Aisling led Bell-Bell past the shelves of picture books, for she was far too smart for those. They stopped in front of a shelf of books for older children, and gazed at the spines of the books. Black Beauty. . . The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe. . . Heidi. . . The Secret Garden. . . Between these familiar titles, Bell-Bell found some with new, interesting-sounding titles and pulled them off the shelf. Then they slowly meandered over the shelves of classic literature, where Aisling picked up Just So Stories and Frankenstein, both of which she had read before, and then picked up a new one, The Persian Letters, for good measure. She walked back to the library's foyer, where Joaquin was standing. He had checked out the Lord of the Rings trilogy yet again. They were his favorite books, by far. Aisling handed her books to the librarian, who pulled out her pen and made notes of the books. She did the same for Bell-Bell, but Aisling noticed that the librarian seemed uncommonly tense. She kept flicking her eyes around nervously, and her hands shook as she made strokes with her ballpoint pen. Patrick came up to the desk and got his books noted down, as did Vasilisa. They thanked the librarian, who just nodded in response, and then they turned to leave.
As they were approaching the door, however, it was pushed open by a stout police officer, who strode in and was immediately followed by four more officers. The children froze. The first policeman walked up to the petrified Aisling and said,
"You're coming with us, young lady." He grabbed her upper arm and made to drag her toward the door and the other four officers did the same to the rest of the Pack.
Aisling's mind started to race. She needed to do something to protect her Pack. In a pathetic attempt to get free, she tried to jerk herself away from the policeman. He just grunted, then grabbed her other arm and began to frog-march her.
Outside the library, there were five police cars lined up neatly against the curb. Aisling turned her head and saw Vasilisa out of the corner of her eye. The girl was crying. Though she didn't think Vasilisa was considering escaping, Aisling shook her head violently to indicate that she shouldn't try. Vasilisa swallowed hard and nodded. Aisling swung her head in the other direction to see Patrick. She shook her head at him, too. He also nodded. Aisling couldn't see Joaquin or Bell-Bell, but she sensed the Bell-Bell was just as frightened as Vasilisa, and was probably crying as well.
The policeman let go of one of Aisling's arms in order to open the back door of his patrol car. He shoved her in a bit roughly, but she was far too terrified to protest. The officer slammed the door, then walked around the car and climbed into the driver's seat. He revved the engine and began to guide the car through the suburban streets of the city. Occasionally he glanced into the rear-view mirror to check on his prisoner.
After what seemed like only a few seconds to Aisling, they were in front of the police station and the officer was hauling her out of the car again. She stared straight ahead as she was pushed through the door, down a starkly lit hallway, and into a room with a frightening resemblance to a prison cell. Patrick, Joaquin, Vasilisa, and Bella-Jane were all pushed in after her, and all were stripped of the bags and knapsacks that held their vital belongings.
Somehow, in a fury of sobbing and trembling, they all ended up in a corner of the cement room. Aisling held the weeping Vasilisa, Joaquin held the shaking Janie, and Patrick sat between them all, looking miserable. For some amount of time that they couldn't calculate, they sat like that, feeling like prisoners about to be executed.
In a room down the hall from where the Pack sat confined, a conversation was going on between Rick Dicker and a very large man wearing a tailored business suit and a black mask.
"So, when is Frozone going to arrive?" the masked man asked of Dicker.
"He was supposed to be here about twenty minutes ago, along with Spike, and Wave Lady, and a few others." Dicker said.
"Maybe they just got stuck in some traffic."
"I hope so. I want to have a lot of supers at this meeting."
"Why?" the large man asked. "There's only one kid to talk about. How many people should she have to choose from?"
Dicker shook his head. "It's not that, Bob. I'm pretty sure that the girl the officer told be about is a genuine super, but I've also got a hunch about those other kids that they brought in with her. I don't know why, but I've got the idea that all of those other kids have super-powers too."
Bob raised his eyebrows. "It's possible."
Just then the door opened. A policeman held it open, and six people filed into the room, three men and three women. They were all dressed elegantly, but none of them were wearing masks. Dicker looked them over.
"Hello Spike, Mirage, Florus, Miss Interpretation, Frozone, Wave Lady," Dicker said, smiling and nodding at each. "Thank you for coming on such short notice."
"Hey, Lucius," Bob said, smiling at the thin black man whom Dicker had called "Frozone."
"Hey Bob," Lucius said, "What's with the mask?"
Dicker and the seven superheroes sat down at the long table that stood in the room. Dicker sat at the head, Bob sat across from Lucius, and the very slight woman called Mirage sat next to Bob. Addressing Lucius, Bob said,
"Er, I wasn't sure if I'd need it or not." He took the mask off.
Mirage turned to her tall neighbor and smiled. "Hello, Mr. Incredible," she said. Bob looked down at her.
"You can call me Bob," he paused, ". . . Mariella."
Mirage, or Mariella, smiled more broadly and said nothing else.
Dicker cleared his throat and addressed the company. "If you weren't previously informed, this is a meeting regarding the apprenticeship of one or several children with super-powers." The heroes all nodded. "Shall we have the children brought in?" There were nods and murmurs of affirmatives. "Very well then," Dicker said, and rose from his chair. The heroes followed him with their eyes as he opened the door and spoke to the officer who was standing just outside of it.
"Will you bring the children in now?"
"Yes, Mr. Dicker."
Dicker closed the door and resumed his seat at the head of the table. "I must ask you not to speak while the children are present. I will be questioning them." The heroes nodded mutely.
The door opened, and everyone seated at the table turned to look at it. Subconsciously, they expected to see a large, burly child being forced into the room by two burlier police officers whilst he or she kicked and thrashed and screamed. And so, they were extremely surprised to see a tiny girl of no more than six years being herded by a single policeman. The girl looked plainly terrified, and walked stiff-legged to the chair that the policeman pointed at. Following this girl was another of about the same age, who looked just as frightened. She sat down meekly next to the littler girl and stared at the tabletop. Next came an older boy who was so pale that his fear turned his skin a sickly green. With a very distressed look he slunk over to his indicated chair, next to the two small girls. After the pale boy came a tall, dark boy, who looked scared and indignant at the same time. He scrunched up his shoulders and sat in the chair across from the two small girls. Lastly there came a medium-sized teenage girl who may have been the leader of the bunch. She trembled visibly as she took the seat across from the pale boy. The policemen filed out, and the door was shut again.
At this point the room became completely silent. The only traces of sound came from the buzzing of the ceiling lights.
Rick Dicker broke the silence by clearing his throat. "Do you kids know why you're here?"
The oldest girl stared into her lap and shook her head.
"I would like you to know that you're not in any kind of trouble. In fact, we're very happy to have you here with us." The children didn't respond. "If you would answer a few questions for me, I would appreciate it a lot," Dicker continued, putting the tiniest edge of a pleading tone in his voice. The dark boy raised his head a bit and ventured to look at Dicker.
"First of all, I would like to know your names."
"Joaquin Guerrero," said the dark boy.
"Vasilisa Kolosov," the second-smallest child said very softly.
"Patrick Meyer-Young," said the boy with the ghastly complexion.
"Aisling Forrester," said the oldest girl.
The smallest girl said nothing, but looked up, burst into silent tears, and promptly looked down again. "She's Bella-Jane," the dark boy called Joaquin said. "Bella-Jane Simon."