Van Bender and the Burning Emblems (The Van Bender Archives #1) (6 page)

“What in the freak is that?” I asked.

“That,” he said, “is a zip-door. See you soon.”

With a nod, he stepped into the sheet of white. For an instant I thought I heard him breaking into a scream, but then the doorway disappeared with a quiet “pop” like the sound of a florescent tube breaking. Nick and the sheet of white light disappeared. The brink turned to ash. As it drifted to the carpet, the smell of burned cinnamon bun filled my nose.

I stood there, staring at ashes as they settled to the floor, realizing that not only had Nick teleported out of my dressing room, I also must have just made a massive mistake. But it had happened so quickly. Nick had tricked me so fast, taken advantage of his stardom.

About three one-hundredths of a second later, a knock at the door startled me out of my mental self-flogging.

No, not a knock. A pounding. Accompanied by a gruff voice.

“Open up! I know you’ve got a Cask in there!”

Chapter 11: Squeaky clean agent

Most people are wise enough not to provoke an S-O-a-P agent. Richie Van Bender, on the other hand, plowed right into it like a run-away semi carrying explosives.

-Agent Linford B. Maynerd

The man who came in looked like Nick Savage dressed up as a private detective. In fact, his face had the same long shape and jowly chin.

“Nick?” I said, stepping back, surprised that Nick had just disappeared and now re-appeared.

The man shook his head and stepped into the room. “I’m not Nick Savage.”

With his southern accent, he sure sounded like Nick. He also looked about as old—perhaps fifty. He wore a long tan coat and a hat with a narrow brim. He kept his eyebrows furrowed almost into a unibrow, and frowned so his lips poked out in a pout. He looked more serious than my sixth grade math teacher, Mrs. Grumble, who used to say ridiculous things like, “Math is the most important thing you’ll ever learn.” What a drama queen.

“You look and sound just like him,” I said.

“I am not him,” he said.

“Then you must be his twin.”

“Wrong.”

He shut the door and practically shoved a badge into my face, so close that all I could see were the letters S-O-a-P. It looked very official, but having been freshly burned by trusting someone, I folded my arms across my chest and frowned.

“S-O-a-P?” I said. Nick had said something about SOaP. “What’s that? Sounds made up.”

He stepped over to the ashes on the floor, fresh from Nick’s spell, and leaned over them like a dog sniffing for a trail. After a moment, he gave me a long, serious frown, and pointed at the ashes.

“Look at this. And smell that smell. It’s like someone has either cremated a cinnamon roll. Or they’ve ignited some brink.”

“Uh,” I said. “I only change clothes in here.”

“Yes. You had a big concert, didn’t you? Ninety thousand people. That’s just cruel, you know. You should see the traffic outside. It’s gridlock. Think of that next time you get people together to steal their emotions.”

I wasn’t about to admit to anything. I’d long since learned that as soon as you admit anything, it’s all over.

“Could you say something that actually makes sense?”

He dropped to his knees and placed his face right into the brown carpet and black ashes. He inhaled and ran both hands through the carpet. When he pulled them away and looked up, black ash covered his palm, fingers, the cuffs of his coat, and most of his face.

“I knew it,” he said. “Someone
has
cast a spell.”

I shrugged again. “Like I said, I just change clothes in here.”

He stood and stepped close to me, wagging a finger and leaning in so his nose came within inches of mine. Like Nick, he stood about six inches taller than me.

“Listen, Mr. Van Bender. We know you have a Cask. Right before your intermission, you took a Cask out of your pocket, looked at it like you’d just realized what the hell it was, then put it back in your pocket. I came as quickly as I could.”

Queasiness settled into my stomach. Thousands of people had been recording and broadcasting live when I’d taken out the Cask. How brilliant of me.

“Who are you?” I said.

He whipped out his badge again, so fast he might not have even put it away, and held it up right next to his ash-smudged face. He stood so close I had to lean back to see it.

“Linford B. Maynerd, MITE division of S-O-a-P.”

“Maynerd?” I said. Something stirred in my head. I’d heard that name before. “
Maynerd?
Isn’t that Nick Savage’s real last name?”

“Listen, Mr. Van Bender, I left my wife and kids to come investigate the Cask. I left a very delicious plate of spaghetti covered in parmesan cheese on the table. I’m not here for funny business. Let’s get serious. Once again—I’m here from S-O-a-P.”

“Why do you spell it out every time? Why not say ‘soap?’”

He narrowed his eyes, tightened his lips, and still held his badge up next to his face. “Because if we say ‘soap,’ we inevitably get smart-aleck remarks.”

“What,” I said, “like
it must be very clean where you work
?”

He bared his teeth. “You’ll have to do better than that.”

“Do you squeak when you go through doors?”

His lips tightened. “Oh, very original. I’ve never heard that one.”

“When wet, do you get sudsy?”

He lifted his eyebrows and shook his head.

“Uh,” I said, “I’ve never even heard of SOaP.”

“Special Operations and Projects. Have you ever been involved in a special operation or project?”

I shook my head.

A corner of his mouth twitched. “Well, then, that’s why you haven’t heard of it. Where is the Cask?”

I needed more time to think, so I nodded at the badge, which he still gripped like it was his last hold on sanity. For all I knew, it may have been.

“You said ‘MITE,’ not M-I-T-E. You don’t get as many jokes about that?”

“No, sir. Most people are smart enough not to mess with someone from the Magical Inhibition Task Enhancement division.”

I swallowed hard. “I
might
be.”

His upper lip curled. “Give me the name, Mr. Van Bender, of the person who cast a spell in here.”

“I
might
not know what you’re talking about.”

No reaction.

“But then again, if I use all of my
might
, I
might
.
Mightn’t
I?”

Still just that frown.

I licked my lips and tried to step back from Agent Maynerd, but he followed me, holding his badge up by his face and leaning down toward me. Fortunately, his breath didn’t stink too badly.

“Look,” I said, “I don’t know anything about what you’re talking about. All I know is that Nick Savage—”

“Nick Savage!” His eyes widened. “Nick Savage was here?”

Maybe it was time to downgrade from ignorant to innocent.

“Uh, did I say Nick Savage? I meant ‘brick salvage’. I was thinking of calling my next alb—”

“Did he hurt you?” His face grew concerned. He grabbed my arms. “Are you okay?”

“No!” I said, a little surprised at the sudden concern.

“You’re okay? What did he—”

“What would he possibly do to hurt me?”

He stared into my face for a moment, eyes laden with worry. Then he inspected the rest of me like someone scouring a car for damage.

“You sure you’re okay?” he said.

“Yes, I’m sure.”

Satisfied, he stepped back. “When did he get here?”

I frowned. Maybe it was time to come clean.

“He came right before the concert and gave me something. He said it would gather emotions. I didn’t believe him. It was that thing that had lights on it, and got hot.”

He stared at me for another moment, then straightened and turned away. He lowered his badge, but kept it out. With his other hand, he rubbed his chin.

“When did he leave?”

“About two seconds before you got here.”

“Two seconds?”

“Maybe one.”

“And he took the Cask with him?”

“Ye—”

Another knock nearly launched me out of my shoes.

“Who is it?” Agent Maynerd said.

Through the door came the muffled voice of a girl. “It’s Marti Walker.”

Wow. Three people had made it through Mom’s security blanket. Nick. Agent Maynerd. And now Marti Walker. Mom’s Safe Zone didn’t seem so safe. Plus, it sure was taking her a long time to look in my dressing room. Kurt and Sandra must have been doing a great job at keeping her away.

Agent Maynerd started toward the door, reaching out for the handle, but I shoved him aside, threw my back against the door, and locked the handle.

“We can’t let her in,” I said. My heart pounded. My breath suddenly came fast and heavy. “We absolutely can’t.”

Agent Maynerd frowned and straightened his coat. “Why not?”

I shook my head, unable to admit that the prospect of meeting Marti Walker made my blood run cold, even though I’d already started to sweat.

Chapter 12: I nearly get whiplash—twice

From the second I saw his first video, my main objective in life was to meet Richie Van Bender. Yes. I’m a sick person.

-Marti Walker

“We can’t let her in,” I said.

Marti’s voice came from the other side of the door. “What’s going on? Is everything okay?”

I tried to reply, but only a croak came out.

“Let her in, Mr. Van Bender,” Agent Maynerd said. He gripped his badge with a trembling hand.

I shook my head. I couldn’t even talk to her through the door. I would self destruct if I came face-to-face with her.

Since her first single shattered the charts two years before, reporters had compared her to me. They called her, “The next Richie Van Bender.” In just two nights, we were both up for the Best Young Entertainer of the Year award.

Our paths had never crossed—except for the month when Kurt and Sandra had snuck me an iPad. On the Facebook app, I’d gone by the name Skinny McFarter, and Liked Marti’s page. We never interacted. I mostly just read her updates and looked at the bazillion photos she posted.

She knocked on the door again. “I wanted to congratulate you on a great concert.”

My knees started to wobble.

Agent Maynerd took advantage of my weakness by pushing me aside and unlocking and opening the door.

I wanted to hide, but instead tried to get a good look at her. I could only see a bit of denim pants and a tuft of blond hair because Agent Maynerd stepped into the doorway. His hat and coat blocked my view. He said something to her that I couldn’t hear.

“Yeah, yeah,” she said.

She stepped past him, into my dressing room.

Marti Walker. In my dressing room.

She extended a hand to shake. “Richie, nice to meet you.”

She was a huge star. That was why I stammered incoherently, and why my brain couldn’t make my hand shake hers. I’d done the same with Nick Savage only a few hours before. Nothing unusual. That’s what happens when you’re confronted with a star. There’s no other reason for that. None at all. Not that I can think of.

Nope, it wasn’t her distressed denim and a red shirt with lace along the neck that made me unable to speak. It also wasn’t her silver necklace with a simple heart pendant. And not her lips that sparkled with glittered lip gloss, or her hair that fell down around her shoulders in golden curls. And certainly not that she smelled like apples and carried a little purse on her arm.

And by no means was it her clear green eyes, just a little higher than mine, which fell on me like dew on the grass.

And most certainly not under any circumstances how she smiled at me and tilted her head to one side and said, “I loved the concert.”

None of that was why I couldn’t say a word to her. It was because she was such a big star.

I gave her a stupid grin and managed to lift my hand to hers. Some people have clammy hands. Or hands that are too warm. Some are even cold. But hers was just right.

My knees wobbled.

“Agent Walker,” Agent Maynerd said. He gave her a serious look. Ash still smudged his face. “I have to step out. Seems Nick Savage was here just a minute ago.”

She gave him a sharp look, in which something passed between them, as if they’d met before. In fact, he’d called her
Agent
Walker.

“Well,” she said, her tone determined, “I’ll take care of Mr. Van Bender. You go get your brother.”

His brother? Of course! The physical resemblance, the same southern accent—I’d been right to suspect Agent Maynerd and Nick Savage had something to do with each other. Not twins, but still brothers.

Agent Maynerd nodded and gave me a frown. “I’ll be back to talk with you. Marti, be careful. The Sunbeams are afoot.”

She nodded and waved him away. He strode out of the open door.

I was alone with Marti Walker. Still holding her hand. Er, shaking her hand. Shaking it.

I let go.

She shut the door and turned back to me. A transformation came over her. The girlish expression disappeared. She frowned. Her eyes narrowed.

“Good,” she said. “We’re alone.”

I tried to respond, but only squeaked. Why did she want to be
alone
with me?

“Listen.” She stepped close. “What did Savage tell you?”

I didn’t dare open my mouth, so just shook my head.

She grabbed my arms at the shoulder and shook me. “Pull out of it! You’ve got to get yourself together!”

The desperation in her voice sent a thrill of panic down my spine. Or maybe that was pain from how my head snapped back and forth at the shaking. I pulled away.

“Thank you so much for that lovely neck trauma.”

She came close again, and I shied away. I’d known some country stars had bad reputations, but had no idea she was quite so abusive.

“What did Nick Savage tell you?”

She raised her hands as if to grab me again, but didn’t touch me. Thankfully.

Rubbing my injured neck, I managed to speak. “Maybe he’s not the one who should have the last name of ‘Savage.’”