The Secret Hour by Scott Westerfeld Page A

school trig? She’s no polymath.”
    “She isn’t a mindcaster either,” Melissa said.
    Rex glanced over at his old friend. Unlike the blurry dashboard and passing background, Melissa’s face was in perfect midnighter Focus. Her expression was grim, and her hands gripped the wheel hard again, as if the old Ford were passing a busload of brawling five-year-olds.
    “Probably not,” he said mildly.
    “Definitely
not. I could taste it if she was.”
    Rex sighed. “There’s no point arguing about it now. We’ll find out what she is soon enough. She could be a seer for all I know.”
    “Hey, Rex, maybe she’s an acrobat,” Dess said.
    “Yeah, a replacement,” Melissa joined in.
    Rex glared at her, then put his glasses back on. Melissa’s face went a little blurry as the rest of the world sharpened, and he turned away to stare out the car window.
    “We don’t need an acrobat.”
    “Sure, Rex,” Dess said. “But wouldn’t a full set be better?”
    He shrugged, not taking the bait.
    “Collect ’em all,” Melissa added.
    “Listen,” Rex said sharply, “there’s lots more talents than the four we’ve seen, okay? I’ve read about all kinds of stuff, going back as far as the Split. She could be anything.”
    “She could be nothing,” Melissa said.
    Rex shrugged again and didn’t say another word until they reached the museum.

    The Clovis Period Excavation Museum was a long, low building. Most of the museum was underground, sunk into the cool, dark shelter of the red Oklahoma clay. With its single row of tiny windows it looked to Rex like one of those bunkers that rocket scientists cowered in while they tested some new missile that might explode on the launchpad.
    This was the first weekend of the school year, so the parking lot was almost empty. Later in the day there might be a trickle of tourists, and in a month or so the school trips would start. Every student within a hundred miles of Bixby made the visit at least three times during their school career. It had been on a fifth-grade trip that Melissa and Rex had first come here and begun the process of discovering who and what they were.
    Anita wasn’t at the ticket and info desk. The woman sitting there was new and looked up suspiciously as the three of them walked through the door.
    “Can I help you?”
    Rex fumbled in his pocket, hoping he’d remembered to bring his membership card. He found it after a few anxious moments. “Three, please.”
    The woman took the crumpled card from him and eyed it closely, one eyebrow raised. There was the usual wait as she looked them over, her eyes tracing his black coat and the girls’ clothes, trying to think of a reason to keep them out.
    “Anytime this year,” Dess said.
    “Pardon me?”
    “She said that the membership should be good throughout this year, ma’am,” Rex offered.
    The woman nodded, lips pursed as if all her suspicions had been confirmed, and said, “Well, then, I see.”
    She punched a key, and three tickets emerged from a slot in the desk. “But you-all watch yourselves, y’hear?”
    Dess snatched the tickets and was about to say something, but an older man in a tweed suit came through the staff door behind the desk, interrupting her just in time.
    “Ah, it’s the Arrowheads,” Dr. Anton Sherwood said with a chuckle.
    Rex felt the tension leave him. He grinned at the museum’s director. “Good to see you, Dr. Sherwood.”
    “Got anything for me today, Rex?”
    Rex shook his head, taking a moment to enjoy the confusion on the ticket woman’s face. “Sorry, we’re just here for a quick visit. Anything new to look at?”
    “Mmm. We got a new biface point in from Cactus Hill, Virginia. Looks like a good candidate for a Solutrean link. It’s in the pre-Clovis case on this floor. Let me know what you think.”
    “I’d be happy to,” Rex said. He smiled politely at the baffled woman behind the ticket desk and led Dess and Melissa into the museum.
    “Psych-out,” Dess said