I dropped the nut.
“Oops.” He presented his hand again.
I was less ambitious this time. I picked up a half nut and managed to get it into my throat. It felt like a small cannonball. I glugged as I tried to force it down.
“Careful,” Alexander said. He opened his hand and let the rest of the peanuts spill. Then pinching my neck between his finger and thumb, he gently massaged the sides of my throat. “Now, here’s a strange thing,” he said. “Never knew my Charlie liked peanuts before. Unless, of course, you’re not my Charlie …”
He pressed his fingers together, making me gag.
“And Charlie … doesn’t … squawk.”
He smirked and pressed harder.
By all the laws of physics, I should have been dead. Bizarrely, the peanut saved me. It was lodged so tightly, it prevented my puny neck from being crushed. At the same moment, I saw a movement behind Alexander, and a hand came down in a chopping motion at the back of his neck.
He groaned and dropped to his knees.
Hey-ho, the cavalry had come. In the shape of my favorite Marine.
Mulrooney.
You want life to be simple. But it never is. When Agent Mulrooney turned up, I thought I was clear of danger. I was wrong. Mulrooney was an experienced soldier. He knew how to hit a man to render him unconscious. Under normal conditions, he would have succeeded. But nothing about this conflict was normal. The one thing Mulrooney hadn’t considered was the unexpected.
Me.
When Alexander closed his fingers around my neck and the threat of being choked grew real, I became human again. I fell to the floor and crashed against the locker, bringing down one of the lab coats and its hanger. I was gasping for air and semi-naked, my regular clothing lost somewhere in the transfer from boy to crow and back. All I had around me was one of those “shawls” I’d seen on Freya, clinging like an eggy membrane to my skin.
Mulrooney jolted in shock and caught Alexander with only a glancing blow. The Marine had just enough time to utter my name before Alexander said, “Company,” and called on his army for help.
From a shelf on the wall above the desk, a spare can of gas for the camping stove flew across the room and struck Mulrooney on the temple. Donk! The sound rang out like a hammer on an anvil. Mulrooney staggered sideways. Alexander managed to rise and kick Mulrooney hard in the gut. The Marine spat out a frothy lump of phlegm and tumbled through the doorway, clutching his stomach. Alexander was slight of build, but the kick was effective. Mulrooney was seriously weakened. But instead of pursuing him and pressing his advantage, Alexander reached into the locker and selected one of the lab coats. He plucked a pair of boffin specs from the pocket, breathed on each lens, and put the specs on.
“I’ll deal with you shortly, crow boy,” he said. “Clegg, watch him.”
He stepped out onto the factory floor, making his threatening A-shaped stance. He liked posing, liked the theater of power. But it made him overconfident and Mulrooney knew it. I raised myself onto one elbow, in time to see Mulrooney’s attempt to hit back. What looked like a scrap of metal winged through the air and buried itself in Alexander’s neck. He squealed like a week-old puppy. Unsurprisingly, there was nothing cute about his response. “Company!” he screamed. I heard a coarse rattle and saw a hook speeding down from a pulley near the ceiling. It crashed into Mulrooney like a train colliding with a cow on the tracks, followed by fold after fold of chain. Mulrooney groaned, sank down, and went deathly quiet. Alexander swayed a little. The exertion of moving something that heavy had taken its toll. He tore the scrap of metal from his neck, saving his arrgghh! for the effort of throwing the spike aside. Panting angrily, he turned and staggered back into the office.
Where I was waiting.
I was on my feet, wearing one of the lab coats.
And the glasses I’d found in the pocket.
“What the —?” he snarled. “Clegg! I told you to —”
“Company!” I roared before he could finish. “Company, stand down! Ignore all orders!”
His eyes bulged behind his glasses. A drop of blood the size of a raisin dripped off his neck and started what would soon become a bigger stain on the collar of his lab coat. Mulrooney had injured him more seriously than I’d thought. The wound looked pretty bad. Alexander covered it again with his palm, this time keeping his hand in place. But however bad the pain or the loss of blood, it hadn’t dented his sense of humor. He started to laugh, as though he couldn’t quite believe what he’d heard me say. Company, stand down? Ignore all orders? What kind of upstart kid would mess with his army of faceless men?
He blinked and a coat hanger rose into the air. One of those plastic ones with a hook that screwed out. “Hold it steady!” he barked. Right before my eyes, he kept the hook in place but turned the arms, making the plastic spin so fast that it detached and flew away like a leaf hitting the spokes of a bicycle wheel.
“You’re nothing,” he breathed, turning the point of the hook toward me. “I admit, you can throw a few cheap surprises, better than the average Talen they find, but if you think —”
“I’ve seen them,” I said.
His brow twitched.
“I’ve been in your head. I’ve talked to the men. They don’t want you in command anymore. They want me.”
He laughed again, but there were serious flecks of confusion in his eyes.
I made the A stance. “Clegg was supposed to be guarding me. But he let me get up. He’s shifted sides.”
“Oh, yeah?” Alexander said. The hook flew at me, the screw thread coming for the center of my forehead. But a hairsbreadth from the point of contact, it stopped and performed a jittery turn, like the second hand of a watch when the battery is running down. “Engage!” Alexander screamed. He blinked in fury, but all that moved were the beads of sweat on his furrowed brow.
“Dobbs, stand down,” I said calmly.
I could almost visualize the soldier, like a vapor trail wafting behind a thin veil. His hand unsteady on the curve of the hook. His eye lines flicking up and down, unsure.
Alexander shook with rage. Blood seeped out between his fingers like cream from a squeezed profiterole. “Dobbs, you mangy, cowardly swine! Grimper, take over! Grimper! Engage!”
The hook fell to the floor.
“They’re deserting you,” I said. “Clegg’s spread the word. Payback for the doll you left in the store.”
“Tommy,” he gasped, his eyes popping. “He was on the countertop. I forgot to take him.”
“You’re under arrest,” I said. “I’m taking you in for interrogation. You’re going to tell me everything you know about my father.”
No, not Tommy, he mouthed, almost visibly crumpling. He lifted his hand away from his neck. I thought for a moment he would launch himself at me (I was clutching a screwdriver in my pocket, expecting it). Instead, he gave a crestfallen salute and staggered away. Before I realized what was happening, he’d stepped out of the office and closed the door. I flung myself at the handle. Too late. A key turned in the lock.
“Alexander!” I hammered the door. There was a window panel in it, strengthened by cross wires. No way was I going to break through. I ditched the boffin specs and pressed my face to the glass. He walked past the chains that had fallen on Mulrooney and started to climb one of the ladders toward the roof. “Alexander!” I screamed again. “Stop!” I had no idea what he intended to do or whether he was simply planning to escape, but at that moment I saw Chantelle on the factory floor, aiming her laser device at him.
“Noooooooo!” I screamed as a blue light streaked through the air and struck Alexander between the shoulders. He fell off the ladder like a folding flag. And all I could think as I watched him drop was Where are the men when I need to command them?
What had happened to Alexander’s Army?
I was still kicking the door when Chantelle opened it. “Calm down, it is over,” she said. “What is with the white coat? Are you hurt?”
I sprinted past her and ran to Alexander.
“Malone, I need you here!” she shouted. She had moved to Mulrooney and was on her knees, starting to drag the heavy chains off him. But I’d looked at Mulrooney and seen him breathing; he was going to be all right. The same could not be said of Alexander. He lay motionless on his back, a blood pool billowing around his head.
I skidded to my knees and pulled the boffin glasses off him. “Alexander, hold on.” I gripped his shoulders, feeling the warmth of the blood he was leaking. Chantelle’s laser had immobilized him, but his lips were still moving slightly. “Alexander.” I shook him gently. His eyes were half-closed, like an old man falling asleep on a sofa. “UNICORNE is coming. They’re going to take care of you.” I could hear the sound of vehicles pulling up outside. “Tell me about my father, please.”
“Dayton,” he muttered. “Chief sci … officer. 41625.”
“Please!” I shook him again. “It’s Michael. What’s the DNA program?”
“Deen-A,” he said, grinning like a cartoon cat. “Wheeeeeee!”
A loud cracking noise made me look over my shoulder. One of the window panels was being removed by a crowbar. Two men I’d never seen before were coming through the window space Alexander had used to gain entry. They were wearing the pale orange uniform of UNICORNE. One had a medical bag slung across his shoulder. “Here!” Chantelle called. The man with the bag ran directly to her. The other took a good look at Alexander. Seeing no danger, he nodded at me once and hurried over to help Chantelle.
I tried Alexander one more time, quoting the message I’d found in Dad’s study. “In New Mexico: Dragons abound. Do you know what it means?”
“41625 Dayton …” he said. “Alexander Jon …” Then he groaned and passed out.
By now, agents were pouring in like ants through a door crack. One of them lifted me clear of Alexander.
“You all right, sir?” he whispered, as if it was me running the op.
“Where’s Klimt?” I growled.
“Sir, you look hurt. Should I call —?”
“WHERE’S KLIMT?!” I raged, and batted him away.
“All right, I’ll deal with this.” Chantelle ranged up. She gestured the man aside, grabbed me by the shoulders, and turned me to face her. “Where’s the girl? Where’s Freya?”
“What do you care? Where were you when we needed you? Buying shoes in the mall?”
She slapped my face. “I told you, you need to calm down.”
But I went for her instead, only to find myself looking at a red light blinking in the screen at the front of her device. The man who’d tried to help me fingered his collar. Another man gestured to him not to interfere.
“The weapon is set to maximum,” she said, purring through her soft French accent. “Unlike him, you might never wake up.” She gestured at Alexander. “Klimt’s orders were very clear. I am to stop you both if necessary. Now, where is Freya?”
“Dead!” I lied. “Dead in the fire you let her burn in.”
Her cold brown eyes showed no remorse. “How did you escape?”
I looked at Mulrooney. He was lying on a stretcher, holding an oxygen mask to his face. There was no point trying to conceal the truth. He’d seen what he’d seen. Klimt and the Bulldog would soon know it, too. “I flew out through the skylight,” I said. And before she could crease her manicured eyebrows, I morphed into a crow and took off through one of the unboarded windows.
Outside, Freya and the other crows were waiting, lining the roof of the factory opposite.
“Well?” she carked as I came in to land.
“They have him,” I replied.
“You promised him to us.”
“I know, but —”
Ark! went a brute of a crow beside her. Several feathers were missing on its forehead, and one of its claws had been eaten by disease. It tipped its beak, wanting us to look at something on the ground. Chantelle had stepped out of the factory, looking around to see where I’d gone. She spotted the row of birds and said something to one of the agents, the same one who’d tried to help me in the factory. He opened a breast pocket and passed her a pair of binoculars. The crows chattered and paddled their feet as she panned the binoculars along the line.
Unfazed, Freya said, “Did he tell you what you needed to learn?”
“No.”
“Too bad,” she said, with venom in her throat. She rippled her neck, making the feathers there stiffen and lift. Right and left of me, birds were getting ready to strike.
“You can’t at-tack,” I warned her. (I was still having trouble with multisyllable words.) “You’ll die. Like the crows on the cliff.”
Her dark eyes tilted a few degrees downward.
“I told them you were dead. If you leave, you’ll be safe.”
Ark! she went. An angry, life-affirming battle cry that all the crows repeated back to her.
“It makes sense, don’t you see? It means you can be free.”
Ark! they grated. Ark! Ark! Ark!
“Leave!” I carked back as fiercely as I could, rocking my body to reinforce the statement. “Your foe is down. His men are gone. What is the point of dying now?”
“Honor,” croaked Freya.
Ark! I sneered, inviting the glare of the guardian brute who clearly had a bit of a thing for her.
She fanned her tail, and the cries faded out. The brute reluctantly backed down. “Speak,” she said.
I met her eye. “You saved me so I could be with you. Would you fly to your death and leave me so soon? All for the sake of a man de-feat-ed?”
Ark, she grated. More of a grizzle than a cry this time. “Where are his men?”
“Gone,” I repeated. “His mind is bro-ken.”
She jerked her head and looked straight down. A black car had just sluiced up. A door clicked open and Amadeus Klimt stepped out, pulling his jacket cuffs straight. He exchanged a word or two with Chantelle. She offered him the binoculars. He refused them, but rolled his gaze over the rooftop anyway.
The birds began to shuffle impatiently. To stare at a crow was to make a threat. And no one stared better than Amadeus Klimt.
Freya widened her beak and gave a sudden command. Ark-Ark!
There was hesitation. A twitching exchange of glances. Ark? went the brute.
Ark-ARK! Freya screamed.
And just as if they’d seen a fox coming, every other bird except the two of us scattered.
Klimt continued to hold his gaze.
My breast puffed up with fear. “Why did you do that? Now he knows it’s us. If he thinks you’re alive, he’ll come for you again.”
A wisp of air flew in through Freya’s nostrils, the crow equivalent of a human snort. She put her face to the wind, feeling it keenly. “Crows do not fear death or conflict. I do not care what Klimt knows.” She spread her wings to their maximum extent. “Alexander is yours. Go back to them, Michael. You have unresolved business.”
“What do you mean?”
“You are wrong about the army. The men are not gone. They are close. I sense them.”
“Close?” I queried.
“To you,” she said. “Look for me when you need a friend.” And she sank through the air toward Klimt. Less than six feet from him, she banked and disappeared into the distance. He smiled thinly. Not once had he flinched.
Now it was me and him. He laced his fingers. I shivered in the wind. In the background, UNICORNE agents stretchered Alexander out of the factory and loaded him into a private ambulance. One of them closed the ambulance door and banged it to signal it was okay to leave. I glanced at the ambulance driver. His window was open, his forearm resting on the car door. He was doing something with his hand, tumbling a coin across his knuckles, a trick Dad used to do at birthday parties, though I was sure I’d seen someone else do it recently. The ambulance pulled away. Klimt gave me another extended look, then turned and got into his car. A signal to say he had drawn a line between us. Capturing Alexander was his victory, not mine. So, l
ike Freya, I spread my wings and flew away, sailing on the wind toward the coast and the one shred of hope I had left — a row of four cottages that overlooked the sea on Berry Head West, one of which was home to my father’s doctor.
The ever-mysterious Liam Nolan.
As the sea loomed closer, so did the rain — which was a blessing, in part. The cold ping of water slowed my impulsiveness and straightened out my thinking. There was no point going to Liam now. At this time of day, he was probably working. And if I did confront him, I’d be unclothed again. And I could hardly tap on his office window and hope he understood crow.
So I changed course and flew over Holton, following the landmarks that would take me home. I landed in the backyard, scaring off a bunch of chattering sparrows. Praying that Mom hadn’t come home for lunch, I quickly changed into my human form, got rid of the shawl, and lifted the plant pot that hid the spare key. I bolted upstairs and into the shower. The water was warm and comforting. The only reminders of my morning “adventures” were the sting when the heat hit the wound on my neck and the sight of blood swirling into the drain. I remembered Freya saying, That’s gonna look messy. She wasn’t wrong. I nearly died when I checked the bathroom mirror. The bite marks were gruesome. Mom would go ape if she saw them. I washed the wound as best I could and found a bigger bandage to cover it with. If Mom asked, I would tell her I’d scratched and made it worse. Picking at scabs was a standard boy thing. Every mother knew that.
I spent the afternoon sweating over a laptop in Josie’s room. I had zero interest in my sister’s surroundings, but her window had the very best view of the driveway. I wanted to be ready if Klimt came knocking. I even opened a small window in case I needed to fly.
I typed Dad’s message into a search engine. In New Mexico: Dragons abound. A lot of useless stuff came back, mostly to do with tourism or weather, along with a bunch of hits about dragon books and dragonflies. The images were better. The New Mexico landscape looked pretty alien, the perfect place for a UNICORNE mystery. It was mostly desert, filled with scrubby plants and solemn tabletop mountains called mesas. One image made me catch my breath — a border sign saying WELCOME TO NEW MEXICO, LAND OF ENCHANTMENT. I spent AGES on that, hoping to find some connection to Alexander or The Fourth Enchantment. But none of the searches gave me any clues. It was the same when I put in DNA program. That brought up tons of chemistry sites and images of something called an alpha-helix. On a learning scale, it was a better school day than a regular one, but I was getting nowhere with solving the message.