Mystics 3-Book Collection (69 page)

T
ristan and Simon
followed Zoey as she walked back towards the main hall. She had
no
idea what the National Assembly was. All that Agent Ward
had said was, “It’s where all the top Agents and Directors of all
our nations get together and discuss matters of the utmost
importance—matters which concern us all.”

Refusing to go
wasn’t
an option. Zoey
knew this had something to do with Mrs. Dupont and the Great
Junction—for which Zoey still felt that she was partly to blame.
Now portals were opening up all over the world, and she knew that
whatever this meeting was about, she would soon discover just how
bad
things truly were. She had a horrible feeling that
somehow the Agency knew she was a
true
original. Maybe they
were going to lock her up and throw away the key before she could
do anymore damage . . . .

She followed Agent Ward, and they stopped in
front of a large silver oval mirror with the inscription,
United
Kingdom
, at the top.

“So . . . we’re going to London, then?” Zoey
said. “Is that where the National Assembly will be?”

She tried to sound excited, but her dread
weighed on her.

Agent Ward ignored her and looked past Zoey,
anxiously waiting for someone else to arrive. Perhaps more agents
were going to join them on this trip? She hoped it would be either
Agent Barnes or Lee. Or even better,
both
.

“Can we come too?” asked Simon as he and
Tristan stood beside Zoey. “I mean . . . I’m sure we could help
with . . . stuff . . . so . . . can we? Can we come?”

“Certainly not,” said Agent Ward. She turned
around and glared at him. “This isn’t an Operative field trip,
Simon Brown. This is
very
serious business—”

“And
I’m
a very
serious
guy,”
pressed Simon as he straightened himself. He did his best to look
composed, but it just made him look goofier than before.

Agent Ward pursed her lips but didn’t say
anything. Zoey could tell that there was no way Simon would change
the agent’s mind. But he wouldn’t give up. It was one of the
reasons she enjoyed having him around—he was
very
persistent.

“Pretty please?” pushed Simon, and batted
his eyelashes as though that was going to smooth things over with
Agent Ward. “I’ve got loads of valuable information to share. I
could—I could be of
real
service to you and the cause.”

“The cause?” chortled Tristan. “Is that what
you’re calling this? The cause?”

After Simon elbowed him in the ribs, Tristan
added. “Please, Agent Ward. I’m sure Zoey would like her friends
with her. And like Simon said, I really think we could help.”

“I’m afraid that’s not possible, Tristan,”
said Agent Ward. “Only those invited and of
high
rank can
attend the assembly. I’m sorry, but you can’t come with Zoey.
You’ll see her when we get back.”

Zoey looked at Tristan and gave him a
grateful smile, but he set his jaw, and his distressed expression
made her feel even more nervous. She bit the inside of her cheek.
She didn’t want to go to this assembly.

Loud footsteps sounded suddenly, and Zoey
turned to see Director Hicks, and Directors Johnson, Martin and
Campbell, coming towards her.

“Ah—I see you have collected Zoey, Agent
Ward,” said Director Hicks, smiling cheerfully. “Very good, very
good.”

He stroked his neatly trimmed white beard.
He always seemed to wear suits that were two sizes too small. Today
he wore a forest-green suit with a matching bow tie and looked like
a retired professor.

He turned and smiled at Zoey. “I know this
must seem very sudden to you, Zoey. Alas, we must go where we’re
needed, mustn’t we?”

“I guess.” Zoey forced a smile.

As usual, Director Johnson’s expression was
unreadable. His dark skin was pulled tight, and if he didn’t blink
every now and then, Zoey thought he could pass for a human
sculpture. Zoey lost her smile and hoped her eyes conveyed enough
spite for both Directors Martin and Campbell to read. She hadn’t
forgiven them for wanting to hand her over to Mrs. Dupont and her
Alphas. In fact, she doubted that she ever would.

Director Martin’s pale, thin face with lines
around his dark eyes made him look older than he was. He was stiff
in his tailored black suit. Director Campbell looked bored. She had
curled a strand of her chin-length blond hair behind her ear, and
her bold polka dot red jacket and yellow pants made Zoey dizzy.
They both avoided looking at Zoey, and that was just fine by
her.

“Well, now that we’re all here,” said
Director Hicks as he looked at his vintage watch, “we really should
be going. We don’t want to keep the assembly waiting.”

He walked up to the mirror, reached out and
typed on the keypad:
Headquarters, Knightsbridge, London,
England
.

The mirror swirled. The green light at the
top of the mirror flicked on with a
pop
. Directors Martin
and Campbell were the first to step through, then Director Johnson
and Director Hicks. Zoey stood rigidly as she watched them
disappear.

“Zoey, let’s get a move on,” said Agent Ward
gently. She beckoned Zoey with her hand. Agent Ward’s eyes
softened. “Don’t worry, I’ll be right behind you.”

Zoey didn’t feel comforted. Simon smiled
sympathetically, raised his right hand, and parted his fingers in
the Vulcan salute. Tristan’s face was screwed up like he was about
to be sick. This was
not
helping her at all.

She forced down the panic that made her want
to run, exhaled a shaky breath, and stepped into the churning
surface of the mirror.

Lights flashed behind Zoey’s eyelids. Her
body was stretched and pulled like elastic. Just before she was
actually sick, fresh air moved around her, and her feet touched
firm ground. The nausea dissipated, and when she opened her eyes
her jaw fell open.

She stood in a great cathedral of a hall,
five times the size of the main hall in the Toronto Hive. Hundreds
of glistening mirrors lined the walls like jeweled picture frames
in a prestigious gallery. A giant crystal chandelier lit the room
like a miniature sun, and the polished floors gleamed and sparkled.
The hand-carved moldings and old-world ambiance made the room feel
like a ballroom in a castle. It was a pretty
awesome
room.

The last time she had set foot in this
place, bodies had smoldered in the wreckage of shattered mirrors,
chunks of marble floor, and plaster. She could still remember the
smell of burnt flesh and blood. The room was now restored to its
former glory.

The mirrors hummed as throngs of agents and
mystics stepped out and made their way through a labyrinth of
passageways and stairs.

Agent Ward stepped out of the mirror and
immediately noticed the expression on Zoey’s face.

“Magnificent, isn’t it. There isn’t another
Hive in this world like it; it’s simply breathtaking.” She
straightened her jacket. “Come along now, Zoey, they’re waiting for
us.”

With her chin in the air, Agent Ward
strolled across the room towards the other directors. She moved
surprisingly fast, and Zoey had to jog to keep up.

“Ah, here we are,” said Director Hicks
cheerfully when Agent Ward and Zoey arrived. “I’ve just received a
message that Director Patel awaits us in the assembly hall.”

“Director Johnson,” he turned towards the
tall dark man. “Please escort our little party. I’d like a word
with Zoey first. We’ll catch up with you later.”

Zoey’s heart thumped like a jackhammer
against her rib cage. What was
that
about?

Director Hicks turned to Zoey.

“Zoey, I know this is all very untoward and
sudden. It’s not every day that a young girl like you gets to speak
before twelve of the most powerful Sevenths in this world. It’s an
honor, but it can also be a burden. Do you catch my meaning?”

Zoey hesitated. “I’m not sure that I do.”
She shook her head. “Nope. Definitely not.”

“When I was a young agent,” began Director
Hicks. Zoey tried to imagine him thin and young, but it wasn’t
working.

Director Hicks continued, “I would have
given anything to be part of something so grand, so important.
Whatever might be said today, I don’t want you to feel
responsible—”

“You mean the portals?”

Director Hicks nodded solemnly. “Yes . . .
and no.”

He looked away for a second.

Zoey thought she saw a flash of great sorrow
in his eyes, as if he were escorting Zoey to her own execution. It
scared her. There was something the director wasn’t telling her.
What was going on?

Zoey felt a slight tremor under her Converse
sneakers. Were there earthquakes in London? Maybe they were close
to a subway station?

Director Hicks’ fingers twitched at his
sides, and Zoey could see beads of sweat on his forehead as he
looked around nervously. Something was definitely upsetting him.
But what?

“Okay . . . I’m definitely not following
you,” said Zoey finally.

“Director Hicks, is there something you’re
not telling me? I can handle it, trust me.”

Director Hicks gave her a quick smile. “I
know you can, Zoey. But please listen carefully. In a few minutes,
you’re going to learn exactly what’s been happening from the mouths
of the most powerful men, women, and mystics of our society.
They’re going to ask you a few questions—”

“I can handle a few questions.”

Director Hicks sighed. “Questions about what
happened with Mrs. Dupont. More precisely, they’re going to ask you
about the events leading up to the Great Junction.”

He saw Zoey’s face fall, and he put a hand
gently on her shoulder. “I just didn’t want you to be taken by
surprise. The assembly can be quite
intimidating
.”

Zoey glanced at her sneakers. “I knew it.
I’m being blamed for these portals opening all over the world . . .
it’s my fault, isn’t it?”

“It’s not that simple, Zoey,” said Director
Hicks, his voice gentle. “Just remember that none of this would
have happened if it weren’t for Mrs. Dupont. If you want to
blame
someone, I would blame her.”

When Zoey looked up, she saw a smile on
Director Hick’s face. She felt a little better knowing at least
he
was on her side. But she knew Directors Martin and
Campbell
blamed
her. She wondered if the National Assembly
would have more of these types of directors—the ones that accuse
without proof. With her luck, she bet there would be.

“We should be going.” Zoey followed Director
Hicks down a long, narrow hallway decorated with pictures of past
officials. When they arrived at a great set of double wooden doors,
he grasped the iron handle and pulled.

Zoey followed him in and gasped. She wasn’t
sure what she’d expected, but clearly, it wasn’t this.

They stood in an amphitheater the size of a
small indoor hockey arena. The stars peeked from an inky black sky
above the giant glass roof, and at least three thousand Sevenths
and mystics sat in the countless rows of seats that wrapped around
the oval-shaped arena.

At first she was shocked by all the
people—she had never seen so many like
her
in one place.
Tristan had told her about the neighborhoods designated only for
Sevenths, but she had never imagined a space filled by so many.
They were like her extended family. Her seventh sense even
recognized the mystics as family. She clamped her mouth shut and
tried not to show how baffled and excited she really was.

A set of stairs led to a raised platform.
Zoey edged closer for a better look. On the platform six serious
looking faces peered over a long table covered with papers and
water bottles. Two men, two women, and two humanoid mystics stared
directly at Director Hicks and Zoey. The sounds of shuffling feet
and people straightening in their chairs preceded an eerie silence,
like before the start of a movie.

Zoey could sense the three thousand pairs of
eyes staring at her, judging her. She had never felt so small and
insignificant before. She thought she might pass out.

It was clear now what Director Hicks had
meant by
intimidating
. But this wasn’t
just
intimidating, it was worse. It was
I’m going to be sick
,
please pass the bucket
intimidating.

A man with coffee-colored skin and black
hair leaned forward and spoke into a microphone.

“Director Hicks. Zoey St. John,” a booming
voice resonated around the stadium like the voice of a God. “We’ve
been expecting you. Please have a seat.”

He gestured to a row of empty chairs in
front of the long table.

“Come along, Zoey,” said Director Hicks as
he made his way down the long staircase.

Zoey followed him down to the platform and
settled in the empty chair next to him. A microphone stood on a
metal stand next to her chair. She realized that she’d been holding
her breath and tried to breathe normally again. She’d made fists
with her hands, and she pried them open and forced herself to
relax. She was an OSC, not some frightened little kid. She raised
her head and looked up to the great table.

The man who spoke was probably in his late
sixties. His dark skin was wrinkled, and his hair was streaked with
gray. His ebony robe rippled like black water as he took a sip from
his water bottle. His dark eyes were fixed on Zoey. He appeared to
be the youngest at the table.

To his right sat two women and a mystic. The
first woman was plump with a jovial pink face, small bright blue
eyes, short white hair, and a red robe. She looked like Mrs. Santa
Claus. The woman next to her was ancient and dangerously skinny,
like she’d just crawled out of her grave. Her wispy white hair was
pulled back into a bun, and Zoey could see traces of her scalp. Her
head drooped over her purple robes, and she looked as though she
were sleeping.