In the clearing, Murl and his goons marched Carlos to the front of the futuristic building.
“This is all just a misunderstanding,” said the weatherman tremulously. “If you’ll allow me to speak to Mr Fisher, I’m sure I can clear this all up.” He smiled like he did when he was on TV. “You see, I’m somewhat of a celebrity around here.”
“We know exactly who you are” said Dummer. He and Dum led Carlos up a few steps to the dome’s front door.
Lucy squinted through her binoculars as Murl typed a code into a number pad. 1-9-1-3-6-9. She jotted down the numbers in her notebook. With a beep the door unlocked.
“Where are you taking me?” asked Carlos.
“Down,” Murl sneered.
Dum and Dummer each grabbed an arm and pulled Carlos towards the entrance. This time he resisted, thrashing against their grasp.
Lucy fought the urge to cry out. I need to help him! But what can I do?
“Get in there,” grunted Dum.
“No!” Carlos yowled like a wild animal.
Lucy jumped as she heard a gloppy SPLOOSH!
Dummer stumbled, his head clunking into Dum’s chest as their arms closed round liquid slime. Carlos Felina had seemingly vanished.
But Lucy knew better.
“What the—” Dummer squealed.
“Where’d he go?” Dum stared in bewilderment at his goopy hands.
Standing at their feet was a black-and-white cat, its back arching as it hissed and spat with fury.
I knew it! Lucy was so excited she nearly dropped her binoculars. This was the first concrete piece of Pretender proof she’d witnessed since the Strickses transformed into owls. Carlos Felina can change into an animal, too! What the slug ARE these people??
“It’s him, you idiots!” thundered Murl.
Cat Carlos screeched and high-tailed it into the trees, leaving Dum and Dummer slack-jawed.
“Go after it,” Murl ordered.
Slipping on slime, Dum and Dummer chased the tuxedo tom, crunching through the grove pathway, just two yards away from Lucy’s hiding spot. Murl shook his head with disgust, then entered the dome and shut the door behind him with a CLANG.
Lucy stashed her binoculars in her backpack and wrote furiously in her notebook about the events she’d just witnessed. Questions whirled in her head. What was in the dome? What was Nu Co. doing in there? Why did they need so much sap? And what was producing the pink smoke?
Only one way to find out.
She considered using the door code to sneak inside, but with Murl around it seemed too risky. Perhaps she could find some clues in the factory? Tossing her pack round her shoulders, and neglecting to check if the coast was clear, she hurried out on to the dirt road, straight into the bright beams of a car’s headlights.
A silver sedan screeched to a stop, inches away from Lucy’s quaking kneecaps.
“Watch where you’re going!” shouted a razor-sharp voice. “Does everything in this town have a death wish?” A tall, broad-shouldered man exited the vehicle, looking extraordinarily cross.
Aw, crud.
“Lucy Sladan.” Mr Fisher slammed the door to his car. “Once again, I find you trespassing on my property.” Anger flashed across his face. “You wouldn’t be here to sabotage company equipment by any chance?”
Lucy’s mouth felt dry. Fumblingly, she fished something out of her back pocket and held it out. It was a small card, on which she had written “PRESS PASS” in black Sharpie. “I’m with the school paper,” she asserted. “I’ve got Journalistic Immunity.”
“That’s not a thing,” Fisher replied. He grabbed Lucy’s backpack and roughly prised it off her shoulders.
“Give that back!” she cried.
He sifted through the bag’s contents, tossing aside a print-casting kit, a wooden letter opener and a homemade grappling hook. He unzipped the front pouch and retrieved the unicorn notebook.
“I need that!” Lucy glowered. If he reads it, he’ll see everything I’ve learned about the Pretenders. Everything!
Fisher tossed the empty bag at her feet, holding the notebook out of reach. “You’ll get this back when I’m done with it.”
This is just great. Lucy gathered up her belongings, feeling flames of anger rise at her temples. She was in big trouble this time. Would he call her parents? Skunk-faced dingus. She’d be grounded for a decade at least.
“Come with me.” Fisher’s tone left no room for argument. He pointed into the thicket. “This way.”
He was taking her to the geodesic dome. Lucy’s toes went cold. “What’s in there?”
“Your father,” said Fisher. “I’ll take you to him.”
He was lying. Lucy had watched Silas drive away almost an hour ago. What’s Fisher’s game? Still, she did want to know what was inside the dome. And she couldn’t leave without her notebook. She looked around the empty, moonlit orchard. What choice did she have, anyway?
Resigned, she turned to follow the sharply dressed businessman. Just then, the back door of Fisher’s car opened and a middle-aged slip of a woman stepped out on to the road. The newcomer was clad in a floral sweatshirt, shorts and Birkenstock sandals, in flagrant defiance of the season.
“Mrs Stricks!” Lucy exclaimed.
Before Fisher could protest, the diminutive English teacher snatched the notebook out of his startled hands, then positioned herself protectively in front of her student. “That devil on your shoulder giving you ideas again, Richard?”
“How did you get in my car?” demanded Fisher.
There was more than a little mischief in Mrs Stricks’s smile.
“I’m calling security.” Mr Fisher took out his smartphone.
“How about this?” Mrs Stricks challenged Fisher, who was at least a head taller. “You let us leave quietly, and we can all forget the fact that you just kidnapped a minor and tried to take her into that little laboratory of yours.”
Laboratory? Was it possible that Fisher still thought Lucy was a Pretender? What was he going to do to me?
“What’s with the pink smoke, Richard?” asked Mrs Stricks. “We both know you’re not making candy down there.”
Fisher narrowed his eyes.
