The Search for Artemis - By P. D. Griffith Page 0,112

boy, endearingly. “I’m constantly surprised at how perceptive you are. Never lose that, okay? Always keep your eyes open and ask questions. You’ll hear this often, but it’s true—never judge a book by its cover. You have to dig deep and look within to discover what’s hidden inside.”

Landon looked at her, confused, as he had no idea what she was talking about.

“Landon, it’s like Treasure Island,” Mrs. Wicker continued. “This book has been through a lot. It survived a fire. The cover is torn and tattered. If we took it at face value, we’d assume it was garbage and just throw it away, but then we would’ve missed the adventure that sends our imagination to the wondrous places hidden inside. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

“Books are good?” Landon eagerly replied.

“Yes.” Mrs. Wicker laughed. “Books are good. That’s exactly right. Books are good.”

Mrs. Wicker got out of the bed and went around to Landon’s side. She tucked him into his sheets, kissed him on the forehead and said, “Goodnight, my little man. I love you so very much.” Giving her son one last longing glance, she pulled away from the bed, but just as her fingers slipped from Landon’s cheeks, she stopped. She tilted her head to the side and had a strange glint in her eyes, a wondrous one as if she’d just come to some profound realization. “You know, you’re going to do great things some day. I can see it. Amazing, unbelievable things,” she said. “But remember, greatness never comes without struggles, so if you ever feel lost, need guidance or just a place to get away from it all, look to the books.” She pulled away from Landon as tears welled up in her eyes and silently made her way to the door.

Once she’d reached it, she apprehensively unlocked the door and turned the handle. With a delicate flip of the light switch, she shut off the reading lamp on Landon’s bedside table and walked out into the living room. As she shut the door, Landon heard his father say coarsely, “There you are!”

When Landon woke up, he had no idea what time it was. He knew he’d been out for a while because his muscles felt limp and he was groggy—not the result of a thirty-minute power nap.

As he stood up, he closed his eyes and held on to the lingering image of his mother that he’d just seen in his dream. He wished he could relive that memory over and over again and feel as if she was still there, but he knew that was impossible. Heading out of the Library, Landon searched for a clock; he needed to find out how much time was left until his first mission started. He had a duty to complete, a duty where he would be asked to do amazing and unbelievable things on which he couldn’t renege.

He soon discovered that it was already 7:30; he’d somehow slept for over six hours. In a way he was glad he’d been out for so long. It meant he wasn’t spending his time brooding, but it also meant he needed to head straight to the Olympic Tower and begin suiting up for the mission. He no longer had time for dinner because in less than two hours he would be in the air headed to Metis Labs.

Entering the locker room, Landon found Cortland and the Crane twins already there pulling on their full-body, all-black tactical uniforms. Landon made his way straight for his station without saying anything. Upon opening the locker door, Landon found his own tactical uniform, complete with a pair of black shoes and a small box with his standard-issue communication link earpiece resting atop his typical change of clothes. A twinge of excitement coursed through him, elevating his pulse. This is really happening, he thought. I’m now part of the team.

Setting the comm. link aside, he pulled the shoes off the top. He was surprised how light they were. They had thin, flexible soles; the tops were made of a durable black material, and black laces ran up the center but disappeared into the side of the shoe. Landon knew that once he put them on, they would automatically tighten and adjust to fit perfectly—another Pallas Corporation technology. They probably weighed under an ounce. Setting them on the bench behind him, he figured they were similar to what an acrobat or tightrope walker would wear.

The suits were even more interesting. He had learned all about them