The Afterlife Academy (4 page)

“I
don't believe it!” Charlie exclaimed, popping his knuckles. Wisdom's message was waiting for him after dinner. Charlie had written to him on a number of occasions, but this was the first time Wisdom Willows had ever replied.

Charlie,

Your book discovery is quite impressive. Where did you find it? Who wrote it? You said the book caused your EMF detector to go crazy? Explain. Books don't usually register readings on EMF detectors. I'm interested in learning more, and I'm excited that you chose to contact me.

Sincerely,

WW

“Wisdom Willows,”
Charlie whispered reverently. “Writing to
me
!”

After several attempts to sound official, Charlie typed his answer on the keyboard, settling for relaying every detail of his discovery.

Then, Charlie hurriedly changed into pajamas and sat down on his bed with the heavy book centered in his lap. From what he had seen, there were no legible numbers or words on any of the pages, but maybe a second look would spark a discovery.

At some point before nine o'clock, and after he had been searching for over an hour, Charlie noticed the curtain fluttering out of the corner of his eye. Sitting up, he yawned and blinked. The window was closed, and no air pumped through the apartment's vents, but there had been definite movement. Charlie's skin prickled, and an uncomfortable pit began to form in his stomach.

“Stop wasting time,” he whispered to himself. He couldn't read the words in the book, but maybe he could pick up on some sort of pattern or recognize a symbol from his research. He stared down at the opened pages once more and honed his focus.

T
he screech of chair legs scooting across the floor echoed through the office as the man in the three-piece suit stood up. He rounded the desk and grasped Walter's hand before Walter could think twice about it.

“Here you are, my boy. My dear, dear boy.” His eyes twinkled as he shook Walter's hand vigorously. “Very good, Frederick. You may return to your duties.”

The man with the clipboard nodded. “Yes, sir.”

Walter watched Frederick leave and wondered how he might retrieve his hand without coming across as rude. When shaking a hand, one had to let go after three pumps, five at the most. Walter knew that. Everyone knew that. But the man with the pocket watch didn't seem to have grasped the concept. His hand felt moist and smooth, as though he used too much lotion. Did dead people need lotion? Walter began to wonder how he could feel things at all. Wasn't he a spirit? Didn't that complicate one's ability to feel things?

“The name's Darwin Pollock, and I am the Head Assigner of Agents for HLTA at the Afterlife Academy.” He relinquished his hold on Walter's fingers, and Walter jammed them into his pocket to prevent another handshake.

“HL what?” Walter questioned.

Darwin blinked. “HLTA. Stands for High-Level Target Assignments. It gives meaning to our establishment. The whole Afterlife Academy works because of HLTA, and every assignment must be stamped and approved at this desk.” He patted the tabletop. “By me.”

“Cool.” Walter glanced sideways at the lion statue and whistled. “Where did you get that?”

Darwin's smile dimmed momentarily as he followed Walter's gaze. “You don't know why you're here, do you?” Darwin asked. “Frederick didn't tell you?”

Walter made a face as if he'd just eaten something and couldn't tell whether or not it contained raisins.

“You registered a perfect score. One hundred percent!” Darwin exclaimed. “Not in the three hundred years I've worked here has anyone done that.”

“Really?” Walter tugged at his collar. “A perfect score?”

Darwin nodded vigorously.

“On what?”

“On your entry exam, of course! No one scores one hundred percent on that questionnaire. It's unheard of. Do you know what that means?”

Walter thought back to the lengthy list of questions Alton had given him in the Categorizing Office. Questions concerning his life. Ones about bumper stickers and meals he had ordered at fast food restaurants with his family. Questions about what he wore on picture day in the fourth grade. Pointless questions. Multiple-choice questions with no right answer to choose from. He had skimmed most of them and circled randomly without considering what they asked.

“Um…wow.” Walter scratched his head in confusion. “Does it mean I can stay?”

Darwin's lower lip curled out and he snorted. “Stay? Can you stay?” He belly laughed and sat down on the edge of the desk. “My boy, you're exactly what the Academy needs. Instinctual. Aggressive. A take-the-bull-by-the-horns type of Agent.”

The queasiness in Walter's stomach vanished.

“But I'm not going to let you stay,” Darwin added, and Walter's hopes plummeted.

“Why not?” How could earning a perfect score on the questionnaire get him kicked out of the Academy? Unless…“I didn't cheat, if that's what you mean! I just—”

“I know you didn't cheat, son. No one can cheat on Alton's exams. He personally observes and stamps each one to assure their authenticity. And to be honest, he's the only one who really understands them.”

“Then why am I in trouble?”

“You're not in any trouble.” Darwin interlocked his fingers and pressed them against his lips. “You are the future. A shining star. Someone destined for greatness. Walter, I am so pleased, so very, very pleased that you opted to join the Academy! It gives me hope.”

Walter grinned awkwardly. “So…I
can
stay?” He was getting confused.

Darwin reached out and placed his hands firmly on Walter's shoulders. “On the contrary, you've already been assigned.” Darwin returned to his chair and scooted up to the desk.

Perhaps Walter hadn't understood the meaning of the word “assigned.” He wanted to sit down, but the closest available chair rested in the corner next to a large potted fern. Instead, he leaned forward and gripped the edge of the desk for support. Darwin opened a drawer and pulled out a laminated card similar to the ones the Logan boys had shown Walter earlier.

“Here's your HLT, though that's what we call every one of them, no matter how minor or insignificant. High-Level. It's standard. You'll understand after a few days in the field. The particulars are listed on the reverse.” He flipped the card over and ran his index finger down the fine print.

Darwin might as well have been speaking in guinea pig.

“I'm going down?” The latter part of the sentence squeaked out of Walter's trembling lips. Was this good news? Walter sniffed, then swallowed. It sounded like good news. Maybe he would see the Logan brothers. They could hang out. Have some fun. Until some demon ate him. It didn't take a genius to understand the importance of training. “I think you've made a mistake. I don't know what I'm doing. I need training!”

“You don't need training. You're a natural. The test proves it. Alton knows what he's doing with those tests. He's never been wrong before, and I don't think he ever will be.”

Okay. Time to come clean.

“Look, I just made that stuff up. I didn't even read the questions.” Typically in school, when a teacher praised him for performing exceptionally well on a test, a feat Walter rarely accomplished, he knew better than to tell the truth. Never tell them you made stuff up. But this felt different.

“Instinct,” Darwin whispered. “You used your instinct. You know, you remind me of me when I first joined the Academy. Oh, I tried to show humility when they told me about my near-perfect score. But deep down inside, in here”—Darwin pressed his fingers into his stomach—“I knew it to be true.”

“You got a perfect score on your exam too?”

“A
near
-perfect score. I only missed two. And, in three hundred years, no one else has even come close. Perhaps you and I are linked somehow.” Darwin paused, musing, then snapped back to business. “At any rate, these are dangerous times, Walter Prairie, and training would be a waste of valuable resources. Trust me, you'll do wonderfully!” He slid the laminated card across the desk to Walter's reluctant fingers.

Walter glanced over the card and stared at a bright-orange boy. Orange hair. Orange freckles. An annoyingly toothy smile.

“ ‘Charlie Dewdle,' ” he read aloud. “Why's he important?”

Darwin leaned forward and pointed to the information on the back of the card. “Age, closest relatives, likes, dislikes, sleep patterns, fears, et cetera.” Walter flipped the card over and perused the information. “Everything you need to know is on the card.”

“So what happens when I need to do some spell or something like that? How do I do it?” Walter asked.

“Here.” Darwin pressed something else into Walter's hand. “This is a ready-reference pamphlet. It lists the basics every Afterlife Agent should know. Now Walter, listen to me closely. You've been selected for a covert assignment. Do you understand what that means?”

“Not a clue.”

Darwin's eyes sparkled. “This is an observation mission. We don't really know all the details of what's going on. It's up to you to investigate. It's highly unlikely you'll need any of this”—he tapped the pamphlet—“but if you do, follow your instincts.”

Walter took a deep breath. The poor guy really believed in him.

“Come. You may use my personal passageway.” Darwin held out a hand toward the door behind his desk.

Walter shrugged, took a last look at his sudden and enthusiastic mentor, and exited the room.

How would he know when his instinct was necessary? Would it just come naturally to him like the questionnaire? Well, maybe his first assignment would be nothing more than a babysitting job with the orange-headed goof.

That, he could handle.

C
harlie had been flipping through the book for hours. He still couldn't make any sense of it.

Meanwhile, and unbeknownst to Charlie, he had become quite popular among the creatures of the Underworld. His bedroom buzzed with excitement. Shades crowded around the mattress, scrambling over one another to steal a peek at the book. Others hovered shoulder to shoulder over his bed, snarling, gnashing, and groaning in anticipation.

“The Summoner's Handbook!”
one shade whispered.

“How can it be?” questioned another, flitting around near the ceiling of Charlie's bedroom.

Had this boy really found it? If so, surely they would be rewarded for bringing it to their master. But they had to make sure it was indeed the book. Raising a false alarm would be a painful mistake.

“Could—” one shade started to say, hesitating as if not wanting to sound foolish in front of the others. “Could
we
make it work?”

A unified murmuring began among the growing number of shades. They had all heard stories of
The Summoner's Handbook,
of course. But deciphering its codes, reading extensive, complex passages, opening gateways…those sorts of things didn't exactly fit under their job descriptions. Shades were merely wanderers. Spies. Operating the book required a more qualified being.

Three more shades spiraled into the room. “The master has spoken!” they shouted together. “We must act immediately! We must call…
her
!”

The murmuring ceased, and Charlie's room grew quiet. Forming a circle, the shades linked their arms, bowed their cloaked heads, and began to chant.

The temperature in the room plummeted.