it. Enrique. For the hundredth time, Thomas wished his friend was with him. Together they’d figure things out twice as fast, and more importantly, they’d have a ten times better chance at beating Arius.

Thomas forced himself to change focus and found his eyes drawn back to the plastic bag. How am I supposed to send that nasty stuff out of here?

He leaned back in his chair and took a deep breath. The air no longer made him nauseous, and with his belly full, his eyes felt heavy. Instead of fighting the wave of sleepiness, he went with it. His eyelids fluttered shut. Strange and scattered images flitted through his mind as he slipped into the rubbery space where awake and dreaming mingle until they are one and the same.

Familiar faces blended with impossible things; Peggy became Enrique, who became Akhil. All of them were looking for him. Mr. Dilstrom stood in front of the class and repeated his name, over and over. Wildus. Wildus. Wildus. His mom sat on the couch, holding his picture with tears in her eyes. His face in the photo became his dad’s, bearded, with piercing blue eyes. A giant hippopotamus charged out of the picture frame and into their living room, which was really a bookstore. The shelves warped around the rumbling beast. The hippo transformed into Sifu, who was actually Yoda—walking stick, robe and all. Sifu-Yoda whacked Thomas over the head with his stick. “There is no try.”

Thomas’s eyes flew open. There was a subtle ache where the dream-stick hit him, but he suddenly knew exactly what to do. He thought for a moment, but the destination was a no-brainer. He closed his eyes and sent the spinach to its new home. Then he kicked his feet onto the table, leaned back, and waited.