This Isn't What It Looks Like (14 page)

Glob, who was sampling a new brand of bubble gum called The Volcano, laughed so loud he spit out his entire wad of gum, which
proceeded to erupt on the asphalt.

“The next card says what the next big event in your life is,” Amber continued in not quite as loud a voice. “What do you guys
think it will be? Will Max-Ernest and a certain girl be getting married soon? I won’t say who, but she has really big, I mean,
beautiful ears….”

She removed the next card from the top of the deck and studied it. Her face turned serious.

“Oh no. Is somebody sick?” she asked Max-Ernest, sounding very distressed. “Because this card is the Queen of Spades, and
it means somebody you love is going to die.” Amber scanned the crowd around them. “Come to think of it, where is Cass? Did
she come to school today? I hope she’s OK….”

Max-Ernest felt sick to his stomach. He wanted to say something angry and defiant, but he was utterly unable to speak.

Benjamin Blake, who had joined the group just after Amber started telling Max-Ernest’s fortune, stepped forward.

“May I see that, Miss—?” asked Benjamin in his exaggeratedly formal way.

“My name is Amber.”

“Well, then, may I please see that card, Miss Amber?”

“What do you mean? What card?” asked Amber, flustered.

“The one in your hand, of course.”

“Why?” Amber held the card to her chest, not allowing anybody to see it.

“Because it’s not the Queen of Spades. I don’t know why you would make up something like that—surely you don’t think it’s
amusing that somebody whom Max-Ernest cares for would die? Nonetheless, it’s a fact that you lied. The card in your hand is
the Three of Clubs.”

“How would you know?”

“If it’s the Queen, show it to us.”

Seemingly unable to help herself, Amber peeked at the card in her hand—and was apparently so startled she dropped the card
on the table.

Max-Ernest grabbed it before she could. Sure enough, it was the Three of Clubs. He held it up for all to see.

“Sheesh, Amber. That was kind of uncool,” Daniel-not-Danielle piped up unexpectedly from under his dreadlocks.

“Yeah, way uncool,” agreed Glob. “What happened to that whole ‘nicest girl in school’ thing?” He
curled two fingers of each hand, making the international air quotes sign.

Daniel-not-Danielle, Glob, and the half dozen or so others standing around walked away, shaking their heads.

“Come on, old chum—time for class,” said Benjamin Blake.

He pulled the still-reeling Max-Ernest away, Amber and Veronica glaring after them.

“How did you do it?” asked a slightly more cheerful Max-Ernest over lunch, when they were again sitting at the Nuts Table.
(This time, Benjamin hadn’t asked permission to sit.) “Did you force a card in Amber’s deck when she wasn’t looking?”

Benjamin shook his head. “I don’t even know what that means.”

“You know, to set it up so she has to take it. So she has no choice.”

“Well, then, no, I didn’t force it.”

“But you
did
see her cards before she did? You must have….”

“No.”

“Did you have a mirror?”

“Nope.”

“Somebody signaling you?”

Benjamin shook his head.

Max-Ernest looked at him, equally impressed and confused. “Then I give up—how did you know what card she was holding?”

Benjamin smiled mysteriously. “A magician never reveals his tricks. You of all people should know that, Max-Ernest. Didn’t
I hear that you wanted to be a magician? Or a stand-up comedian-slash-magician or something like that?”

“That’s how I know there’s no way to do that trick. Or no regular way.”

“Then maybe I was really reading Amber’s mind. Have you considered that possibility?”

“Yeah right, sure,” said Max-Ernest.

Then he thought again about what Pietro had said. Was he too quick to discount the possibility of real mental telepathy? Pietro
had suggested that Max-Ernest should be more open to things he didn’t understand.

Besides, if there was any chance that Benjamin knew something about mind reading, Max-Ernest had to find out what it was;
Cass’s life was on the line.

“Wait a second. Who told you I wanted to be a magician?”

“Oh, everybody knows.”

“Yeah, but who told you?”

“Like I said, everybody—”

“That’s exactly what you said about how you knew Cass was in the hospital. And maybe everybody knows I want to be a magician,
but not everybody knows about Cass. Almost nobody knows that.”

“So? What are you trying to say?”

“You’re—”

“What? What am I?”

He couldn’t say it. It sounded too incredible.

Max-Ernest decided to try an experiment.

You’re reading my mind
, he thought as clearly as he could.
You can actually read minds.

Benjamin didn’t say anything for a moment, just studied Max-Ernest through his monocle. Then he nodded. “Yes, old chum, I
can.”

Max-Ernest stared. Here was proof, if any more were needed.

“You need not look so surprised. It’s just like your friend Pietro says about things that appear to be magic. It’s not that
mental telepathy cannot be explained. It’s just that it hasn’t been explained
yet
.”

“Don’t tell me—you read that in my mind, too?”

Benjamin nodded. Max-Ernest shook his head in amazement.

“OK, explain telepathy, then. Does it have
something to do with your synesthesia? Is that how come you can do it?”

“Not directly, no. At New Promethean they trained me in mind control. It’s amazing what you can do if you concentrate hard
enough. I’m afraid that’s all I can tell you right now.”

“Because you don’t really know how you do it or because you’re not allowed?”

“Both.”

“Who taught you?”

“Special teachers,” said Benjamin vaguely. “Experts.”

“Can you teach me?”

“Sorry. No can do, old chum.”

“Well, is mind reading more like reading or more like seeing?” Max-Ernest asked with more than a hint of desperation. “Can
you at least tell me that?”

This question had been plaguing Max-Ernest ever since he read the book on second sight. If mind reading was a kind of reading,
then there was hope; it meant there was a code he might crack. If mind reading was a kind of seeing, truly a sort of second
sight, well, he wasn’t sure how he would go about it.

“Hm…” Benjamin paused. “You have to see words to read them, right?”

“Not if you’re blind and reading Braille—then
you touch them,” Max-Ernest pointed out. “Or somebody could spell a word for you out loud. Then you’d be hearing it first.
And I even know of two brothers who spelled words for each other with smell signals.
^*
How ’bout that?”

“How ’bout that?” echoed Benjamin.

“So which is it, then? Do you look into somebody’s mind or do you read it?”

Benjamin shrugged. “Both. Neither. It’s too hard to say.”

To say Max-Ernest was frustrated is an understatement. Here at last was somebody with a proven ability to read minds, but
he, Max-Ernest, was no closer himself to being able to read Cass’s mind!

Aargh, he thought. What am I going to do?

“Well, I could do it for you,” said Benjamin calmly. “I mean, if you’d like.”

Max-Ernest almost jumped, he was so startled. He was going to have to be more careful of his thoughts in the future.

Benjamin laughed. “Don’t worry. I don’t usually look into people’s minds without their permission. Or read them, I mean. I
consider it very impolite.”

“That’s… good… I… guess…,” said Max-Ernest. “So you really think you could read Cass’s mind, even though she’s in a coma?”

Benjamin smiled. “I can try.”

“Would you?” asked Max-Ernest, a flicker of hope lighting up his eyes. “I’m… I’m really scared she’s not going to wake up.
Pietro—er, somebody I know—thinks getting into her head is the only way.”

Benjamin removed his monocle and examined it thoughtfully.

“Are there a lot of people around in the hospital? That might be a problem. I think it would be best if I were alone with
her.”

“We could try to get in after hours. There are still night nurses around and janitors and stuff, but it would be easier to
get a few minutes by ourselves…. The problem is, we won’t be allowed in ’cause we’re not family.”

“We could create a diversion,” suggested Benjamin.

“And then slip in when they’re not looking? That could work.”

“What if we cut off the electricity in the hospital for a few minutes? The darkness would give us cover and we’d have time
to get to her room.”

Max-Ernest shook his head. “Too hard. How would we ever cut off the backup generators? Besides, there are patients on life-support
machines. We don’t want to kill anyone, do we?”

Benjamin furrowed his brow as if this were a real question. “No, I suppose not. That might cause problems….”

“Hey, I know, maybe I could create the diversion!” said Max-Ernest excitedly. “I could pretend to be having an epileptic fit.
Then all the nurses would have to help me, and you could sneak into Cass’s room. How ’bout that? I’ve seen a couple epileptic
fits before. I think I could make it look pretty realistic.”

Benjamin looked impressed. “I think that’s a capital idea!”

Max-Ernest’s heart sank. “Oh wait, then I wouldn’t be able to be in the room with you. Forget it.”

“You know, I hate to say it, but that… might be better,” said Benjamin hesitantly. “No extra brain waves to distract me. Believe
me, you have a lot of brain waves.”

“I do?” asked Max-Ernest, curious.

Benjamin nodded. “Most I’ve ever seen.”

“Hm. I guess that makes sense,” said Max-Ernest, flattered. “Not to brag or anything, but I always have a ton of thoughts
in my head. Sometimes it drives me crazy.”

“I know the feeling.” Benjamin extended his hand. “So it’s a deal, then?”

“It’s a deal.”

They shook hands as solemnly as jewel thieves planning a heist.

Later, as they discussed the finer details—drawing floor plans, diagramming exit strategies—Max-Ernest wondered if what he
was doing was very wise. Saving Cass was supposed to be
his
job, after all, not Benjamin’s. Pietro hadn’t said anything about somebody
else
going inside Cass’s head.

What if Benjamin saw something he shouldn’t see? Cass was hunting for the Secret. If she’d found it, would it be visible or
readable or whatever-the-word-was to Benjamin?

Max-Ernest pushed the thought aside. Benjamin might be listening in.

Not only that, Benjamin was on their side—he had to be. The Midnight Sun had kidnapped him and nearly sucked his brains out.
Cass and Max-Ernest had rescued him from a fate worse than death. If Benjamin suspected that Operation Mind-Read had anything
to do with the ongoing battle between the Terces Society and the Midnight Sun, he would only be inspired to help out that
much more. As for the Secret, there was no reason to believe Benjamin had ever heard of it. And if by some quirk of fate Benjamin
found the Secret in Cass’s head, chances were he’d have no idea that it was of any consequence at all.

Besides, Max-Ernest half-acknowledged to himself, it was a nice feeling, having a partner again. A friend.

And he didn’t want it to end.

I must say, it was a stroke of bad luck that Max-Ernest didn’t look at his e-mail that afternoon.

As it turns out, at the very moment that Max-Ernest and Benjamin were shaking hands, Yo-Yoji was replying to the e-mail Max-Ernest
had written earlier about Benjamin. Here is the subject line of Yo-Yoji’s reply:

Subject:
DUDE, YOU BETTER READ THIS RIGHT NOW!!!

Unfortunately, Max-Ernest wouldn’t see Yo-Yoji’s message until late that night. Of course, I could reproduce it for you now.
But I think it’s best that you experience events in the same order Max-Ernest did.

This book is much more fun that way.

At least for me.

For you, I imagine, it makes the book much more stressful.

A
n axe crashed through the cell door.

Anastasia stepped through the splintered wood, holding a candle in front of her. Next to her: her bewhiskered colleague, Thomas,
holding his axe.

“Burnes? Gatewood? Are you in here? I told you they couldn’t keep you two for long!” Anastasia called into the darkness, eyes
glinting above her mask. Her long hair fell heavily over her shoulders.

The Jester blinked, obviously surprised to see this mysterious woman standing in the cell doorway.

“Sorry, m’lady, it’s just me and—” He looked in Cass’s direction but of course didn’t see her. “Just me.”

“And who is this Just Me?” Anastasia looked at the Jester sitting there with his hat askew. “Please tell me you are not a
jester and that that is just a disguise! Does the King dare insult me by locking up my men with fools?”

“Do not worry,” said the Jester dryly. “I’m not a real jester… anymore. The King saw to that.”

“Come on. Nobody’s in here—,” said Anastasia’s bandit colleague.

“That’s right, Thomas. Nobody. Merely a tool of royalty who is now abandoned property. This is the thanks he gets for making
a monarch laugh while his
subjects starve? Well, just deserts, I say! How does the saying go? If you lie down with dogs, you will rise with fleas?”