If You’re Reading This, It’s Too Late by Pseudonymous Bosch

shouted back. “But if they’re still out heaya, they’re wicked lucky to be alive!”
    “Well, if you see anything, call us on the radio!”
    After the coast guard boat had disappeared, Owen pulled the tarp off the young stowaways.
    “The Midnight Sun will eat those guys for dinnah,” he said, grinning.
    “What kind of accent is that?” Cass asked, remarking on the sudden change in Owen.
    “Boston. Can’t you tell? I’m a lobstah fisherman.”
    Cass laughed through chattering teeth.
    It was dawn by the time they reached land.
    Owen swore up and down that he’d never intended for Cass and Max-Ernest to board the Midnight Sun’s ship, only for them to lure the ship to the docks — so he could put a tracer on the hull. But just in case the field trip was unexpectedly prolonged, he had stashed his car nearby.
    Cass and Max-Ernest groaned when they saw the old VW bug: another wild ride lay ahead.
    As they climbed in, Cass pulled the bungee cord belt she was wearing off of her cargo pants. She strapped herself to the side of her door, and then to Max-Ernest.
    “Just a precaution. The percentage of traumatic brain injury related to car accidents is staggering.”
    Max-Ernest grinned; the survivalist was back in action.
    “Hold on, Lass and Mack!” The car exploded into drive.
    Lass and Mack both came close to regurgitating the dinner they never had.
    “So are you taking us to meet Pietro now?” Cass shouted over the roar of the engine. “Aren’t we supposed to go to a meeting?”
    Owen looked over his shoulder. “First rule of the Terces Society — no meetings. Too boring!”
    “Really?” asked Max-Ernest.
    Owen laughed. “No. The reason is we don’t like too many members in one place at once. Less chance we’ll all be killed.”
    “Grilled?”
    “KILLLED!”
    “Oh. Right.” Max-Ernest gulped.
    Owen slowed the car just enough so they could hear.
    “You’ll meet Pietro soon enough. For now, just keep an eye on each other. If you think you see the Midnight Sun lurking around, report back to us right away.”
    “But what about our next mission?” Cass asked. “What about the Oath of Terces?”
    “Later.”
    Cass felt as if she’d been demoted — like a police detective taken off the street and given a desk job.
    Worse: Owen said he wouldn’t be going back to school with them. Now that the Midnight Sun had seen him, he would need a new disguise; Mr. Needleman was no more.
    “Probably some awful teacher’s going to replace you,” Cass complained when they were nearing home. “Somebody who’s really mean, not just acting that way.”
    “Sorry, I’ve got another job now.” After he checked in with his Terces colleagues, Owen told them, he was going right back to sea in search of the Midnight Sun.
    “They stole something, and I have to get it back. That’s why we put the tracer on their boat.”
    “What did they take?” asked Max-Ernest.
    “The Sound Prism. One of the Terces Society treasures. . . . It’s a . . . ball. About yea big —” He held out his hand.
    Cass and Max-Ernest looked at each other apprehensively; he had to be talking about the ball in Cass’s backpack.
    Max-Ernest poked Cass in the side. Wasn’t this their cue?
    Cass shook her head imperceptibly.
    Max-Ernest opened his mouth, but Cass pleaded with her eyes. They had one of those silent arguments that make you look like a monkey mimicking people at the zoo — until Max-Ernest shrugged and relented. He wouldn’t say anything, but Cass could tell he wasn’t happy about it.
    She made a mental note to thank him later. In a highly functioning survivalist team, there had to be a leader. You didn’t have to agree with her all the time. But you couldn’t get to the top of Everest if someone wasn’t the lead on the rope.
    Owen insisted on circling their neighborhood, then dropping them off a few blocks away from home — just in case anyone was staking out the territory.
    “No time for tearful good-byes. If