The Afterlife Academy (15 page)

A
rotund demon covered in coarse blue fur stood in the doorway of Hoonga's office, timidly clutching a crumpled piece of paper. “Thought you'd want to know.”

Hoonga's lower lip bent into a menacing curl. “Are you sure they were the ones I sent, Paraput?”

The blue demon nodded as he glanced once more at the paper, trembling in his flabby paws. “Shades two-forty-two and two-sixty-seven, master. They were exterminated just now by a Celestial burst.”

Hoonga scowled down at the floor to where Trutti stood looking as innocent as possible. “Trutti? I thought I told you they were not to be spotted.”

Trutti shrugged, but took a cautious step away from his master's leg. “Don't look at
me.
I told the shades what to do. I was very specific.”

Hoonga slapped his forehead in frustration. “Clearly, you weren't as specific as— Wait!” The Cyclops's brow furrowed as he looked once more at the messenger in the doorway. “You said they were exterminated by a Celestial burst? How is that possible? I was told Charlie's Agent doesn't have the ability to create bursts.”

“I—I—don't know. I just read the report, sir. I'm sorry.” The blue demon lumbered as fast as he could away from the office as Hoonga slammed the door behind him.

The report could have been a mistake, but Hoonga knew in his heart that Paraput's reports were rarely wrong. Which meant that Walter, Charlie's meddlesome Agent, had somehow discovered a way to conjure Celestial energy. This was not good. Not good at all.

“Argh! I'm surrounded by
idiots
!” Hoonga shouted. For all he knew, Charlie and Walter were discovering the way to destroy
The Summoner's Handbook,
and Hoonga was running out of employees to send to take it from them.

Hoonga paused briefly at the refrigerator to remove a mason jar sloshing with putrid yellow liquid before returning to his desk and dropping into his chair.

Trutti's sharp claws clacked against the floor as he scurried over and poked his bat ears above the desk. “Master? Are you mad at me?”

Tipping the mason jar back, Hoonga downed half the contents before gasping for air. “Mad at you? Why would I be mad at you? Unless you didn't do what you were supposed to do. In that case, I would be very—”

“I did everything I was supposed to do,” Trutti interjected. “I've been spying on the boy at his home and at his school. And I told those shades what was expected. They just didn't listen.”

Hoonga belched and wiped the liquid dripping from his lips. “They never do, do they?”

“Stupid. Every last one of them,” Trutti agreed. “I've always said your entire legion of shades share one teensy brain, and that only works half the time.”

Hoonga cracked a smile, but it didn't remain long. He had too many things to worry about now. The Underworld was becoming a complicated place. Gone were the days of simple demonic mayhem. Yes, finding
The Summoner's Handbook
and opening the Gateway would make life more interesting, but how much fun would it really be having to listen to that man with the enormous Celestial stone barking out orders? There would always be someone else in charge.

Trutti tilted his head as he stared at his master. Then his eyes widened with delight. “I almost forgot!” Racing across the room, Trutti leapt over his pile of moldy blankets and undid the latches of his leather suitcase. Hoonga watched with curiosity as the lesser demon rummaged around. He raised his eyebrow in surprise when Trutti returned carrying a flat box and dumped several red and green cubes onto Hoonga's desk, along with hundreds of colorful small sheets of paper.

“It's called Mo-no-po-ly,” Trutti explained, swiveling his head to read the upside-down title. “I took a risk and lifted it during one of my most recent scouting assignments. Thought I would surprise you.”

Grinning, Hoonga sniffed one of the silvery game pieces, in the shape of an old shoe. “Pewter. How clever! Oh, look! Fashioned in the shape of tiny houses!” There was no masking his glee as he plucked up one of the green squares and showed it to Trutti. “How is it played?”

Trutti folded his arms. “I don't know, but I think there are instructions. It looks disgusting, if you ask me.”

Hoonga chuckled and stroked Trutti's ears with his clawed finger. “I know how much it must have bothered you to carry this all the way back to the Underworld. Thank you, my friend.”

Dutifully puffing out his chest, Trutti closed his eyes. “You can torture me with it, if you'd like. For messing up with the shades. I suppose I wasn't clear enough with my instructions to them, and I deserve to be punished.”

Hoonga clucked his tongue. “No, no. That won't be necessary.”

“I insist! I need to redeem myself to you, master.”

A blaring clatter erupted from the telephone resting on the corner of Hoonga's desk.

“Why must I always be interrupted, just when I'm about to have some fun?” But Hoonga picked up the receiver with a look of concern in his eye and placed it to his ear.

“You will come to the rendezvous point tonight,” the voice hissed on the other end of the line.

“How did you get this number?” Hoonga snarled.

“You fool. Have you forgotten who I work for? I have infinite resources at my disposal. The time of sitting around and waiting is over. It must happen
tonight
!”

“We don't have the boy yet—or the book.”

“I know that!” the voice snapped. “There's going to be a storm late tonight. It's the perfect condition for the Gateway to be opened. You need to bring Charlie to me.”

“But how? Even with the storm, I just can't manifest in the boy's home uninvited. That's not how it works. I'm not some puny lesser demon”—Hoonga covered the receiver with his hand and whispered “Sorry, Trutti” before continuing—“I have too much dark mass. You'll have to be there to make the invitation.”

The voice groaned on the other end. “I can't! I'm…involved in other things. Things that I just can't step away from to do
your
job. I knew I should've gone with my other choice from the beginning. You've done nothing but fail!”

Hoonga's eyelid narrowed as he twirled one of the Monopoly game pieces between his thumb and forefinger. “Regardless of your insults, the fact remains that greater demons are unable to enter human abodes without a demonic summoning. Since you're not willing to take a break from your
busy
schedule”—he winked at Trutti—“I guess that still leaves us with a bit of a problem.”

There was silence on the other end, and Hoonga waited patiently for his instruction. The Cyclops held up a card from the box to show to Trutti and smiled as he mouthed the words “B.O. Railroad.” Trutti scratched his ear, not understanding his master's humor.

“Very well,” the voice returned. “This is what you are to do. Gather up all of your followers, and meet me at the rendezvous point the moment the first raindrop falls.”

“What about Charlie?” Hoonga asked.

“Keep the boy and the book contained in his apartment until we are ready to make a strike. Do you have something capable of handling that assignment?”

Hoonga thought about the request and glanced at Trutti. “I think so,” he said, half nodding.

“I seriously doubt that!” he spat, and hung up.

Hoonga returned the receiver to its cradle. Eagerly wiggling his fingers, he laid out the Monopoly game board on his desk and lined up the pewter pieces in the square marked with the big red “Go” and an arrow.

Trutti kept his distance, gagging and sticking out his tongue as his master stacked the colorful sheets of paper into neat piles.

“Trutti?” Hoonga asked once the game board was set. “I think I'll reconsider your offer of redeeming yourself.”

Trutti's shoulders drooped. “Of course,” he whimpered. “I'll play as much as you like.”

“Oh no. I wasn't meaning the game. I need Charlie to stay put in his apartment. He can't escape until we spring our trap. Could you do that?”

Trutti's ears perked up. “Absolutely! Who shall I have to command? Give me some wraiths instead of shades. Sepa and Deander? They're my favorites. They tell the best ghost stories.”

Hoonga frowned. “I'm afraid you're going to have to do this alone. I need every able-bodied demon at the rendezvous point.”

“Alone?” Trutti gulped. “But how? He has an Afterlife Academy Agent who's able to shoot Celestial beams! I could disintegrate!”

“Now, now, don't be so grim. You're not to engage, you just need to keep Charlie inside his apartment. This is a great opportunity for you to prove your worth and use your resources. I'm sure you'll think of something. Until then, we have a little time on our hands. I'll even let you go first.” Hoonga's eye twinkled with excitement as he slid a pair of dice toward Trutti.

R
onald ogled Charlie's face in disbelief as he sat beneath a large tree in a family park, staring at the front cover of
The Summoner's Handbook.

“Could you please stop looking at me like that?” Charlie begged.

“Sorry, man. I keep forgetting you can see me.” Ronald sat back, giving Charlie space.

“But you can't see
me,
” Walter said. “Why not?”

“Because you're inside Charlie. That's how a possession works. At least, that's what they told us at the Academy. I still can't believe you possessed him!”

“It was an accident,” Walter said. “All I was trying to do was not screw up on my first day.”

Walter had gone over almost everything that had happened. His abrupt assignment in the field without training. The shades and the banshee in Charlie's room.
The Summoner's Handbook.
The demon attack out on Charlie's street.

“But still, possession is, like, majorly difficult to do. Some Agents never master it, even after years of training.”

“Well, I'm not one to brag, but—”

“I hate to break it to you, but you've got a real problem,” Ronald interrupted. “Possession is a last resort. Every Agent knows that.”

“Could we talk about the book now?” Charlie piped up. They were completely alone in the park.

Ronald nodded. “Open it for me.”

Charlie carefully peeled back the cover and started flipping through. Occasionally, a detailed image of a demon would appear on one of the pages, and Charlie would pause to allow Ronald time to examine it.

After a couple of minutes, Ronald released a frustrated sigh. “I don't understand any of it. You can read it?” he asked.

“Yes,” Charlie answered, not looking directly at the pages. “But only because I read this page.” He hurriedly turned to the back to show Ronald the special page. “Once you stare at this long enough, you can read everything else.”

Ronald stared at the page, concentrating. “How long do I have to look at it?”

“Don't bother,” Walter said. “I tried, but it was no use.”

“Yeah, and he's a ‘natural.' ” Charlie made quotation marks with his fingers.

Ronald blinked his eyes rapidly, looked away, then looked back at the page. “It's not working. How do you even know it's
The Summoner's Handbook
?”

“It's written by Igor Yad,” Walter explained.

Ronald sighed. “Yeah, that name does sound familiar from one of my training classes.”

“Besides, why else would there be demons and shades and everything else attacking us?” Charlie asked.

“Well, what do your parents do for a living?” Ronald asked.

“We've already gone over this. His dad's a driver for Carmichael,” Walter said.

“What about his mom?”

“She…,” Walter started, but hesitated. “Uh, Charlie, what does she do?”

“She scrapbooks,” Charlie answered.

“It sounds to me like there's no reason why you should have been assigned as an HLT,” Ronald said.

“A what?” Charlie asked.

“A High-Level Target. Take my HLT, for example. Tyrone Underhill.” Ronald whipped out his laminated card with Tyrone's information. “He's popular, wealthy, and quite the athlete. He's also a real jerk to people for no reason at all.”

“Sounds like a lot of people I know,” Charlie said.

“Yeah. No biggie, right? Well, according to his sleep patterns, on more than one occasion, Tyrone has dreamed of being a bank robber.”

“Yikes,” Walter said.

“Tell me about it.” Ronald folded his arms. “Now, throw in the fact that Tyrone's dad is the CEO of Carmichael Armored Vehicles. That's a disaster waiting to happen. Demons gobble that sort of stuff up, which makes Tyrone a High-Level Target.”

“Thanks for sharing, but what does this have to do with me?” Charlie asked.

“If your parents aren't doing anything dangerous, and you aren't having dangerous thoughts, that would mean the only reason you'd be labeled as an HLT was that you really did find
The Summoner's Handbook.
”

“That's what we've been saying!” Walter said. “Now can you see how big this is?”

“But that's what doesn't make sense to me.” Ronald stood up. “If this is the book—
the
book—the one all the creatures of the Underworld are looking for in order to wreak havoc on the earth—then, no offense, Walter, but why did the Academy send
you
?”

“I suppose you could do a better job?”

“I wouldn't go jumping straight to possession on my first day, if that's what you mean. But Charlie should have a whole squadron of Agents surrounding him at all times. The best of the best. The Afterlife Academy soldiers used for generals and presidents and nuclear physicists should be at his disposal until
The Summoner's Handbook
is either safely hidden or destroyed. Instead they just sent
you.
The newest member of the Academy. Untrained. No experience. What weapons did they give you?”

“Weapons? None.” Walter sounded deflated.

Ronald raised his eyebrows. “What about resource manuals? Training guides?”

“Darwin gave me a pamphlet.”

“Let me see it,” Ronald said.

“It's in my pocket. I can't exactly reach it from where I'm sitting.”

Ronald groaned. “What pocket did you stick it in?”

“My right one.”

Ronald drew near to Charlie, who immediately scampered backward on the ground. “Um, what do you think you're doing?”

“Relax.” In one quick motion, Ronald shot his hand into Charlie's front pocket and pulled out the folded ready-reference guide.

“How did you—” Walter started to ask, but Ronald's agitated voice shot him down.

“This is it? This is all he gave you? This is pointless!” He wadded up the pamphlet and chucked it toward the swings on the playground. “So he didn't give you any of this equipment?” Unsnapping one of the compartments on his utility belt, Ronald produced three small trinkets.

“What
is
that stuff?” Charlie asked.

Ronald held up a square black contraption resembling a small cell phone. “This is an ETD, an Energy Transfer Device. Agents use it to harness their energy with their target's energy in order to ward off large attacks from wraiths, Dark Omens, and demons. This is the safest way to gain the advantage over the enemy. But since you've jumped to the last chapter of the training manual and decided to
possess
Charlie, you wouldn't have any use for an ETD.” Next, Ronald held up a small whistle and handed it to Charlie. “It's called a Feral Whistle, and it works with animals.”

“I can't hold it, can I?” Charlie looked at the whistle and then back at Ronald.

“Let's see,” Ronald said. “Walter, when I drop it, I want you to try to hold it as well.”

Charlie opened his hand, and Ronald dropped the whistle. Instead of passing through his skin, as Charlie assumed would happen, the whistle rested on his palm. He closed his fingers over its cold surface and smiled.

“To do what you two just did, I would have to use the ETD. And that's the problem. Something has changed you, Charlie, and your ability to interact with spirits. Demons and wraiths typically can't touch a human. All they can do is whisper temptations, scare them, and try to possess them. Unless the conditions are altered in the right way. If that happens, demons can physically attack a human.”

“What sorts of things could alter the conditions?” Walter asked.

“Oh, I don't know. Like possessing your HLT or meddling with things you shouldn't?” Ronald pointed to the book.

“Are you saying a demon can attack me now?” Charlie whispered. “Because I read this thing? They haven't really hurt me yet—just Walter.”

“The ability of demons to hurt you will increase the longer you're possessed,” Ronald explained. “Possession protects an HLT at first, but it's only supposed to be used for short amounts of time. By reading the book, you've opened yourself up to a whole new world. It's the one my brothers and I live in now. The one Walter lives in.”

“You said this whistle works with animals? Why would you need to use it?” Walter asked.

“Animals have weaker wills than humans, so demons use them from time to time to attack an HLT. If you're lucky, blowing on the Feral Whistle can snap an animal out of a trance. Or, it can be used to control animals for an Agent's benefit. But it depends on the animal and how deep a trance it's been put under.”

Charlie pointed to the last item in Ronald's hand. “What's that other thing do?”

“This”—Ronald held up a shard of what looked like purple glass—“is a piece of Celestial stone. Every Agent is assigned a piece. I'd let you touch it if I could, but it would explode.”

“Explode?” Walter and Charlie asked together.

“It only works when the Agent assigned to it uses it. If another Agent or something else takes hold of it, the stone's rigged to blow up. It has some sort of internal self-destruct button.” The shard of Celestial stone glittered in the sunlight. Charlie could feel energy emanating from it. “Do you remember the shield of light I made earlier to protect Tyrone? And the bolt I shot at the shades? If I didn't have this, I couldn't have done that. Celestial stones are very powerful. But a piece this small can do only so much. It can destroy up to four shades at a time without any difficulty. A weaker wraith or two, no problem. If you get attacked by a Dark Omen or a demon, nuh-uh. Not a chance. I don't need any more than this, because I'll probably never see anything bigger than a wraith while guarding Tyrone. You should've been given a brick of Celestial stone.” Ronald returned the items to his pouch.

“Why didn't they give
you
any of this cool stuff?” Charlie asked Walter.

“Who knows? I think there's something fishy going on.”

“It's obviously the demon leader,” Charlie said.

Ronald bit his lip. “I'm not even sure there
is
one leader. Demons hate rules and order. Things are a bit chaotic down there. Even if there were one leader, I don't think he'd be able to organize and activate the rest to get the book. And anyway, he'd need a nondemon to help summon an army of demons.”

“What nondemon would want to do that?” asked Charlie.

“Someone who's unhappy with the way things are.”

“Well, that could be anyone on earth,” Walter said.

“I'm not thinking about people on earth,” Ronald responded.

“Huh?” Charlie and Walter intoned in unison.

“I'm thinking it has to be someone at the Afterlife Academy. Someone who's unhappy but doesn't have enough power to change things from within.”

Walter and Ronald spoke at the same time: “Alton.”

“Who?” said Charlie.

“Alton's a Categorizer,” Ronald explained. “He's not really in the Academy, but he has access to a lot of Academy information, especially about the members he's Categorized. Who knows what he's learned over the years. He's been there forever.”

Walter added, “He's the guy who gave and graded the assessment I got the perfect score on—the one that showed I didn't need any training before becoming an Afterlife Academy Agent. He's not the chirpiest guy. Still, it's hard to believe—”

“Yeah, but you don't know the whole story. When Alton died, he tried to enroll at the Academy but was turned down. Instead, he was assigned to Janitorial Services.” Ronald stuck out his tongue. “Cleaning toilets.”

Charlie scrunched his nose. “You guys need toilets?”

“He did that for a long time, but finally made it into Categorizing,” Ronald continued, ignoring Charlie's question. “Over the years, Alton has applied to dozens of positions at the Academy, but the board rejects him every time. Apparently, they don't think he has what it takes to be an Agent.”