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  Copyright © 2024 Page One, Inc.

  All rights reserved. Published by Disney • Hyperion, an imprint of Buena Vista Books, Inc. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without written permission from the publisher. For information address Disney • Hyperion, 77 West 66th Street, New York, New York 10023.

  First Edition, February 2024

  Designed by Joann Hill

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Control Number: 2023939464

  Hardcover ISBN 978-1-4847-8558-4

  eBook ISBN 978-1-368-10160-8

  Visit www.DisneyBooks.com

  www.RidleyPearson.com

  Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  For my Fellow Kingdom Keepers

  1: Present Day

  2: Seven Days Earlier

  3: Present Day

  4

  5

  6

  7

  8

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  10

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  45

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  47

  48

  49

  50

  51

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Also by Ridley Pearson

  For those who travel by night and dream by day

  FOR MY FELLOW KEEPERS OF THE KINGDOM

  After I sent the Kingdom Keepers back in time to opening day at Disneyland—the Return series—I kept wondering about the children of the Kingdom Keepers. They could have so many interesting qualities. They might be super smart or have extraordinary powers. They might inherit the passion to preserve the magic of Disney.

  During a visit to EPCOT, Imagineer Jason Grandt shared some fascinating history with me. Walt Disney had envisioned EPCOT as a new kind of city. A place where people lived, worked, and played.

  Those ideas merged: the children of the Kingdom Keepers, EPCOT as a futuristic city. I found myself making notes, creating outlines, reading more about Walt’s dream for EPCOT. I even drew my own sketches of the park. So now I present to you the first of the Inheritance series. The children of the Kingdom Keepers live in a “new” EPCOT. There are many international Disney parks. New villains. Old villains. Parents who don’t want their children taking the risks that they once took.

  Imagination has always been the hallmark of Walt Disney, his films, and his parks. I encourage you to play with your own imaginations. Dream big. Write stories. Draw pictures. Build computers. Ride your bicycle to the top of a mountain.

  Inheritance is a product of my imagination, my love for the Kingdom Keepers. My nightmares about villains like Maleficent.

  Buckle up. We are going for a ride together.

  1

  PRESENT DAY

  INSIDE A HOUSE THAT LOOKED LIKE so many other houses along EPCOT’s California Drive a boy who looked like so many other boys tiptoed toward the kitchen. Eli Whitman’s skinny frame and bony knees might not have made him an obvious athlete, but looks could be deceiving. He played shortstop on the CommuniTree Little League team and was co-captain of his middle school track team. He also had a smart look about him: curious and quiet, cautious, yet daring. In a word, Eli Whitman was complicated.

  The son of legendary Kingdom Keeper Finn Whitman, Eli still wrestled with his legacy. His mother, Amanda, had once been known as a “Fairlie”—as in, fairly human. A woman of extraordinary metaphysical powers, Amanda possessed the ability to move objects with her mind, an ability known as psychokinesis. His parents’ former lives, two decades back in the 2020s, were a closely held secret, only a few within Disney knew of their background. Most of those who knew had been Kingdom Keepers or Fairlies themselves—a tight-knit group of grown-ups.

  Several months earlier, just before his thirteenth birthday, Eli’s hearing had improved dramatically. When he focused, he could overhear a whisper at the opposite end of a soccer field. He had learned to control what he heard the way a fish controls its fins. It wasn’t the only change. His strength, his running speed, his sense of hot and cold had also boosted drastically. The changes came in bursts. They arrived at odd times, vanished, and then returned. He believed that his extreme hearing was likely to return to normal. But he had no idea when that might happen.

  Presently Eli picked up a tightness in his mother’s voice from the living room. The simple fact that she and Eli’s aunt Jess were whispering meant they were having a secret conversation. His name had been mentioned several times.

  He left his carbon-fiber sneakers in his room. His tiptoes were softened by a pair of ankle socks that left small slashes of sweat that looked like eyebrows on the imitation Diamond-Hard faux-wood flooring. Eli had hot feet, even when he slept. He had hot feet when he swam in EPCOT’s CommuniTree pool. He had hot feet when he got cold feet.

  He passed the kitchen pantry with its hammer-proof roller-door concealed in the ceiling. The door was built to keep valuables and people safe in the event of a hurricane, flood, or tornado. As it had turned out, not so long ago, the roller-door had also kept intruders at bay while the Whitmans’ house had been under attack.

  Closing in on the conversation between his mother and Aunt Jess, Eli headed into the kitchen to avoid being seen. He listened in as their whispering continued, his superior hearing allowing him to understand every word.

  “It’s because of the attraction’s success in Disney Hong Kong,” Aunt Jess said. “Must be.” Eli loved his aunt Jess. She was often quiet. Observant. And her heart was always in the right place.

  His mom said, “If those at the top of the company had ever met the Overtakers up close, as we have, they might feel differently about giving the villains their own Realms!”

  “Park guests love the Villains’ Realm. The company is just trying to please the guests.”

  “You’re certain?” his mother said.

  “No,” Aunt Jess admitted. “Not positive.”

  “All the parks?” Amanda complained.

  “Yes, each Disney park will now include a Villains’ Realm fortress and one of three new attractions themed to various villains. Construction is already under way. And the decision was only made last week, I’m told.”

  “That’s impossible. Such planning takes years, sometimes a decade or longer.” His mother sounded upset.

  “Clearly this was no ordinary decision,” Jess said.

  “This is no ordinary project,” said Eli’s mom.

  “I’ve heard something else,” Aunt Jess cautioned Eli’s mother. “The construction of the Villains’ Realm in Disneyland Paris is going at light speed. It’s as if thousands of workers are toiling day and night, when in fact it is just a regular crew of construction workers.”

  “A spell?” Eli’s mother asked. Her son felt a thrill, a chill of both terror and excitement. “Does the sped-up construction have to do with a spell being cast?”

  “You see, Mandy,” Jess said, using Amanda’s nickname, “this is why I love you so very much. Great minds think alike!” The two weren’t really sisters. Eli knew it. But don’t tell them that, he thought. They act like it!

  “I’ll speak with Finn,” his mother said. “He hears things none of the rest of us do.”

  “Perfect,” Aunt Jess said.

  “There’s something else bothering you, Jess.”

  “We do know each other, don’t we?” Eli could hear the smile in his aunt’s words. “Okay, it’s this: If the construction is being sped up, if it does involve dark magic, then what’s to say the decision to build the Realms in the first place wasn’t also the result of a spell? I mean, for months now the company has been against the building of any more Villains’ Realms. And yet here we are. No one saw this coming!”

  “The Overtakers,” his mom whispered. “You’re saying the new Realms are part of a bigger plan? A darker plan.”

  “I’m saying it’s possible,” Aunt Jess replied.

  “That would suggest the Overtakers have reorganized. That’s not possible, is it? We ended them.”

  “When it comes to the Overtakers,” Jess said, “I’m afraid anything is possible.”

  2

  SEVEN DAYS EARLIER

  THE MAN BEHIND THE WHEEL never knew what hit him. Neither did he have any idea what he was about to hit.

  It was early morni ng, October 5, 2040. The time of day when birds are chirping, palm fronds clapping, and the sky filled with hovercrafts. The man had only just finished his first cup of Synth-grown coffee. One hand on the wheel, he opened the navigation menu on his electric car and touched Office. He sat back. He preferred driving to taking his hovercraft. He was old-school that way.

  His second cup of coffee was in the self-heating thermos cup that was currently heading toward his lips. The garage opened. The steering wheel turned on its own. The car backed up and pointed toward the private gate. The gate opened automatically. The driverless car pulled out onto the street; his destination locked. The gate automatically closed.

  The car braked abruptly, the result of the autopilot system. A sensor alarm beeped for the driver to take the wheel. Drips of hot coffee sloshed onto the man’s trousers. He said a bad word quite loudly into the luxurious interior of the car.

  An approaching delivery truck swerved to miss his electric car.

  The man looked up to see what had forced his car to auto-stop. A woman in raggedy clothing pushed a three-wheel grocery cart with some difficulty. The cart was heaped with a moldy blanket and a clear plastic bag of empty soda cans. She was standing in the middle of the road.

  The man pushed a button to lower the window. “I’m sorry! I nearly hit you! Can I help you get to the sidewalk?”

  She turned toward him. Her facial skin was smooth and youthful. Her rag clothing made her appear much older. But she was ageless, really. She was probably pretty beneath the smudges of dirt on her cheeks and chin. She looked vaguely familiar to him, though he didn’t see how they might have met. Brown hair. Blue eyes. An upturned nose. She pushed the cart around the front of the electric car and pointed it toward the sidewalk.

  “I can manage,” she said.

  Even her voice sounded familiar.

  He nearly asked her if they knew each other. The way she moved and spoke felt surprisingly familiar.

  The man’s pregnant wife was inside the house dealing with their eighteen-month-old little boy, Walter Jr. Otherwise, the man might have asked his wife to come out and help this woman. He had four meetings in the next two hours. As chief executive officer of the Walt Disney Company he would be leading them all. He needed time to prepare. He hoped to get some soap and water onto his stained pants.

  Placing one hand on the wheel, as required, he reached to activate the auto-navigation for a second time in five minutes. But he didn’t touch the screen. His eyes had fallen to the necklace that swayed from the woman’s long neck. A coiled seashell hung by a leather string.

  He definitely knew the shell. And in that same instant, he knew the identity of the woman. Only she was not simply a woman. She was someone to steer clear of. Someone with a difficult history. Someone admired and feared. Someone dangerous.

  It was too late for him, for the woman began to sing. Such a lovely voice! He could listen to her for hours! It would be rude for him to close the car window, he thought. Not good manners at all.

  In fact, the voice was so perfect, clear, and inviting that he could think of nothing else. He focused fully on the lilt of the melody, the clarity of the delivery. Hers was a melody at once rich and haunting. Although a song he had never heard, it was indeed one he never would forget.

  Which was the point: It was not a simple song. It was a spell being cast.

  Nothing would change that fact. Nothing would change him. At least, not until and unless the spell could be broken.

  Two minutes later, the car drove off, the auto-pilot feature in control. Its driver looked dazed. His widening smile was that of a young child, like a little boy staring up into a star-filled sky for the very first time.

  * * *

  “Good morning, Walter,” the man’s assistant said, greeting him brightly. One of Walter’s three assistants, his job was to keep the CEO on schedule. Walter Wright’s more senior assistant made the schedule. The third assistant, a woman with a commanding voice and the demeanor of a military general, oversaw the other two.

  “Pants,” the senior woman said.

  “Oh, my goodness!” said the first assistant. “Walter, leave it to me. We will get you cleaned up, pressed, and creased prior to your nine o’clock. Lickety-split, I promise.”

  Mr. Wright entered his office, followed by the senior assistant, who closed the door. A shiny metal plaque alongside the door read:

  WALTER WRIGHT

  CHIEF EXECUTIVE OFFICER

  THE WALT DISNEY COMPANY

  “Change of schedule,” he directed the woman tending to him.

  “Yes. Of … course.” The woman spoke the words, but her voice rang with uncertainty. Her boss rarely changed his schedule. Certainly never so early in the workday.

  “Listen up,” Walter Wright said. Then he added, “Please,” though it did not sound sincere.

  Then everything about the day changed. And not for the better.

  For his first meeting of the day, Mr. Wright decided to meet with the worldwide head of parks, Lacey Parker, and the company’s chief Imagineer, Reina Shah. The sixth-floor conference room could hold twenty-four around its oval table. With just three at one end, it looked more like a surfboard, or a tongue depressor. Walter sat at the head of the table. For as sweet as Reina looked, she could be as stern as a fourth-grade teacher with a bad case of poison ivy. She directed the Department of Imagineering. Along with many other responsibilities, it was the Imagineers’ job to design and build all new Disney park attractions.

  Lacey, the head of parks, projected a different personality. One got the impression she went surfing or skateboarding when her workday was over.

  Lacey and Reina exchanged a concerned glance. Walter Wright did not look well. He did not look himself at all. As he spoke, this difference became more apparent: He sounded like a vacuum cleaner with a broken belt. He talked in a single note.

  “I have authorized Project Hades to begin immediately. All seven parks will commence construction of the Villains’ Realms beginning today.”

  “But, Walter,” Reina said, “you have been opposed to Hades. You have fought against any additional Villains’ Realms being built.”

  Lacey said, “Just last week you told us it was too risky to build any more Realms.”

  “Are you listening to me? Are either of you listening to me?”

  “Of course we are, Walter,” Reina said. “It is just such a contradiction. So different from your position only last week.”

  “Be that as it may, I am authorizing Project Hades to begin immediately. All seven parks. Construction begins today.” Walter Wright sounded robotic.

  “Just to be clear,” Lacey said, “once this order goes out, we will have a devil of a time taking it back. We will be spending a good deal of money on each and every Villains’ Realm. I take it that you are fully aware of both the expense and the commitment.”

  “I had a change of heart. I authorize Project Hades to begin immediately. All seven parks will commence construction beginning today.” His eyes focused down the table. He never once looked at either Lacey or Reina. That was not like him.

  “Are you sure you’re well?” Reina asked. “You sound as if you might not be feeling your best.”

  “You will build the Realms as quickly as possible. Spare no expense. Overtime. Materials sourcing. I will accept no excuses.”

  “But you do remember saying—” Reina had nearly completed her thought before being interrupted.

  “This meeting is over,” Walter Wright said in a grave whisper. “Now get out of this conference room!”

  3

  PRESENT DAY

  THE WOMAN LIFTED HER VEIL at the request of the potbellied prison guard.

  “Oh,” the guard said as she carefully held up the lace. Her face had either been through failed surgery, or she had been the victim of a fire. The skin around her left eye and cheek looked like an apple forgotten on the windowsill. “Phone and jewelry in the tray. You can get it back on the other side of the metal detector.”

  The woman had no phone. No jewelry. Had this or any of the guards been paying attention, it should have struck them as unusual. But the job of admitting visitors was monotonous. At the guard’s request, she removed a pair of black, long-sleeve calfskin gloves.

  The guard stared a little too long at her forearms and hands. They looked nothing like real skin. They’d been spray-painted or covered in makeup. They were the color of vomit after eating biscuits and gravy. It would have been rude to ask the woman about them. Twice, the guard started to say something. Then he waved her through.

 

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