Kingdom Keepers VII (33 page)

“T
HIS IS HORRIFYING,”
Amanda says. She’s in row 17, seat B, beside Jess. She holds Jess’s journal in her lap. Jess, in the window seat, is half asleep, having been up drawing through the night.

“Do you think that’s why Storey gave you the stuff from the Archives?” Amanda asks. “To touch it, so it would rub off on you and you’d see stuff like this?”

“I’m so tired,” Jess moans.

“Are these flames?”

“I don’t know. I think so.”

“And is this a grasshopper?”

“Same answer. I really want to sleep. Please—”

“But you must have dreamed stuff happening. Right? You didn’t just dream
pictures
.”

“It could be nothing. You know how it works—or doesn’t work, with me.”

“If it was nothing, would we be flying to Hollywood?”

“Burbank.”

“Same thing.” Amanda makes a noise with her mouth, a long sigh like a tire losing air. “You really
are
tired.”

“I am. So let me sleep. Please.”

“Why do you suppose Mrs. Nash agreed to let us go?”

“To get rid of us for a few days.”

“I’m serious.”

“So am I. We’re out of her hair for the next week.”

“Someone made her agree,” Amanda says. “Joe, I’ll bet.”

“I don’t think it works that way. What’s the one thing Mrs. Nash cares about?”

“Money. Wait, you think they
paid
her to let us go? Like a donation, or something?”

“Doesn’t matter what I think. I’m going to sleep now,” Jess says.

Amanda turns her attention back to the journal in her lap, running her fingertips over the picture in front of her.

“An octopus? Mickey’s hat?”

“I don’t know,” Jess says, glancing at the page. “I drew them.” The plane shudders through some turbulence. Jess grips her armrests.

“But why?”

“I don’t know,” Jess says, impatient now. “This stuff doesn’t always make sense to me, Mandy.”

“Come on, you know I don’t love being called that.”

“Unless it’s by…
him
.”

“Shut—up!”

“Sometimes it’s better to admit the obvious. You like him. So what? It’s old news,” Jess says.

“So, everything,” Amanda says. She opens the overhead vent and turns her face into the stream of cool air.

“Don’t let it mess things up.” Jess yawns.

“When have I ever?”

“There’s always a first time.” Jess leans her head against the wall of the plane and shuts her eyes—but she’s trying
not
to sleep. She was lying to Amanda about wanting a nap. Going to sleep is no longer alluring for her; she fights her drowsiness with all her might, terrified of what she might see. She’s become a kind of insomniac, something not even Amanda knows. Lack of sufficient rest leaves her hungry most of the time, wobbly on her feet, dizzy, and cold. It’s the cold that’s hardest. People look at you funny when the temperature’s in the high eighties and you’re wearing a bulky school sweatshirt.

Jess struggles against the sandman, fights him back. But he always wins, eventually. She hates him for it, wishing she could kill him once and for all.

* * *

The girls’ arrival at the Studios begins with a one-hour private session with Joe in a conference room. Amanda and Jess talk through their history with the Keepers, and Jess explains Storey’s appearance “out of nowhere.”

“Did she say anything?” Joe asks.

“She said the OTs would kill for it—the binder, I mean.”

“She was scared?”

Jess tilts her head pensively. “Maybe. I don’t know. I didn’t really think about it—she was in such a hurry. She wanted me to get the binder out of the park.”

An air vent whistles, distracting Amanda.

“Did you look at the binder before Philby and Maybeck hid it under that roof?”

“Open it? No. The place was crowded. Packed. There wasn’t time.”

Joe nods.

“Why?” Amanda asks. “What’s in it?”

“Production meeting notes. Transcribed and typed. I promised the Keepers they’d get first crack. I think Finn has them now.” He pauses. “I keep my promises.”

“What did you promise Mrs. Nash?” Amanda asks.

“Amanda!” Jess snaps.

“It’s all right,” Joe says. “Mrs. Nash was made aware that foster care stops at eighteen, and you’re both several months past your eighteenth birthdays. You’re right about her misusing the system. We threatened an audit of her funds during your years in her care. You are now officially released from foster care.”

Amanda says, “She threatened to turn us over to Baltimore.”

“That isn’t going to happen now,” Joe says.

“The other girls?”

“I—we—gave her thirty days to get her act together.”

“You can do that?”

“A little thing we believe in: doing good will never hurt you.”

“Wait,” Amanda says, astonished. “Are you saying we don’t have to go back there?”

“We have an intern program,” Joe says. “We have college scholarships, ways to take care of you. No one’s going to force you to live where you don’t want to.”

“We’re free to do what we want?” Amanda says.

“We get to work in Disneyland?” Jess practically shouts. “Let me get this straight: you’re going to
pay
us to work in Disneyland?”

“If that’s what you want,” Joe says. “But honestly, we have bigger plans for you two. Much bigger.”

* * *

“How are you?” Amanda asks Finn. Joe has allowed her to visit the trailer Finn shares, hoping she will rescue him from his sorrow. She doesn’t believe in rescuing him; she believes in helping him through it.

She finds Finn sitting atop a yellow bedcover, a bunch of papers spread around him—the production notes, Amanda thinks. He looks up briefly, his eyes vacant.

“Is that you or your hologram?”

“My hologram might work in the hall, I suppose. Not in a private room. No projector in here.”

“What are you doing here, Amanda?”

“It’s nice to see you, too.”

He tries to smile. It looks physically painful.

“They flew us here. Me and Jess. There’s still work to do,” she says. She briefly explains Joe’s gift to her and Jess, their freedom from Mrs. Nash. “We’re going to be interns in Disneyland and California Adventure. We’re going to be your insiders!”

“I know I should be excited,” he says finally. “But all I can think about is the memorial this weekend. Did anyone tell you about it?”

“No. But I’ll bet it’s more a celebration than a memorial. Wayne wouldn’t want us—”

“Don’t be like the others,” he says. “Everyone keeps telling me what ‘Wayne would want.’ They don’t know. Neither do you.”

“Oh, and you do? Maybe if you got out of this trailer. California sunshine wouldn’t hurt.”

“Tough love? Is that what they said to try?”

“No one said to try anything. This is me, Finn! I
asked
to see you. I’m worried about you. I thought you might be happy to see me.”

He looks up at her. Words struggle to come out. His head sinks again.

“Listen to me!” She raises her voice. “This was a crime! A crime that cannot, will not, go unpunished. You are either with us in that, or you’re not. Joe, Brad, the rest of the Keepers intend to do something about it. Wake up, Finn. While you’re in here moping, the people—no, the
things—
that did this are planning another strike. And whether you want to hear it or not, Wayne would not be feeling sorry for himself. He’d be doing something to stop it.”

Finn closes his eyes more tightly.

Amanda takes a glass of water sitting on the nightstand and douses Finn. “Wake up!”

Now he opens his eyes. He is not happy. He spits water off his lips. Amanda realizes she’s trembling. An apology leaps to her tongue, but she won’t allow it to emerge. He deserves this.

“We—need—you. I need you!” She’s about to leave when she sees that she’s sprinkled water onto some of the pages. “Oh my gosh! I’m sorry!” She reaches across him, trying to undo the damage. Finn sees the problem and hurries to help, flipping the pages over and dragging them across the bedspread.

“Wait a second!” He holds one of the onionskin pages higher, so that it’s backlit by the ceiling light.

Vague images, the outlines of hollow letters or characters, fade as the page dries.

“Did you see that?” he asks. His face is still dripping wet. “Those—”

“Yes! Invisible ink?” Amanda says.

“This is why the OTs stole the file,” Finn says, his voice remarkably back to near normal. “They wanted whatever’s written here.”

“But maybe they didn’t figure out that it was written in invisible ink.”

“Which means we know something they don’t.” Finn sounds close to cheerful. “A message! Some sort of message or code.”

He puts his hand on her arm. They’ve only known each other as holograms recently. The feel of her warm skin, the reality of it, lifts the corners of his lips and brings a light to his eyes.

“Welcome back,” Amanda says.

T
HE CLAMSHELLS SIT
unmoving inside Ariel’s Undersea Adventure. The sign out front posts an apology for the inconvenience, suggesting that guests check back later in the day. The silence within the attraction, and the lack of any Cast Members attempting to resolve whatever the issue is, suggests some breakdown in communication. All the costumed Cast Members are on a break until notified otherwise, while the park maintenance crew has yet to arrive.

Storey Ming paces behind the wall that forms the backdrop of the attraction’s final scene. This is the space where she has been living, waiting, watching for a very long time. The exit door, an emergency door, is locked, violating state safety codes. This would be reason enough to shut down the attraction, yet no one comes to repair it. The situation is highly suspicious.

Storey does not venture out into the attraction, does not show herself, but paces impatiently, treading silently even in her agitation. Even the smallest sound sends her to peek around the edge of the wall and look around. The unexpected sound of dragging feet draws her practiced eye.

Four workers in dark blue coveralls and low-slung baseball caps walk up along the track lined with stalled clamshells. The men move like first-generation Audio-Animatronics, not human beings. As Storey watches, the lead worker’s head rises. He sniffs the air. Half his face is caught by the limited light, revealing stretched, gray, chalky skin sunken over sharp cheekbones. It’s as if all the air has been sucked out of him. His upper lip and nostrils twitch as he seeks a scent.

Again, Storey searches the attraction expectantly with her gaze from the safety of her hiding place.

Suddenly, the worker swivels his head and looks directly at her. He has no eyes, only empty sockets below a shelf of prominent bone. His nose continues to twitch, and he licks his lips.

Storey withdraws, realizing that she has just seen a ghost from the Haunted Mansion: an Overtaker. A nuisance!

Her reaction is swift. She climbs a metal ladder attached to the wall, its rungs rising into the superstructure above. She has memorized the layout of the attraction’s upper reaches. The labyrinth of catwalks runs like a crossword puzzle throughout the space, giving access to four emergency exits. She moves carefully and quietly.

The sound of zippers tells her the ghosts are shedding their outer layer of coveralls. One look confirms it: they’re in no hurry, the explanation for which follows immediately as the leader floats off the floor and flies.

Storey stops in her tracks.

The ghost is transparent, which helps explain the need for coveralls—one can’t be seen walking around California Adventure as a ghost. He arrives on the catwalk as fast as a gust of wind.

Storey backs up. She can see right through his smoky body and head. “Stand back,” Storey says, loudly enough for her words to carry. She sounds eerily confident, her voice richer and more mature than normal. “One more step and I will consume you.”

The ghost angles his head like a wild animal catching a scent. As two more ghosts land on the catwalk behind him, the leader takes a defiant but clumsy step forward. He brandishes a carving knife from the Haunted Mansion’s dining table. His dry lips part, once again revealing his dead, black tongue—an attempt at a smile.

Storey lifts her hand. An inky cloud consumes him and the others.

“Stand back!” she calls.

The worker claws his way out of the cloud, but a bolt of blinding light strikes him, leaving only a wisp of black ash where the ghost stood.

Storey glances from the catwalk to the floor below. She sees a white-bearded man, his bare torso projecting up out of the blue sea of the set, the remainder of his body invisible below the sculpted waves: King Triton.

The lord of the oceans hurls a second bolt of lightning, dissolving a second ghost to dust. The third ghost flies off the catwalk and out of the attraction.

“Descend!” Triton calls in his strong baritone.

Storey returns to the ladder and has soon joined Triton on the floor of the attraction.

“You were expecting me,” Triton says. “You were searching for me.”

“I was…hoping. Yes. I don’t like to rely on others, but I was sorely outnumbered.”

“I—
we
—have observed you these many weeks,” the king says. “You are comfortable here in the sea.”

Storey does not reply, but only nods slightly.

“You like it here.”

“I like water,” she says.

“You must not disrupt our lives in this place. You must leave.”

“I…ah…”

“Did you bring this upon yourself? Do not lie! Have you harmed those in the Mansion?”

“No. I come to assist the Children of Light.”

“Easily said. More difficult to do.”

“Determination is underrated,” she says.

“Where have we met? You are somehow familiar to me.”

“Am I? I was on the Disney
Dream
. Perhaps there?”

Triton shakes his head. “No. Long before that, I believe. From what element comes your line?”

“I would remember one so great and powerful as you, King Triton.”

“Earth? Sea? Air? You are a friend of my daughter’s, perhaps?”

“I am familiar with Ariel,” she says. “I do not know her personally. While hidden here, I’ve watched how she thrills and excites the guests. You must be very proud of her.”

Triton studies Storey with suspicious, questioning eyes. “Who are you?” He doesn’t wait for her reply. “You must not disrupt our lives here,” he repeats. “Should you bring more trouble to our attraction, you will be deemed most unwelcome. I will not come to your rescue next time no matter how your eyes may plead. Do I make myself clear?”

“Do you always take such a tone with your allies?”

“Why did the ghosts come after you? Do not lie.”

“I am myself at a loss to understand why,” Storey says.

“You possess powers. I saw what you did. A sorceress? A witch? You must be of the kingdom, and yet you fail to identify yourself.”

“I told you: I am an ally.”

“Telling and proving are two different things.” He gestures out into the attraction with one mighty arm. The normally inanimate fish and other sea creatures have come alive and are all looking at Storey with glistening, inquisitive eyes. “We will be watching.”

“No more trouble,” she says. “Honestly, I don’t know where they came from.”

“The Haunted Mansion.”

“I mean, I’m not sure
why
they came.”

“To harm you.”

“Yes—yes—of course. But why would they want to harm me? I—”

“Only
you
know. Not I.” He stares her down. “Do not play games.”

Storey hangs her head, her fists gripped so tightly, her knuckles look like miniature snowcapped mountain peaks.

When Storey looks up, Triton is gone, leaving behind nothing but the lingering smell of ozone from the electrical discharge of his lightning strikes and four sets of coveralls collapsed in pathetic little heaps on the floor.