mansion’s security guards.
***
“I think it’s safe now,” Bolswaithe said. Thomas noted how the butler omitted saying his name and “sir.” He might be a robot, but he learned fast. Bolswaithe accelerated.
“We’re not going to Brooklyn, are we?” Henri half closed his eyes as the car gained speed, his claw tightened on the little car’s roof causing the metal to groan.
“We are going to the Ramble at Central Park,” Bolswaithe yelled through the window.
“Take Columbus Avenue and then West 74 th .”
“I know, monsieur.”
“Are we driving to New York? That’s on the other side of the country.” Thomas was confused.
“We’re already there.” Bolswaithe turned left at the corner of the private road, and instead of coming out two blocks away from Thomas’s house in Carlsbad, they entered the busy streets of New York City. The little red car swerved easily through traffic and only a couple of people took more than a passing glance at Henri.
Thomas opened his window and peeked out. The skyscrapers were real and the streetlights were just turning on. He checked his watch as the clock automatically jumped three time zones. Even the air smelled different than in California. He looked back; they had apparently come out from an alley between two buildings, the green street sign said, “Pervagus Road.”
“How’s this possible?” Thomas asked Bolswaithe. “It has to be magic.”
“It was magic decades ago. It has more to do with quantum mechanics now than with magic. Would you like me to tell you some of the equations?”
Thomas raised his arms in amazement. “No thanks, I believe you,” he said. After everything he’d already seen, there were always more surprises about Guardians Inc.
“Just remember that Pervagus Mansion is always two-and-a-half blocks to the left for those that want to find it and have the appropriate tag,” Bolswaithe said as he sped toward Central Park.
The First Sign
They entered Central Park through Transverse Road, and Bolswaithe turned right on a service road and into the most forested area of the park.
“There’s our escort,” he told Thomas. Five men and a young woman were waiting at the end of the road. They were dressed in jeans, black leather jackets, and yellow T-Shirts with the logo of Guardians Inc. prominently displayed on the front. Each person carried a light-rifle, and two carried a black tote bag over their shoulder.
Bolswaithe parked the car and they got out. Henri waited for them before climbing down with a powerful thrust.
The leader of the escorts looked to be in his late twenties or early thirties. He had a dark five o’clock shadow and twiddled a little yellow cocktail sword in his mouth. A small earring in his left ear and vivacious dark eyes complemented a cheerful smile as he tipped his NY Yankees baseball cap at them. “Est que vous Henri? Comment Ça va mon ami? Comment Ça va!” He sidestepped Bolswaithe and Thomas and gave the Grotesque a high five. “Ce qui vous amène ici? Brooklyn un autre?”
Henri let out a deep chuckle. “Stobene il mio amico, ma non Brooklyn.” Henri answered motioning with his claws at Thomas. “Sto avendo cura di queste pesone, è molto importante per la società, sapete? Questo è il Cypher.”
At least Thomas understood the last word.
“He doesn’t speak French or Italian gentlemen.” Bolswaithe interrupted their little reunion and they both turned to Thomas.
“I thought Cyphers could understand any language,” the man in the Yankees hat said.
“Anything written,” Thomas answered.
“Ahh, I see… my bad.” He pulled the little yellow cocktail sword out of his mouth and hunched his shoulders. “I always imagined that the Cypher would be an old wrinkled man, or a hot, hot girl,” he said with a thick New York accent and extended a hand toward Thomas. He had such a carefree attitude that Thomas immediately liked him.
Thomas took his hand. “Nice to meet you. I’m
***
“I think it’s safe now,” Bolswaithe said. Thomas noted how the butler omitted saying his name and “sir.” He might be a robot, but he learned fast. Bolswaithe accelerated.
“We’re not going to Brooklyn, are we?” Henri half closed his eyes as the car gained speed, his claw tightened on the little car’s roof causing the metal to groan.
“We are going to the Ramble at Central Park,” Bolswaithe yelled through the window.
“Take Columbus Avenue and then West 74 th .”
“I know, monsieur.”
“Are we driving to New York? That’s on the other side of the country.” Thomas was confused.
“We’re already there.” Bolswaithe turned left at the corner of the private road, and instead of coming out two blocks away from Thomas’s house in Carlsbad, they entered the busy streets of New York City. The little red car swerved easily through traffic and only a couple of people took more than a passing glance at Henri.
Thomas opened his window and peeked out. The skyscrapers were real and the streetlights were just turning on. He checked his watch as the clock automatically jumped three time zones. Even the air smelled different than in California. He looked back; they had apparently come out from an alley between two buildings, the green street sign said, “Pervagus Road.”
“How’s this possible?” Thomas asked Bolswaithe. “It has to be magic.”
“It was magic decades ago. It has more to do with quantum mechanics now than with magic. Would you like me to tell you some of the equations?”
Thomas raised his arms in amazement. “No thanks, I believe you,” he said. After everything he’d already seen, there were always more surprises about Guardians Inc.
“Just remember that Pervagus Mansion is always two-and-a-half blocks to the left for those that want to find it and have the appropriate tag,” Bolswaithe said as he sped toward Central Park.
The First Sign
They entered Central Park through Transverse Road, and Bolswaithe turned right on a service road and into the most forested area of the park.
“There’s our escort,” he told Thomas. Five men and a young woman were waiting at the end of the road. They were dressed in jeans, black leather jackets, and yellow T-Shirts with the logo of Guardians Inc. prominently displayed on the front. Each person carried a light-rifle, and two carried a black tote bag over their shoulder.
Bolswaithe parked the car and they got out. Henri waited for them before climbing down with a powerful thrust.
The leader of the escorts looked to be in his late twenties or early thirties. He had a dark five o’clock shadow and twiddled a little yellow cocktail sword in his mouth. A small earring in his left ear and vivacious dark eyes complemented a cheerful smile as he tipped his NY Yankees baseball cap at them. “Est que vous Henri? Comment Ça va mon ami? Comment Ça va!” He sidestepped Bolswaithe and Thomas and gave the Grotesque a high five. “Ce qui vous amène ici? Brooklyn un autre?”
Henri let out a deep chuckle. “Stobene il mio amico, ma non Brooklyn.” Henri answered motioning with his claws at Thomas. “Sto avendo cura di queste pesone, è molto importante per la società, sapete? Questo è il Cypher.”
At least Thomas understood the last word.
“He doesn’t speak French or Italian gentlemen.” Bolswaithe interrupted their little reunion and they both turned to Thomas.
“I thought Cyphers could understand any language,” the man in the Yankees hat said.
“Anything written,” Thomas answered.
“Ahh, I see… my bad.” He pulled the little yellow cocktail sword out of his mouth and hunched his shoulders. “I always imagined that the Cypher would be an old wrinkled man, or a hot, hot girl,” he said with a thick New York accent and extended a hand toward Thomas. He had such a carefree attitude that Thomas immediately liked him.
Thomas took his hand. “Nice to meet you. I’m
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