The Journal of Curious Letters (The 13th Reality #1)(20)
After the hustle and buzz and laughter of Christmas morning, tattered wrapping paper lying about in big colorful piles, Tick sat back on the couch, staring at the new goodies he’d received: three video games, some new books, a couple of gift certificates, lots of candy. He usually felt a twinge of sadness once all the presents had been opened, knowing it would be 365 long days until the next Christmas. But today he felt none of that. He felt content and warm, excited and happy.
The mystery of M.G. and his Twelve Clues had brought a new light to Tick’s life and, despite the dangers that came with the letters, he’d never felt more alive.
He looked up at the decorated tree, its dozens of white lights sparkling their reflection in the red metallic balls and silver tinsel. Something square and bulky tucked behind a large nutcracker ornament caught his attention. He’d looked at this seven-foot tree a thousand times in the last month, and he knew the thing buried in the branches hadn’t been there before this morning.
Instantly alert, he looked around to see what his family was doing. His mom had her nose in a book, his dad was in the kitchen, Lisa had earphones on listening to her new CDs, and Kayla played with her kitchen set, making pretend pancakes and eggs. Trying to look nonchalant, Tick got up from the couch and walked over to the tree, staring at the spot that had caught his eyes.
A box, wrapped in an odd paper with pictures of fairies and dwarves and dragons, was snuggled between two branches, held up by a string of lights. The words, “From M.G.” were clearly scrawled across the box in blue ink. Tick looked around one more time before he snatched the unopened present and stealthily placed it with his other things. Then, grabbing a big armful of stuff, including the mystery box, he headed upstairs to his room.
He sat on his bed and stared at the strange wrapping paper. The present itself was very light and he felt certain the next clue must lie inside. But who had put it there, and when? He ripped the paper off a plain white cardboard box. After flipping open the lid, Tick saw exactly what he’d expected.
The fifth clue. He pulled out the cardstock paper and read the message.
Everything will fail unless you say the magic words exactly correct. It behooves me to remind you that I cannot tell you the words, nor will I in the face of any amount of undue pressure you may apply toward me. Which, of course, would be quite difficult for you to do since you don’t know who I am and since I live in a place you cannot go.
Best of luck, old chap.
Tick read the clue a couple more times, then glued the cardstock into his journal. He thought about the trick used in the fourth clue with the word between. Something similar could be happening here.
Everything will fail unless you say the magic words exactly correct.
Say the magic words exactly correct. Could “exactly correct” be the magic words? Tick thought it would be really dumb if that were the answer; plus, he’d been told the first letter from M.G. would reveal the special words, not one of the later clues.
Tick closed the book, frustrated. This new message told him nothing he didn’t already know, only that he had to say something specific when the day came, something magic. Other than that, M.G. just seemed to be rubbing it in that he wouldn’t tell Tick what the words were—neener, neener, neener.
Disappointed, wondering if he was missing something obvious, and still baffled at how the present had gotten into his family’s Christmas tree, Tick went downstairs and
e-mailed Sofia about the fifth clue. Knowing she probably wouldn’t respond for awhile, he joined his dad in the kitchen, sharing the news as he started snacking on everything in sight.
Sofia wrote him back that night, which would have been early the next morning her time. His heart lifted when he saw her name in the INBOX and he quickly clicked on the message.
Dear Tick,
I got the Fifth Clue, too. Doesn’t say much, does it? I think your idea that the magic words are “exactly correct” is just what you say. Stupid. No way, too easy.
I’m sure you’re excited for the big trip to Alaska with your dad. You’ll probably get lost and eaten by a polar bear. Your funeral will have the coffin closed because all that will be left is your right pinky finger. Just kidding. I hope you escape alive.
I thought I saw a man spying on me yesterday. He looked mean, but disappeared before I got a look. Not good.
Have fun in Ice Land. Write me as soon as you return.
Ciao,
Sofia
Tick reread the sentences about the man spying on her. Sofia threw that in like she was telling him she’d bought a new pair of socks. If some creepy-looking dude was watching her, chances were he’d be coming after Tick next. Unless someone was already spying on Tick and he hadn’t noticed? He felt the familiar shiver of fear run up and down his spine, once again reminded that this M.G. mystery business wasn’t all fun and games.
He wrote a quick note back to Sofia, telling her to be careful and that he’d write her again the second he got back from Alaska. He was just about to log off when he heard the chime of his e-mail program. When the new e-mail message popped up, Tick felt like an icy fist had smashed his heart into pulp.
From: DEATH
Subject: (no subject)
His stomach turning sour, Tick clicked on the e-mail. It only had one line of text.
See you in Alaska.
Chapter
20
The Land of Ice and Snow
Two days later, Tick and Edgar sat in their seats on the airplane, thirty-thousand feet in the air, soda and stale pretzels making them look forward to a much better meal once they landed in Anchorage. Tick sat by the window, his dad’s oversized body wedged into the aisle seat like a Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade balloon stuffed into the back of a pickup truck. The steady roar of the plane’s engines made Tick feel like his ears were stuffed with cotton.
The two of them had discussed the fifth clue and the strange e-mail from “Death” many times over, with no progress. Tick didn’t know who was more determined to figure everything out—him or his dad. They’d gotten much braver—or dumber—with every passing day, to the point they were willing to ignore an obvious and outright warning like the one received in the e-mail. They were going, and that was final.
“We need to keep a sharp lookout,” his dad said through a mouthful of pretzels. “If either one of us sees something suspicious, yell it out quickly. When in doubt, run. And we need to stay in public as much as possible.”
“Dad, I’d say you sound like a paranoid freak, but I agree one hundred percent.” Tick took a sip of his drink. “I think I’m half excited and half scared to death.”
“Hey, we’re committed, right? There’s no turning back now.”
“Cheers.” They clicked their plastic cups together.
In two hours, they’d be in Alaska.
Seven rows back, a tall man with black hair and razor-thin eyebrows crouched in his tiny seat as best he could, reading the ridiculous in-flight magazine, which was full of nothing but advertisements and stupid articles about places he’d never care to visit. This spying business was deathly boring, and he hated it. No action, no results, boring, boring, boring.
But all of that would change very soon. The Spy would become the Hunter.
His name was Frazier Gunn, and he’d worked more than twenty years for Mistress Jane. He despised the woman, loathed her, in fact. She was the cruelest, most selfish, despicable, horrifying creature he’d ever met, and yet, his devotion to her was absolute. An odd mixture of feelings, but that’s how it had to be when you served someone who planned to take over the Realities. They needed a leader like her, ruthless and without conscience. He didn’t have to like her—he only needed to pretend to like her.
Because someday he planned to replace her.
Of course, if he ever failed even one of his assigned missions, she’d feed him to the Croc Loch near the Lemon Fortress with no remorse. But he was safe for now and had been promised a great reward if he could unlock the secret behind the bizarre series of letters Master George had sent out to kids all over the world. He had only recently discovered the identities of several recipients, enabling him to further his investigation with stealth and caution. But finally, the time for intimidation and action was at hand.
It’d been a fun trick sending the “Death” e-mail to the boy named Atticus, quite clever in fact. It was the dumb kid’s own fault for putting his information about the letters on the Internet for anyone to find. There’d been a slight risk that Atticus might’ve chickened out and not gone to Alaska, thereby ruining a chance to learn more for Mistress Jane, but Frazier couldn’t resist the calculated threat.
He reached into his pocket to feel the reassuring lump of the special thing he’d brought along to perform the important task he planned. He couldn’t wait to activate it; the devices they’d retrieved from the Fourth Reality were so much fun, futuristic and deadly. The spectacle would make all the hours of spying on the brats around the world worth every minute.
And if it didn’t work, there was always Plan B. Or C.
Or D.
Giving up on the magazine, Frazier Gunn leaned back and closed his eyes. The boy and his father couldn’t very well disappear on an airplane, now could they?