Legacy of Secrets Read online

  “A wand?” Wayne asked. “That’s an oddball thing to say.”

  “Mickey’s wand,” Maybeck muttered. “Like you said earlier.”

  “They were following orders, these two,” Willa said. “The OTs, or a force like them, are already here. They’re after the magic. They want to control it.”

  “A man named Hollingsworth met up with them.” Finn felt unreasonably small, like the air around him was suddenly heavier.

  “Hollingsworth?” Wayne said. “That can’t be right. He was fired by Mr. Disney. He’s been nothing but trouble for the company.”

  “Guys,” Willa said, “Disneyland opened today for the first time. That means as of today, the Disney villains are no longer just movie characters or fairy tales. Today—”

  “—They’re for real,” Philby finished her sentence as his projection went pale.

  “They have purpose,” Willa said ominously. “They have a place, a way to get organized. And I’m afraid that whoever—whatever—is behind them is just getting started.”

  WRAPPED IN THE SHADOWY DARKNESS inside an Indian Encampment teepee, Philby kept examining his own hand. “Here’s what I find interesting,” he said.

  “No one asked,” said an irritable Maybeck.

  “Because no one has thought of it but me.”

  The teepee was one of a cluster in an Indian village visible from the Mark Twain Riverboat cruise ride. Surrounded by spare bushes and trees that had been transplanted only a month before, the setting lacked the lush, dense feel of its duplicate in present-day Disney World’s Magic Kingdom. All five Keepers were hunkered down inside the center teepee nearest the campfire circle, a place young Wayne felt they could safely spend the night. Finn and, later, Willa had tried to explain to Wayne that DHIs didn’t sleep, but regardless of their nighttime habits Wayne wanted the five somewhere they wouldn’t be found. The problem was, the Keepers had a history in the teepees, and not a pleasant one.

  “Please!” Maybeck said. “We all appreciate what you bring to the table, Philby. But why you feel the need to keep reminding us of your brilliance is beyond me. We all bring stuff; every one of us.”

  “Think about it,” Philby said, as if not hearing Maybeck’s rebuke. “Look at your hands.”

  On cue, the rest of the Keepers held their glowing hands in front of their faces.

  “So?” Maybeck said.

  “Anyone remember our little visit from Maleficent last time we were in the teepees? What happened? What saved us?”

  “DHI shadow,” Willa responded, like a pupil in the front row.

  “Which is?” asked the professor.

  “The blocking of, or radio interference with, the hologram projection system.”

  “Yet?” Philby said, moving his hands in front of his body, mimicking the others.

  “Oh my gosh!” Willa said. “It’s 1955. We have maybe one-tenth the projection technology, hence the two dimensions, not three. The kind of washed-out colors and low resolution. But here we are, inside a teepee, where the most sophisticated technology available could not reach, and yet our hands and everything about us look perfect.”

  “Voila!” said Philby. “Care to hazard a guess?”

  Willa shut her eyes and considered. “It’s the transmission. Wayne must have us on television radio waves, not hologram projectors.” Philby nodded. “He’s created his own little TV station.” Another nod. “Which means we won’t get caught in DHI shadow, because it’s not optical, it’s radio.”

  “Correct. And we need to test how far his transmission reaches,” Philby said. “At some point our images will start to break up and disintegrate.”

  “That could actually help us!” Charlene said. “If someone’s after us and we run past that line, we could dissolve and become invisible.”

  “Nice,” said Maybeck. “I volunteer to test it.”

  “It’ll work best with two. One in front, one a ways behind to observe.”

  “That would be me,” Charlene said. “Better at night, as in now, when there are fewer people around.”

  “But we glow at night,” Maybeck said.

  “All the better,” she said. “If someone sees us, maybe they’ll think we’re part of the show. They’re still working like crazy out there.”

  “Not once you’re out of the park, they won’t, so be careful,” Finn said. He’d never been comfortable around all the tech talk. Action, though—action he could do. “But one hour. No longer. Half hour out, half hour back. We’ll expect you at a few minutes past midnight.”

  To his surprise, Maybeck did not object. When the two were gone, Finn lay down on the coarse dirt. Philby and Willa followed his lead.

  “It’s weird to feel tired, isn’t it?” Finn said, yawning widely. “When crossed-over, I mean.”

  “This whole radio wave transmission is weird, if you ask me,” Philby said. “Two dimensions—it’s so limiting. And don’t get me started on our resolution.”

  “I won’t,” Finn said. Willa laughed. “I actually feel as if I could nod out.”

  “Me too,” Willa said.

  Finn closed his eyes and tried to rest, which basically never worked for him. It was like trying to grow taller. He rolled over and lay flat on his back, looking up at the teepee’s tapering cone, at the small patch of black sky at the very top. Low clouds slid past in hypnotizing patterns. Time slipped. He felt as calm as he ever had while a projection. His back felt cool on the soil, which was new to him as well. He sighed long and slow, welcoming a wave of disorientation.

  A sudden pain stabbed in his chest, sharp and hot. It felt as if a stake had been driven through his heart. Finn couldn’t move. Couldn’t sit up. Couldn’t call out. Was he dreaming of being a vampire? But the pain was so intense. It stunned him. He couldn’t breathe. Straining to sit, he realized he was paralyzed. He managed to rotate his wrist. 12:15 a.m. He felt a kiss on his cheek, long and slow and…definitely Amanda, he thought.

  He sat up suddenly. Philby and Willa were…sleeping. Unless Philby snored when deeply relaxed.

  He stood and left the teepee. Maybeck and Charlene would be back at any minute. Finn shook his head to clear the cobwebs. Squatted by the campfire and looked out at the tranquil river; moved down to the shore’s edge and saw his reflection in the dark water. In the distance, he heard the workers, toiling to ready the park for its opening in the morning.

  Idly, Finn reached down and poked his reflection. Watched the perfect circles ripple across his face. He lifted his finger. A droplet of water fell from his fingertip, producing another, smaller set of concentric waves. There was something wonderful and odd about the moment. He thought back to the gentle kiss on the cheek—his absolute certainty it had been Amanda. A wonderful dream. The best. He missed her something fierce, the kind of missing where your chest hurts and your throat chokes just thinking of her.

  He wondered what he’d done—leading the Keepers across Disneyland at night, jumping onto King Arthur Carrousel and crossing the boundaries of time. He shivered at the thought that he and his friends might have no way to return to their real lives.

  Wait! he thought. Water, dripping? He touched the water’s surface. Splashed with his fingertips. “Philby…” he called softly. He reached down to his side, made a fist around some of the sand and dirt, and let it trickle from his grip. He touched his chin, his nose. He rubbed his hand into the dirt. And then he laughed, running all the way to the teepee.

  Finn shook Philby, who reached out and slapped Finn’s arm away. “Get lost! I’m trying to sleep.”

  “Yeah, I know,” Finn said.

  “So stop shaking me. Let go!”

  “You were snoring. You were sleeping.” Finn delivered this matter-of-factly.

  “Take special note of the past tense. I would like to continue that process, if you don’t mind.”

  “My hand’s wet,” Finn said. He touched Philby’s face. In spite of his appreciation for all things technical, Philby had developed into a thickly muscled k
id with rust-colored hair, freckles, and more strength than he’d learned how to control. He shoved Finn off him. Finn practically flew across the teepee, spraying sand as he landed. Philby sat up, angry. Finn, playing with the sand, began to chuckle like a kid in a sandbox.

  “What is wrong with you?” Philby said.

  “You know, for all your brains, sometimes you just don’t get it. Allow me to make it a puzzler: what’s wrong with me is what’s right with me. And you, for that matter! You were asleep. You just pushed me!”

  Philby, caught off guard by a challenge from Finn, held his tongue in concentration. He mumbled, “What’s wrong with me is what’s right with me.”

  Willa groaned and came awake on her own. She sat up.

  Philby touched his own face, clapped his hands. He stared at Finn in wonderment. “You shook me awake,” he said. “I shoved you. We’re mortal. No projection!”

  “Fifty dollars to the boy with the red hair!”

  Blinking, Willa spat out her words. “What? Are you…Can you possibly…” She ran her hands down her sides. “W…h…a…t?”

  “You were sleeping,” Finn told her. “So was Philby. I think I was dreaming. Then I went out and saw my reflection in the river. I wasn’t glowing. No blue line. When I touched the water, it rippled. The surface rippled! Now Philby shoves me across the teepee?”

  “If we’re mortal…” Willa said. “Why? How? What changed?”

  “It got later,” Philby said. “I think that’s the most obvious explanation. At some point a few hours after closing, the park shut down, right? That would include the power to Wayne’s little TV studio. My guess is he’s not transmitting our projections anymore.”

  “Then shouldn’t we just disappear?” Willa said. “Sleeping Beauty Syndrome?”

  “One would think,” a confused Philby said. He clapped his hands again just to make sure. “One thing about time travel? I don’t think it plays by the rules.”

  “Now there’s a surprise,” Finn said.

  “If there’re rules, then Einstein’s the umpire,” said Willa. Philby laughed.

  “Got that right.” He was still marveling at his own mortal body. “Note to self: this changes everything.”

  “Guys! Make room!” Maybeck and Charlene leaped through the teepee’s raised open door and splashed face-first onto the sand. The two scrambled to hands and knees and physically pushed the three others to the very back of the tent enclosure. Willa made an attempt to speak, but Maybeck clapped his hand over her mouth while nodding frantically. He pinched his side to indicate his physical self.

  Charlene whispered, “Pigs. Shh!”

  As the five Keepers huddled at the back of the teepee, the sound of wet snorting drew closer and intensified. Shadows appeared outside on the sand: two big animals, their snouts to the ground. The menace they represented was clear. While one sniffed and snorted around the campfire ring, the other meandered to the waterline, where Finn had been sitting. DHI projections didn’t leave smells behind, he thought. Mortal kids were another story. Willa squeaked, either a stifled sneeze or a burst of terror. The pig at the fire ring snapped its head in their direction, looking at the teepee.

  It looked like one of the Three Little Pigs, but there was nothing little about it; the thing had enormous triangular ears, black button eyes, and a frozen piggish grin. It took Finn a moment to recognize that odd smile as part of the character costume. This was no ordinary pig. It sniffed and grunted and moved its ugly cloven hooves closer to the teepee. Finn and the others pressed their backs—their human backs—against the canvas. With intentional flair, Finn reached out his open palms and scooped some of the sandy dirt into his hands. The others saw this and did the same. Maleficent had used sand against the Keepers inside the Magic Kingdom teepees, to her advantage; Finn thought it was about time to repay the favor—if there even were Overtakers in the kingdom yet.

  But if there weren’t, who were the pigs? And why did they appear to be hunting?

  The closer the thing came, the more apparent its exaggerated size—a “walk around” character from the park, now pork on all fours. What sealed the deal for Finn was the line of drool dripping from its snout. No matter how much it resembled a cute costume, the pig was very much alive. The disgusting way it snorted and sniffed confirmed its intentions. It was not looking for someone to pet it.

  As the pig stumbled into the teepee, the Keepers all threw their handfuls of dirt at once. It emitted a shrill, ear-piercing scream and, in trying to back up, sat down onto its haunches and tipped over. Another of the same agonized screams deafened the kids. The pig tried to rise to all fours—but rolled instead.

  “Blood,” Finn said, seeing a line of red on its hindquarters.

  The teepee entrance now framed the face of a humungous wolf. It looked at the kids hungrily, kicked the suffering pig out of its way, and lifted its hairy paw to claw out its entry. But just as that paw was about to land, the wolf spun, having been struck by the other pig at a full charge. The pig and the wolf engaged in a dogfight, spinning, tumbling, biting. The wounded pig joined in—far Bigger and Badder than any nursery story could depict.

  Maybeck was the first to hurry out of the teepee and start kicking the wolf. Charlene and Finn followed, though Finn wondered what kind of fool inserted himself into such a fight. Maybeck yanked the wolf’s hind leg. The animal snapped back at him, and Charlene caught the wolf in the face with an acrobatic and well-placed kick. The high-pitched pig screams, mixing with the wolf’s guttural growls, enhanced the terror. Finn grabbed for the other hind leg. Maybeck bravely took hold again, and together the two boys dragged the snarling wolf backward on its belly. It fought back, but Charlene caught it with the toe of her shoe. As the wolf separated from the pigs, the swine took off into the woods. The boys and Charlene counted to three, Maybeck having already called out, “The river!”

  On three, Finn and Maybeck released the wolf. The boys and Charlene sprinted for the water and dived in. Willa and Philby fled the teepee and climbed a nearby tree. The wolf ran to the water’s edge, but wasn’t about to wade in. As the kids popped to the surface and looked back, they saw the wolf slink into the underbrush and vanish.

  Treading water, Maybeck said, “And here I was hoping I’d enjoy the original Disneyland.”

  Finn swam to shore, marveling at the ease of having his human body back. “You know what this means?” he said to Philby as Philby dropped out of the tree.

  “You’re going to need to hang your clothes dry?” Philby quipped.

  “Yes,” Finn said. “But first, if we’re not projections any longer, we can go to Burbank and Roy’s office—tonight.”

  “If the power’s shut off,” Willa said, “then Wayne will be heading home. As in: right now.”

  JOE GARLINGTON’S DESK converted from a sitting desk to a standing desk with the push of a button. Currently, he was standing, a colored pencil in hand, a Kanga hat cocked on his head, reading glasses pushed down his nose past tired eyes. He wore shorts and red Hoka running shoes. He looked up at Amanda as she entered. She was carrying an old blue can, like something that had once contained protein powder.

  “Miss Lockhart. I told Nancy just now I couldn’t see anyone. I’m busy here.” He gestured to his drawing. Amanda just stood there, waiting for his full attention. “Are you going to speak? Do we have something to discuss? Please don’t argue your suspension. Honestly, that won’t help your case.”

  When Amanda didn’t so much as flinch, Joe hollered for Nancy to close his office door. It shut. He occupied a corner office on a studio lot side street with a view of the commissary. “Look,” he said once they were alone, “I appreciate everything you did in Orlando to help your friends. We got them here safely in large part because of you and Jessica.”

  “And Mattie Weaver.”

  “Maybe. I’ll give you that. But it does not give you a Get Out of Jail Free card, Amanda. I’m sorry.”

  “You’re going to reinstate me to the Disney School of
Imagineering, Mr. Garlington. I’m going to room with Jess, just like before. You, or the dreaded Tobias Langford, are going to establish an independent project for me. Name it whatever you like so long as I can work, well, independently. Tim Walters and Emily Fredrickson and Jess will be on my team. I need access to Ms. Kline’s staff at the Archives.”

  Joe trained his unsympathetic eyes onto her like blinding headlights. “Careful, Ms. Lockhart. You and Jessica, and Ms. Weaver, are valued members of the Disney team. Currently, you—and you alone—are serving a suspension for meddling with your…powers?…unusual abilities?…in the parks and being close-mouthed about your involvement.”

  “You mean like this?” Amanda leaned her head forward slightly and focused on Joe’s work area. A moment later, the corners of the papers curled up as if caught by a wind. She made a small swiping gesture with her hand. The papers moved, creating a space on his desk that she filled with the can. “You’re going to reinstate me because I know what this means and you don’t. Because you and I both saw a video of Tia Dalma appearing in Walt Disney’s apartment near his music box. Seeing her scared you as much as it did me, and please don’t lie about that.”

  “Tia Dalma is a powerful villain.”

  “A powerful Overtaker, you mean.”

  “The Kingdom Keepers silenced the Overtakers. You were there. We both know that’s done.”

  “Maleficent. Chernabog. Not Tia Dalma.”

  “One villain does not an army make.”

  Amanda tapped the can. As she did, she caught sight of herself in the mirror on the office wall. It gave anyone who faced it Mickey Mouse ears. Amanda saw a face some called darkly tanned; others knew it to be her natural skin color. She could tan standing next to a lightbulb. She had long dark hair and slightly hooded eyes that suggested an Asian mother or father, neither of whom she knew or would ever meet again. She saw what she’d done to Joe’s desk with just her thoughts and the wave of a hand, and for the millionth time, she wondered how she’d become the freak she was and if her “unique ability”—she was so tired of the euphemisms—would ever leave her.