Wood Sprites

40: Team Mischief

This can’t possibly work, Louise thought.

“Do you see them?” Jillian was hopping up and down as she tried to peer through the crowds. The new Penn Station might be an airy, light-filled building, but it still contained thousands of people, all intent on their own journies. All of them taller than the twins.

“Are you sure about this?” Crow Boy murmured.

No, Louise thought. It was a patented crazy plan. There was a full-out manhunt for the mysterious trio of children who had disappeared from Morgan Stanley Children’s Hospital. Taking the train was full of hurdles, but so was every other way of getting to Monroeville.

“They’re here.” Nikola’s little-boy voice came over the earbuds that they were all wearing. “Northeast, fifty-seven feet, at a standstill.” There was a pause and a very Chuck Norris-like “Team Mischief move out” followed in the same Welsh lilt. Odd how Tesla now seemed very much like four little people. He felt much more like a tank operated by a crew instead of just one person in a puppy outfit.

“Which way is north?” Jillian hopped up and down more.

“This way.” Crow Boy headed toward the right.

The Amber Alert for the three “elf” children scrolled across the large monitors even as Crow Boy plowed through the crowds. The twins had managed to keep any cameras from recording their pictures, but the alert featured long detailed descriptions. A winged boy with a broken leg, twin brown-haired girls, and a large dog nanny-bot were entirely impossible to forget.

They’d done what they could to change their appearances. They’d found a healing spell for broken bones in the codex and cast it on Crow Boy’s leg. He’d muffled whimpers of pain but refused to let them cancel the spell. Twelve hours later, hurt had etched a dark glower onto his face, but he was walking without a limp. Without wings or the cast, he started out well disguised, but they took the precaution of spiking his hair and bleaching the tips. He looked like an angry porcupine. Even New Yorkers were veering out of his path.

Louise and Jillian were pretending to be boys. Harry P. Johnson and Ron W. Johnson, to be specific; as long as Jillian didn’t slip too far into character and use a British accent, no one should catch the allusion. They were young enough that in T-shirts and jeans they really didn’t need anything more.

Tesla was the most problematic to disguise. Most nanny-bots were smaller dogs, leaving Louise to wonder at her parents’ choice. They had discussed very briefly buying a different nanny-bot and shipping Tesla on ahead. The outcry from everyone killed that idea. In the end, they printed out the invisibility spell and affixed it on a large cardboard box that covered him. The babies had practiced keeping Tesla behind Crow Boy and between the twins as “Team Mischief” moved like a wedge through the hotel suite.

In the busy train station, Crow Boy was having no problem blocking people. The twins, however, needed to throw their arms wide to stop people from tripping over Tesla in his invisibility box.

“Maybe we should split up.” Louise scanned the area for a quiet corner for Tesla to stand. “You and Crow Boy look for—”

“There they are!” Jillian cried.

Amtrak had a rule that children under twelve couldn’t ride unescorted. Crow Boy was old enough to be an unaccompanied minor, but he would still need an adult to check him in with station personnel and undergo an interview apparently designed to keep loose cannons from traveling alone. Since they couldn’t travel alone, the twins had simply found a family to travel with.

Brian and Helen Johnson and their three young children were traveling to Monroeville. They had a nice bland name and came with three chaos generators. As Team Mischief neared the West Thirty-Fourth Street entrance, Louise could hear one of the generators screaming over the roar of the crowd.

The Johnsons were gathered beside a minivan taxi, trying to juggle three children, a car seat, and a heavily loaded luggage mule. The screamer was three-year-old Jayne on a harness and leash. He was stretched to the end of his tether and shrieking.

Helen had the leash in her right hand and was holding onto five-year-old Malcolm, who was attempting to lie down, with her left. She had the infant Alleyne in a sling on her chest.

Neither parent noticed Team Mischief staring, but Alleyne did. The baby raised her hand and waved. Louise twiddled her fingers in a covert reply. This was what the babies would be like if the twins could find some way to have them be born. Nearly hairless, toothless, and grinning happily at dangerous strangers. Louise felt guilty. They’d chosen the Johnsons because it was the second most common surname in the United States. There were two other passengers and a crewmember with the same last name. Even if someone discovered Team Mischief had traveled to Monroeville under the name, it was unlikely they would connect the four to Brian and Helen. Still, Yves and his people were ruthless and relentless.

“The meter is still running on the taxi.” Helen pointed a key fob at the car seat and it unfolded into a stroller.

“I know!” Brian snapped. “I think the doorman did something to the luggage mule when he put it in. I can’t get it to move.”

“Did you flip the thingy?” Helen mimed flipping something with one finger while still holding onto Jayne’s leash.

Brian glanced at her, eyebrow cocked. “What thingy?”

“The thingy! The thingy! Oh, Jayne, please!” This was with a slight tug on the leash of the screaming three-year-old. “The thingy that locks the wheels!”

The luggage mule whined and stepped out of the taxi hatch and lowered its wheels. Brian trotted to the front and thumbed the release pad that had been flashing red. All the doors thumped shut and the taxi rolled away.

Claiming Alleyne, Brian put the infant into the stroller. As the family hurried away, Alleyne leaned out to watch Team Mischief follow slowly.

The Johnsons weren’t frequent travelers; they needed to stop at the check-in kiosk to pick up tap cards. Afterwards they took the escalators down to the tracks where the train waited. The engines were idling with a deep, throbbing growl.

“Look! Look! It’s a train!” Brian cried for the boys’ sake.

The family ground to a halt in a spasm of train love. Team Mischief veered out of the path of people coming down the escalator, and the twins’ party killed time consulting Jillian’s tablet about things that arguably were more interesting to tweens than the big engine at the head of the line of cars.

“No, no, Malcolm, don’t put that into your mouth. It was on the ground.” Helen pinned Jayne’s leash to the ground so she could use both hands to keep the five-year-old from eating his discovery.

“Nine hours,” Brian murmured with mild reproach.

“I’m not flying to an area that has a city popping in and out of existence,” Helen sang in the manner adults used when not wanting to frighten children overhearing them. “I want to keep my feet on the ground. Besides, the boys will love the chance to ride on a real train!”

The last sentence was addressed more directly to the boys, who leapt up and down and cried, “Yay, trains!”

After a few minutes, Helen steered the boys to the steps with, “Let’s go see what’s inside the coaches!”

There was a conductor waiting with a reader. Brian fumbled through the cards, accidently feeding one through twice before getting the four tapped correctly into the reader. (The baby apparently rode for free.) They did a small circus act to get the three children and the stroller up the steps. As a closing act, the luggage mule picked up two dropped toys and then negotiated the steep stairs with surprising grace. While everyone was suitably distracted, Team Mischief slid into position. Normally the twins would use a phone app instead of tap cards, but they wanted to match themselves to the Johnsons.

The conductor noticed them standing waiting with tap cards in hand. He glanced past the children, obviously looking for accompanying adults. “Where’s your parents?”

“They just got on.” Louise pointed up the steps where the Johnson family had just vanished out of sight.

“Mom and Dad said we could do our own cards and luggage since they had the babies to take care of.” Jillian turned slightly to show that she had a full backpack as well as a large rolling carry-on. It worked as an excuse as to why “their parents” weren’t expecting “the older kids” to help juggle babies and luggage.

“We take the N train every day to school.” Louise made a show of shifting her backpack as if it was nearly too heavy for her to carry.

“You just checked our parents in.” Crow Boy glared at the man. “Brian and Helen Johnson.” He pointed at the reader in the conductor’s hand. “Can’t you call their names up on your machine?”

The conductor tapped on his console, checked their names against the Johnson family, and then nodded, “Ah, I see. Okay, you can go.”

The real Johnsons were mid-coach, still settling into a row of seats, two on either side of the aisle. Team Mischief claimed the next row. Crow Boy lifted the twins’ luggage into overheads as Tesla took the window seat on the left. Jillian and Louise took the seats on the right.

It had worked. They were on their way to Monroeville. They had nine hours of relative safety. Louise didn’t even want to think of what lay beyond them.

“Where are your parents?” Helen Johnson asked when she passed them the second time on her way to the bathroom with one of the boys.

Louise had been focused on ordering supplies for the rescue mission. Beside her Jillian was working with the babies to find out where Yves might be holding the tengu children. Assuming that they found and saved the nestlings, they would still need to figure out how to reunite the children with their families. Crow Boy had never been to the tengu village; he couldn’t give them clear directions beyond “someplace north of the city, flying to the point of near exhaustion.” There were safe resting sites—“cotes,” he called them — but they were tree houses high above the ground, and none of the tengu children would be able to fly. They would be blindly stumbling through an endless virgin forest. Except for one horrible trip to Vermont, the twins had never been outside the New York metropolitan area. Central Park was the limit of their exposure to “nature.”

“Where’s your parents?” Helen Johnson repeated. “You’re not alone, are you?”

Totally blindsided by the question, Louise blinked at the woman. Louise had never thought a stranger would actually talk to them on the train. The woman must not be a true New Yorker. Crow Boy was curled up in the aisle seat opposite to Louise, sound asleep. A side effect of the healing spell they had used on him seemed to be exhaustion. To a casual observer, the twins were alone.

“We couldn’t find seats all together as a family.” Jillian had a lie prepared. “Mom and our little sister are in the next car.”

“We’ve got our older brother.” Louise pointed at Crow Boy.

Helen eyed the tengu boy with the spiked hair with suspicion. Her five-year-old whimpered and tugged on her hand. “It’s wonderful when older siblings take care of their little brothers and sisters.” And she let herself be dragged away.

After that the twins took turns getting up every couple of hours to “check in with their mother.” But otherwise the trip on the train went without a hitch.