The Secret Cipher, page 5
I think the main reason Mom agreed to let Tyler drive us on this latest quest, despite his recent illness, was because she wanted Tyler to get out of the house more often. She told him this all the time. “Why don’t you go do something?” was one of her favorite things to say.
Ten minutes after leaving the Starbucks parking lot, Tyler pulled into Jax’s driveway. We waited while she hugged her mom good-bye. Then she tossed her purple jacket and backpack onto the car floor. “You guys are totally late,” she grumbled as she climbed in next to me. “I’ve been waiting for hours.”
“Twenty-five minutes,” I corrected, double-checking my phone. “Okay, twenty-six.”
Tyler rolled down the driver’s window and had a long discussion with Aunt Lindsay, assuring her that he would drive carefully, that he wouldn’t let us out of his sight, and that he’d call her with updates. Aunt Lindsay handed Tyler a box of day-old pastries from the diner. He immediately shoved an almond Danish into his mouth. Then Aunt Lindsay tapped on the back window. Jax rolled it down. “Don’t worry,” my aunt said to me. “Jax won’t leave your side.” She smiled in a motherly way. “Have fun!” she hollered as we backed out of the driveway.
“Leave my side?” I asked as I handed Jax an Italian soda.
“She was totally suspicious,” Jax explained. “Why would I want to go to a comic-book thingy? Mom knows I never read comic books. So I told her that you’d begged me to go because you were freaking out about the huge crowd. She knows how you get.”
“Oh.” I guess that was a good excuse. Everyone in the family knew I hated crowds.
“Thanks for the soda.” She took a long sip. “You guys didn’t tell your parents anything about Juniper, right?”
“Not a word,” I said.
“Nada from me,” Tyler said.
Jax swirled her straw. The raspberry syrup turned the whipped cream pink. “I don’t like all this lying.”
I didn’t like it either. I was the world’s worst liar. It was hard enough to make eye contact during a regular conversation. When I lied, my mouth started to fill with spit so I had to swallow really fast. I think that looks very suspicious.
“So, what’s the news on the robbery?” Jax asked.
I’d been checking my phone all morning for updates. “Excelsior Bank is under quarantine,” I said. “The shops around it are also closed. At first they were worried about radioactivity, but now the police suspect a biological weapon. But they can’t explain the wind. The security cameras recorded the storm before they were shattered. The Center for Disease Control is sending in investigators.”
“They’ll never figure it out,” Tyler said. “How could they? They’d have to think outside the box.”
Jax set her soda into the cup holder. “Even if they caught the thief and opened the urn themselves, they’d never guess it was made by Zeus.”
“Maybe it would be better if the police had the urn. Then at least it wouldn’t be in a criminal’s hands,” I said. Once again, I was trying to be the voice of reason. “They would treat it as a terrorist weapon. They’d lock it up so it couldn’t hurt other people.”
“Maybe,” Jax said. “But if the government knew about it, they could use it for political reasons. And what if a terrorist got his hands on it?”
“War,” Tyler said. He gripped the steering wheel. He was the only one among us who knew how it felt to be completely hopeless. “Someone has to destroy it,” he said, his voice cold.
He was right. But did that someone have to be one of us?
We were on the freeway, with a three-and-one-half-hour drive ahead of us. I kept checking to see if anyone was following. The Camels were in prison, in England, so they couldn’t bother us anymore. But they could send someone else. I was too nervous to read the book I’d brought—the latest edition of Guinness World Records.
“How did the bank robber get the urn from Juniper? That’s what I want to know.” Jax grabbed a powdered-sugar doughnut from the box. “We’ve got to talk to her. Can’t you go faster?”
I cringed. Tyler could drive a virtual vehicle through any kind of obstacle course, but in the real world, it had taken him three tries to pass his driving test. “CNN said that motor vehicle crashes are the leading cause of death among teenagers,” I pointed out. “Besides, if he gets a ticket, he’ll lose his driving privileges. Mom and Dad are still mad about that broken window.” During our trip to Washington, DC, Mr. and Mrs. Camel stole the secret box from Tyler’s car by breaking the window.
Jax groaned. “When is someone going to invent a faster way to travel?”
“The fastest way to travel on land is on a rocket sled,” I said, taking full advantage of this factoid opportunity. “It’s pretty cool because it slides along a set of rails, like a train, but it’s propelled by rockets. It holds the land-based speed record at Mach eight point five.”
Jax slumped against the seat. “Whatever. Just make sure we don’t take a wrong turn, okay?”
“Okay.” As usual, I was in charge of the mapping. Tyler’s car was too old to have an onboard navigation system. That was fine by me because I don’t like that lady’s voice. Even though I know it’s prerecorded, it still sounds like she gets mad if you miss a turn. And if she gives you the wrong directions, you can’t correct her. “Two hundred and thirty miles to go,” I said. Jax groaned.
Then, to my surprise, she pulled a book from her backpack. She wasn’t a big reader. The only books she carried around were travel guides she’d collected from garage sales. She liked to fantasize about all the places she’d visit when she was rich and famous. But this book’s title was A Collection of Greek Myths. “I’ve been reading as much as I can about Pandora and her family.” She opened the book to an illustration of a woman in a toga, holding a box. “Here she is,” she said. It looked more realistic than the comic-book picture we saw back at Merlin’s. She held it up so Tyler could see it in the rearview mirror. Then she turned the page to a woman with snakes growing out of her head.
“Medusa,” Tyler said, his gaze darting between the road and the mirror. “She turns people to stone.” He knew everything about Greek myths. Jax turned another page. “That’s Pan. He’s a Satyr. Half goat, half human. He was the demi-god of the woodlands.”
Jax leaned over the front seat. “If Pandora and her family really lived, does that mean that all these stories are true? Does that mean that Pan is real? And Cyclopses too?”
“Were real,” I corrected.
“What do you think, Tyler? Do you think they had green blood, just like in your game?”
Tyler reached for another pastry. “If Cyclopses are real, little cousin, then the line between fantasy and reality will need to be redrawn.”
“Were real,” I said again. Why couldn’t they get that straight?
“Verb tense is the least of our worries,” Tyler said. Then he shoved half a croissant into his mouth.
I mumbled to myself that verb tense was important. It was difficult for me to accept that what I had once considered to be fiction might now be fact. I frowned, then checked my phone. “Two hundred and twenty more miles.”
Jax groaned and sank low on the seat. “Where’s a rocket sled when you need one?”
10
Jax
Finally! After a million hours in the car, we reached the Sisters of Mercy Convalescent Center.
Ethan almost drove me crazy. Don’t get me wrong, I really love him. He is my best friend. But four hours of trivia made my brain feel like it had been pricked with needles. Tyler finally snapped. “If you don’t shut it, I’m going to stuff a day-old doughnut in your mouth.” Ethan grumbled something about how no one ever appreciated him, then he plugged earbuds into his phone and listened to the news. It wasn’t true. I appreciated him. Except for all that sneezing and nose blowing.
Tyler took forever to find a parking spot. I think he was stalling. I didn’t blame him for not wanting to see Juniper again. For almost a month, he’d been a different person, and the urn had been to blame. But it had been my birthday present; so, in a way, I was also to blame. Sometimes I was angry at our great-aunt for sending me that urn. And other times I was grateful, because now I had proof that magic truly existed. I’d always suspected as much.
Without the urn, I might have never learned the truth about my dad.
Sisters of Mercy was a small brick building. The walkway was lined with blue pansies and the lawn was bright green and perfectly mowed. A bronze statue of a nun stood in the center of the yard, her palms pressed together in prayer. A few patients sat in the shade of a big oak tree. They’d fallen asleep in their wheelchairs.
“I can’t find a place to stay,” Ethan said as Tyler set the parking brake. “Every hotel and motel is booked. The only vacancies are penthouse suites or bridal suites and they’re super expensive.”
Thanks to the comic-book festival, a rock concert, and a car show, Boston was packed. “Don’t worry. I told Mom we had a room at the Best Eastern hotel,” I said.
“Uh, they are called Best Western hotels,” Tyler said.
“Whatever. She seemed fine with it. And I had to say something.” Does lying to your mom not count if you’re trying to save humanity?
“This is a disaster. What are we going to do?” Ethan asked, his voice cracking. He always made such a big deal out of things. “Where are we going to sleep?”
“We’ll be okay,” I said calmly. If we had to sleep in the car, what was the big deal? We could do it for one night. We could use a restaurant bathroom. We’d figure it out when the time came. But I didn’t say those things to Ethan because he hated not having a plan. He worried about everything. I was worried about our great-aunt and the stolen urn, not where I’d brush my teeth.
“What do you think that girl’s doing?” Tyler asked.
“Who cares?” I said. “Yeesh. A guy robbed a bank last night and turned the tellers into zombies. Let’s think about important things.”
“Not technically zombies,” Ethan said.
When we got out of the car, both Ethan and I checked to make sure no one had followed us. Even though it was hot out, I put on my purple coat. It was my favorite thing to wear. It kinda felt like my adventuring uniform. Ethan tucked his phone into his back pocket. Tyler grabbed the last pastry, locked the car, then stuck his keys into his pocket. Then they followed me up the walkway.
The front door was super thick and heavy. I had to punch the handicapped button to get it to swing open. Ethan pulled his baseball cap low, hiding beneath its brim—something he always did when we were about to talk to strangers.
“Why do these places always smell so bad?” Tyler asked as we stepped inside. That was a funny comment coming from Tyler, whose bedroom smelled like a skunk’s butt. Even though I’d never smelled a skunk’s butt, I imagined it was pretty disgusting. I usually stayed as far away from Tyler’s room as possible.
The Sisters of Mercy hallway was lined on both sides with old people in wheelchairs. Some were asleep, others were tapping their feet to music that streamed out of an open door. The sign on the door read, Sing-along with Betty. I peeked inside. The room was super crowded. Warbly voices sang a Frank Sinatra song called “That Old Black Magic.” I recognized it because my mom is a big Frank Sinatra fan. I assumed Betty was the woman at the piano, leading the sing-along.
“Everyone in here looks like they’re about to croak,” Tyler said. He hadn’t even bothered to whisper.
“That’s mean,” I told him. “One day you’re gonna be old.”
“I don’t think so.” A bunch of pastry crumbs had gotten caught in his stubble. “I’m going to grow clones and transplant my brain as soon as my body starts to wear out.” He was serious.
“Do you see Juniper?” Ethan asked, peering over my shoulder.
“No.” I scanned again, just to make sure there were no long white braids or red bandanas in the crowd. “She’s not in here. Let’s ask someone.” The reception desk was across the way. A sign read, Visitor Check-In.
Even though Tyler was the oldest, I’m the one who marched up to the counter. I wanted to do the talking because Ethan was a terrible liar and because Tyler was . . . well, Tyler.
“Hello,” I said. “We’re here to see someone.” The lady behind the counter was dressed in a plain white blouse and black skirt. Her name tag read, Sister Beatrice.
“Hello.” Before she said another word, her phone rang. “Excuse me for a moment.”
I tapped my fingers on the counter as she answered the phone. She forwarded the call to someone else, then got distracted by two police officers who walked down the hall and stopped next to me.
“We just finished checking on Jane Doe, so we’re headin’ back to the station house now,” the tall one told Sister Beatrice. “We’ve got a bit of paperwork to write up.”
The other officer, a woman with a mole on her cheek, leaned on the counter. “If someone comes to identify her, give us a call. We don’t want anyone talking to her unless there’s an officer present.”
I looked over at Tyler and Ethan. They’d both heard the comment. How were we supposed to talk about the urn if there was a police officer in Juniper’s room?
“Why?” Sister Beatrice asked. “Is she in trouble?”
The female officer answered. “It appears that she’d been tampering with the museum’s security system just before she had her stroke. The only reason to tamper with a security system is to steal something. The museum might press charges against her. We want to monitor all her conversations, for evidence.”
The other officer handed a card to Sister Beatrice. “Call us immediately if anyone comes in to see her.” Then he frowned. “What’s her prognosis? Is she gonna make it?”
“Her condition is not terminal,” the sister replied. “But her memory is damaged. It will take time for her to recover.” The officers said good-bye, then headed out the front door.
Of course she wasn’t going to die. This whole thing was a big act so she could have a place to hide out.
“Sorry for the interruption,” Sister Beatrice said to me. She set the card next to the phone. “Who are you visiting today?”
I glanced at the card. If I said I’d come to see Jane Doe, the police would come back. So I quickly scanned the files that were spread across the desk. One of the names caught my eye. “Herman Hoffsteder.”
“Are you a family member?”
“Yes.” I smiled sweetly. “My brothers and I are his family members.” I pointed to Ethan and Tyler, who were still standing next to the sing-along. Then I wished I hadn’t called Ethan and Tyler my brothers because we looked nothing alike. What if Sister Beatrice questioned me? Would I have to provide more details? Lying to a nun was one of the worst things I’d ever done. But lucky for me, Sister Beatrice got distracted by another phone call. She pushed a pen and a clipboard across the counter. “Sign in, please.”
Out of pure habit, I started to sign, Jax Ma . . . but stopped. Oops. I shouldn’t use my real name. What should I use? I’d often thought that if I could choose a last name, I’d choose something from one of my travel guidebooks, like London, or Paris. So I finished the signature—Jax Madrid. That sounded like a famous writer or designer. “What room is Uncle Herman in?” I asked, trying not to bounce on my toes. I looked at the desk again, to see if there were any notes about Jane Doe. Maybe I’d find her room number. But I found nothing.
“Herman’s not in his room right now. He’s over there.” She pointed to a man sitting in a wheelchair a little ways down the hall. “Herman!” she called. “You have visitors.” The old man rubbed his bald head and frowned. Then Sister Beatrice’s phone rang again and she started talking to somebody about medical supplies.
I walked over to Mr. Hofstedder. “Hello, Uncle Herman,” I said real loud.
“Do I know you?” His eyes were so cloudy it looked like milk had been spilled on his eyeballs.
“Yes. I’m your niece, Jax.” Lying to a nun and a nice old man—yeesh. Maybe this is the part of me that I got from my father, the criminal. I smiled and waved at Sister Beatrice but she barely noticed since she was still on the phone. I grabbed the handles of the wheelchair and started wheeling my victim down the hall. Ethan and Tyler hurried after me.
“What are you doing?” Tyler asked.
“We’re taking Uncle Herman for a ride.”
“I ain’t your uncle.” Herman grumbled. “I may be confused about what year this is, but I know I don’t got any nieces or nephews. And I don’t want to take no ride.”
“I’m sorry,” I said. “Just act like you’re having fun.”
“Fun?” He snorted. “I haven’t had fun since they stuck me in this place.”
“Do you have a plan?” Ethan asked as he nervously looked around.
“Open every door until we find her,” I said. “That’s the plan.”
Tyler and Ethan took one side of the hall, I took the other. I stopped at the first room and peeked in. The windowsill was decorated with porcelain figurines and doilies. The next room had lots of family photos and an orange crocheted blanket. Another nun greeted us as she pushed a cart up the hall. It was filled with medications. “Hello, Herman,” she said. “Nice to see you have visitors.” Her name tag read, Sister Agnes.
“They ain’t my visitors,” Herman complained. “I was minding my own business and they kidnapped me.”
“That’s nice,” Sister Agnes said, just before turning into a room. She probably heard stuff like that all day long. How could she know Herman was telling the truth and not just confused?
A few rooms later, the hallway branched out on either side to form a T shape. I was about to tell Tyler and Ethan to take one hallway, and I’d take the other, when a door marked 19 opened. A large man stepped out. He was dressed in white pants and a white shirt. He looked like he worked there, maybe an orderly or a nurse. After closing the door, he walked down the hall and joined Sister Agnes, who was pushing her cart from another room.
