Tick understood her mood. Even though the weather was pleasant here—partly cloudy sky, soft breeze, warm but not hot—he felt like they were going nowhere fast. Not to mention the sick feeling he still had from almost being trampled by a raging monster inside a gigantic glass straw.
Paul yawned. “Just seems a little weird that there’s this huge town to our left, but nothing at all to our right. We should open a real estate office.”
Sofia ignored him. “Well, our plan to stay on this road isn’t working. I say we go into the city.”
“Me too,” Tick agreed. “Everything is starting to look the same—I swear I saw that exact building a couple of hours ago.” He pointed to a tall office complex made of dark granite with shiny, black windows that sparkled as if inlaid with gold.
“Whoa,” Paul said, stopping.
“What?” Tick and Sofia asked at the same time.
“That building doesn’t just look familiar—it is the same one we saw earlier. I’m positive. Man, this road is a ginormous circle that goes around the city. No wonder we’re not getting anywhere.”
“That explains all the left turns,” Tick added.
“I thought we were all supposed to be smart,” Sofia said. “It took us how long to figure this out?”
“Come on,” Paul said. “Let’s go into the town and find a sweet old lady who’s willing to feed some starving kids.”
Right on cue, Tick’s stomach rumbled with hunger. “Hope our money works here.”
“I doubt it, but we can try,” Paul said.
At the next road, they turned left, the wall of trees now at their backs.
Reginald looked down at the weaselly little hotel owner of Circle City, rocking between his two feet, fidgeting with the buttons on his fancy red vest. Chu was astonished that someone could show so much weakness in front of another grown man. His name was Phillip, and he couldn’t be more than five feet tall, fat, with streaks of black hair pasted in greasy lines across his obviously bald head.
Ah, yes. The comb-over. Delightful. Reginald swore that if he ever went bald, he’d simply invent a way to make his hair grow back. Hmm, he thought. I can’t believe I haven’t done that yet . . .
“What do I get out of all this?” Phillip said, his voice sounding to Reginald like a talking rat high on helium. “And how do I find the kids?”
“They’re in the city. Three young teenagers—a Caucasian with brown hair, a girl with black hair, and a dark-skinned boy who’s a full foot taller than you and ten times as handsome. They’ll be wandering around, obviously lost, smelling like a bag of three-week-old tuna—the brats haven’t showered in days.”
Frankly, Reginald was annoyed that Atticus still had the other two kids with him. He’d hoped they’d have been killed by now, but they seemed as determined as their powerful friend. No matter. That was the beauty of the test—there were no rules, not really. If Atticus made it to the end, he made it to the end. Even if he had the help of friends and the Realitants.
Realitants. What a waste of human DNA.
“All right,” Phillip said. “I’ll send out my boys to find them, bring them here, offer them rooms, as you said.”
“And feed them. They’ll be here at least a week, probably longer. I want the boy—I mean, I want all of them—well-rested and strong for what lies ahead. I will pay you double your rates, plus a bonus.”
“What kind of bonus?” The hotel owner tried his very best to display an expression of professional hardball on his face, but it looked more like a fat squirrel eyeing an acorn.
Reginald stifled a laugh. “The value of one week’s worth of rent for all your rooms.”
Phillip choked, his eyes wide with the prospect of such a sum for doing almost nothing. “I’ll have to think about—”
“Shut up and take the deal,” Reginald said.
Phillip nodded, his face flushed red. “Okay, it’s a deal. I’ll have them here, safe and sound, by tonight.”
“Good.” Reginald reached into his pocket and pulled out two sealed envelopes, then handed them over. “The thick one is half your money, including the bonus, plus money for the kids to spend. You’ll get the rest of your portion when they . . . disappear.”
“And this other one?” The hotel owner held up the thin envelope.
“I want you to deliver that to them at precisely six o’clock. If you can’t get them to the hotel before then, wait until morning to deliver it. I don’t care if it’s am or pm, just give it to them at six o’clock.”
Phillip’s eyes squinched up in confusion.
“Don’t ask any more questions,” Reginald said. “Just do as I say and enjoy the money.”
After giving Phillip a few more instructions, Reginald turned and walked away, enjoying himself and his clever ways even more than usual.
“All right,” Paul said as they passed a small group of kids playing a version of soccer with a square ball. “I’ve known for awhile that you guys stink, but now I can smell myself. I don’t care if it’s in one of those fancy fountains—I need to get clean.”
Tick lifted up his arm and smelled his armpit. “We do stink. Dude.”
“I don’t,” Sofia said. “But I’m starving.”
“I’m glad you think you smell so nice,” Paul said, stopping to study Sofia up and down. “What’s your secret?”
Sofia halted as well, folding her arms and returning the stare. “I don’t sweat.”
“You don’t sweat?” Paul looked over at Tick. “She doesn’t sweat, Tick. Now I’ve heard everything.” He continued walking toward the center of town, shaking his head.
Nothing much had changed since they’d left the border road and headed deeper into the city. The buildings had gotten a little bigger with fewer pillars and less frilly decoration; apartments and condos had replaced the extravagant neighborhood homes. The sun had sunk lower in the sky, the darkened glow of twilight fast approaching. None of the people they passed paid them much mind, despite their dirty clothes and haggard appearance. Everyone seemed extremely busy—all made up and pressed clean.
“Look up there,” Sofia said, pointing straight ahead.
Less than a quarter-mile ahead of them, twelve roads came together like spokes of a wheel, intersecting in a huge open-air mall where hundreds of people milled about. Tick realized something, and he couldn’t believe he hadn’t noticed it before.