Van Bender and the Burning Emblems (The Van Bender Archives #1) by S. James Nelson Read Free Book Online Page A

entire shape of brink burned, the space inside the door shimmered and turned into a sheet of white light. It hummed like a florescent tube about to flicker out.
    “What in the freak is that?” I asked.
    “That,” he said, “is a zip-door. See you soon.”
    With a nod, he stepped into the sheet of white. For an instant I thought I heard him breaking into a scream, but then the doorway disappeared with a quiet “pop” like the sound of a florescent tube breaking. Nick and the sheet of white light disappeared. The brink turned to ash. As it drifted to the carpet, the smell of burned cinnamon bun filled my nose.
    I stood there, staring at ashes as they settled to the floor, realizing that not only had Nick teleported out of my dressing room, I also must have just made a massive mistake. But it had happened so quickly. Nick had tricked me so fast, taken advantage of his stardom.
    About three one-hundredths of a second later, a knock at the door startled me out of my mental self-flogging.
    No, not a knock. A pounding. Accompanied by a gruff voice.
    “Open up! I know you’ve got a Cask in there!”

Chapter 11: Squeaky clean agent
Most people are wise enough not to provoke an S-O-a-P agent. Richie Van Bender, on the other hand, plowed right into it like a run-away semi carrying explosives.
-Agent Linford B. Maynerd
    The man who came in looked like Nick Savage dressed up as a private detective. In fact, his face had the same long shape and jowly chin.
    “Nick?” I said, stepping back, surprised that Nick had just disappeared and now re-appeared.
    The man shook his head and stepped into the room. “I’m not Nick Savage.”
    With his southern accent, he sure sounded like Nick. He also looked about as old—perhaps fifty. He wore a long tan coat and a hat with a narrow brim. He kept his eyebrows furrowed almost into a unibrow, and frowned so his lips poked out in a pout. He looked more serious than my sixth grade math teacher, Mrs. Grumble, who used to say ridiculous things like, “Math is the most important thing you’ll ever learn.” What a drama queen.
    “You look and sound just like him,” I said.
    “I am not him,” he said.
    “Then you must be his twin.”
    “Wrong.”
    He shut the door and practically shoved a badge into my face, so close that all I could see were the letters S-O-a-P. It looked very official, but having been freshly burned by trusting someone, I folded my arms across my chest and frowned.
    “S-O-a-P?” I said. Nick had said something about SOaP. “What’s that? Sounds made up.”
    He stepped over to the ashes on the floor, fresh from Nick’s spell, and leaned over them like a dog sniffing for a trail. After a moment, he gave me a long, serious frown, and pointed at the ashes.
    “Look at this. And smell that smell. It’s like someone has either cremated a cinnamon roll. Or they’ve ignited some brink.”
    “Uh,” I said. “I only change clothes in here.”
    “Yes. You had a big concert, didn’t you? Ninety thousand people. That’s just cruel, you know. You should see the traffic outside. It’s gridlock. Think of that next time you get people together to steal their emotions.”
    I wasn’t about to admit to anything. I’d long since learned that as soon as you admit anything, it’s all over.
    “Could you say something that actually makes sense?”
    He dropped to his knees and placed his face right into the brown carpet and black ashes. He inhaled and ran both hands through the carpet. When he pulled them away and looked up, black ash covered his palm, fingers, the cuffs of his coat, and most of his face.
    “I knew it,” he said. “Someone has cast a spell.”
    I shrugged again. “Like I said, I just change clothes in here.”
    He stood and stepped close to me, wagging a finger and leaning in so his nose came within inches of mine. Like Nick, he stood about six inches taller than me.
    “Listen, Mr. Van Bender. We know you have a Cask. Right before your intermission, you