CONTENTS

Oriceran

Dedication

Legal

Oriceran US Map

Oriceran Map

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Author Notes - Flint

Author Notes - Martha

Publisher Notes - Michael

Social Links

Martha Carr Series List

Other LMBPN Books

The Midwest Wanderer

Midwest Magic Chronicles Book 2

By Flint Maxwell and Martha Carr

A part of

The Revelations of Oriceran Universe

Written and Created

by Michael Anderle & Martha Carr

The Oriceran Universe

(and what happens within / characters / situations / worlds) are

Copyright (c) 2017 by Martha Carr and LMPBN Publishing.

DEDICATION

From Flint

For Amanda K. -- we miss you

From Martha

To everyone who still believes in magic and all the possibilities that holds.

To all the readers who make this entire ride so much fun.

And to all the dreamers just like me who create wonder, big and small, every day.

The Midwest Wanderer Team

JIT Beta Readers

Kelly ODonnell

Kimberly Boyer

Alex Wilson

Joshua Ahles

Sarah Weir

Micky Cocker

Paul Westman

If we missed anyone, please let us know!

Editor

Jen McDonnell

THE MIDWEST WANDERER (this book) is a work of fiction.

All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Sometimes both.

This book Copyright © 2017  Flint Maxwell and Martha Carr

Cover copyright © LMBPN Publishing

LMBPN Publishing supports the right to free expression and the value of copyright. The purpose of copyright is to encourage writers and artists to produce the creative works that enrich our culture.

The distribution of this book without permission is a theft of the author’s intellectual property. If you would like permission to use material from the book (other than for review purposes), please contact info@kurtherianbooks.com. Thank you for your support of the author’s rights.

LMBPN Publishing

PMB 196, 2540 South Maryland Pkwy

Las Vegas, NV 89109

First US edition, October 2017

The Oriceran (and what happens within / characters / situations / worlds) are Copyright (c) 2017 by Martha Carr and LMPBN Publishing.

Click to View Full Size Map

Click to View Full Size Map

CHAPTER ONE

Lightning flashed across the inky-black sky. The Gnome swore under his breath. He hated to get wet; it was the last thing he needed at that moment, but he was almost there.

Thunder rolled across the land, sending a jolt of vibration through his small frame.

Storms, he cursed. Can today get any worse?

The short answer was yes, it could.

The Gnome’s name was Gelbus Cogspark. He had once worked at the library in the Light Elves' castle, but he didn’t any longer. In fact, today was the one-month anniversary of Gelbus’s firing.

And Gelbus had to celebrate, didn’t he? Or at least drown his sorrows in pints of ale and sweet wine—if he was feeling particularly rowdy, he might down a shot of Firejuice. That would certainly take his mind off of his unemployment.

He passed a carriage on the road. A man sat behind the reins in a dark cloak.

Gelbus said, “Good day, friend,” tipping his top hat.

The man didn’t so much as reply with a head nod. There was something off about him, but Gelbus didn’t let it bother him.

The carriage rolled by, the horses’ feet clop-clopping. Inside the carriage were two women. One older, the other perhaps in her twentieth year—the man’s family, no doubt. They looked at Gelbus with cautious eyes.

“Well,” Gelbus mumbled once the carriage was a safe distance away. “Not the friendliest bunch, are they?”

He walked on, his small legs aching from the journey. What I wouldn’t give for a horse and carriage right now.

He reached inside his suit coat, pulled out a pocketwatch, and read the time. “Oh, no,” he sighed. He was going to be late.

He waddled on.

The sky grew darker and the thunder rumbled. The storm was getting closer.

As he breasted a hill, Gelbus saw the town sprawled before him. It was a dinky place flanked by a large lake; nothing like the Light Elves’ Kingdom, but it was where Elargo wanted to meet.

‘Ashbourne has the best brew in all of Oriceran,’ Elargo had said in the letter Gelbus kept folded up in his breast pocket; the letter given to him by that nice man in the tavern of Ves Ielan. As far as Gelbus was concerned, no storm or rude villagers could stand in his way of a good brew.

“That’s what got you in trouble in the first place,” Gelbus scolded himself under his breath. “That damn drinking problem.”

He smiled after the words left his lips. Didn’t his mother say that admitting you had a problem was the first step to overcoming it? Yes, he thought she did.

There we go, Gelbus. You’re on the right track, admitting you have a dratted drinking problem! That’s cause for a celebration. I think two drinks are in order!

But it was never just two drinks.

Gelbus would drown in his cups until his tongue was looser than a succubus on Earth. That’s what got him thrown out of the library in the Light Elves’ kingdom, what caused his wife to divorce him, and what caused him to get thrown out of the Abarract Club in his youth studies.

Gelbus didn’t have much to lose anymore, so what were a few a drinks with an old friend to him? A fun time, that’s what.

The lightning flashed again, and an instant later, he heard it strike the ground not too far away. He stopped.

“That was too close,” he muttered. “Maybe it’s a warning, an ill omen. Maybe you should turn around, Gelbus. Go home…or at least sleep the storm away in that little inn you saw back west.” Then he shook his head. “Oh, no, Gelbus. You are talking to yourself.”

He wished at that moment that the Gnomes of the library hadn’t taken his top hat away, the one with the flower. That damn thing had grown to be one of his closest companions, and now…it was gone.

The air was still for the moment, and Gelbus’s courage came back to him. That, and his mouth was dry; very dry indeed. Not to mention at that point in the Gnome’s life, he didn’t particularly have a home.

He walked on.

The thunder continued to rumble in the distance, the storm growing ever closer. Gelbus saw no one else on the road for the rest of his journey, and not long after the last stroke of lightning had sent his heart plummeting to the pit of his stomach, he reached the gates of Ashbourne.

He had never been here before—at least, he didn’t remember it, if he had. Much of the last month was quite a blur for Gelbus. There were a million small villages like Ashbourne all over Oriceran; a million places with a million pubs that Gelbus had drowned his sorrows in. So, yes, he might’ve been here before. Does it matter? No, because this time, I won’t be drowning my sorrows alone. I’ll be with Elargo; how nice that will be!

No one was manning the gates. Gelbus did the polite thing and knocked three times, waited, then knocked some more. Nobody came.

Fishy, he mused.

An odd choice of words.

Perhaps it was the fishy smell in the air from Ashbourne’s black lake; he might’ve once known this fact about the town, when he was at the height of his knowledge and keeping the secrets of the world safe and locked away, but the brew had since flooded away much of that knowledge.

Lightning struck again. This time he thought he heard something roaring in the distance, after the brightness left the sky.

Frightened, Gelbus jumped straight into the gate, knocking his shoulder against the iron. It creaked rustily and opened.

“Well, I suppose I should enter,” he considered quietly, and then raised his voice. “Since someone isn’t doing their job!”

What was that pub’s name? Gelbus tried to remember as he entered the town. The Dancing Daemon? The Diligent Direwolf? Something silly.

He reached into his breast pocket and pulled the letter out. The dark sky seemed to open up, and exposed one of the two moons of Oriceran, allowing Gelbus to read his friend’s handwriting by its pale light.

“The Pickled Pepper!” he shouted. “Such a silly name.”

A drop of rain landed on his nose. He wrinkled it while he stuffed the letter back into his pocket. Then he looked up, noticing for the first time how abandoned the town of Ashbourne looked.

Must be the storm, he thought.

But as he looked around at the buildings on either side of the long, dirt road, he saw no torches in their windows. All of them were shuttered and dark.

I have a bad feeling about this. I should go back.

Gelbus was never one to linger if he had a bad feeling. That was one of the many things he’d picked up during in his long life. If you have a bad feeling about something, don’t push that intuition away. Life is too short for that, he could hear his mother cawing in the back of his mind.

He turned around to head back out of the gate. The man he had passed on his wagon suddenly seemed like the nicest thing in the entire world. Maybe I can catch up to him and offer him payment for shelter—

“Where do you think you’re going, friend?” a voice said from his right. The voice did not sound friendly or welcoming.

His heart skipped a beat.

Did the man from the tavern set me up when he gave me Elargo’s letter?

He looked out of the corner of his eye and saw a hooded figure slinking in the dark shadows of the gate. The figure’s eyes glowed a fiery orange in the darkness, like the last dying embers of a great fire.

“Oh, I-I-I must be in the w-wrong town,” Gelbus stammered.

“Oh, I don’t think so,” the man purred.

That bad feeling was rampant in Gelbus’s head. He thought about running, and then remembered how small his legs were. He wouldn’t get three steps before this man was on him. Best not to do that, he decided. Best not to upset or offend this man.

But those eyes…

In all of his studies, all the countless hours spent in the Light Elves’ kingdom, he had never heard of such a thing—a man’s eyes glowing like fire.

He’d heard of red eyes, yes; those were eyes one wanted to stay away from. Those were the eyes belonging to the Arachnids of the Dark Forest—a place one also wanted to stay away from, though Gelbus would’ve rather been there at this moment. At least he’d studied the Dark Forest and knew what to expect.

Gelbus stood a little straighter and put on his most polite face, which, given his Gnome-like features—the long nose, ridged brow, and beady eyes—wasn’t too polite at all.

“Forgive me, sir,” he said, “I must be going now.”

The stranger chuckled and stepped out of the shadows. As Gelbus saw the man’s face for the first time, his fear gripped him, rooting him to the spot.

This man did not look like a man at all. His face reminded Gelbus of melted candle wax, the skin burned and folded over; He wondered if the man had been in a horrible accident.

Then the man smiled. His teeth were mostly gone, but the few that were left crowded each other and seemed to be sharpened to fine points—the type of teeth normally seen on monsters and beasts, not men.

“I don’t believe you’re going anywhere, my friend. You’ve stumbled into our territory. When you’re under our skies, you belong to us.”

“I believe there’s been a misunderstanding,” Gelbus began, twiddling his thumbs. “I’ve only come to Ashbourne to meet a friend. His name is Elargo; do you know him?”

The man didn’t answer. His face went blank, as if his brain was shorting out. Gelbus was finding it increasingly harder to look this man in the eyes.

Suddenly, the man shook uncontrollably. It seemed he did so out of excitement. “Elargo…” he mused. “Oh yes, I know him. He was quite tasty.”

“Tasty?” Gelbus echoed, breathless.

The man nodded. A forked tongue escaped his mouth and swiped his charred lips, making a sound like pieces of deadwood rubbing together.

“Yes, tasty. I wonder if you’ll be the same; though I’ve never had Gnome before.”

That was it. That was the last straw. Gelbus turned and ran through the gate. He got, much to his surprise, five short steps away, before the stranger’s rough hands grappled him around the shoulder and threw him to the ground.

The sky broke open, and the rain came down, stinging his eyes and flesh.

“No, no, my friend, you cannot run. Not anymore.”

The stranger fell on top of Gelbus.

Gelbus moaned as the wind was knocked out of him.

“Ooh, let’s see how tasty you are. Let’s see—”

“Hunter!” another voice bellowed, cutting him off.

Gelbus couldn’t see who it belonged to, but he heard heavy footsteps over the sound of the rain and the distant rumble of the thunder.

“What do you think you’re doing?” the voice prodded.

“I…uh…was…”

“You were breaking the rules, that’s what,” the other man supplied. “The locals aren’t meant for you.”

“But—”

“No buts about it. We follow the rules. Do you want to give up your eternity?”

The man-thing known as ‘Hunter’ got off of Gelbus. The Gnome sucked in a breath; sweet relief. Then the same rough hands yanked Gelbus up off the ground.

Gelbus saw the other man; the man who’d saved his life…for now. He had a serious face—none of the playfulness that was present on Hunter’s—and there was a sigil burned into his forehead. It looked to Gelbus like a dragon. Where have I seen that sigil before?

He couldn’t remember.

“Lock him up with the others,” the man ordered.

Disappointed, Hunter murmured, “Okay. No fun. No fun at all.”

“Please!” Gelbus shouted. “Please! This is all a big mistake!” But the other man ignored him and looked past the open gate, to where the black lake shimmered in the distance.

“Not much longer now,” the man estimated. “Not much longer at all.”

Gelbus was dragged through the streets. He bucked and kicked without much success. A Gnome’s physical prowess was not much compared to a man’s—a crazy man, at that.

“Where are you taking me? I demand you tell me!”

“Aw, don’t get your britches in a bunch, Gnome. I’m just following orders. Lucky Chrom came and saved yeh. I’m quite hungry. Like I said, never had Gnome before. Bet your reaaaal tasty.”

Fear changed to bewilderment. Humans eating Gnomes? Two moons, what has the world outside of the library come to?!

“Aw, it shan’t be long now,” the man known as Hunter continued. “The Dark One should be waking, as we speak. Then, my friend, all Hell is gonna break loose!” The man leaned back and cackled.

Gelbus tried his best to break free again, but was whacked across the back of the head. After that, much of the fight went out of him, and Hunter dragged him down the road as the storm pelted them and the thunder rolled.

***

Not far away, in the black depths of the lake, a great beast opened its eyes.

They were the same shade of fiery orange as the men who had taken the town of Ashbourne as their own.

CHAPTER TWO

Maria Apple hit the ground hard, landing on her knees.

Sherlock, her Bloodhound, was much too close for comfort.

“Ouch! Fuck, that hurt,” she yelled. Then she opened her eyes and saw just how close she was to Sherlock’s backside. “Ew, gross!”

Geesh, the least you can do is buy me a drink first, Sherlock said, the words telepathically beamed right into Maria’s head.

“Didn’t you just use that joke?”

I dunno. Doesn’t matter. It’s just as funny the twentieth time as it was the first!

Maria pulled herself up and dusted the dirt away from her jeans.

Ignatius Apple, formerly Ignatius Mangood, laughed. He was helping Claire up from the ground. Tabby, Maria’s other best friend, was already up, looking around the vast world they’d just portaled into, her eyes wide, her mouth hanging open.

“Yes, the first time going through a portal is often rough on the traveler,” Ignatius informed the girls. He looked Claire up and down with concern on his face. “Are you all right, my dear?”

“Besides, my broken coccyx, yeah, I guess, I am,” Claire answered.

Did she just say— Sherlock began, but Maria cut him off.

“Coccyx, Sherlock. It’s her tailbone. Get your mind out of the gutter.”

“Yes, we must all get our minds out of this proverbial gutter,” Ignatius declared. “For we are in dangerous territory.”

For the first time, Maria looked beyond her group, and the reality—or perhaps, unreality—of the situation hit her hard.

She was on another planet. She had just gone through a portal to another planet. A place where wizards and witches and so many other magical creatures and races existed, creatures and races she had always thought were make-believe, or just another part of her grandfather’s wild imagination.

But it wasn’t.

All of it was true.

If she’d had any doubt after slaying a humanoid spider, wielding a magical sword, or blowing up more than a few things with her magic, she didn’t any more, as she looked out among the vast expanse of strange land surrounding her and the rest of her tribe.

They had landed in a clearing of a dense forest. The trees towered over them, taller than any trees Maria had seen in Ohio; over these trees, looming and somewhat ominous in the night sky, were the peaks of mountains.

“Where are we?” Maria asked.

“We are home,” Ignatius said. He swept his hand out behind him toward the other end of the clearing.

“Home? I thought we were here to find a Gnome to tell us more about the world in between.”

Claire, awestruck, said, “Wow."

Sherlock, meanwhile, was having a blast sniffing around the edges of the clearing. Maria witnessed him lift his leg three times to mark his territory. She was surprised the dog had any urine left. He must have a reserve tank specifically meant for the marking of territories.

“We are, we are!” Ignatius assured her. “Though it will prove to be next to impossible. The Gnomes are secret keepers who'd die before they'd unlock the vault for us."

"What are our other options?" Maria asked. "We're desperate here."

"I know, I know, have no worries. We will figure it out. I just wanted you to get a look at Dominion. The place where you came from," Gramps said.

Maria’s heart thundered in her chest. She couldn’t say why, but she was scared. Home? How crazy this all is, she thought. I’ll never get used to any of it.

“Where is it?” she found herself asking.

“Through the trees,” Ignatius replied. “If the sun was out, you’d be able to see it. Well…what’s left of it.” He looked down at the ground, the smile quickly vanishing from his face.

Maria crossed over to him and put her hand on his arm. “It’s okay,” she soothed. “We will get them back.”

“I know we will,” Gramps nodded. “I know.”

“This sentimentality is great and all,” Tabby interrupted, “and I don’t mean to be rude, but can we maybe, possibly get out of this forest?”

Gramps smiled warmly. “You must’ve read my mind, Tabitha!”

Claire snickered. “ ‘Tabitha’.”

“Can it,” Tabby ordered.

“Come, come,” Gramps directed, “I shall be your tour guide today, but be wary; the closer we get to the Dark Forest, the closer we get to danger.”

Maria tapped the bottom of her sword’s hilt. “I’ve got this.”

Gramps smiled. “Now, Maria, don’t get cocky. You must remain humble.”

She nodded.

“And, Sherlock! Leave that poor Raffin alone!” Gramps boomed.

Sherlock jumped at the sound of his voice, and turned his head in their direction, his eyes catching a glint of moonlight from one of the two moons.

Two moons, Maria mused. How crazy.

All of it was crazy, though—she had at least accepted that.

“Come over here!” Gramps demanded.

His head down, eyes flickering up, Sherlock trotted over to the rest of them. Maria heard a squeaking coming from the spot Sherlock had just left, quickly followed by a rustling as the Raffin fled into the nearby brush.

“What is a Raffin?” Tabby asked. “Is it…dangerous?”

“Oh, heavens no!” Gramps said. “Well…erm, only if you don’t tickle their bellies or offer them food.”

I certainly wasn’t planning on tickling the little son of a bitch, Sherlock said. I was offering him to myself as food.

Maria glared at Sherlock, who flinched away from her death stare. “What did I say about eating things?”

You said don’t eat any Gnomes! A Raffin isn’t a Gnome!

“I said don’t pee on any Gnomes,” Maria corrected him.

So…I can eat them?

“NO!”

“Hush, now,” Gramps said. “There will be no eating of or peeing on any magical creatures.” He turned matter-of-factly and headed for the opposite side of the clearing. There was no way Gramps could've heard Sherlock's thoughts, only Maria could, but sometimes he was just good like that.

Claire shook her head. “I never thought we’d have to be reminded of that rule.” She gave an exasperated glance in Sherlock’s direction.

“Yeah,” Tabby agreed, “seems like something like that would be pretty self-explanatory.”

Maria walked past them, smiling. “With Sherlock, you never know,” she teased.

Sherlock looked up at Claire and Tabby and did his best to smile, which was pretty unsettling, as it looked a lot like he was baring his fangs at them.

They all followed Ignatius into the dense forest beyond.

Maria clutched the music box, which was inside her satchel, to her chest, and thought she felt an odd buzzing beneath the canvas material.

A warning…

***

They saw the village about five minutes later, though Maria wasn’t sure if five minutes had passed or five years. Time seemed to work differently on Oriceran.

Gramps stopped short on the edge of the forest. Maria stopped behind him, and not long after, the rest of the group stopped as well.

Gramps brought a hand up to his chest and moaned.

“Gramps?” Maria asked.

He moaned again.

Maria walked next to him and put her arm around his shoulders. “It’s all right,” she said softly.

But she knew it was far from all right; the village of Dominion, the place Ignatius Mangood had once fought for, was in ruins.

The gates were blackened, weathered by war and age. Buildings stood half-destroyed, the ground scorched. Maria thought she could still smell the fire.

I thought the Arachnids took it over? Sherlock asked, startling Maria. He put his head up into the air and sniffed deeply a few times. I don’t smell any of those freaks nearby.

Maria told Gramps what Sherlock had said.

Gramps nodded. “Typical of them.” He shook his head. “They take over a place, destroy it, and leave it to the weeds when it has served its purpose.”

Maria wasn’t surprised to see that Gramps had tears in his eyes.

Claire came up on Maria’s right. “You all right?” she asked Maria.

Maria nodded, but it was a lie. Seeing Gramps like that had shaken her. He was always so happy, and now he was broken-hearted; someone as wonderful as Ignatius Apple didn’t deserve that. Ever.

“Do you want to look around?” she asked Gramps.

“Oh…I don’t know.”

“It might help,” Maria offered, but then the thought of seeing the skeletons of the people he had lived amongst and protected crossed her mind, and she wasn’t so sure.

Gramps suddenly perked up. “You know, you’re right, Maria. It would do me good. And I’ve always wanted you to see the place where you came from.”

“Me too,” Maria answered. She returned his smile through her fresh doubts.

“We’re actually going in there?” Tabby shuddered.

“I’m with Tab on this one,” Claire agreed.

Likewise, Sherlock added. Never thought I’d agree with them…

“Oh, it will be fine; the Arachnids are gone. Besides, we have Maria Apple on our side,” Gramps said, still smiling.

Maria nodded and patted the hilt of the sheathed sword that hung on her hip.

“I won’t let anyone or anything mess with us,” she assured them.

“That’s my girl,” Gramps commended, then he muttered something under his breath, and sparks began to flicker off his fingers, lighting the dark path ahead of them.

“Great, now all the weird creatures are going to know where we are,” Tabby whispered.

Claire rolled her eyes.

Gramps, who was well ahead of the two girls, looked back and said, “Oh, believe me, they don’t need to see us. The really bad ones can smell us from a mile away!”

Claire was dumbstruck that Gramps had been able to hear them all the way back there. She looked at Maria, who just shrugged.

Tabby stopped and looked around. “Was that supposed to make me feel better?” she wanted to know.

They walked on, leaving her behind.

She heard something in the trees behind her—a snapping of twigs, a deep breathing, and something that sounded like a loon—and she took off running after the rest of the group.

***

They walked through the gates without a problem. The underlying smell of war and death was thick in the air, but they did their best to ignore it. Even Sherlock knew how deeply seeing his former home in ruins was affecting Gramps, and he kept his telepathic mouth shut.

As they got deeper into the village and Maria saw the destroyed buildings—which, had they been in better shape and been untouched by war, would’ve reminded her of townhouses in the better parts of Akron—Maria began to feel the same dread she’d felt when she saw the Silver Griffin change into Malakai outside of Salem’s Ice Cream. Not to mention the music box was practically vibrating its way out of her bag, as if it didn’t want to be here. She almost asked Gramps what that was about, but thought better of it.

Whatever it is, I can handle it.

Gramps stopped at a fork in the road. There was an upturned wagon on the right side of the fork; one wheel was leaning against the rubble of a large building, and another was in the overgrown brush to the left.

“There it is,” Gramps whispered to himself.

He was looking at the tallest building, the Royal Hall. It was the least ruined part of the entire village. For some reason, it gave Maria hope. Why? She already knew what had happened here, what had made Gramps flee to Earth.

“Wow,” Tabby breathed. “It’s beautiful.”

“Truly fit for a king and a queen,” Gramps remarked. Now his smile was genuine. “Ah, so many good memories there.” His features darkened. “And so many bad ones…”

Imagine how many chew toys I could fit in there! Sherlock yipped.

Maria chuckled. “A hell of a lot.”

“You must see it,” Gramps insisted to Maria. “You all must see it.”

“Do you think that’s safe?” Maria asked.

Tabby and Claire looked back and forth at each other, shifting on their heels.

Gramps pointed to Maria’s sword, reminding her of what she had said earlier.

“Right,” Maria recalled.

***

If Maria’s breath was taken when she first stepped into the world of Oriceran, it was nonexistent now that she was in the royal throne room of Dominion.

It was a vast place—the ceiling was so high up that it seemed there were dark clouds hanging above them. Two great pillars rose in the middle of the room, and a singed banner hung from one. The other pillar was bare, but Maria knew it had held its own banner many years ago—she had seen it in the vision that Duke, the dead boy, had shown her. The one remaining banner looked oddly like a domino. Maria thought about asking, but saw that Gramps was too emotionally drained to even talk. He walked slowly up the long, red carpet to the throne.

Sherlock was sniffing around. He hit a spot that caused him to turn his head.

“What?” Maria whispered.

Dead bodies were here, Sherlock answered.

Maria's heart sank. She knew of those dead bodies. One of them had been her father, the king. Claire must've noticed Maria's sullen look because she asked, “What is it?”

Tabby caught the tone of the conversation. “I don’t think I want to know,” she decided.

“You don’t,” Maria assured her.

At the end of the carpet, Gramps used what looked like a stand that had once held a torch to lower himself to the floor. He got on one knee and bowed his head. The room was huge, but very quiet; Gramps’s voice drifted back toward them.

“My king,” he whispered and clapped a fist to his heart.

He got up slowly.

Maria walked toward him. “This is where my father sat?”

Gramps nodded.

Maria looked over the throne. It was modest in comparison to the rest of the hall; just a chair, high-backed, with a plush seat of faded red. She then looked at the area in front of the throne. In Duke’s memory, Maria had seen the king splayed out on the floor, dead. Of course, she didn’t know that was her father, at the time.

At least the Arachnids had the good grace to dispose of the bodies, she thought bitterly. But a deeper, darker part of her mind knew they had probably not ‘disposed of’ the bodies; they had probably eaten them, bones and all. The thought was enough to make her stomach churn.

“I’ve never met a more honorable man,” Gramps was saying.

Sherlock suddenly bounded past them and jumped onto the throne; as his weight settled on the cushion, a puff of dust exploded from its sides.

“Down, Sherlock!” Gramps ordered.

The Bloodhound whined.

“The throne doesn’t belong to you, my canine friend.”

Maria raised her eyebrows at Sherlock, and he came down reluctantly.

Man, you guys never let me have any fun. First it was the Raffin, and now the throne…what’s next? I can’t even pee on a Gnome?

“No, you can’t!” Maria scolded.

“Why is Maria talking to herself?” Tabby asked. “Oh, right; I forgot she can talk to Sherlock. Wow, I’ll never get used to that.”

“Think about how I feel,” Maria told her.

“Could be worse,” Claire replied.

Maria nodded.

Once Sherlock moved out of the way, Maria followed in Gramps’s footsteps and got down on one knee, putting a clenched fist over her heart.

“For the king,” she said. My father.

Gramps looked at her, tears gleaming in his eyes, and smiled.

Claire and Tabby followed suit.

“Sherlock,” Maria said. “Sit.”

Sherlock rolled his droopy eyes, but he did what he was told, even moving his right front leg as far as he could to the left in an attempt to look like the rest of them. It wasn’t perfect, but it was good enough.

The tears in Gramps’s eyes spilled down his cheek. “I’m so lucky,” he said. “So lucky to have all of you in my life. Thank you. I needed this.”

Maria hugged him.

Claire and Tabby moved over and joined in on the hug. Even Sherlock barked and sniffed around their ankles. For a split second, Maria thought he was going to lift his leg. Thankfully, he didn’t; talk about ruining the moment. Instead, he weaseled his way into the middle of the group hug and barked until everyone reached down to pet him.

“Little attention whore,” Maria rolled her eyes.

I learned from the best, Sherlock answered with a wink.

They parted, and Gramps took a deep breath. “I think I’ve seen enough for now—”

The Bloodhound started to growl—a low rumbling that carried far in the great hall.

“What is it?” Maria asked.

“Oh, shit,” Tabby groaned. “I knew it. I knew I should’ve stayed home.”

“Quiet,” Claire hissed and nudged her. Gramps looked around the hall. The darkness was near complete in the corners; the only light coming from the window above them through which one of the moons shone.

Maria thought of the glowing red eyes of Malakai and the other Arachnids she had seen in Duke’s memory. She saw none of those eyes now, but that didn’t mean other creatures weren’t lurking in the shadows, waiting for them.

She gripped the hilt of her sword and pulled it free. She found that it was much easier to wield on Oriceran than it was on Earth. She also found that the strange buzzing coming from the music box was now thrumming through her entire body.

Magic, she thought. This is a magical world, and I’m a magical being.

It gave her confidence. She was ready to take on whatever Sherlock was sensing. His growling hadn’t stopped.

“I think it’s best we leave. I fear we have overstayed our welcome,” Gramps whispered.

Sherlock stopped growling long enough to say, You don’t say, old man.

“What is it?” Maria asked the Bloodhound. “What did you hear?”

But he didn’t have to answer, because suddenly, Maria heard it, too—the sound of many legs, clicking across the stone floor.

The sound of Arachnids.

***

Maria had never been one to run from confrontation, but with Tabby and Claire tagging along, it was the best option. She didn’t want her friends to get hurt because of her. They’d already come pretty close to it back at Salem’s Ice Cream, when they had run Malakai over with Claire’s car.

What if that hadn’t worked? What if Malakai had bounced right off of the Kia, and wound up killing Claire and Tabby? Maria wouldn’t have been able to live with herself.

She was beginning to regret bringing them along.

“Go,” she whispered, ushering Claire and Tabby out of the hall first. She held her sword and looked back toward the throne.

The Arachnids hadn’t appeared yet.

“Back the way we came,” Gramps ordered.

When they got outside, the light from the two moons seemed nonexistent, and the world was dark…too dark.

“Are they near?” Maria asked Sherlock, once they were safely between two ruined buildings. The shadows will hide us. We can wait the Arachnids out.

Sherlock stopped and sniffed the air. No, but that damn Raffin is. His droopy, red-rimmed eyes opened wider. He let out a soft growl and begged, Let me at ‘im.

“Not now, Sherlock,” Gramps hissed. He pulled a wand out of his long cloak. Maria looked at it, confused.

“What—where did you get that?” she asked him.

“Questions for another time,” he answered.

Claire and Tabby were huddled close to each other, leaning up against the ruined brick of the building on their left. Tabby gasped, the noise sharp enough to make Maria tense up and hold her sword tighter. Then her friend brought up a shaky finger and pointed out to the main road.

The Arachnids were coming straight for them.

Maria held up a hand, telling her comrades to stand their ground. No need for confrontation…yet.

“Man meat,” one of the Arachnids observed; he wore a robe. The creatures walked on their two legs, and as this one talked, he moved his remaining six arms, which extended from his torso in what resembled a windmill. “I smell man meat,” he said again. He tilted his head to the sky and inhaled deeply, much like Sherlock had done earlier.

Maria lunged forward, but Gramps caught her and held her back.

“You don’t smell nothing,” the other Arachnid argued. “No one would dare set foot in this place; they know it belongs to us.”

The second Arachnid was shorter and more stout. He reminded Maria of the bodybuilders she frequently saw at the gym when she went kickboxing.

“I know what I smell,” the robed one countered. “I smell man, and they are scared.”

Maria took a quick look at Tabby and Claire, confirming this. They were practically holding each other.

The end of Gramps’s wand lit up with a faint blue light, and Maria brought her sword up.

They won’t know about the music box, she reminded herself. They’re just grunts; they’ve probably never even met the Widow.

The Arachnids were now walking past the alley where Maria and her friends were hiding.

Gramps flattened himself against the brick, and the rest followed suit.

The two Arachnids passed, their footsteps fading.

“That was close,” Tabby breathed. “Thought I’d never have to see one of those freaks again. Geesh.”

“Least they didn’t look as bad as our old friend Malakai,” Claire shrugged. She brought a hand up to her chin, deep in thought. “You know what? I wonder if it’s too late to chase those bastards down and make them pay for my car.”

Tabby rolled her eyes.

Gramps brought a finger to his lips. The glowing light at the end of his wand dimmed.

They were in the clear.

“C’mon,” Gramps prodded. “We have a Gnome to find.”

Sherlock’s ears perked up at that; Maria couldn’t help but smile as she looked at them.

Her smile was short-lived, as Tabby let out a blood-curdling scream, and Sherlock began barking like he was rabid.

Maria was about to yell that their noise would blow their cover, but she saw it was too late.

The Arachnids had flanked them, and one of them had a clawed hand around Tabby.

Maria had to act fast if she wanted to help her friend. She whipped the sword up in a great arc.

“Let her go!” she boomed.

The Arachnid didn’t listen. His claws tightened around Tabby’s throat, and his fangs protruded from between his dark lips, dripping with venom and thick saliva.

He backed up, boasting to his companion, “I told you I sniffed man flesh. I told ya!”

The other Arachnid made a swipe for Claire, but Claire stumbled and landed on her bottom with a yelp. Sherlock was quick to jump in front of her and snap at the Arachnid’s reaching hand. His jaws clamped, making an audible click—one Maria never would have thought her lovable Bloodhound was capable of. He didn’t make contact with the giant spider, but he had scared him enough to make him withdraw his hand.

Gramps stood by, watching all of this with a patient eye. Maria wanted to shout at him to do something, but she was afraid to take her eyes off of Tabby and the Arachnid for too long.

“Help,” Tabby wheezed. The Arachnid had wrapped his whole arm around her neck. Maria could tell he was squeezing, because Tabby’s pale face began to turn a bright red.

He started to back out of the alleyway, still holding onto her friend.

“Come any closer, and I pop her head off,” the Arachnid warned.

Maria glanced at Gramps.

“Yeah!” the other Arachnid echoed. “Then we’ll eat her! Better yet, take a step forward, my dear. I’m hungry. Been too long since I’ve had man flesh.”

Tabby, struggling, choked out, “I’m…a… woman!”

Suddenly, she raised her right leg forward and kicked back with all the strength she had left in her body. Maria was not sure of the anatomy of an Arachnid, whether they possessed the same things between their legs as the men of Earth, but apparently Tabby was… Or Tabby just didn't give a fuck, and she was using whatever she could to secure her freedom, even if it meant a low blow.

The Arachnid screamed, throwing his head back, and his mouth opened into a large, black vortex of teeth. Saliva sprayed up into the dark air.

For good measure, Tabby kicked again; this time, the Arachnid dropped her and fell to his knees.

Claire pulled Tabby out of the alley, with Sherlock guarding them the whole way, teeth bared, growling low in the back of his throat.

Gramps and Maria stepped forward; Maria with her sword raised, and Gramps with his wand held as high as his heart, emitting a violent blue light.

“I suggest you run,” he said conversationally. “That is, if you want your lives spared.”

The other Arachnid scrambled toward his friend, who was still howling in pain, having been walloped in the family jewels.

Maria lunged forward, her sword high above her head.

The Arachnid still on his feet fell backward, sending up a cloud of dirt in his wake.

“Be gone!” Gramps yelled. “Crawl back to the hole you’ve come from.” His wand erupted in a flash of light, which he sent skyward. It painted the alley and Arachnids in blue fire, and Maria saw the fear written on their faces.

“This isn’t over,” the injured Arachnid screeched.

Gramps feigned an attack, thrusting his wand out in front of him. The Arachnid jumped backward, still holding the wounded area between his legs.

“That’s for me to decide,” Gramps bellowed. “Pray I don’t change my mind. For I am Ignatius Mangood, destroyer of worlds, slayer of daemons! I squash spiders with the heel of my boots!”

Once more, blue fire escaped Gramps’s wand, and the creatures knew their lives were in jeopardy. They wasted no more time in scrambling up and running into the darkness beyond.

Maria’s jaw hung open. Her grandfather never ceased to amaze her. She turned to him once they were in the clear.

“Where did that come from?” she asked, but she already knew the answer, having seen in Duke’s memory how powerful her grandfather could be. Not to mention how he held his own against the nightmare that was Malakai.

Gramps brushed his sleeves back and hid his wand up his right cuff. He grinned. “I still have a few tricks up here.”

Uh, good one, Sherlock interjected in her thoughts. Real funny and all, but we have a bit of a problem over here.

Maria snapped her head in Sherlock, Claire, and Tabby’s direction. Tabby was sitting in Claire’s lap on the ground. There was a deep red mark around her neck that was going a shade of purple, and she had tears in her eyes.

Maria rushed to her friend’s side. “I’m so sorry, Tab. Are you all right?”

“Do I look all right?” Tabby snapped.

The answer was ‘no,’ but Maria figured it was a question she wasn’t supposed to answer, so she didn’t.

“I want to go back home, Maria,” Tabby said quietly, so as not to offend Gramps. “I’m not cut out for magical worlds. I’m not a witch.”

Maria took Tabby’s hand. “No, but you’re brave. One of the bravest girls I know. I mean, you kicked a giant spider in the nuts. That’s saying something.”

Tabby let herself smile at that.

Claire even chuckled.

“Yeah, I guess I am—but I still want to go home, Maria. I’m sorry. I can scratch kicking a giant spider in the balls off my bucket list and live out the rest of my life knowing I’m a badass. What use will that be if I barely make it to my mid-twenties?”

Maria nodded and looked toward Gramps, who was slinking behind them, looking on with hurt in his eyes.

“Can we take Tabby home?” she asked.

Gramps nodded. “Of course.”

She looked back at Tabby. “Can’t persuade you to stay?”

Tabby shook her head.

She then looked at Claire. “What about you? Do you want to go back, too?”

Claire wouldn’t meet Maria’s eyes. “I…uh,” she hesitated as she looked at Tabby. “It’s nothing personal, but Tab is hurt, and I really didn’t think I was going to have to deal with another giant humanoid spider, you know?”

Maria nodded. Despite her obvious disappointment, she smiled at her two friends. It was her fault, after all, that Tabby was hurt, and that they were all in some foreign world where two moons hung above them, and spiders walked on two feet, craving human flesh.

“Come, come,” Gramps urged gently, walking over to Maria and putting his arm around her; Maria sheathed her sword to let him embrace her. “It won’t be long until the Arachnids come back with reinforcements,” he reminded her.

Claire shuddered. “Ugh, yeah, I’ll have one portal, please.”

“Your wish is my command, dear.” Gramps closed his eyes, and a peaceful calm came over his features. Then he began to sing in that sweet, high melodic tone that Maria first heard when she was a baby.

A portal opened in the middle of the street in which they stood. Maria could see the inside of Salem’s Ice Cream Shop; the checkered tile floors, the tables still pushed together where she had woken up from her run-in with Malakai. The window was fixed, and Salem was wiping down the front counter while opera music played loudly over the speakers.

“After you, Maria,” Gramps said, sweeping his arm toward the portal.

Maria helped Claire lift Tabby off the ground.

Wanna put her on my back? I can champion her like a medieval horse, Sherlock offered.

Maria snorted, causing Tabby to give her an odd, sideways look. “Did Sherlock just offer to give me a ride?”

“Did you hear him?” Maria asked.

Tabby shook her head. “No, I can just tell by the way he looked at me. Tell him I said thanks for the offer, but I’m okay. I’ll survive.”

Duh, I can hear you, Sherlock reminded Tabby.

Maria chose not to interpret that bit for her friend, instead saying, “He said you’re welcome.”

That’s not what I said at all!

Maria glared at him, and he quickly shut his mental mouth.

With one arm around Claire and the other around Maria, Tabby hobbled toward the portal. Gramps continued singing.

They all went through to the other side.

CHAPTER THREE

“Ow, ow, ow!” Tabby cried.

The landing was not the smoothest. Salem’s floor was slippery, and when they took their first step onto the tile, they went sliding headlong into the pushed-together tables. Somewhere a record scratched, and the opera music cut out.

“My floor!” Salem shouted. He came out from behind his desk and pointed at a fresh scuffmark from one of the girls’ sneakers. “I just mopped it all up!”

“Your floor?” Claire echoed incredulously. “What about us?”

Luckily for Tabby, Claire and Maria had broken her fall. Sherlock slid into one of the trashcans, his backside in the air, and garbage spilled out all over him; sticky napkins and empty ice cream containers. Sherlock’s tail wagged furiously—he was in heaven.

“And look at that mess!” Salem continued. “It looks worse than after the battle.”

Agnes came out of the backroom with a smile on her face. “Oh, be quiet, you old hermit. At least we don’t have to clean up any more blood.”

Maria looked around. She’d rocked her head pretty hard, but Agnes was right…there was no blood—only budding bruises.

Gramps stepped through the portal just as it closed. He didn’t slip or slide or fall; he came out as coolly and calmly as ever, looking like Clint Eastwood in a Western movie—the only difference being the use of wands instead of six-shooters.

“Yeah, we’ll have to work on our landings,” Gramps agreed. “One day, you may even become as cool as I am.”

Claire rubbed her head. “Yeah, I bet you walk away from explosions like James Bond or something.”

“I’ll have you know,” Gramps insisted, raising a hand, “I’ve not exploded something in a long while.”

“Can’t say I haven’t,” Maria mused. She looked at Tabby, who was getting up on her own. Her neck was now swollen and bruised. Small pokers from the Arachnid’s arms had stuck her in a jagged semicircle, leaving welled dots of blood. “Come on, Tab, let’s get you to a hospital.”

“Hospital?” Tabby replied, exasperated. “Seriously? What the hell am I going to tell my mom and dad? ‘Hey Mom, I didn’t make dinner tonight because I was too busy getting choked out by a giant spider that wanted to eat my flesh. Oh, and Dad, don’t worry, I’m not on drugs. I promise. Remember when I took that pledge to stay alcohol, drug, and tobacco free in middle school? Well, I’ve held true to my promise and I’m as clean as a whistle… all this crap you think I’m hallucinating isn’t a hallucination, I swear!’ Yeah, that’ll go over real smooth with the ‘rents.”

Claire snickered. “They definitely know you’re not alcohol-free. Remember what you did two weekends ago?”

“What did you do?” Maria asked. She saw Tabby’s face go red. “What, c’mon, I thought you told me everything, Tab!”

“Apparently not,” Claire said.

“How come Claire knows? Not fair.”

“Only reason Claire knows is because she was tasked with the unfortunate job of picking me up, since she was just leaving the mall,” Tabby answered.

“Spill it,” Maria said.

Even Agnes, Salem, and Gramps were waiting for the story. Sherlock, on the other hand, was too busy licking the floor near the trashcan, mumbling something about the taste of vanilla ice cream and lemon cleaning product.

“Fine, but you all have to promise not to laugh,” Tabby said.

Salem raised his right hand, a smile on his face. “I promise not to laugh too hard.”

Tabby glared at him. “Fair enough,” she said after a moment’s silence. “I was at a frat party—I know, I hate those things, but one of my sorority sisters dragged me along and I technically had to go. Anyway, they were passing around this two liter of Dr. Pepper, and stupid me didn’t realize it was probably spiked. Sure enough, I took a swig and everyone starts chanting, ‘Chug, chug, chug!’ and I love Dr. Pepper, you all know that. Honest to God, it tasted just like Dr. Pepper, too. No booze at all. I drained about half the bottle and suddenly all the people at the party were coming up to me and patting me on the back, telling me how good of a job I did. Then some were asking me if I was feeling funny, but—stupid me—I just nodded and said that I felt perfectly fine. Then…BOOM! It hit me. The room started spinning, I couldn’t understand any of the lyrics in the songs that were playing, and I was in the middle of the dance floor doing the chicken dance, despite that not even being close to what was playing over the speakers.”

“Well, that doesn’t sound too bad,” Agnes said. She brushed her wild gray hair out of her face. “Sounds like you just had a good time with a little alcohol. Pretty normal for a young woman your age.”

“Oh, it’s gets worse.”

Claire had to cover her face to mask her laughter.

“I started making out with a scarecrow, you know, like one of those Halloween decorations,” Tabby continues. The ice cream shop got very quiet.

“Like a real scarecrow?” Maria asked, trying to hold back laughter.

Tabby nodded slowly. "Is there such a thing as a fake one? Connie Boardman got it on video tape…"

“How did that happen?” Salem said. “You poor girl.”

“Simple answer: alcohol…and the fact that I apparently have a thing for scarecrows."

That did it. No one could hold back their laughter. They all erupted. Sherlock even joined in, tearing himself away from licking the garbage can and the floor long enough to chortle inside of Maria’s head.

“Yeah, yeah, laugh it up. I’m never touching booze again,” Tabby said.

“You should take that story to all the high school health classes around the country. It would be a major deterrent to drinking,” Maria said.

“That’s what I said!” Claire added. “But could you imagine a bunch of high schoolers listening to that? They’d laugh harder than we did.”

Maria nodded. “Yeah, maybe scratch that idea, Tab. But seriously, we need to get you to a hospital.”

“Can’t you just magic my pain away?” she asked.

Salem chuckled. “I might have some Percocet back in the office from when I got my hip surgery.”

“Drugs, Salem,” Agnes said. “Drugs.”

“Right.”

“I’ll be fine. It’s not too bad,” Tabby said, rubbing the wound. “I’ll just tell my mom I fell or something.”

Yeah, like she’ll believe that,” Claire said. “Your mom’s never believed anything. Come on, I’m driving you to the hospital,” Claire put her foot down and then placed her hands on her hips. There was no denying Claire when she was like that.

“Fine,” Tabby finally said, sighing. “But don’t mention anything about the huge spiders. I don’t want to end up in the psych ward like my cousin in New Mexico.”

“You have a cousin in the psych ward?” Maria asked.

“Long story,” Tabby replied.

Maria nodded. “I see. Right, let’s go to the hospital.”

“Uh-uh, girlfriend,” Claire said. “You got worlds to save. Go find that Gnome and make him spill the beans.”

Did someone say ‘beans’? Sherlock asked, his head up and eyes wide.

“No beans for you, Sherlock,” Maria said.

Aww.

“We’ll be fine,” Claire continued. “If we get into any trouble, I always have my Kia to run things over with.”

This got a laugh from the crowd at Salem’s. Maria found herself wondering where the Muffler twins were.

Just as Claire and Tabby were heading out the door, Maria looked up and saw someone walking down the sidewalk, on the shop’s side. Her heart skipped a beat. Who would be walking down the street at this ungodly hour? It could only be an undesirable, she knew that for sure. Maybe a servant of the Arachnids somehow notified by the ones that got away in Oriceran? She rested her hand on the hilt of her sword, preparing for another fight.

Gramps saw her, then saw where she was looking through the now-fixed show window, and shook his head. She saw it, and let her hand drop away from the sword. Why? she was about to ask, but then the figure walked under a streetlamp, and that tall, muscular body was unmistakable.

“Joe?” Maria said, her voice breaking. This is crazy. How did he know I would be here? I’m not supposed to be here. I’m supposed to be in Oriceran, finding a Gnome and uncovering the secrets to the world in between so I can save the lost villagers—the lost villagers that are, in some way, my family.

Joe saw her through the plate-glass window. He was holding something in his hand, but Maria couldn’t make it out. Now everyone turned to see what Maria was looking at.

“Oh, no,” Salem sighed. “Gonna have to tell the poor chap that we’re closed. Doesn’t he know what time it is?”

“That’s not a customer,” Claire said, “though he is looking for something sweet.” She winked in Maria’s direction. Maria did her best to ignore it.

She ran out the front door, causing the bell to chime above her.

“Joe!” she said.

“There you are! I looked everywhere for you. I was…kind of worried. I know, I know, that sounds creepy; I stopped by your house because you forgot this at the mall and I figured you wouldn’t be coming back, with what happened with Ted and all…”

He pulled a change purse from his pocket. It had an Aztec design on it. Yep, that’s mine, all right. Joe was right, too—she would’ve never gone back to the Popcorn Palace to get it, mostly because it was just a change purse, and it only had about fifty-eight cents in it.

“Thank you,” Maria said, taking the purse back. “I suppose a tip is in order?” Her tone was playful enough, but Joe hadn’t caught it. He looked at her confusedly.

“Just joking,” Maria said. She shook the purse. The coins jingled. “Not much in there for a tip.” She gave him a weak smile. God, I’m ruining it. He’s obviously just looking for an excuse to see me, and here I am, twirling my thumbs like a nervous kid at the doctor’s office.

“Yeah,” Joe said. He scratched the back of his neck. “Well, like I said, I went to your house and all the lights were on, so I knocked, and no one answered and the dog didn’t bark… It worried me a little. I’m a security guard, after all.”

Maria found herself smiling dumbly. She knew if she looked in the mirror, she would’ve really regretted the face she was making.

“Thank you, Joe, that’s really nice. Not many guys are as chivalrous as you.”

Inside of her head, she could imagine the reaction Claire and Tabby would give when she finally told them about this conversation. ‘Chivalrous? More like creepy…’

“So, um, what are you guys up to at an ice cream place this late?” He looked at his wristwatch, the numbers glowing neon green. They said 2:08 a.m., and Maria quickly realized she’d only been in Oriceran for a matter of minutes before she came back to Earth. Funny how time works there.

Joe looked over to the left at the plate-glass show window and did a double-take.

Oh, no. Maria’s neck creaked as she swiveled her head to look.

Sure enough, the whole crew inside of Salem’s was watching her talk to Joe—even Sherlock, which was a miracle, since she hadn’t thought anything could tear him away from the prospect of food and garbage; the best of both worlds. Claire and Tabby each wore a sly smile on their face; Gramps looked on proudly, but with a hint of animosity—Maria was, after all, his little girl, no matter how old she was; Agnes and Salem had their arms around each other, and she could’ve sworn she heard Salem say, ‘Ah, young love’ through the glass; lastly, Sherlock had his nose pressed up against the glass, and each time he breathed, a little cloud of fog obscured his face.

“Yeah, just ignore them,” Maria said, chuckling awkwardly. “We can go somewhere a bit more private.” She pointed down the sidewalk, out of the light from the streetlamp. “Like over there?”

Joe nodded, a look of amusement on his face. He still held something behind his back; Maria was dying to know what it was.

Joe began to stammer. “I-I…uh, I wanted to ask you a question…” he said.

Faintly, Maria heard Sherlock’s voice in her head. He’s going to ask why you have a sword hanging around your waist and an Indiana Jones satchel over your shoulders. Probably just one of a million questions he has for you.

The words ‘Shut up’ were on her lips, but that would just make her look crazy. Still, it was good to know she could hear Sherlock even if he was inside. The telepathic effect was very much the same as talking; just as someone who was farther away would sound faded, Sherlock sounded faint in her head.

“You can ask me anything,” Maria said.

“I would’ve asked you through text message, but you weren’t responding, so I did the craziest thing I think I’ve done since smartphones came out.”

“What’s that?”

“Well, I called you,” Joe said, grinning. Maria returned the smile. “And when I got an automatic message saying your line was disconnected, I worried.” He scratched the back of his neck again. Maria was quickly realizing this was one of his tells.

Let’s hope he doesn’t ever play poker, Sherlock said, practically reading Maria’s mind.

“I’ll be honest with you, Maria. I know I might be coming off as a little bit creepy—”

“No, not at all,” she cut him off. “I think it’s…” She blushed. “Sweet. It’s sweet.”

Joe perked up, that familiar, wonderful grin on his face. “You mean it?”

Maria nodded.

“Well, okay, that’s great!”

Then he pulled out what he was hiding from behind his back—it was a bouquet of roses. Red and white and pink. Maria gasped. The smile she was wearing melted away, and her lip started to quiver.

Don’t cry, Maria. Don’t you cry, dammit. Be strong.

But that was easier said than done. No guy had ever given her roses before. Even in high school, where she wasn’t the most popular of girls, she’d had a few male suitors—but those guys usually just tried to get her to come over to their house when their parents weren’t home, or offered to take her out to the gorge, which was make out central. Gramps had given her flowers on the day she graduated from middle school, but they weren’t roses; they were called monkey-face orchids. Though they were cool as hell—the flower actually looked like a monkey’s face—and she appreciated them, it just wasn’t the same as getting flowers from a guy she’d had a crush on for such a long time.

She turned her head away and wiped the moisture from her eyes.

Joe caught on to what she was really doing and began stammering again. “I’m-I’m sor—I didn’t mean to—”

“No, don’t be sorry,” Maria said, looking up at him. “They’re beautiful.”

“Really?”

She didn’t answer with words. Instead, with the bouquet in her hands, she took two steps toward Joe and hugged him. He smelled like cologne and manly deodorant. He didn’t hug back at first, standing rigid, but after a few seconds, she felt his body relax, and he wrapped his arms around her. Kissing him then and there crossed her mind, but she didn’t because of her current audience. She could only take so many jokes from Sherlock before she snapped, after all.

Then Sherlock spoke inside of her head: Oooh, Maria and Joey sitting in a tree—

Luckily, Joe talked, causing Maria not to focus on the Bloodhound’s quips.

“Uh, Maria, your—I never thought I’d say this to you, but…your sword is poking my ribs.”

As much as she didn’t want to let go, she quickly did. “I’m sorry,” she said.

He chuckled nervously. “It’s all right. I was going to ask about that anyway…”

Maria shook her head. “Long story.”

“Well, maybe you’d like to tell me all about it over dinner or something?” Joe replied.

“No, I don’t think I can tell you—wait, what?” The blood pumping through Maria’s veins halted, yet she could still hear her heart thundering in her chest.

“A date,” Joe said. “Like you, me, and maybe Applebee’s or Olive Garden…”

Right at that moment, Maria would’ve gone anywhere with Joe on their first date, even the heart of the Arachnids’ web in the depths of the Dark Forest, but she was finding it hard to speak. The words would come halfway up her throat and get lodged there. Now she was the one stammering.

“Y-Y-Ye,” she went on.

Suddenly, the audience thought it was the perfect time to participate.

In unison, Claire, Tabby, Agnes, Salem, and Gramps screamed, “YES!” It was loud enough to crack the plate-glass, but , of course it didn’t. Sherlock added his own YES in there, too, but it just bounced around Maria’s head.

“Yes?” Joe was saying.

Still speechless, she nodded vigorously.

“Wow! Okay, how about tomorrow night?”

Maria found her voice. “That sounds great.”

Now it was Joe’s turn to blush; his face went beet red. “Okay, I’ll, uh, pick you up tomorrow night, say seven?”

“Yes, that’s perfect,” she said.

Their eyes met, and an undeniable spark passed between them.

“Okay, I’ll be there.” He paused. “I’d better get going. My dad is going to wonder where the heck I’m at.”

“See ya,” Maria said. Then, because it seemed like a good idea at the time, she added, “I won’t wear the sword, I promise.”

He was already a few steps away, walking back in the direction he’d come, but he looked back and smiled. “You can if you want. It’ll stop muggers.” The grin grew wider. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Maria…or technically tonight.”

He left.

Maria turned back toward Salem’s shop, and all  her friends’ faces were still pressed up against the glass. Claire was even making a kissy face and laying a wet one on the window. Maria just shook her head and went inside.

“And so it begins,” Claire said. She put her hand to her ear. “Do you hear that?”

“What?” Tabby answered. This was obviously a practiced skit.

“Wedding bells.”

Joey and Maria sitting in a tree F-U-C— Sherlock began.

Maria scowled at him. “Not now, buddy. Not unless you want to get put on that vegan diet.

That shut him up quick enough.

Gramps spoke next. “How sweet.” He wiped a tear away from the corner of his eye. “My little Maria is all grown up, set to go out on a date. When is it, my dear?”

Then it hit her in a big rush of guilt. How could I have been so dense?

“Oh no,” she murmured.

“What is it?” Gramps asked.

“I told Joe I’d go out with him tonight at seven.”

Gramps smile disappeared, his brow furrowing. “But the quest!”

“I know, I know. I’ll have to break it off with him.”

“No, you can’t,” Gramps said. “I’m sorry. You’re right. You are a young woman, and young women need their social lives. It’s quite unfair of me to take that away from you. Come with me to Oriceran while you can, and I will handle the rest. Our quest will prove to be long and arduous, so detours along the way are only natural.”

Her heart swelling, Maria stepped forward and hugged her grandfather tight. He let out a dusty wheeze.

“Thank you,” she said. “Thank you so much. I promise that we will still save them. I won’t give up as long as I’m alive.”

His kind eyes found hers.

“I know you won’t, Maria. I know.”

***

Salem offered them all ice cream, and the group couldn’t resist. They drowned in buckeye, vanilla, chocolate swirl, cheesecake fudge, and lemon-flavored frozen delight. This would prove to be the most delicious—but far from the most fun—detour on their quest.

They really should get a dead squirrel flavor on their menu, Sherlock told Maria.

“Yeah, I’ll let Salem know,” she replied as Salem was in the back digging out more ice cream from the freezers.

When their stomachs were full and the corners of their mouths were sticky, Claire leaned forward with her hands on her stomach. “Tab and I had better get to the hospital before her neck swells up any more.” Her hand came up to cover her mouth as she leaned closer to Maria, Salem, and Agnes. “I mean, Tabby looks enough like a bullfrog as it is.” she whispered loudly.

“Hey, I heard that,” Tabby said.

Claire winked at the rest of them, a sly smile on her face. "Only kidding. You're beautiful, Tab."

They got up and left the ice cream shop, taking Claire’s beat-up Kia; its one good headlight swept across the dark pavement of Main Street.

Gramps looked at Maria and Sherlock. “Are you two ready? Oriceran awaits…again.”

As long as there are no more Arachnids to deal with, Sherlock said. More Raffins, less giant spiders.

Maria nodded. Her head was elsewhere, though; she was thinking about Joe and his broad shoulders. Seeing him in street clothes instead of his security uniform was almost unheard of, but tonight, Maria had; later, around seven, she would see him again. And maybe again after that. It was almost too good to be true.

“All right, let’s open up the portal,” Gramps said.

“Oh, Ig,” Salem spoke, stepping forward. “I meant to discuss something with you.” Salem’s tone was that of a worried parent, and it got Maria’s attention..

“Yes, Salem?”

“The Silver Griffins will no doubt be on our case,” Salem answered.

“Already?” Maria asked.

“Yes, they work fast. They will want to know what a creature from Oriceran was doing out in the open, and why a witch took it upon herself to slay it.”

“That should be pretty self-explanatory—” Maria started.

Gramps raised a hand. “Easy, child. The Silver Griffins are only doing their jobs. They are not here, yet; before then, Maria, we must find a Gnome to help guide us.”

“So if they send an agent?” Salem asked Gramps.

“Tell them to wait for me. I won’t be long, and this won’t be the first time I’ll have smooth-talked my way out of Griffin trouble,” Gramps answered confidently. He looked from Salem to Agnes. “A little nudge?”

The couple nodded.

The circle was formed again, and they began to hum in the same tone as before. This time, Maria found she was able to sing along. The witch gig was getting easier for her. Her skin glowed blue, and she closed her eyes. Before she knew it, the portal was open, and she saw a vast expanse of land. Far off in the distance were mountains, standing tall in a dark haze.

Oriceran, Maria took a moment to appreciate it. My new home away from home.

She turned to Gramps, her head cocked. “What is that? Why is the portal opening on an empty field?”

Gramps smirked. “That is much more than an empty field, Maria. It is a kingdom!”

“A kingdom?”

Agnes and Salem were watching her with smiles on their faces.

“You may be strong, Maria,” Salem was saying, his hair blowing wildly from the wind that escaped the opened portal. “But there is much for you to learn.”

“Come,” Gramps said. He took Maria’s hand. “You, too, Sherlock!”

The Bloodhound didn’t look too happy about being torn away from his floor licking. On more than a few occasions, Maria thought that the Health Department would close Salem’s Ice Cream down if they saw Sherlock drooling all over the tile.

Maria reached down and scratched Sherlock behind his floppy ears. “Ready?” she asked the dog.

Do you want the truth?

“Is it about Gnomes?”

Sherlock did the canine equivalent to a shrug, which was quirking his head in one direction.

“Then no, I don’t want the truth.”

“Enough banter. Time is short if we want to get you back for your big date,” Gramps said.

Heat rose to Maria’s cheeks. The date. Right. I almost forgot. A portal opening up in the middle of an ice cream store does that to a person.

Suddenly, nerves overtook her. When it came to slaying giant spiders or traversing strange planets, Maria didn’t bat an eye—but dating the guy she’d been hung up on for the past God-knew-how-long? Whew, boy. Her palms were getting clammy.

Enough feeling nervous, she decided. Only wusses get nervous.

Tightening her grip on her satchel, which contained the music box, she plunged through the portal first, not even bothering to close her eyes.

***

Lois sat in a chair that was not as comfortable as she would’ve thought, from the looks of it. Her government-issued wand in hand, she made Tic-Tacs dance on the desk in front of her. The television screen behind her was blank of any shows…unfortunately. There was nothing she wanted to watch.

Dancing Tic-Tacs it is.

The door opened, and in came Patsy with a Hot Pocket. It was pizza-flavored; Lois could smell it.

“You’d think they’d give us more comfortable chairs since the promotion,” Lois grumbled, squirming in her chair.

“What did Mick say? ‘You can’t always get what you want?’ Yeah, that’s it,” Patsy answered. She winced. “Ooh, hot!”

“If the Stones were to remake that song, they’d change the lyrics to ‘You can’t always eat a hot Hot Pocket.”

“Clever.”

“I thought so.”

Patsy walked up to the desk and saw the dancing Tic-Tacs. “I guess this is where being patient gets you.”

“No, this is where being bored gets you. Big difference. Earl taught me this one. Watch.”

The Tic-Tacs suddenly stacked atop one another, stretching about two feet up in the air. One by one, the top breath mint jumped into the open plastic box until only two were left. These two landed on Patsy’s plate.

Lois pushed her glasses up the bridge of her nose. “You might need these after you eat that Hot Pocket,” she said with a smirk.

Patsy smiled. “Thank you! You read my mind.”

“Not part of my magic skill set.” Lois winked.

The phone rang, and Patsy scrambled to the old handset next to one of the computers and picked it up. “Paranormal Detective Agency, this is Patsy speaking. How may we assist you? Hello? Hello?”

Lois pulled her cell phone out of her pocket, still ringing, and shook it at Patsy.

‘Whoops,’ Patsy mouthed.

Lois answered the phone in a friendly voice, “Not you again.”

“Yep, it’s me.”

It was Lacey Trader, head of the Silver Griffins.

“I’m not in trouble, am I?” Lois asked.

Patsy hung on to Lois’s every word, curious who would be calling Lois on her cell phone during her shift. She was almost certain it wasn’t Earl.

“Listen, Lois, I don’t have time to joke around,” Lacey began.

“No, you’re not one for doing that, are you?”

“Something big has happened.”

“Enlighten me. My worldview on what’s big and small in the magical world is a bit skewed these days, since that nasty business with the necklace.”

For a moment, Lacey didn’t say anything.

Uh-oh, this must be big, Lois thought. “What’s going on? What’s big?”

She sounded serious, which worried Patsy, her eyes wide.

“We don’t know all of the facts yet, but there’s been a big magical battle in Ohio.”

“The Silver Griffins don’t know all the facts yet? Hmm, that’s a first.”

“That’s where you come in,” Lacey said, unamused. “I need you to check it out for us.”

“I’m not a Silver Griffin anymore.”

“Once a Silver Griffin, always a Silver Griffin.”

“So they keep sayin’.”

“It may be nothing. There was an Arachnid sighting that most people are writing off as a hoax. The battle happened in the wee hours of the night, so there weren’t many eyewitnesses.”

“All it takes is one smart phone,” Lois said.

“Exactly.”

"I don't know… I hate leaving town."

"Please, Lois? I'd do it myself, but we're swamped."

Lois weighed that comment for a moment, then shook her head. If there was any way to get her to travel.

“Oh, all right, Lacey. I’ll look into it. Where in Ohio?”

“Akron.”

A smile broke out on Lois’s face. “Akron? Haven’t been there in awhile.” She was wondering if an old Wizard friend of hers still lived there, when Lacey interrupted her thoughts.

“Ignatius Mangood is the one you want to seek.”

“Ignatius! Why didn’t you lead with that, Lacey? I haven’t talked to him in…God, way too long. Ah, him and Salem and Agnes. Good people.” Lois smiled broadly.

“Good, you know them. We’ve had some unwanted magical activity up there lately; two Silver Griffins went missing, presumed dead.”

Her smile faded.

“Oh, no, this is serious.”

Patsy tugged on Lois’s sleeve, mouthing, ‘What? What?’ Lois had to swivel away in her chair to get Patsy to quit bugging her.

“We think the threat has been eradicated, but we need confirmation; we need to get to the bottom of it before things get too out of hand,” Lacey said. “Find Ignatius Mangood. If you can’t, then find Salem; he’ll know where Ignatius is. The two are practically inseparable, according to our files.”

Lacey knows her stuff, Lois thought approvingly. Except for one thing…

“Ignatius goes by ‘Ignatius Apple,’ now.”

Lacey's chuckle lacked humor. “I’ll mark that down. Just do some investigating for us, Lois. Please. We’ll owe you one.”

“Yes, you will. It’ll be good to catch up with old friends, but, just so you know, when you first said Ohio, I was thinking ‘that’s a big N-O from me.’ No one wants to go to Ohio.”

“It’s nice this time of year,” Lacey replied. “It’s the winters you want to avoid.”

“Good point. All right, Lacey, I’ll look into it.”

“Thank you, Lois. Add it to everything else we already owe you. Take care.”

She hung up.

“What was that?” Patsy demanded.

“Silver Griffins want me to go check out a disturbance in Ohio.”

“Ohio? What about the Paranormal Detective Agency?”

“Things have been slow since that business with Rhazdon; you’ll be able to handle it until I get back.”

Patsy sighed. “I’m going to be so bored.”

“At least you don’t have to go to Ohio.” Lois gave her a wink.

“When will you be back?”

“Hopefully soon, if it’s not as big as Lacey thinks. We’ll see.” Lois got up, readjusting her glasses. “Now I have to go tell Earl. That should be fun.”

“Good luck,” Patsy said as Lois walked out.

I hope I won’t need it, Lois thought.

CHAPTER FOUR

Arachnids were not supposed to know fear, but the two that had barely escaped the wrath of Ignatius Mangood were scared beyond belief.

The robed Arachnid’s name was Palentar, and his friend—whose short and stocky physique kept him out of battle and in the blacksmith’s forge—was named Queret. These Arachnids were afraid because they had to report their findings in the ruined village of Dominion.

Rumblings around the village of Dominion were slim to none., and they had been tasked with surveying the border; the instructions handed to them by the Widow’s second-in-command himself. They had never met the Widow, nor did they want to.

But that was going to end tonight.

If they didn’t report their findings, their punishment might be worse than death. Of course, there was always another option—one Palentar did not find pleasing. They could run; just up and leave behind their lives amongst the Arachnids, and set out for the world of Oriceran.

The only problem was that Arachnids were considered vile creatures, and were not well liked throughout the rest of the world. Palentar couldn’t blame anyone for not liking his race, but he was smarter than the average Arachnid, he supposed. So smart, in fact, that his wits had led him to a colonel’s position in their vast army many years ago; however, that same wit had been the cause of his demotion. He had tried—unsuccessfully—to usurp the general. The punishment was to have been death by dismemberment, but luckily, his wits had gotten him out of that, as well.

Now he turned to Queret, scowling, his fangs protruding. They stood at the edge of the Dark Forest. Somewhere, something that sounded like a crow, but wasn’t, cawed. Creatures moved unseen except for their glowing eyes; sticks and bramble snapped beneath their feet, and low growling rumbled in the darkness.

Ah, home. Palentar could never leave here. It would be like a fish leaving water, a bird leaving the sky.

“What?” Queret bellowed in response to Palentar’s scowl, his eight eyes crossing.

“This is your fault, you know,” Palentar replied. “You should’ve killed the girl.”

“We were outnumbered! And you saw with your eight eyes the same man I saw! Ignatius Mangood…” quietly, he added, “slayer of daemons.”

“Fool. We are not to be frightened by men or wizards. We are superior in every respect.” Palentar held up all six of his arms and motioned to his legs, emphasizing how Arachnids were better equipped than man, who had only four limbs.

“I know we are. I’m sorry. His light magic frightened me.”

The truth was, the light magic had frightened Palentar, too—but he was smart enough not to admit it.

He looked into Queret’s eyes with burning intensity. “You are to tell the Widow of your folly. I will say nothing.”

Queret raised his arms to the dark sky and screamed. It was loud enough to rattle the trees above. Black leaves fell like broken-winged birds.

Palentar swept his robe as he plunged forward into the forest, leading the way to the Widow’s lair.

***

Palentar and Queret arrived at the Widow’s lair over two hours later.

Two Arachnid guards descended from the nearby trees, their silky webs lowering them gracefully.

“State your business,” one of the guards said. His eyes lit up as Palentar stepped forward. “Pal, wouldn’t expect you out here. Not since…” he trailed off.

A low growl built up in the pit of Palentar’s stomach. He knew what the guard was about to bring up. You mustn’t let him get to you, Palentar scolded himself. After all, this creature—whose name he could not remember, though he recalled the hooked scar across his face, and who probably served underneath Palentar’s battalion in the Great Spider War—was nothing but a lowly guard.

“Our business is our own,” Palentar said.

“Sorry, Pal, it is not. Not when visiting the Widow.”

Palentar glared, and the two Arachnids practically had a staring contest. About a minute passed before Queret stepped forward, his voice shaky.

“Man,” he explained. “We saw man in the village nearby.”

“Man?” the guard prodded, and the other guard righted himself from his strand of web, obviously taking an interest.

“Not just any man,” Queret whispered. He brought a claw up to his mouth to cover his whisper—no one really knew what things were listening in the Dark Forest. Everything was evil; everything was an enemy. Even the trees had been known to take the lives of unlucky wanderers.

“Who?” the guard wanted to know.

“Ignatius Mangood.”

The guards took a step back, their claws clanking on the hard rocky ground. They exchanged a look, then looked back at Queret and Palentar.

“I mean it,” Queret said, but it was too late—the guards had burst out laughing. Their laughter was so loud, in fact, something fled from a nearby tree, rustling the leaves and chittering as it went.

“Ignatius Mangood is long gone,” the other guard said. “Lost in the fires of the war for Dominion.”

“No, he’s not. I saw him with my own eight eyes,” Queret said.

“This true, Palentar?”

Palentar nodded solemnly.

The familiar guard narrowed his eyes. He’s not going to believe us, Palentar realized. The only way the guards would believe them was if Ignatius Mangood emerged from the shadows, right then and there, wielding his death stick and spouting blue fire.

Palentar turned, flourishing his robes as he did so. They made a snapping sound, like an umbrella blown outward by a strong gust of wind.

“Queret, let us go.”

“But—” Queret protested.

“Come!” When Palentar raised his voice, not many were known to disobey him; Queret least of all. Arachnids such as he were dependent on others at all times. “If these guards wish not to believe us, let them. It is their flesh that shall be feasted upon when the Widow learns of the news too late,” he claimed, loud enough for them to hear.

They turned their backs to the guards and took about five steps away from the Widow’s lair before the familiar guard spoke up in a quavering voice.

“Palentar, wait just a moment.”

A smile spread across Palentar’s face. He turned back around, and Queret followed suit.

“Do you swear it? Do you swear by the Black Stars of Onaugran that Ignatius Mangood is back on Oriceran and nearby?”

Palentar said, “I do.”

Queret echoed him.

The guards exchanged another look between them. This time there was no humor in it. Fear, Palentar figured, and rightfully so. Men were vile beings. More often than not, they were easily disposed of; Ignatius Mangood was the last of a dying breed. He was no ordinary man. He, like many others of the village of Dominion, before they were killed, practiced magic that was long forgotten in the ages of time.

Ignatius Mangood had survived the onslaught against Dominion with the help of that vile queen, Zimmy Ba, and now—Palentar had seen it in his eyes back in the village—Ignatius Mangood was out for revenge.

There is perhaps nothing more dangerous than a man who possesses the power of magic looking for revenge. It was then that he realized Ignatius had left them alive on purpose, to spread word among the Arachnids that he smelled blood—their blood.

“Then go in, Palentar, and give your news to the Widow. Just know your safety is not guaranteed,” the familiar guard said as he and his companion both stepped aside.

Through a circular doorway draped with webbing, the two Arachnids entered the Widow’s lair. The first thing Palentar noticed was the stench. Even to an Arachnid, it was a smell worse than death, worse than the stink of man.

The darkness was so complete that Palentar could not, for a moment, see where he was going. Then his eight eyes adjusted, and he saw they were in a vast hallway, which led downward.

To the Gates of Hell, he thought.

“What if she kills us?” Queret asked, his voice was still shaky. “What if she kills us and sends us to the Great Relief? I’m not ready for that, Pal. I have a long life ahead of me. I wanted to see the mountains. I wanted to stand atop them and shout out my fealty to the Widow.” He raised his voice slightly at the last part—probably hoping the Widow would hear him. Little did he know that the Widow heard and saw most everything; though since Malakai’s death at the hands of the young witch, she had not done much of anything besides mourn—not for the death of Malakai, but for the death of her chances to obtain the music box.

Suddenly, a high voice sang into their ears. “Oh, my children, I won’t kill you.”

The two Arachnids froze.

“Come, come forward, my children. Let me look upon you with my own eyes.”

It was the Widow.

The darkness ebbed, replaced with a cold, greenish light. Palentar nudged Queret forward.

There had only been one other time Palentar had come close to seeing the Widow. Many moons ago, after the victory over the village of Dominion, the generals were to be honored in a ceremony and decorated with the Chains of Insanity by the Widow herself. Palentar’s part in the battle had proven to be so instrumental that he’d been invited to the ceremony as well—but as poor luck would have it, his plans to overtake the generals were exposed, and he was demoted to watch duty—which, at the time, Palentar thought was worse than being banished to the Great Relief.

“You come with news, my children, do you not?”

Neither of them answered until Palentar nudged Queret again, this time, harder.

“Uh…y-yes, Worship,” Queret answered.

“Come forward,” the Widow said. Palentar got the impression that she was speaking with a grin on her face. “No harm will come to you. That, I promise.”

Reluctantly, Queret stepped froward, and Palentar followed. They crossed the threshold of dark shadow and eerie green light into the Widow’s chambers. The little breath they held in their lungs was forced out of them upon gazing at the Widow’s lair.

It was as vast as the empty sky. Have we traveled so far underneath the ground? Palentar thought not, but the towering walls said otherwise. They were made of ancient rock, worn and weathered by the ages. All over the walls were webs, some old, some fresh and shining. The wrapped bodies of the Widow’s victims were stuck to these webs. From the shapes, they could tell they were creatures of the Dark Forest. No men, no Arachnids—at least they hoped.

Beneath the webs were piles of bones; some were covered in soft green moss, others were shiny with fresh blood, and some were so old, they looked as if they’d crumble into dust at the slightest touch. This struck the two as odd; Arachnids were not eaters of meat. They, like the spiders of Earth, spun their webs around their victims to drain them of their blood later.

Is the Widow beyond that? He had, of course, heard the rumors—she was from another planet, not of Earth, not of Oriceran, but of some Great Beyond. She had come into power by feasting on the flesh of man, Orc, Goblins, and anything else she could get her legs on. But those are just rumors…right?

The floor was of the same stone as the walls, except it was stained with the dark red and black of blood. Splashes here, splashes there. At the end of the great room were steps leading up to a platform.

Palentar tried to imagine himself atop that platform, surrounded by this horrible smell and the corpses of dead creatures, and couldn’t do it. Perhaps that strange thing called destiny was behind it. Perhaps he wasn’t meant to stand on those steps; perhaps he was meant to hang from the webs instead.

The thought caused him to shudder.

The fear was back; the emotion that wasn’t supposed to be there at all.

“Now, speak, my child Queret,” the Widow said.

How does she know my name? Queret thought. Words would not escape his mouth. His tongue felt frozen.

“I know all the names of those in my kingdom. Now, speak.”

Palentar thought there was a certain viciousness present in her voice this time. He took a step backward.

“Well, your highness, your worshipfulness…uh, well, see—a”

Scrabbling came from above them. Palentar looked up and wished he hadn’t.

The Widow was descending from the darkness. She was huge—bigger than any Woolenite from trunk to tail. How her web supported her massive body, Palentar had no idea. Her shadow dwarfed over them.

If Queret couldn’t speak before, he was completely mute now. The two Arachnids just looked up in utter disbelief.

This is who rules over us. This is who we serve and worship, Palentar thought. Even to his own Arachnid eyes, the Widow was a monster.

“I feel your fear, my children. Fear not. I’ve made a promise to you; a promise I intend to keep. There has been a great disturbance amongst our kind, but what is the cause of this disturbance? Pray, do tell.”

Queret kept stammering. Palentar realized that if one of them didn’t speak, they were liable to upset the Widow—and judging by the pile of bones behind them, the Widow had a short temper.

“Ignatius Mangood,” Palentar finally said. “We have seen him in the village of Dominion, skulking amongst the ruins.” Then he winced.

Queret looked up at him, a grateful smile on his face.

“Ignatius Mangood? Here?”

“Yes, Your Royalty.”

“You have seen him with your own eight eyes?”

Now Queret spoke up. His figure was stooped and he was visibly shaking. “Aye, Your Highness, we saw him with our own eyes. He, three others, and a creature I didn’t recognize.”

A canine, Palentar thought. A dog. He knew it from his studies before the war.

The Widow began to laugh. Cackle, in fact. Her legs reached the platform with an audible boom, cascading dust and dirt clouds into the thick air.

The two Arachnids now took a conscious step back. If shit was about to go down, they wanted no part of the Widow’s wrath.

“Ignatius Mangood,” she cooed. “How dare he step foot into my kingdom. First he has the audacity to slay one of my own Resurrected, and now he comes so close to the lair?” She laughed again, her bulbous middle rising and falling with the motion, her soft abdomen slapping the platform.

“That is all, Your Grace,” Palentar said. His voice shook, too.

“We just thought you should know,” Queret chimed in and suddenly Palentar wished Queret would’ve kept his big mouth shut.

The Widow looked up at them for the first time since descending from the ceiling, and her eyes were filled with hate and malice. They were not the normal eyes of the Arachnids. No; instead of red, they were green, a glowing green. And instead of eight, the Widow was blessed with twelve eyes, wrapping the length of her head.

“My stars,” Palentar wheezed. He raised his hands in front of his face, a gesture that could only be taken as rude, and tried his best to shield himself from the abnormality of the terrible creature.

“Your stars, Master Palentar? Your stars? No, they’re my stars, and you are lucky I have not gouged your eyes out and ripped your arms off. You will look me in the face when you speak to me. Now, did Ignatius Mangood have the music box?”

Palentar lowered his hands. He was unsurprised to see that they shook.

“The music box? Erm…I mean, the music box, Your Highness?” Palentar said. He had not been this frightened since the Sacking of the Feebro during the second Spider War.

“Yes, the music box. Certainly you know of the music box.”

Queret looked at Palentar, his face was a mask of surprise. “You mean…the stories are true?”

“Yes,” the Widow answered. “All of it…true.”

Tales had passed through the years of the great music box, the simple wooden cube that could be used to access the world in between. Wars had been waged over it, for the use of its strange magic; oceans of blood had been spilt in its name—but to say it was more than a legend was a one-way ticket to ridicule.

After a pause, Palentar admitted, “I saw no music box, Your Royalty. I only saw his death stick, and the blue fire that courses from its end.”

“Yes, he wields the magic,” the Widow said. Her great pincers came together, click-clicking. Dying by those massive, curved spikes would be worse than any hell, Palentar thought. “And you did not dispose of him and his compatriots?”

“I—uh, we tried, Your Highness,” Queret said. “But he was too strong.”

Silence hung in the great cavernous lair, except for the constant dripping somewhere deep in the shadows—dripping that undoubtedly came from one of the Widow’s latest victims.

Suddenly, the ground shook. Palentar lost his footing and fell to the side. He landed face-first into the pile of bones. Femurs and ribs flew out in every direction, landing with a clatter. The breath was knocked out of him.

The Widow laughed. It was an unsettling sound, terrible enough to drive a man to insanity.

“Not so strong now, are you, Master Palentar!”

“We tried, Your Royalty!” Queret was screaming. “We tried, but he was just too—”

“You did not try hard enough!” The Widow stood on her back legs. How she was able to lift such a massive middle up, no one would ever know; it defied the basic laws of physics, put the sciences to shame. From her abdomen, a stinger protruded. It was longer than a full-grown Centaur, harder than any metal, sharper than any blade—even the one the witch had carried when the Arachnids met Ignatius in the ruins of Dominion. Venom dripped from the end of the stinger,. Just the sight of that noxious liquid was enough to make Palentar feel woozy.

Palentar scrambled up now. No matter where he was in all of Oriceran, it would be much too close to the Widow’s stinger.

She moved forward, her legs taking the platform’s steps five at a time.

“Run!” she shrieked. “Run before I change my mind and kill you where you stand.”

The two Arachnids wasted no time in listening to the Widow. Faster than they’d run since the days of their youth, Queret and Palentar sprinted through the dark corridors and stairwells, out of the lair, and sprawled out on the forest floor in front of the guards, who did not wear shocked expressions on their faces. No, it must be a regular occurrence to the visitors of the Widow’s lair.

Palentar looked at Queret. He noticed the Arachnid’s chitin had lost some of its shine. He was pale, ashy looking, his red eyes no longer glowed with fervor. He assumed he must look the same way…or worse.

“Don’t suppose you two will be back,” the familiar guard said.

They didn’t answer. They just scrambled up off of the forest floor and ran into the depths of the Dark Forest. Where they were going, they had no clue; just as long as it was far away from the Widow’s lair.

***

Not long after Queret and Palentar fled, the familiar guard, whose name was Jinxton, was summoned into the lair. He gripped the hilt of his sword a little tighter and, at that moment, wished for a death stick so he could conjure up some sort of protection spell. He had never been able to grasp the concept of the magic some Arachnids were able to use, but that wouldn’t have stopped him from trying.

His descent into the lair was as unpleasant as it always was—he had thought of it as a descent into madness on more than one occasion. When he entered the lair, crossing the same threshold of shadow into the sickly green light, he noticed the piles of bones were scattered amongst the stone floor, and that the Widow was not up high in her web, where she mostly stayed these days.

That was not a good sign.

“Ah, Jinxton,” the Widow sang in her sweet voice that was as sickly as the light permeating around the cavern. “I’ve been informed of some rather unfortunate news. It seems an enemy of our race has been spotted nearby. Much too close.”

“Yes, Your Worship, I have heard.” He regretted the words as soon as they’d left his tongue. No doubt the Widow would hear this and think he was withholding information from her. She had been known to get…volatile once or twice before with those who opposed and conspired against her.

“Dreadful news. Can my children not do anything right?”

Jinxton fell to one knee and bowed his head to the giant spider in front of him. “I am sorry, My Queen.”

“ ‘Sorry’ does not protect us, nor does it retrieve the music box. My beloved is waiting in the world in between.”

“What will you have me do, My Queen?” Jinxton asked. “I will do anything.”

Silence.

Jinxton closed his eyes and winced, trying to brace himself for the oncoming death. He had lived this long; in his time serving as a guard to the Queen, he had seen eight other guards ripped apart in this very room. He figured it was only a matter of time before the same befell him. And now that time had come, it seemed.

But when he opened his eyes, the Widow was still on the platform. She hadn’t moved.

Very quietly, she spoke. “Call the Orcs.”

Surprise took him. The only thing that could have been more surprising at that moment would’ve been getting out of there alive.

“The Orcs, My Queen?”

“You heard what I said. Call them.”

“But…our treaty, My Queen.”

“The treaty means nothing to me now. All that matters is that Ignatius Mangood dies a painful death, and the music box is in my possession, where it rightfully belongs.”

“Who should I call? The King? Or shall I go directly to the General?”

“The King, Jinxton. I would hate to start another war in the process of this. We are too weak for that—but not for long. Once the music box is mine, I will free the enslaved, trapped in the world in between, and I will rule this world the way I was meant to…with my king by my side.”

Jinxton bowed his head. “As you wish, My Queen. I will send word at once.”

“Their best trackers,” the Widow said. “As many as they can spare. I will pay their weight in gold.”

“Yes, Your Highness.”

With that, Jinxton left. As soon as he crossed the threshold back into the shadows, he breathed a sigh of relief. The air was musty and dank, but it had never tasted sweeter. When he had escaped the lair altogether, Cap, the other guard, looked at him with wide eyes, surprised that Jinxton had survived. Jinxton let out a laugh like that of an Arachnid tainted by the Stone and fell to his knees. Tears in his eyes, he bent over and kissed the forest floor over and over again.

Not long after that, he sent a raven to the Orc King in the Terran Mountains, and a new plan was put into motion.

CHAPTER FIVE

When they arrived on the other side of the portal, Maria stuck the landing. A little wobbly, yeah, but better than landing face-first in the grass. Sherlock wasted no time in bounding across the wide open field. He galloped, moving faster than he had since the fight with Malakai, barking his head off, and shouting, Here we come, you Gnome bastards!

“Geez, he really doesn’t like Gnomes for some reason,” Maria told her grandfather, who was standing in front of her with his hands on his hips and gazing at the night sky, which was now breaking into dawn—or whatever they called dawn on Oriceran. “Any reason why?”

“No, none that I’m aware of,” Gramps said. He turned to look at her over his shoulder. There was a slight smile on his face. “Don’t worry, Sherlock will soon learn humility.”

“As if that’s possible for a telepathic dog.”

“Now is he telepathic or are you?” Gramps asked.

“Ah, the questions that really matter; I’d assume me, because I can hear his thoughts and he can’t hear mine…or can he?” Maria took a step toward her grandfather and watched Sherlock with him. By the orange light on the horizon, she could see him jumping and snapping at various insect-like creatures that had taken flight at his arrival.

“Ah, smart girl,” Gramps said.

Then, out of nowhere, Sherlock shuddered to a stop. It was as if he’d hit an invisible wall. His voice filled Maria’s head.

OWWWW, WHAT THE HELL!?

“Sherlock? Are you okay?”

Do I look okay?

The answer was a definite no. Sherlock looked like a tangled up Slinky toy, his ass over his head.

Was it a fucking Gnome? Is there a Gnome hiding somewhere? I’ll kill him, I’ll rip—

“Not a Gnome,” Maria answered. She was just a few steps away from him now. “Do you see any Gnomes?”

That’s why I specified…invisible Gnomes. They could be anywhere, Maria.

She helped him up.

“Invisibility is a myth. Not real, Sherlock.”

But then again, magic wasn’t supposed to be real; giant spiders, either—in fact, none of this was supposed to be real.

Gramps addressed the thoughts coming to her mind. “Oh, my dear, don’t be too sure of that. It seems Sherlock has hit not an invisible Gnome, but an invisible fence. For we are here." He looked up at seemingly nothing. "At the Light Elves' invisible castle.

"Invisible? You can't be serious…are you?" Maria asked. This is way too fucking cool.

He walked between them and raised a hand toward the sky.

Maria’s mouth hung open.

Above them, a door opened, and standing in the opening was a tall, slender but slightly muscular man…except for the long silken hair and the pointed ears. His face was a mask of unfriendliness. He was not the type of person Maria would’ve asked for directions from, had she stumbled across him while she was lost. Then she noticed that once the “door” had been opened, she was no longer looking at the vast field that had only been there seconds ago, but was looking at the inside of a monumental castle.

What is going on here? It just gets more and more weird, doesn’t it? Maria thought to herself.

Sherlock was equally baffled. He didn’t even bark at the tall man standing in front of them. She thought he would’ve at least stuck his snout into the door and sniffed for Gnomes. Luckily, that wasn’t the case.

The man’s face broke out into a smile. It was a kind smile, and it changed his demeanor almost instantly. Maria noticed for the first, but not the last time that this particular man was quite handsome.

Light Elf, Sherlock said. Almost just as bad as a Gnome. He growled low.

“Ah,” Maria said under her breath. It made sense to her now.

“Ignatius Mangood,” the Light Elf shouted in a high, sweet melodic voice. "Come, come, join us, old friend. Your companions, too."

"Hold on," Gramps whispered.

Mangood, Maria thought. After all of this, I don’t think I’ll ever get used to my grandfather’s true last name. Mangood, that sounds like something out of an epic fantasy novel. He’s always been Ignatius Apple to me, just as I’ve always been Maria Apple. Does this mean my real name is…Maria Mangood? I don’t know if I like the sound of that. "Wait…hold on?"

Suddenly, the three of them were lifted in the air, soaring up to meet the Elf hanging from an invisible doorway in an invisible castle. Maria's fear overtook her. If they didn't slow down or stop soon, they would soon meet the distant mountains.

Alas, they did stop, just as Maria closed her eyes.

When she opened them, she was standing in a large shimmering room.

Holy shit, she thought. This is crazy.

“Where in the two moons have you been, old friend?” the Light Elf asked.

“Earth,” Gramps answered. “I’ve been on Earth, where I would’ve stayed had certain circumstances not forced my hand.”

“Oh, that does not sound good.”

“It’s much worse than it sounds, actually,” Gramps said.

“I’m sorry to hear that. Truly I am. But know you are always welcome here in our castle.” The Light Elf made a sweeping gesture to the now-nothingness behind him. Maria blinked a few times slowly.

“What the heck?” she said. “I just saw the inside of the castle and now it’s gone. What kind of magic is this?”

“There’s plenty of magic you don’t quite know yet, Maria,” Gramps said, smiling at her. “Even magic I don’t understand. That’s the beauty of Oriceran. We are surrounded by mystery, by beauty, by magic.” He looked out at the distant mountains on the horizon. Maria had never seen him look at anything like that.

“Ah, Ignatius, you speak so poetically,” the Light Elf said. “Our sweet home.”

As Gramps shook his head, the hazy look in his eyes vanished. It was as if he wasn’t there at all before, and was just now coming back.

“Thank you, E’olin. Speaking of the castle, what's with the fence? That wasn't here the last time I visited, was it?”

“We were forced to up our security after a break-in and a murder. A very important necklace was stolen.”

Gramps raised his eyebrows.

“No, don’t worry. A wonderful half Light Elf named Leira has helped us. Still, we’ve learned our lesson here. Better safe than sorry,” E’olin said.

“Sorry to hear that, E’olin,” Gramps said.

“Yes, sorry, E’olin,” Maria said softly. E’olin? More and more her life was turning into something out of The Lord of the Rings or The Wheel of Time.

Sherlock sniffed the air deeply. Gnomes, he said. I smell them.

“Leave the Gnomes alone, Sherlock,” Maria said.

“Ah, yes, your friend must have a strong nose,” E’olin said. “I admire that.”

Sherlock ignored him.

“What do you say, Sherlock?”

He looked up at her with his blood-rimmed eyes. There was a slight anger in them.

“Sherlock?” Maria repeated.

Sherlock barked a thank you.

“What a lovely creature!” E’olin said.

Yeah, yeah, your mother, pal, Sherlock replied.

Maria gave him a death glare, which he promptly ignored.

“So, Ignatius, what brings you here to our lovely home?” E’olin asked.

Gramps shifted. “Well, about that…our friend Sherlock here speaks true. We are here to visit the Gnomes. There is certain information we need extracted.”

“Ah, the library. A wonderful place it is. We’ve heard of beings traveling the world to visit our stacks, but never someone from another world. Earth; it’s been so long since I’ve been there. How is it these days? Do folks still travel by horseback and wield six-shooters? Oh, how I loved playing cowboy!”

“No, you’re a couple hundred years off,” Maria said, then, “Geez, how old are you?”

The Light Elf smirked. “It’s not polite on any world to ask one their proper age.”

“Oh…sorry.”

E’olin leaned over with his hand covering one side of his mouth and whispered, “Very old.”

Maria and Gramps caught eyes. Gramps was smiling.

“Come, come, I’ll take you to the stacks.” E’olin stepped aside. Sherlock was the first one to go inside the invisible castle, snarling.

“Sherlock,” Maria snapped. “Behave yourself.”

Don’t tell me what to do!

“I saw a nice patch of vegetables a little ways back. I won’t hesitate to whip up something healthy for you to snack on,” she threatened.

That reined him in. Maria caught up to him with Gramps behind her.

They were walking on nothing, then, all of a sudden, they were walking on the most beautiful floor Maria had ever had laid her eyes on. It sparkled. Marble, maybe, but Maria wasn’t sure if they even had marble here on Oriceran. It was probably some kind of exotic mineral from somewhere even more exotic on the planet.

Sweeping staircases emerged from the walls. The castle was huge; there must’ve been a hundred floors.

“This way,” E’olin said, motioning to one of the staircases, which was also made out of the same beautiful material as the floor. “But I must warn you, if you are trying to extract information from a Gnome, you are going to be quite disappointed.”

Two female Light Elves passed them on the steps. “Ignatius!” they said simultaneously, tittering.

“Ladies,” Gramps said. He smiled at them and tipped an imaginary hat.

“Not now, fair maidens,” E’olin said, shooing them down the steps. “Ignatius Mangood has business to attend to.”

“Well, actually—” Gramps started to say.

“Gramps.” Maria used the same voice she was so fond of using on Sherlock.

“What?” Gramps said defensively. His arms were out in a “Who me?” gesture. “It’s not my fault I’ve still got the moves.”

“Oh, Gramps, I really, really, really don’t need to hear about your moves,” Maria said.

I second that. I’ve seen enough of his shirtless dancing in the mornings when he’s getting dressed and listening to the radio, Sherlock said.

Maria burst out laughing even though that was an image she didn’t particularly want in her head.

“Ah, Ignatius was quite the ladies’ man, wasn’t he?” E’olin mused.

Maria plugged her ears and shook her head. “No, thank you!”

The steps were revealing themselves one at a time to the newcomers as their shoes touched them. It was quite scary. Maria wondered if one tried running up them what would happen. Would the steps be able to keep up with her? She thought yes. The answer was simple: Magic.

Finally, sweaty and short of breath, the group stopped at a landing. At one point, Sherlock looked as if he were going to collapse. Maria had whispered, “Gnomes,” into his ear and it hadn’t done much to perk him up at all. He was that tired. But once the prospect of a landing presented itself in front of them, Sherlock let out his growl.

The smell is worse here, he said. Those damn Gnomes.

“Try to keep it in your pants,” Maria said. “I know you got a thing for the Gnomes. All this growling and big bad talk is just a front. It’s okay. I understand.”

How dare you!? I’m not even wearing pants! I can’t keep something in my pants if I’m not wearing them, Maria.

“It’s a figure of speech.”

Gramps and E’olin were walking ahead of them. The library revealed itself in much the same way the steps had. Maria was, surprisingly, getting used to the idea of an invisible castle that manifested itself with magic.

Sherlock turned his head away from Maria and went after Gramps.

I’ll show you, he said. As soon as I see a Gnome, I’m going—

A Gnome came out of nowhere, stopping just a few feet away from Sherlock. The Bloodhound skirted to a halt abruptly, as if another invisible wall were there. The growling immediately stopped, too. They stared at each other like two gunslingers meeting in a dusty, desert street—only if Sherlock were not a gunslinger at all, but was instead a scared dog, almost three times larger than the Gnome, with his tail stuck between his legs.

Maria had to put a hand over her mouth to hold back her laughter; Gramps and E’olin had already continued down the still-appearing corridor to the library. About five seconds later, Sherlock took to whimpering.

“Aw, you big baby!” Maria teased, walking up to the Bloodhound.

But then she got a good look at the Gnome. It was not what she’d expected at all. What should’ve been cute and cuddly was anything but. When someone mentioned a Gnome, Maria’s mind immediately went to one thing: Garden Gnomes, naturally. The Gnome in front of her was nothing like a garden gnome. She only knew this for sure because he opened his mouth and croaked out a curt response to the two aliens gawking at him.

“Never seen a Gnome before? Take a picture, it’ll last longer,” he said in a nasally voice. Then he scurried away on two stout legs, clutching his bowler hat to the top of his head.

That’s right, Maria. A bowler hat, she thought to herself. What is going on with my life?

Not just a bowler hat, but the Gnome was wearing a suit as well, like someone had dressed him up as some kind of joke.

“Ah,” E’olin said, spooking Maria. “That’s Grumpy…he’s one of the more vocal Gnomes.”

“Are you sure that was a Gnome? And ‘Grumpy’? Is that really—”

E’olin waved a hand. “No, no. His name is—” Then E’olin went on, speaking in a language Maria could not understand. “We just call him Grumpy because, well, you’ve witnessed why firsthand.”

Maria nodded and looked at Gramps, who was standing impatiently down the hall. “He really thinks a creature like that is going to help us?”

E’olin shrugged, as if to say Told you so.

They walked on to meet up with Gramps, and Sherlock began growling and muttering about what he’d do if he saw another Gnome.

I was caught off-guard, that’s all. My neck hurts from hitting the castle wall outside. I’m hungry. I need a nap.

“Yada-yada-yada,” Maria whispered toward him.

Maria thought seeing an invisible castle and a Gnome for the first time would be the only things to take her breath away, but she realized she was wrong as she stood in the doorway of the library.

“H—How…?” she managed to say, her voice coming out in a wheeze.

Gramps looked at her and shrugged, and Maria already knew what the answer would be.

“Magic,” E’olin and Gramps said at the same time.

The library stretched for what seemed like miles. There must be a million books…maybe even more than that!

There were various creatures Maria couldn’t identify walking through the nearby stacks with large, leatherbound books held under their arms…or what she thought were arms. She also spotted a few more Gnomes—the little flowers on their bowler hats swaying with the movement of the wearer. Mighty fast movement, that was, too—faster than they had any right to move, given their body structure. Maria wondered then if that was also by way of magic, and she came to the conclusion it was.

“Ignatius, I must leave you in the hands of the Gnomes.” E’olin gave Gramps a sweeping bow, and not one strand of his long, silky hair fell out of place.

This was also what Maria thought of as magic. She would’ve given away most of her possessions to know that spell on a hot and humid day in Akron. She’d never had very well behaved hair, which was probably the reason she never tried to brush it. Maybe she could get the spell off E’olin before she went back to Earth for her date with Joe.

Oh, Gosh, with all this insanity I’m witnessing, I almost forgot about the date again!

“And you, Maria, it was a great pleasure finally meeting you,” E’olin continued, startling Maria out of her daydream. Her hand had almost, on instinct, gone to the sword hanging off her hip.

“Oh—sorry,” she said. “It was a pleasure meeting…Wait! What do you mean finally meeting me?”

E’olin smiled. It was the type of smile you’d see on the movie stars of Earth. Still doesn’t hold a candle to Joe’s smile, though.

“Oh, Maria, many of us on Oriceran know of you and your grandfather. Not all, but many. Your story is a legend to some here,” he told her.

Maria looked at Gramps with so many questions on the tip of her tongue, but Gramps just looked back and said, “In time, my dear Maria. You will know all of this in time.”

“Yes,” E’olin said, still smiling. “If you snoop around the stacks for awhile, you might even stumble upon a few books with you in them.”

Maria’s jaw dropped open. Me? Inside of books, like I’m a character or something? That’s just crazy! But looking at the Light Elf in front of her, she could tell he wasn’t lying. Why couldn’t it be true? Stranger things have happened to me.

“I do wish I could be of more help,” E’olin said, his smile now fading. “But if I know Ignatius Mangood—and I do—he will not accept the Light Elves’ help.”

“Now, E’olin,” Gramps said. “Living out these last few Earth decades has humbled me. I’m no longer one to shy away from help, and with the stuff we are currently dealing with, I may need help from more than just the Light Elves.”

“What are you dealing with?”

Gramps shook his head.

The smile appeared on E’olin’s face again. “Ah, just like I remembered you, Ignatius.”

Gramps smiled back. “I guess I haven’t changed too much. If I need the Light Elves’ help, I promise I won’t hesitate. So far, this is our own problem; I wouldn’t want to get that nice garb of yours dirty.” He gave E’olin a wink and E’olin patted him on the back before leaving the way they had come.

A Gnome was standing near the group, and he had been looking on impatiently as the Light Elf made his farewells. His face said I know it’s my job to help you, but could you hurry it up a little, for crying out loud?

Sherlock was being bold, inching closer to the Gnome with his nose thrust out, sniffing deeply.

He’d done the same thing to some particularly rank spilled garbage not far from Salem’s last week, ultimately deciding against eating it, which was a miracle in and of itself.

As she watched the Elf walk away, Maria had so many questions. Quite ironic, being in the library and all, surrounded by answers.

“Finally,” the Gnome huffed as Gramps turned to him. The flower atop his bowler hat was snarling. Maria didn’t even bother saying ‘What the fuck?’ and the Gnome continued. “How can I direct you?”

“We aren’t here looking for books,” Gramps answered, leaning down to be eye level with the Gnome, which resulted in him being on his knees. The Gnome did not look amused. Gramps’s hand absentmindedly stroked the back of Sherlock’s neck. There was no growling; hell, not even any sniffing. The Gnome had won the battle before it had even started.

“If you’re not looking for books, sir, you’re in the wrong place.”

Gramps shook his head.

Maria stepped up to Gramps. “Please get on with it. I don’t think Gnomes are very patient creatures.”

The Gnome put his hands on his hips. “ ‘Creature’? Who are you calling a creature? Never seen a Gnome before?” He said this all in the same nasally voice that Maria had heard from the first Gnome. It was déjà vu, except this time, the flower atop the Gnome’s hat hissed at them and bared its teeth. She suddenly hoped Joe would not bring her more flowers when she met him for their first date, and that the flowers currently sitting in a vase of water back at Salem’s never grew fangs. Then again, she supposed anything was possible.

“No, I haven’t. Sorry. Didn’t mean to offend. This is all pretty new to me.” She couldn’t help but think the Gnome resembled one of the Munchkins from The Wizard of Oz, but she didn’t dare say that.

The Gnome ignored her and looked back to Gramps. “Well, if you don’t need a book, then I must be going. My time is as valuable as anyone’s.”

“I need access to the vault,” Gramps said, his voice deadly serious.

“The vault? Now, sir, you know it is forbidden for anyone but my kind to venture back there.”

“So that rule is still in effect?” Gramps said. He stood up, his knees popping and his spine echoing. “I thought that much.” He reached into his pocket and brought out a gold coin. Maria instantly recognized it, because it wasn’t a gold coin at all. It was one of those circular pieces of chocolate wrapped to look like a gold coin, and judging by its limpness, the chocolate was well on its way to melting.

The Gnome eyed it cautiously. “A bribe?” he asked. “I’m sure you know I can report you for this…”

“Aw, you and I both know you won’t. A nice Gnome like you loves gold, don’t you? Well I got plenty more of these from where I come from.”

Suddenly, the Gnome’s mouth dropped open, revealing its little sharp teeth. “Earth?” he said breathlessly.

Gramps nodded. “Silver and copper, too.” He fished out a couple nickels and a few pennies—most of them dirty, but the Gnome was drawn to them regardless.

Sherlock had taken to sniffing the gold chocolate coin in Gramps’s other hand. Maria leaned down and whispered so the Gnome wouldn’t hear, “What are you doing? You know how sick you get when you eat chocolate. It’s not worth the pain, trust me. Plus, I don’t know if I have it in me to clean up after you. Where does vomit even end up in an invisible castle?”

I know what it does to me. This isn’t out of enjoyment.

He snatched the coin gently from Gramps’s hand, much to the Gnome’s displeasure. The Gnome was shaking in anger, and both he and his flower were in disarray.

“Sherlock, no! Bad dog!”

It’s suicide, Sherlock continued. But I’m gonna do it! I swear I am. His red eyes were watery.

“Suicide? Why?”

Because I’ve failed. I’ve made my wolf ancestors turn over in their graves. If my balls weren’t already gone, they would be now.

“Sherlock, what the heck are you on about? You’re being fucking crazy.”

Says the girl who’s talking to a dog.

“Even when you’re sad, you feel the need to belittle me. I see, Sherlock. Oh, well; if you wanna die, be my guest. But that isn’t going to kill you. It’s just gonna make you sick.”

The Bloodhound hung his head, and then looked back up, and dropping the chocolate coin on the library’s floor. The Gnome breathed a sigh of relief and went for it, but not before Gramps snatched it back and wiped the Sherlock drool off on his shirt.

“Not so fast,” Gramps said. “Do we have a deal?”

The Gnome bounced from foot to foot, sending the flower swaying and, if Maria wasn’t crazy—she wasn’t sure yet—whining, despite the fundamental fact that flowers typically don’t make noises. At least not on Earth.

Maria leaned down next to Sherlock and started petting him. Right then, she was more worried about her dog than about trying to bribe information out of a fairy-tale creature; even if said information could save an entire village that was stuck in the world in between.

The truth was, if the Gnome wasn’t going to give them the information they needed, Maria would find another way to get it. She was not one for giving up, no matter how tired, scared, or worried she felt.

“What’s wrong, buddy?” she asked Sherlock in a low voice.

It’s him, Sherlock answered, tilting his head to the Gnome. It’s that damn Gnome.

“What do you mean?”

I’m too afraid to eat him.

Maria couldn’t help herself anymore. She had to laugh.

Sherlock furrowed his brow. What? The only reason I came was because—

“Oh, not because you cared about Gramps and me, but because you wanted to eat a Gnome?” Maria gasped.

The Gnome looked at Maria and Sherlock as they conversed a few steps from he and Gramps. Gramps snapped his fingers to get the Gnome’s attention back on him and asked, “Do we have a deal here?”

“Did that thing just say it wanted to eat me?” the Gnome asked.

“Not important,” Gramps said.

“Sorry,” Maria said to the Gnome, then to Sherlock, “Look what you made me do. Not nice. We both knew you weren’t going to eat any Gnomes. You’ve filled up on trash ice cream and dead squirrels.”

With that, it seemed that Sherlock smiled slightly.

“There he is. Yeah, just think of dead squirrels, if it makes you feel better; though  I have no idea why it would,” Maria continued.

You’re right. I have to accept that I’m afraid of the Gnome. It’s kind of like when I was younger and I was always barking at cars going down the road.

“God, I remember that. Those were some tough school days, after your barking kept me up all night.”

If I’d caught a car, I don’t know what the hell I would do with it, Maria. The same goes for Gnomes. I caught one, and I have no idea what to do with it besides put my tail between my legs and whimper.

“I wouldn’t say you caught one, but don’t be too hard on yourself, Sherlock.”

Thank you, Maria. I will learn to accept the Gnomes. I will make the Gnomes my friend.

“I wouldn’t go that far, buddy.” She ruffled the fur behind his ears, and he began to wag his tail. It was a good sign. They didn’t really have time to worry about a suicidal dog while also trying to find a way to get the village out of the world in between. Maria could handle a lot, she knew, but that was just too much.

They walked back over to Gramps and the Gnome. As they stopped, they overhead the Gnome say, “No deal,” while he waved his stubby arms back and forth. “I’m sorry. This is wrong. I can’t give you access to our secrets just for some shiny Earth coins. I may not have much left in my measly life of helping Elves find cookbooks and ‘how-to-file-down-my-too-pointy-ears’ manuals, but I still have my pride!”

With that, the Gnome pirouetted and disappeared down the maze of stacks, his small stature swallowed up by the shadows.

Gramps sighed. “Dammit, I almost had him. Why’d you have to go and say you wanted to eat him, Sherlock!?" He paused. "I'm sorry, Sherlock. I should've known it was worthless to try to bribe a Gnome. Back when I lived they wouldn't so much as sniff a bribe. Thought maybe times were a-changing.”

Maria said it!

Of course Gramps couldn’t understand what Sherlock was trying to say, only Maria could, and trying to judge a Bloodhound’s mood by his features often proved quite hard. So Maria said, “He says he’s sorry, too, Gramps,” instead.

Sherlock gave her his best death stare.

Not cool.

“Payback is a bitch,” Maria said.

More like ‘payback is a Maria.’

Maria laughed loud enough for a nearby Gnome to tell her to be quiet.

Ah, libraries. Some things are universal.

She murmured, “Sorry,” and waved at the Gnome, who only rolled his eyes, adjusted the flower atop his bowler hat, and went back to doing whatever it was that Gnomes did in the Light Elves’ library.

“Now what?” she asked Gramps.

Gramps narrowed his eyes and looked around the stacks. “Maybe we just got the wrong Gnome. At least one of these little buggers can be corrupted by cash.”

“Yeah,” Maria said, looking at the coins in Gramps’s palm, “a whole fifty-two cents. They could put a down payment on a candy bar back on Earth.”

“It’s not about the monetary value. It’s about the shininess.”

“In that case, we could just bring a bunch of aluminum foil to Oriceran next time, and get whatever we wanted.”

Gramps patted her on the back. “Now you’re thinking, Maria!”

“I was jo—”

“Psst,” someone said from behind them.

Maria and Gramps turned around. Standing in the shadows of the monumental shelves was a half-horse, half-man—a Centaur. This Centaur looked, for lack of a better word, sketchy—the type of Centaur you might see slinking around alleys in the dead of night, trying to push Oriceran drugs for a living.

“You looking for secrets?” the Centaur said.

Maria was about to say ‘no, thanks’ on instinct, but Gramps shushed her.

“Who wants to know?” Gramps said slyly.

“Uh, I do?” the Centaur said. He furrowed his brow.

“Is that so?”

“Look, buddy, you want my help or not? You can spend the rest of eternity trying to shake down the Gnomes here for information, but we all know they’ll never talk…at least not these Gnomes,” the creature said.

“What are you doing in the library, friend?” Gramps asked. “Centaurs roam in packs. Where is the rest of yours? I’ve never known a Centaur to spend any time in the library, let alone read.”

The Centaur raised an eyebrow. “You of all people shouldn’t be too quick to judge any creature, Ignatius Mangood.”

“Then we’re well-met, Centaur,” Gramps said, sticking out his hand. But before the two could shake a Gnome passed by and said, “Quiet in the library!” The Centaur pressed his body up against the shelf, letting the shadows hide him.

Say ‘please,’ asshole, Sherlock grumbled.

The Gnome stopped near Sherlock and looked him up and down, both he and his flower grimacing.

“Beasts such as these should be outlawed,” the Gnome said.

Sherlock lunged forward, growling. The Gnome shrieked and waddled away.

“That’s my boy!” Maria praised him.

Sherlock’s tail wagged, and he looked younger.

Man, that felt good! He even let out a bark, tempting another Gnome to try and shush him.

Instead, Maria did. “Now don’t push your luck, buddy. We still have business to attend to here. Don’t wanna get thrown out.”

“About that business,” the Centaur said, “do you want the information or not?”

“What’s the price?” Maria said, stepping forward. She loved her grandfather, but sometimes he could get off-track. If she didn’t take charge here, she wouldn’t put it past him to invite the Centaur to the Elvish bar and have a few drinks while a village of people were stuck somewhere in the world in between, and the Earth clock ticked closer to Maria and Joe’s first date.

“No price,” the Centaur answered. “Just a friendly tip for a famous man.” He smiled at Gramps. Gramps smiled back.

“Sounds too good to be true,” Maria said.

The Centaur motioned to Maria’s sword and satchel. “Oh, it’s not, fair maiden. I will give you information—a proverbial map, let’s say—but your road to success will not be any easier. In fact, where this information takes you may make your journey even more difficult.”

“Okay, you’ve got my attention,” Maria said.

Out of nowhere, the Centaur stood on its hind legs and whinnied softly. A sign of happiness, she thought, if Centaurs were anything like Earth horses.

“Wait for it,” Gramps said, crossing his arms but still smiling.

No sooner did Maria look at her grandfather than the Centaur landed and spoke up.

“There is one thing.” He raised an index finger.

“Ah, there it is.”

Never trust a horse, Sherlock said. They’re almost as bad as squirrels. A lot bigger, yeah, sure, but that doesn’t mean a thing.

Maria tried to ignore him, but couldn’t. “First Gnomes and now horses? Do you like anything?”

Naps, ice cream, garbage, and roadkill…not necessarily in that order.

“You’re gross.”

Hey, it’s in my DNA. You can’t blame me!

“I can and I will,” Maria answered. She turned back to the Centaur. “Okay, what’s the one thing you need from us?”

“It’s easy, really, I promise.” He rose on his hind legs again to point. The shelf nearest him stretched high to the ceiling, easily a few stories high. Maria looked on confused.

“What are you pointing to?”

The Centaur had a sheepish smile on his face, which was quite ironic, considering the fact that he was part horse.

“A book. It’s called Centaur Warfare Through the Ages by Mogman Furlock.”

“Okay?” Maria said, still confused.

Gramps was shaking his head. “Should’ve known, should’ve known.”

“Known what?”

“He wants the book.”

“Then why can’t he get it? Or ask one of those grumpy Gnomes to get it for you?” E’olin’s nickname for the first Gnome they saw now made complete sense after their run-ins with the other two Gnomes.

The Centaur twiddled his thumbs and looked down at his hooves. “Centaurs aren’t supposed to be in the library, let alone to be able to read. If they see me, they’ll throw me out. I’ve been able to read almost every book in the Centaur section—except for that one, because I haven’t been able to reach it.”

“Why didn’t you ask someone before?”

“Because there are so many books! I never thought I’d run out; yet here I am.”

“Can I just ask a Gnome to get it for me?”

“No! No Gnomes must be involved in this! They can smell Centaur the closer they get. Please! If you get it for me, I’ll tell you how you can get the information you need.”

Maria looked to Gramps. He nodded solemnly.

“How do you even know what information we need?” Maria asked.

“I overheard. I may be a barbaric beast by nature, but I’m not hard of hearing, Maria.”

Maria narrowed her eyes then looked up the towering shelf. “I suppose I’m the one who has to do it?”

“My bones are too brittle,” Gramps said. Funny thing, since she’d just seen him fight Malakai not long ago, and he’d looked like he was seventy years younger when he did it. “And Sherlock would have a tough time going up there.”

He’s right. I hate heights almost as much as I hate books.

“Only because you can’t read,” Maria said.

You know me so well. Sherlock grinned.

“Don’t they have ladders or something? Surely the Gnomes don’t just scale the shelves. That could be dangerous,” Maria said.

Gramps chuckled. “Oh, it’s quite an intricate process that involves ropes and harness and ladders and magic.”

“Where can I get some of that?”

“Nowhere, I’m afraid,” Gramps said. “Those are almost as secretive as the Gnomes’ vault.”

“Well, dammit.” Maria stepped forward and pushed the side of her fists into her lower back until her spine crackled. She tilted her head back and forth until her neck popped, too, then, to top it all off, she laced her fingers together and pushed outward to crack her knuckles. “Let’s do this. Centaur Warfare Through the Ages, you say?”

The Centaur nodded. “Third tallest shelf.”

Maria stepped toward the shelf. Luckily, the wood was about as thick as the steps they’d used to reach the library. It had to be, to support so many books. If it could support them, it could certainly support her.

“I wish I could do it myself, but—”

“Yeah, hooves and all that,” Maria said. Just as she planted her feet on the bottom shelf, knocking over a book on cauldron cooking, Gramps called her name. “Yes?” she answered.

He dug into his robes much the same way he had done to bring his wand out when facing the Arachnids in Dominion; instead of the wand, however, he pulled out a small, white dagger. “Here, dear, you may need this.”

The blade was sharp on both sides, but only one side was notched. Maria didn’t think it was designed that way. No; for some reason she thought the dagger was like that because it had been used so much. Oh, Gramps, there is still so much about you that I don’t know, isn’t there? She took the dagger and another question came to mind.

“Why will I need this? It’s just a library, just books.”

“Oh, Maria,” Gramps answered. “There’s so much about this world you don’t know.”

“Like what?”

The Centaur looked at her with a hint of amusement on his face, as if Maria was the butt of some joke that had completely gone over her head. She didn’t like it, not one bit.

“The books, my dear, can sometimes be as dangerous as they are useful,” Gramps answered.

That’s a load of squirrel crap, Sherlock said. Books aren’t useful!

“Spoken like a true scholar,” Maria said, leaning down to whisper at the dog. The Centaur gave her a crooked look. “Aw, don’t mind me. I’m not crazy.”

Says the girl who’s talking to a— Sherlock began.

“Yeah, yeah, a dog. I’ve heard that one before,” Maria said, cutting him off.

Now the Centaur really was looking at Maria and Sherlock as if they were aliens. Gramps had to cut in and explain the situation.

“Maria’s a bit telepathic when it comes to Sherlock here. She can hear the thoughts of her dog, but he can’t hear hers, so she has to talk aloud. No big deal. Best do what I do and ignore them.”

“Hm, that’s quite the talent, young Maria. It’s an honor to be in your presence,” the Centaur said, grinning.

“Don’t suck up because you want me to scale the shelves. I’m already gonna do that—but you better not go back on that information you’re gonna share with us.”

The Centaur raised a human hand covered in a thick brown hair. “How do you say on Earth…scout’s honor?”

“That’s real nice. Did you learn that from—”

“A book, yes. There are many books on Earth culture here.”

“I wonder how updated they are,” Maria said. Then she shook her head. “No, doesn’t matter. I’m going to get the book and then you’re going to tell us what we need to know.”

“I admire your tenacity.”

“Yeah,” Gramps said, “she’s just like her mother.”

“I never knew my mother. She was trampled by a pack of drunk Centaurs shortly after my birth.”

Harsh, but my mother was eaten alive by wolves, Sherlock said.

Maria snapped in his direction. “No, she wasn’t, you big buffoon. She lived out the rest of her life on that farm in Hartville. Nice dog. I remember her.”

Gramps nodded, already knowing what the subject was.

Hey, you don’t talk about my mother!

“I’ll talk about whatever I want!” Maria shouted back.

“Quiet!” roared a Gnome from somewhere.

“Sorry,” Gramps whispered.

Get your ass up those shelves so we can get out of here. I gotta pee, and I can’t make any promises I won’t tinkle on some books or, God forbid, a Gnome!

“I’m going, I’m going,” Maria said. She handed the dagger back to Gramps. He shook his head.

“No, you may need it.”

“He’s right. Nasty little buggers in those books,” the Centaur said.

Maria tapped the hilt of her sword. “I have this.”

“That sword requires two hands, and climbing requires at least one,” Gramps continued. “The dagger can be wielded with only one hand. It’s much lighter, and just as deadly at close range.”

Duh! Sherlock said.

“Screw you, Bloodhound.” But Gramps was right. She removed her sword and handed it to Gramps, keeping the belt and the sheath. “Time to kick some ass,” she murmured.

CHAPTER SIX

Maria got up high enough that, when she looked down, Gramps, Sherlock, and the Centaur looked like dots.

“Okay, this was probably a bad idea,” she said to herself.

But not as bad of an idea as looking down, Sherlock said distantly in her head.

“You can hear me?”

I’m a Bloodhound, I can hear what’s going on back home. Now move your ass before my bladder bursts.

“I’m trying, I’m trying.”

The truth was that Maria’s arms were starting to ache, and some of the wooden shelves had given her splinters. It seemed the Gnomes were not too particular about their upkeep the higher they got.

“I gotta take a break,” Maria said, her voice only a little higher than before.

No, dammit, Maria, I can’t hold it! Oh, God, I’m gonna have to go find a Gnome.

“You better not. Just a few seconds…or would you rather have me fall?”

Uhh…

“I’m totally putting you on a vegan diet, Sherlock. You’d rather have me fall. Wow!”

She could hear him snickering inside of her head. Make that a few minutes’ break instead, she thought bitterly.

The shelf she was currently standing on was large enough for her to pull herself up and sit with her legs dangling over the faraway floor. Her hands were sweaty and sore from the few splinters she’d gotten, and her breathing was ragged. Yes, a break; that would be nice. She pulled herself up and sat, and total weariness suddenly washed over her. She hadn’t slept voluntarily since she’d woken up from her fight with Malakai. And even when she’d passed out, she was only out for about an hour. That wasn’t much, considering all she’d been through in the last few days. She leaned forward and caught herself before she could lose her balance.

With a sore hand, she slapped herself in the face. Gotta keep moving. If I stop for too long, I’m gonna pass out and never wake up, because I’ll have fallen. What a way to go out, after coming this far, Maria, she thought.

She was right, though. Had she rested any longer, she would’ve indeed fallen asleep, and then fallen off the towering bookcase. She turned to lay on her stomach, noticing the books in front of her—Oriceran World Maps, Fairhaven Fairies and Why They’re Not as Cute as They Look, and A Troll’s Night Out—and their odd placement, which was neither alphabetical nor numerical in anyway. She also noticed a large gap between the books, and an odd smell. It smelled like Earth, like the forest and the trees and fallen leaves.

She ignored it and started to climb again, but that smell was overbearing. She was almost to the right shelf when she just couldn’t ignore it any longer.

Maria paused, making sure her feet were firmly planted on the shelf below. Between the books where another large gap was, she thought she saw something move.

Just avoid it. Be on your way, she thought.

But then that something tweeted like a baby bird, and all thoughts of why she had to bring a dagger up with her were gone. That tweet was not a happy tweet; it was a tweet of anguish.

“Hello?” Maria called.

Two glowing eyes shone in the darkness; they were small and quite close together. The creature that tweeted stepped forward from a nest made out of ripped book pages and strips of leather hardcover.

“Hi there, pretty,” Maria said, cooing.

The creature reminded Maria of Tweety Bird from The Looney Tunes shows that she used to watch when she was younger—ah, who was she kidding? The Looney Tunes shows that she sometimes still watched. Except where Tweety Bird was yellow, this creature was multicolored—red, orange, green, soft blue—and its feathers were all ruffled.

There were tears in its big glowing eyes.

“Are you okay?” Maria asked, aware of how crazy she must’ve seemed talking to a bird. Eh, I talk to a Bloodhound all the time, what’s the big deal?

Surprisingly—or not really, the more she thought about it—the creature shook its head ‘no’.

“What’s wrong? Are you hungry? Where’s your momma?”

The creature cried again.

Maria reached into her pocket, hoping she had some kind of snack to give it—maybe leftover candy or some popcorn had found its way into her pockets. Nope. But she did close her fingers around something shaped like a bone. It was a treat she’d put in there to give Sherlock, but had totally forgotten about.

Better than nothing.

She pulled it out and set it in front of the creature. Its eyes were cautious.

“It’s okay. It’s food. Good food. My friend Sherlock loves them…well, he loves everything, so that’s not really saying much. I guess if you can understand me, it’s better than nothing. And you, my friend, look really hungry.”

The bird-creature took a few hesitant steps and thrust its little beak out, sniffing at the dog biscuit.

“Yeah, go on, buddy,” Maria said and motioned to it with her free hand.

Hesitantly, the creature opened its beak and started to nibble the treat, breaking away small chunks and leaving a pile of crumbs.

“Should’ve thought to break it up for you before I gave it to you. My bad. Here, let me—” She reached out to grab the treat again in order to make it easier for the creature to eat, but the creature wasn’t having that. Its beak suddenly unhinged with a click, and its cute face turned into the horrid face of a monster. Rows and rows of sharp teeth jutted from the creature’s gums.

Maria let out a scream and found herself losing her balance.

The dagger! Pull it free, she thought.

That meant risking a fall.

Better than having some weird creature bite your nose off, Maria. Should’ve never offered it a dog treat. It’s not even a dog.

Now the creature was coming for her, its rotten-pink tongue lolling from between those jagged teeth.

Maria wasted no more time. She reached for the dagger on her belt, knowing there was no way in hell that she could actually stab the creature if it came down to it.

The creature flew through the air, covering the rest of the distance between its nest and Maria, but as soon as she brandished the dagger—its whiteness shining in the dark shadows of the towering books—the creature stopped dead and fell to the shelf, writhing.

“Whoa,” Maria wheezed.

The look of hatred in the bird-creature’s eyes was alarming. It did more than hate the blade…it utterly despised it.

The creature slinked back to the shadows with a low growl. Once all Maria could see of it was its glowing, hateful eyes, she tilted a few books to block the creature from her view. The growling grew louder.

“Fuck this,” Maria said. She wasn’t tired anymore; adrenaline coursed through her. She climbed up and over the shelf, hoping the little beast wouldn’t latch onto her ankle. That would be the worst.

It didn’t happen.

She reached the top shelf, quickly scanning the books. It took her about twenty seconds to find the Centaur’s book. Amazing what a little fear can do to you, she thought. She tucked the book into her belt, causing it to protrude very far out.

“Okay, I’m coming down!” she shouted toward the floor at the top of her lungs. It hadn’t really occurred to her that the Gnomes might hear, but none did; she was much too high up in the air.

Instead of going down the same way she had come, she shimmied to the left, hoping to avoid the creature she’d hidden with the books. She also hoped that there were no others—but she knew that was a long shot.

When she was about three-quarters of the way down, she lost her balance.

“NO!” she screamed.

But it was too late.

She fell, feeling weightless. The floor and the wide eyes of Gramps and Sherlock rushed up to meet her—

A neigh sliced through the air, and she didn’t hit the floor at all. Instead, she hit the back of the Centaur, landing the wrong way, so her face was near his tail.

WHOA! Sherlock sounded. She sticks the landing! I give it nine out of ten. Now back to you, Mark!

Maria looked up, her breath knocked out of her and her heart beating off of the charts. “You’re not funny, Sherlock.”

I think I am, that’s all that matters.

“Maria, are you all right?” Gramps asked, rushing over to the Centaur’s side.

She sat up. “It could’ve been much worse,” she said. “What, with the little creature trying to bite my face off, and falling, I guess I’m pretty good, all things considered.”

Gramps grimaced. “Ah, you met the Raffins, eh?”

“That was a Raffin!? Geez, Sherlock, I’m sorry for patronizing you about pestering the Raffin back near the forest. That was not a pleasant creature.”

See? I know what I’m doing!

She patted the Centaur’s horseback. “Thanks for breaking my fall, pal.”

“Anytime. Did you get the book?”

Maria hopped down and pulled the book free from her belt, just now realizing the corner had dug pretty deep into her lower abdomen. It would definitely leave a mark; better than Humpty Dumpty-ing all over the Light Elves’ library floor.

“Yep,” Maria said. “Got it right here.” She handed it to the Centaur, whose face lit up in pure enjoyment. She’d never seen such a happy Centaur before in her life…of course, she’d actually never seen a Centaur in the flesh up to that point, either

“Oh, thank you, Maria! You have made my day! I’m glad to have met you kind people.” He was smiling wide, showcasing his human-like teeth.

“Yeah, yeah, you’re welcome. I live to serve. Yada-yada, all that stuff, now give us the information we need.”

The smile disappeared.

Gramps and Sherlock had crowded closer around Maria and the Centaur.

“What’s wrong?” Gramps asked.

He lied, that’s what’s wrong. Never trust a talking half-man, half-horse. Only trust dogs…Bloodhounds in particular.

“Shush,” Maria said.

What? I’m not wrong. Watch!

The Centaur scratched the back of his head with the book, which showed a particularly angry Centaur on the front, holding a sword. “I fear the information I have is not the best information, but it is information nonetheless. It is more than the Gnomes are willing to give you.”

“Then spill it, friend,” Gramps said.

“And I fear it may not be worth Maria risking her life,” the Centaur continued.

“Now you say it,” Maria said.

“No matter. What’s done is done, friend. Now hold up your end of the bargain.” Gramps was looking impatient.

“Fine,” the Centaur said. “As you know, I’ve spent many moons here. This place has become a second home to me of sorts—especially since my own people look at me differently now that I’ve educated myself.”

Get on with it, Sherlock said.

And, as if the Centaur heard Sherlock, he did get on with it. “Not long ago, a Gnome was fired from the library for his drinking problem. When he would get drunk off that fine Elvish stuff, his tongue would loosen, and he would spill all kinds of secrets. His name is Gelbus.”

“So we find this Gnome?” Maria asked her grandfather.

He held up a hand as if to say, Let the Centaur finish.

“You probably won’t even have to get him drunk, for he is most always deep in his cups these days. Not to mention the animosity he feels for the Gnome order. It was a nasty dispute; they had to call an escort for him. He went kicking and screaming, swearing he’d get his revenge. That was just the alcohol talking, we all knew. Gelbus was a gentle Gnome—one of my favorites, in fact. He often looked the other way when he caught me reading deep in the stacks, where a Centaur shouldn’t have been. I do miss him.”

“That doesn’t sound too bad,” Maria said. “We find the Gnome, hope he’s drunk, and if he’s not, we just buy him a few rounds of—wait, what the hell do the people of Oriceran drink? Beer, vodka?”

“Ale and wine is Gelbus’s drink of choice,” the Centaur answered. “Get the little Gnome a pint, and he’ll be off his rocker for the better part of the night.”

Maria raised a hand toward the Centaur.

He only stared at it.

“What, they don’t high five here on Oriceran?” Maria said.

What kind of place is this? Sherlock added, padding over to Maria, sitting like a good dog and putting his paw out to showcase the classic Shake trick. Maria smiled at him and slapped his paw.

Yeah, that’s how it’s done, horse-freak!

“Why are you always so bitter?”

How I was raised.

“Oh, you take that back, Sherlock!”

In all seriousness, I really have to pee. I’m seeing yellow…

“Too much information.” Maria turned back to the Centaur. He was looking on with pure fascination.

“Perhaps I should visit Earth one of these days. You people seem so…interesting,” the Centaur said.

‘You people’? What the hell does he mean, ‘you people’? If I didn’t have to pee so badly, I would bite his horse nipples off! Put on a shirt, bro!

Maria lowered her voice, shaking her head. “Horse nipples…?”

What? They’re out there for everyone to see. We’re all thinking it, I’m just man enough to say it!

“Oh, boy,” Maria said. “Okay, let’s try this again.” Her hand came up, and this time the Centaur half-slapped her palm and half-gripped it. “Ah, well, good enough, I guess. But probably best if you stayed off Earth until the portals or whatever they are line up and open. Earthlings are not too fond of things they don’t understand. I mean, most countries don’t even get along even though they’re all the same race…the human race.”

“Well said, Maria,” Gramps said. “I’ve taught you well.”

Well, I still don’t like Gnomes, and I’m starting to not like Centaurs with their exposed nips and chiseled abs and horse bodies… Sherlock said.

“Jealousy doesn’t look good on you,” Maria said in a singsong voice.

Sherlock wrinkled his nose. It’s just not fair! They get the best of both worlds. Why can’t I be half-human, half-dog? I bet I’d get all the babes and still have an appetite for delicious dead squirrels and garbage.

“Yuck, careful what you wish for, pal.”

She could feel the conversation getting out of hand. The Centaur was studying Maria with utter fascination, while Gramps sat back and watched it all. A passing of the torch; that’s what it was. Maria knew. He was giving her the reins, the keys to the kingdom…unlike the keys to his Firebird. Ah, well, better than nothing. So it was time for Maria to rein everyone in. She had people to save—a whole village.

“Where can we find this Gelbus?” she asked.

Gramps gave a reassuring nod. She loved that old man, yet for some reason she wished he hadn’t come. When they were spotted by the Arachnids, and Tabby had almost had her head squeezed off, Gramps moved a bit slower than he had on Earth. Maybe it has something to do with the tides of the two moons, but I thought he’d be stronger, she thought. No, don’t worry about him—you can’t worry about him. You saw what he is capable of firsthand. He will be fine.

But the lingering feeling that he wouldn’t—that none of them would be protected on this great journey was ever-present.

Still, what was Maria to do? Give up?

Hell no.

That was not in her blood, not in her DNA. Ignatius Apple had taught her well, and she was a good student.

“This is where things get tricky,” the Centaur said. “The last I heard, Gelbus was somewhere not for the faint of heart.”

“Good thing we are not faint of heart. Our hearts are strong.” Maria frowned.

“I do not doubt that, Earthling, so I will tell you. Gelbus fled to Ves Ielan.”

Of course, the name meant nothing to Maria, but Gramps squirmed and went a few shades paler. If he had gone only one shade, Maria wouldn’t have noticed. Alas, he didn’t, so she had.

“Ves Ielan? What is that? Why is it so terrible?”

“I cannot say for sure,” the Centaur said. “For I would not set foot within fifty miles of that dreaded place.” He raised the book. “Now our deal is completed, and I have warfare and ancient Centaur generals to read about. I thank you, Maria, Ignatius, and Earth Dog Sherlock, for your help and graciousness. May our paths cross again.”

With that, the Centaur galloped silently down the length of the shelves and turned the corner at a sign that Maria thought was in Elvish and didn’t understand, though it depicted tables and chairs—it was probably where one went to read in peace.

Another strange thought crossed her mind: How will the Centaur get the book back up there without the help of the Gnomes?

Will he just leave it on the table, and the Gnomes will put it up themselves? Gramps had mentioned something about Gnomes’ secret magic and their ropes and harnesses, but that seemed like a lot of work. Maybe they can levitate it up there? Whatever. It isn’t important. What was important was how frightened her grandfather, whom she had never seen this frightened, looked.

“Gramps?”

“Yes, my dear Maria?” His voice was paper-thin.

“Ves Ielan can’t be that bad, can it? I mean, I’ve seen you walk through the North Side of Akron without so much as batting an eye.”

“Oh, Maria,” he wheezed, “the North Side of Akron is a fairytale land compared to Ves Ielan.”

“I don’t believe that. The North Side is pretty bad.”

Gramps just shook his head.

“Come, Maria, we will discuss these matters outside of the castle.”

He went the opposite direction the Centaur had gone, and Maria followed.

***

As the stairs began to manifest out of thin air, Maria looked back and realized Sherlock was nowhere in sight.

“Go ahead, Gramps. I gotta find Sherlock.”

“That dratted dog. Sometimes I wonder why I didn’t just get a cat. It’s more fitting for a wizard, wouldn’t you say?” He paused and looked like he couldn’t help but smile. “Who am I kidding? Sherlock is much better than a cat. A little high-strung for his age, but at least he doesn’t cough up hairballs and claw the furniture, am I right?”

Maria was already halfway back into the library. A few Gnomes gave her a dirty look. She thought about flipping them the bird, but ultimately decided against it. They wouldn’t know what it meant, not here on Oriceran.

The Gnomes! The thought came into her head like a meteor hurtling straight for Earth. Follow the Gnomes!

Sure enough, as Maria got deeper into the library, the place shimmering while it came out of whatever invisibility spell it was currently under, Maria saw what looked like an Oriceran version of a circulation desk. It was much larger than any she’d ever seen on Earth; so wide that about twenty Gnomes were manning it—Or Gnoming it.  A handful of the Gnomes had gathered at one section of the large circle. Their arms were up; some held books and were swatting. Others just shook balled fists at the foreign creature currently on top of the counter.

That creature, of course, was Sherlock. He was growling and barking at the Gnomes.

“Sherlock!” Maria shouted.

But she was too late. He’d said he had to pee, and apparently, he’d meant it. He lifted his leg, and a stream of yellow splashed a few unfortunate Gnomes’ bowler hats and infuriated flowers.

Look, Maria! I’m doing it! They can take my balls, but they can’t take my animalistic instincts!

Maria sprinted over and tackled him off of the desk before he could drown the poor Gnomes with his urine. Somehow, she managed to get only a couple drops on her jeans. If Sherlock had pissed on the music box, she would’ve been as infuriated as the flowers atop the Gnomes’ bowler hats.

Sherlock was quick to get to his feet, much quicker than normal, but Maria was on him, grabbing his collar and guiding him out of the library.

“I’m sorry!” she shouted. “So sorry!”

“BANNED!” one of the Gnomes shouted back. His hat was off and in his hand. He shook it, and drops of yellow liquid went in all directions.

“I mean it! We’re sorry!”

I’m not sorry. God, I feel liberated! I feel like a puppy again.

“You’re acting like a puppy, Sherlock. I’m disappointed.”

Eh, it’s better than me killing a Gnome, right? Pee washes off, but death is forever, as a wise man once said.

“I don’t know any wise men who’ve said anything remotely close to that. Good try.”

Cries of “BANNED! BANNED!” followed them all the way out of the library and to the steps.

“I honestly don’t know if I want to come back to a library where little creatures with beaks big enough to swallow my hand whole are hiding in their shelves,” Maria said.

And I don’t think I want to come back to a place where pissing on Gnomes only pisses them off. Mary’s Gnome across the street doesn’t care when I pee on him, you know? Sherlock said.

“Well, Sherlock, you and I both know that Mary’s Gnome is an inanimate object.”

So are dead squirrels, he argued.

“I don’t…really know what to say. I guess you’re right; technically, a dead squirrel is not a moving squirrel, but it’s disrespectful, man!”

Kind of like peeing on real Gnomes is disrespectful?

Maria nodded. “Now you are getting it, my canine friend. Though, I think you’ve known that for a long time. You’re not that stupid.”

Sherlock stuck his tongue out then said, You know what they say: stupid dog, stupid owners.

“Real nice, but I don’t think they say that too often. Again, good try.”

Gramps was waiting for them on a middle step that looked to be suspended in midair. “I see you found him.”

And I feel so much better! Still gotta empty the rest of my bladder, but that little bit I let out freed me up. In fact, I’m kind of thirsty now.

“Oh, c’mon, Sherlock, save it for when we get outside.”

I don’t know if I can. Are there any Gnomes around? Sherlock looked back up the steps, and Maria followed his gaze, but there were no Gnomes in sight, none at all.

They went down the rest of the stairs without passing anyone else, thankfully. Maria was glad, because she didn’t want Sherlock to urinate on an Elf by accident, and get their membership to the wonderful invisible castle revoked, too. She quite liked the castle.

“Through the doors,” Gramps said.

They traveled the same field from before until they were well away from the castle. Sherlock finished his bathroom duties, and Gramps handed Maria her sword back.

“Now we can discuss our plans,” Gramps said.

CHAPTER SEVEN

Ignatius checked his wristwatch as Maria and Sherlock waited patiently for their discussion to begin. The watch was synchronized to Earth and Oriceran time—a sort of worlds clock. Not much time had passed since they had portaled to the very spot they stood, but one glance at Maria, and Ignatius knew she would not last much longer. She may have her mother’s blood coursing through her, she may be brave and valiant and all things that make up an honorable warrior, but she was exhausted beyond belief. The purple rings under her eyes made her look like she’d been punched, she was constantly yawning, and her posture had become stooped.

She is only nineteen, Ignatius. Hardly an adult. Two days ago, her biggest concerns involved popcorn; now the fate of an entire world rests on her shoulders. My posture would be stooped, too.

“Gramps?”

He started.

“Oh, sorry, sorry, just trying to get my thoughts in order. It’s been a rough couple of days, hasn’t it?”

“You’re telling me,” Maria answered, yawning again. Sherlock mimicked her, though Ignatius thought it was purely out of infatuation, not lethargy. Ever since he had brought Sherlock home over a decade ago, Maria and he had been inseparable. The Bloodhound had proven his worth with his ability to sniff out nearly anything—dark magic, included—but it was the bond between his granddaughter and the dog that really made Ignatius feel like he had chosen the right puppy. Sure, he could be quite ornery at times, digging in the trashcan, bringing home dead animals as presents, and, as of late, urinating on Gnomes, but none of that bothered Ignatius, because Sherlock was family.

“Oh, Grandfatherrrrrr…”

This time, Ignatius didn’t startle. He just turned to Maria and smiled softly.

“The plans?” Maria asked again. She then looked down at Sherlock and chuckled. The dog must’ve made a snide comment—turned out he was quite good at that.

“The plans are simple, my dear,” Ignatius said, turning a watchful eye on Sherlock, who did not shrink beneath Ignatius’s gaze. “You shall go on home, and I will visit Ves Ielan in search of the Gnome Gelbus.”

Maria’s forehead wrinkled, her mouth frowned. “What!? No way. This isn’t your quest. It’s our quest.”

“Maria, dear, as powerful as you’ve become, I don’t believe you are ready for the horrors of Ves Ielan just yet. You need rest. Besides, have you forgotten about the nice gentlemen who sought you out at Salem’s with a bouquet of roses already? He will be waiting for you soon enough.”

“But—” Maria protested, and Ignatius cut her off.

Ah, she is so much like my dear Zimmy.

“No buts, Maria. A shared quest such as ours requires many moving parts. Everyone must pull their own weight.

Maria was shaking her head. “No, Gramps, I can’t.”

“You must and you will. I, as leader of this quest, order you.” He raised his voice to a steady boom. Those back at the invisible Elven castle surely heard the drifting echoes of his words.

“Why? I’m okay, I promise! I can fend for myself.” Maria’s hands shook, but her face was fearful.

She is scared, worried because she cares about you—an old wizard from a forgotten village. It is more than you deserve, Ignatius.

“You may very well have to fend for yourself before our journey is over, but until then, go back home to Earth and rest. Check on Tabitha. Rest some more. And enjoy your date with that nice young man. Be normal while you still can, Maria.”

“I’m not normal. I never was. Normal is boring.”

Ignatius couldn’t help himself. He chuckled.

“You are right about that, but I don’t mean normal in the same sense that you do. There is Earth normal, where you work a nine-to-five with health insurance, dental insurance, and a 401k, and then there’s normal-normal, as in you don’t communicate with spirits trapped in the world between or Bloodhounds, and lastly, there is nineteen-year-old normal, where you go on dates and laugh with your friends and enjoy your life. I want that for you, Maria. I want you to not fear or worry. I want you to be nineteen-year-old normal.”

Maria smiled, but there was still rebellion in her eyes; eyes that were the same shade as her mother’s.

Zimmy, I’ve lost you already; I’m so sorry, but I cannot lose another, he thought.

The wind blew. It had a sharpness to it that reminded him of the beginning of an Ohio winter.

“Go, Maria. I will be back with the information and when I have it, I will need you to save the village. I will need you for the most important part, my dear. You are not safe here with the music box. There are too many after you.”

“But—”

Sherlock suddenly barked. Maria leaned down to talk to him.

“You think so?” she asked.

Sherlock nodded. That was easy enough to understand.

“Fine,” Maria said, looking back to Ignatius. “I’ll go back…for now. But if you die, I’m gonna kill you!”

Ignatius chuckled again. “You have your mother’s sense of humor.”

Maria said nothing. She looked longingly up to the rising sun and purplish sky.

Ignatius raised his hand and held it out to her. Glaring at it, she sighed, but she finally took it. Then each of them took one of Sherlock’s paws as he sat up on his hind legs, his droopy eyes watchful. The circle was closed, and the singing began.

Not long after, a portal was opened, and Ignatius was looking into the living room of his house, where his comfy recliner sat in front of his television, its screen dark and devoid of The Young and the Restless and General Hospital. Ah, how he longed for the comfort of his own home, for the warmth of the blankets on his lap, and a cold Coca-Cola nearby that he could sip at his own leisure.

He looked away, back at Maria. “Go on,” he said. “The both of you.”

Sherlock padded up to him and sat on his haunches. He put his paw up. This stunned Ignatius. He had never done this before. The shaking trick was exclusive to Maria.

“He wants me to tell you he loves you,” Maria said.

A tear welled up in Ignatius’s eye. “I love you, too, Sherlock. You’re a good boy.”

Sherlock’s tail wagged, fanning the long grass in every direction.

“And I love you, Maria, my dear. I will see you soon.”

She nodded, a sad smile on her face.

With that, she and Sherlock disappeared through the portal. It closed moments after, as the song playing inside of Ignatius’s head stilled. He looked out to the distant mountains and prayed to any Gods that would listen to keep Maria and Sherlock safe, and to help guide him on this journey.

***

Maria looked back over her shoulder, at her grandfather standing there in that alien field.

Then the portal closed, and he was gone; she hoped not forever.

Oh, thank God, home sweet, home. Let me out, I need to use the bathroom.

“Again?” Maria snapped, and then she sighed. “Fine.”

They went out the back door and onto the porch. Sherlock took off into the tall grass. An odd feeling came over Maria, and she turned around.

She could see the marks from Malakai, when he’d tried to break in and get the music box only days ago; it had felt so much longer than that.

I guess that’s what traveling across worlds does to you.

Sherlock started barking, and Maria’s heart dropped into her stomach. The image of Malakai was too fresh in her mind, but as she looked out at her frolicking dog—a word she’d learned from Gramps—she realized he was only barking at a moth flapping its wings through their backyard.

She shook her head and laughed.

It was early in the morning. She still had tons of time to get ready for her date with Joe. As much as she wanted to use that time to help Gramps, she couldn’t deny how sleepy she was. She didn’t just want it; her body craved it.

“C’mon, dummy!” she yelled out to Sherlock, who stopped snapping at thin air as the moth floated high above him, and looked sheepishly back to her.

Five more minutes! C’mon!

“No, you did your business. Can’t trust you not to go around and pee on anyone. You’re on pee-probation.”

Sherlock slinked back toward the porch, his head down and his ears drooping over his eyes.

“That sad puppy dog face doesn’t work when you’re ancient, buddy.”

If I had a middle finger, I’d use it, he replied.

“You know what? Last time I was at Pet’s Mart, I saw adult doggy diapers. The dog on the picture looked particularly miserable. I happen to have some extra money. Why don’t I take a trip down there and pick up a few so you don’t go all fire hose on anymore Gnomes?”

NO! You wouldn’t.

“I would.” Maria crossed her arms and tapped her foot.

Fine, you win again. No fun.

“Oh, cool it. It’s normal not to pee on Gnomes, you know?”

Says who?

“Society.”

Screw society. I’m a dog. I’ll pee on whatever the hell I want to pee on.

“Then you’ll wear diapers and only pee on yourself.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes and went into the house. Maria closed the door behind him.

“But I will give you a treat because I’m not that much of a bitch.” She pulled a Milkbone out of the box and tossed it to him. He snatched it like he was a puppy, young and spry. “Remind me to never put another one of those in my pocket again.”

You had one in there? Oh, man, I thought I smelled it! Figured I was just hallucinating from the Oriceran berries I ate.

Maria’s hand came up and pinched the bridge of her nose. “You’re telling me you were eating berries in a strange world? You must be kidding.”

Sherlock stifled a burp. Nope, he said, baring his teeth in what looked like a snarling grin. I eat everything, you know that.

All she could do was shake her head. “Okay, I’m taking a nap.”

Right, I could use one, too. We gotta get our beauty rest for our date with Joe.

“Our date?” Maria snorted. “I think you’re gonna have to sit this one out, Sherlock.”

What? I thought we were going to Applebee’s…you know, three for twenty bucks.

“It’s two for twenty bucks, and hell no. I won’t have you farting, and Joe thinking it was me.”

I’ll plug it up. Come on! Don’t let me miss out on Applebee’s.

“I’ll bring something home for you, I promise.”

Grumbling, Sherlock said, Fine.

Upstairs they went, but not before Maria grabbed her cell phone off the kitchen counter. She dialed Tabby’s number. She didn’t answer. So she called Claire instead. Like usual, Claire was playing on her phone, and answered on the first ring.

“Hello? Maria? W-T-F, are you calling me from Oriceran? Whatever cell service you have, I want!” Claire said.

“No, no, I’m back.”

“Did you save that village already? Damn, girl, you’re killing it.”

“Also no,” Maria answered glumly. “Gramps wanted me to come back because he had to track down a rogue Gnome at some hardcore bar or something like that. I didn’t want to come back, but he was dead serious, and rather than piss him off, I figured I’d come back to appease him.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, hold on,” Claire said. “Did you just say a rogue Gnome?”

“Yep.”

“What is life? Geez, just yesterday I was worried about missing the new season of the Kardashians, and here I am talking to one of my best friends about Gnomes and magical music boxes. Do you think I need to get my passport stamped now that I’ve been to Oriceran? Or that I need to get vaccinations or something…you know, like be quarantined for a certain number of weeks because I’ve been to alien lands?”

“Claire, you’re rambling. But my answers are no, no, and maybe.”

“Maybe!?”

“Kidding. I think we’re all right. Earth and Oriceran are tied together. Family, in a way. We’ll be okay.” Maria paused. “Listen, the reason I’m calling is because I’m wondering how Tabby is doing? Does she hate me?”

“Oh! I’m sitting with her right now!”

“You are? Where? Her house?”

“No, we’re in the hospital. You only left us a few hours ago. They’re just doing a routine check up.”

Guilt washed over Maria. “But she’s okay? You didn’t tell them what happened…did you?”

“Yeah, Maria, we told the nurses and doctors that Tab got attacked by a couple of giant spiders. Yeah, totally.”

Maria laughed. “I’m sorry, I’m just a little high-strung. It’s been an odd few days. Can I talk to Tabby?”

“She’s actually sleeping right now. Doc said she can go, but the hospital beds are just so damn comfy, you know?”

“I don’t, but speaking of beds, I’m going to find mine. I’ll text you after the date and let you know how it went.”

It was then that Claire squeee-ed so loudly that Maria had to hold the phone away from her ear unless she wanted permanent hearing loss. The squee-ing went on for a solid twenty seconds, Maria asked, “Are you done?”

To which Claire replied with more squee-ing.

Finally, the line went quiet. Maria was scared to say anything for some time at the risk of more of Claire’s squee-ing.

“Okay, okay, I’m done. Promise me one thing, Maria.”

“Yeah?”

“Don’t take Sherlock on the date with you. Please.”

Hey, I heard that! Sherlock said from the hallway. Remember I’m a dog. I have supersonic hearing.

Maria waved him away.

You tell Claire her invitation to Dog Prom is officially revoked.

The phone came away from Maria’s ear. She covered the mouthpiece with her hand. “Wait—what? What the hell is Dog Prom? You know what, never mind.” Then back to Claire, “Don’t worry, I’m not going to take him. He’s going to stay home and be a good boy…unless he wants diapers.”

“Diapers? No, just quit feeding him bacon and eggs. It does not smell good coming out the other end.”

The two girls broke out into uncontrollable laughter. When that subsided, they said their goodbyes, Maria asking Claire to make sure Tabby called or texted her as soon as she woke up, and Claire promising she would—but knowing Claire, she probably forgot the moment she pressed the ‘END’ button.

Maria changed into a pair of sweats and a tank top. She took the music box out of the satchel, and hung the sword belt up on one of her bedposts.

When she settled in to her soft mattress, and the covers were pulled snugly up to her chin, she opened the box. That sweet music played, a chorus of angels singing her to sleep. Her eyelids grew heavier, her heart rate slowed. She was only dimly aware of Sherlock jumping up on her bed and snuggling up next to her, but she wouldn’t have made him get down even he had a dead squirrel clamped between his jaws.

Ah, home sweet home.

***

“MARIA!” the voice shouted at her.

She knew that voice. It was a friend, a friend in pain.

Where was she? She looked around. The forest was dark and brooding, closing in on the clearing she stood in. Across the way, a dark figure moved toward her.

Fear choked her throat. She wanted to call out and ask who it was, but she could not.

“MARIA!”

The figure stopped about twenty feet away. It was too dark out. She couldn't read his features.

Then he reached a hand out toward her.

“Maria, you have to go! He can’t slay it alone!”

Finally she found her voice, but it came out in a croak. “Duke?”

“Yes, Maria, it’s me.”

“Duke, where are we? I thought you passed on. I thought you went to Heaven.”

“I did, Maria, but I’ve come back to warn you.”

The strength seemed to go out of her legs, causing her to wobble. She caught a nearby branch. It was ice cold to the touch.

Was that branch this close before?

No, she thought, it wasn’t.

The forest was the fear, that much she knew; or at least a representation of the fear that was closing in around her. Closer. Closer. Closer.

“What are you warning me about?”

“The Dragon Tongue… They have risen to the call of Rhazdon once more. What is dead may never truly die. They are there, Maria! They are there!”

“Where?” she shouted back. “Duke! Where?”

But it was too late. The dark, misty figure he had become began to wither away. Grains of sand caught in the wind.

“Duke!”

“Go, Maria! Go—”

The worst screech Maria had ever heard—Can I even hear in a dream? Because that’s what this is, she thought, a dream—sliced through her eardrums.

The forest, now so close to her she could feel the leaves brushing against her skin, swayed violently back and forth, as if caught in a great thunderstorm. But there was no rain, no thunder, no lighting.

A large creature rose into the air—the source of the terrible screeching, which now bled into an earth-rumbling roar. As it extended its wings and hovered, they stretched long enough to block out the light from the two moons.

Maria reached for her sword and found it was not there.

Then all she saw as the creature swooped down on her were two blazing orange eyes the size of twin suns hanging in the sky…and fire.

CHAPTER EIGHT

She woke up screaming, soaked in her own sweat, her t-shirt and sweatpants plastered to her skin. Sherlock was at the end of the bed, on his back, his legs in the air, his paws twitching. Probably dreaming of chasing Raffins or peeing on Gnomes, she thought.

Outside, the sun was on its way down. Fear struck her almost as hard as it had in her dream—Just a dream, that’s all it was. Thank God.

But she shot up out of bed, causing Sherlock to jump and scream, What is it? Is it the Gnomes!? I’ll kill ‘em.

Maria glanced at her nightstand. Her phone wasn’t there. Where did it go? Why didn’t she have a clock in her room? She jammed her arm between the nightstand and the bed. Rubber. She felt rubber on her fingertips.

“There it is!”

What? What? Gnomes? They followed us, the bastards. I knew it!

She snatched it, ignoring Sherlock and saw the time. It was already 6:00 p.m.—her date was in less than an hour.

WHAT IS IT!?

“Sorry, Sherlock,” she said. “I thought I was late for my date.”

Not cool, Maria. He snarled and stared at her blankly. I have to go outside, like yesterday.

“Fine,” she said, yawning. She’d slept a good amount, but the tiredness was still present. As she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror, she wished she had woken up an hour earlier. To put it simply, she looked like hell…possibly worse. Let’s just say if she was, in her present state, entered into a beauty contest with Sherlock, an Arachnid, and a Gnome, she would be gunning for last place. Her hair was everywhere, the most unruly it had been in days, she had an odd, uneven tan—from what? She wasn’t sure.

“Oh, man,” she muttered under her breath.

Yeah, you look about as good as one of my dead squirrels, and they’ve usually been pancaked by car tires, Sherlock said as he shook his body, splattering drool all over the open door.

“Thanks, Sherlock. You’re truly the best.”

I know.

“Still haven’t gotten a grasp on sarcasm, have you?”

He ignored her and padded down the steps. Gramps still wasn’t back when she reached the landing. General Hospital or some other soap opera on the Soap Network would’ve lit up the living room, but it was as dark as the Dark Forest in there.

Maria sighed and opened the back door. Sherlock bolted out much faster than normal.

“Really had to go, huh?”

She got her answer soon enough when he barely made it past the stairs before he squatted. She covered her eyes.

Thanks for the privacy!

“Yuck, what did you eat?”

I wish I could say Gnome. Oh, get over it. We all do this…some of us differently than others. I know you have a stack of books you keep in the toilet room under the sink—don’t ever donate those!

Maria’s cheeks flared red. God, letting a dog embarrass me. Truly, truly, what has my life come to?

In the stark darkness of the kitchen, the green numbers on the stove’s digital clock stood out like a bad omen. The time was now 6:13. Time was ticking, and Joe would be there sooner than she realized. Calling Sherlock inside would be no use, Maria knew.

“Time to call in the big guns,” she murmured under her breath.

On top of the fridge, a red box with a cute Beagle on the front sat next to the cereal boxes. The Milkbones.

She plucked it out of its spot between the Fruity Pebbles and Raisin Bran and turned for the door. Outside, she shook the box half of one time before Sherlock heard and took off toward the door, his tongue out, wagging and sending spit going in all directions.

“Like taking candy from a Bloodhound,” Maria said, a smile on her face…until she realized Sherlock was coming in much too hot. “Oh, shit—”

The breath exploded out of her as he knocked her over like a professional football player. The Milkbone box spun up in the air, hit the siding of the house, and exploded into a makeshift, dog treat piñata.

Christmas came early this year!

By the time Maria got up, it was too late. Sherlock had scarfed down half the box, and time was ticking on. She needed to get ready.

“You are something else,” she said, rubbing her tailbone.

Through a mouthful of Milkbones, Sherlock said, I’m a dog, can’t blame me.

“I can and I just did. But when you’re bloated and feel like you weigh a million pounds, you’re on your own, Sherlock.”

It was totally worth it.

And just like that, he polished the rest of the box off and began chewing on the cardboard for dessert. Maria snatched it away. No way in hell was she going to come back from her date and clean up Milkbone box confetti. She just wished there was a spell for all of this or something. A flick of the wrist, and she’s Cinderella all ready to go to Prince Charming’s ball. There probably was, but if that was true, she didn’t know it…yet.

“Guess I’ll have to do things the hard way for now.”

Give it back!

“Say please.”

Pleaseeeeeeee.

Maria went around the back of the house toward the side where their garbage cans sat until Monday morning, when the garbage truck came through the neighborhood. She threw the box in the big recycling bin with the heavy lid, while Sherlock watched with sad eyes.

“Ugh, fine,” Maria said, and dug it out. Sherlock perked up instantly, his tail swishing pebbles side to side. “But go chew it up in the garage so I can at least sweep it up with a broom instead of having to pick out a million tiny pieces of cardboard from the carpet.”

You’re the best!

He ran at her again, but not as hard as before. He jumped up, his dirty paws smearing her t-shirt, which was no big deal, and he swiped her face with a flick of his slobbery tongue.

“Yuck! Milkbone breath!”

Better than dead squirrel breath, right?

Maria wiped the spit away from her cheek and shrugged. “Yeah, I guess you’re right.”

***

Upstairs, Maria tried to tame her wild hair. It just wasn’t working. Firstly, she’d never really been on a date before. Of course, there was that time in eighth grade when she went to the Formal Dance with Bobby Hart, but they’d arrived separately, hadn’t matched her dress to his tie, and only danced once throughout the night—at an arm’s length away, thanks to Mr. Ross and his flashlight, scanning the dark gym floor for any signs of handsiness. So that didn’t really count.

Man, that’s sad, she thought. I haven’t had a boyfriend since I was like thirteen. What the hell is wrong with me?

She looked in the mirror, noting the wild brown hair and her tired eyes.

“A lot, apparently,” she answered herself.

With the brush, she tried to get through her locks again. No luck. In fact, the movement had sent some bristles to their deathbed.

She shook her head, the brush still stuck in her hair. “Time to call in the big guns…part two.”

She grabbed her phone and called Claire, but not before she saw a text message from Tabby that read: Doing better…next time we go to Oriceran, I’m bringing a big ass can of Raid, which made Maria chuckle.

Once Claire picked up the phone, Maria only had to say two words: “Fashion emergency.”

And Claire answered with, “On my way.”

***

Five minutes later, Sherlock was barking in the garage, and Claire was knocking on the door.

“Wow, record time,” Maria whispered, then added a, “Thank God” for good measure.

The brush was still in her hair as she went down the steps. It smacked against the side of her face a few times before she even realized it was there, and she was not fast enough getting it out before Claire took it on herself to come in.

Maria froze halfway down the hall as Claire looked her over, her hand coming up to her face to hide her laughter.

“When did you get a key?” Maria asked.

Through the laughter, Claire said, “I’ve known you pretty much my whole life. Don’t act like I don’t know that your grandpa hides a spare key at the bottom of the bird bath.”

“I keep telling him to move it because one of these days a bird is gonna end up swallowing it whole, but he never listens.”

“Glad he didn’t,” Claire replied. “Now, honey, what in the holy hell is wrong with you? You look like you got in a fight with your hairbrush and the hairbrush won…and is still winning.”

“That’s why I called you. You’ve got a knack for fashion, and I need to look good.”

Claire waved the comment away. “Oh, Maria, you always look good.” But she couldn’t hide the fact she was snickering.

“Yeah, yeah, just help me.”

“All right, I will, but it won’t be easy.” Claire checked the time on her iPhone. Joe would be in the driveway in twenty-five minutes. “80s movie montage?”

“Oh, God, not again,” Maria said.

From the garage, where Maria could faintly hear the ripping of cardboard and soft growls, Sherlock spoke up. Is that Claire? If it is, tell her I take back what I said about her and I not going to Dog Prom!

Maria ignored him.

“To start, you’re going to have to hop in the shower—no, don’t hop. You might break a leg and that’d be bad,” Claire went on, her hands motioning while she talked.

“Har-har.”

“Seriously, you need to tame that wild mane, and the only way I see that happening is by showering…plus, Maria, you kind of smell like—” She sniffed the air deeply. “Is that Milkbone?”

Maria sighed. “Yeah…long story. I’m just glad you didn’t say I smelled like dog pee or Gnome.”

“Better than Gnome pee.”

“Is it?”

Both of them cracked smiles and lost themselves to uncontrollable laughter.

“Go, shower, go!”

***

Maria showered and when she got out only five minutes later, Claire was standing in the steamy bathroom, holding out a towel in one hand, and covering her eyes with the other.

“Don’t tell me you have a key to my bathroom, too,” Maria said.

“Nope, you didn’t lock it. Hurry up and dry off. And don’t give me that look.”

“I thought your eyes were covered.”

“Maria, please, you’ve seen one pair, you’ve seen them all—at least that’s what my grandma always said…around the time the dementia set in, and she would go gardening in her front yard as naked as the day she was born…”

“Wise words to live by. Can’t beat an old woman who’s bold enough to garden in the nude.”

“Yeah,” Claire said, “I miss her.”

“How’s Tabby?” Maria asked, wanting to quickly change the subject from Claire’s naked grandma—which was a picture she wasn’t going to get out of her head anytime soon.

“She’s good, at home resting. But no more talk. It’s time.”

“Please, Claire, don’t play—”

It was too late. Claire pushed a button, and her iPhone blared ‘Eye of the Tiger’ from the Rocky movies.

The 80s movie montage had begun.

***

“Holy shit!” Maria said a quarter of an hour later. “I look like a princess!”

Joe would be there in five minutes.

“Where did you even get this outfit? I don’t own this…do I?”

Claire’s only answer was a grin.

“Seriously, where?”

“Magic,” Claire said, waving her hands in an arc.

“Nuh-uh.”

“Okay, I stole it from Ted’s wife…there, ya happy?” Claire said. She stuck her tongue out immediately after. Ted was Maria’s former boss at the Popcorn Palace—a small store in the food court that specialized in all sorts of rare popcorn flavors. Maria had been fired there only a day or two ago—she wasn’t sure which. Ever since going to Oriceran, her internal clock was all messed up.

“Ted doesn’t have a wife. God have mercy on any woman who’d sleep in the same bed as him.”

“I don’t know where it’s from, but it was in your grandpa’s closet.”

Maria paled. “You went in there?”

“Relax, I didn’t see anything weirder than what I saw on a different planet. Some pretty weird stuff—why would he have a stuffed ferret and for what purpose?—but nothing too crazy. The dress was hanging next to a bunch of other weird outfits that I haven’t seen him wear. I see your eyes getting big; don’t worry, it was in plastic and doesn’t smell like mothballs or Gnome pee.”

“I wonder whose it was,” Maria said, mostly to herself. An odd feeling came over her. Was this dress, this ornately decorated blue dress that sparkled like crystals in the sun, something my mother might’ve worn on Oriceran? With the odd feeling and hopeful thought came the sadness. She wished she’d known her mother. She wished she could’ve been there helping Claire get her ready for her first date. She wished for so many things.

Then came the thoughts of the village, and Duke in her dreams, and, for some reason, a great winged beast. No, why am I thinking that? That won’t happen, she thought. Her mother would never rise from the dead. There was no spell to bring her back. It may have worked on the Arachnid, but she doubted it would work on regular Oricerans—that, Maria was almost sure of. She had no intention of using dark magic when she could hardly control her newfound light-magic.

Wow! Sherlock entered the bathroom. There were bits of red cardboard on his muzzle. Maria, you look amazing.

“You’re not being a jerk?”

Me? Never!

“Thanks, Sherlock.”

Maria stood up from the stool she was sitting on. She ran her fingers through her hair. It felt softer than it ever had, and for once, it laid flat; not one stubborn strand sticking out. “Claire, you are seriously a miracle worker. I looked like a foot before you helped me.”

Claire brushed her shoulders and smirked. “No big deal. Better than working on the customers at Sephora. God, some of them can be such a pain.”

Sherlock’s ears perked up, then he barked low just as a knock came from the front door.

All of their eyes went wide, which was really saying something for Sherlock, whose eyes were almost always droopy.

“Joe!” Maria said. “Oh, my God, oh, my God, are you sure I look—”

“You look fantastic. I am an artist.” Claire pronounced it ‘arteest.’ “Now go on, before he changes his mind.”

Maria’s heart went wild in her chest. She couldn’t believe it was actually happening, that she was finally going on a date with Joe. In a way, it was almost crazier than discovering she was a witch, technically born on another planet.

She went down the steps, and Claire and Sherlock followed her about halfway, then stopped so they could watch from the shadows.

Maria opened the door, and Joe’s jaw dropped to his stomach. In his hands he held another bouquet of roses—this time blue, almost the same shade as her dress. He handed them to her shakily.

“You look…you look beautiful, Maria.”

She blushed and hoped that wouldn’t mess up her makeup. She wasn’t used to wearing any.

“Thank you. You look handsome yourself, Joe,” she replied.

Tell him if he hurts you, I’m not only gonna pee on him, but I’ll rip his balls off! Sherlock said. Maria tried her best to ignore it.

Just keep smiling, she thought.

She took the flowers into the kitchen and put them in a vase of water. She and Claire caught eyes when she passed, and Claire nodded, letting her know by way of their own best friend, mental telepathy that she would cut the stems and make sure the flowers weren’t dead by the time they got back.

Joe held the door open for her.

I mean it! Sherlock’s voice chased her.

They walked down the path arm in arm. Joe’s muscles bulged beneath the dark gray cardigan he wore.

Keep calm, Maria, keep calm, she told herself.

Suddenly, her free hand went to her waist, searching for the sword and the sword belt. Had she forgotten to take it off in her haste?

No. It wasn’t there. She could probably thank Claire for that. But she still had her music box, only because she didn’t trust it out of her hands. Gramps brought up Frodo and The Lord of the Rings earlier while they were in Oriceran, hadn’t he?

In some silly way, the music box was Maria’s One Ring. If she lost it to the spiders and their dark magic, she will have failed. And Maria did not plan on failing ever again.

Joe opened her car door. He drove a modest black Honda Civic; nothing fancy, but quite nice compared to Maria’s car—which was currently non-existent.

“Thank you,” she said.

He smiled and got in on the driver’s side.

“Where are we going?”

“I was thinking we could grab dinner. Your choice.”

Maria fanned herself, putting on a southern accent. “Oh, Joe, dahling, you’re much too good to little ol’ me.”

He chuckled awkwardly.

Instantly, Maria blushed. “Okay, let’s just completely forget that I did that.”

“Did what?”

Maria looked at Joe, confused.

He winked.

“Ah, I see. Yeah, you’re right…did what?”

“So…dahling,” Joe said, mimicking Maria’s voice almost perfectly, “where are we eating?”

Maria rolled her eyes. “Hilarious,” she said sarcastically, but in all honesty, Maria had been smiling so much since Joe came to her front door that her face was hurting, and she knew it was going to be that kind of night.

“Olive Garden?” Joe suggested when an awkward silence settled over them.

“Sounds delicious,” Maria answered. She could’ve eaten anything at that moment. How hungry she was didn’t hit her until she started picturing Olive Garden’s golden breadsticks and cheesy ravioli. Oh, no, I’m turning into Sherlock. Next thing she knew, she’d be rooting through the dumpsters behind Olive Garden and growling at any people walking by.

“Then to the Garden we go, milady,” Joe said, putting the car into reverse. As he pulled onto the deserted road, he said, “Let’s just forget I said that, too. I’m not some medieval knight. I’m sorry.”

Maria put on her best British accent (which wasn’t very good at all) and replied, “Quite all right, your grace.”

They both laughed, and for a split second, as Joe shifted into drive, their eyes met and Maria felt a fire smoldering between them.

Yes, it was going to be a fine night. The date would go well and she’d eat and be happy and perhaps Joe would even kiss her… She just hoped Gramps was okay.

***

The ice cream shop on Main Street in Akron, Ohio was busy. Lois looked at the line of people and thought to herself that she could really go for a chocolate-vanilla swirl—especially in this heat. Ohio was hotter than she remembered. Global warming. She shook her head.

She walked across the street and opened the door, turning sideways to squeeze by a group of high school kids dressed in baseball uniforms. The line at the counter was fifteen deep, but Lois was in the PDA; she didn’t have to worry about lines, especially when she was on official PDA/unofficial Silver Griffin business. She cut around everyone, getting a few choice looks from baseball moms and coaches. Her badge burned in her pocket, but not as much as her wand.

At the counter, a thin old man with wild hair and wearing an apron, had his back to Lois. In each hand, he had a cone. He rotated them clockwise, one vanilla, one chocolate, then crossed his arms to make a picturesque swirl.

Funny, how the ice cream machine works itself. Funny, how no one seemed to ask any questions about it, either.

Ohio must have different rules, Lois thought. Nah, not likely.

The thin old man was humming to himself. Lois cleared her throat softly. No response. Then she cleared it a little more loudly.

“Just a minute. Got a full house today. Machines are working overtime, not to mention this weather,” the thin old man went on.

“Hi, Salem,” Lois said.

The ice cream machines magically shut off. Salem turned around so slow, Lois thought she could hear him creaking.

“Say it isn’t so!”

In the back, a witch’s voice drifted out. “What is it, Salem?”

Salem didn’t answer. He was in too much shock.

The same mother who’d given Lois a dirty look pushed her way up the counter and said, “We’re waiting.”

Salem handed her the two cones.

“Hey, I didn’t order these,” she said.

“Those were mine!” a kid whined.

Salem snapped a finger and the machines kicked on. “No worries! Free ice cream for all. All you can eat!” He grabbed a stack of cones and placed them on the counter. “Today is a joyous day! We must celebrate!”

“Salem! We can’t keep giving out free ice cream. That’s not a good business model!” the witch said from the back.

Salem waved a hand. The people waiting in line practically crawled over each other to get at the cones. Amazing what free ice cream could do to a person.

“Agnes?” Lois asked Salem.

Salem, that big grin still on his face, nodded.

“Sounds like her.”

“Come on back, Lois! Come see her. The Muffler twins should be stopping in soon. It’s card night; they never miss card night.”

“I remember those card nights. Muffler twins still get mad when they lose?”

“They’ve calmed down with age.” He was out from behind the counter now, navigating through the onslaught of baseball players and coaches and moms and dads. “Really, you must come say hi!”

“I can’t stay long.” Lois pulled out her badge. “I’ve been promoted.”

“That’s right. You’re not Silver Griffin. Whew.” Salem mimed wiping away sweat from his forehead. He turned and shouted to Agnes. “Ag, get out here! Lois has come to visit!”

“Lois!?”

“I am on Silver Griffin business…unofficially. Things have been hectic lately—”

“You’re telling me,” Salem interrupted. “Wait, what? Silver Griffin business?” Salem grimaced. “So you must have heard about what happened the other night…”

Lois pulled out her phone and swiped the screen a few times until a blurry video of Maria, Ignatius, and a hulking Arachnid fought in the street, blue and black light erupting from Maria’s sword, and the Arachnid’s arms filling the screen.

“I see,” Salem said. “What is that, the internet?”

“Still haven’t gotten with the times yet?” Lois asked.

When Salem didn’t laugh, Lois said, “Yes, it’s the internet. It’s all over. Lacey has people working around the clock trying to get it off, but when we take down one, twenty copies replace it.”

Agnes came out of the back room, dried ice cream on her apron, hair in a ponytail. She gave a few sideways glances to the people fighting over the ice cream machine, mumbling something about how people of Earth will pretty much kill each other over anything, but when she saw Lois, her eyes lit up and a smile replaced her scowl.

“Lois! I can’t believe it.” The two witches hugged, then parted. “How’s Earl?” She put an arm around Salem. “Why do you look so glum?”

“Trevilsom Prison,” Salem answered.

“Trevilsom? What are you talking about?” Sudden realization dawned over Agnes’s face. “Oh, I see. Lois isn’t here on a friendly visit, is she? I thought you left the Silver Griffins.”

Lois nodded. “I did. In the PDA now, but running a check for Lacey. Been hectic lately.”

“So we’ve heard,” Agnes answered. “And witnessed firsthand.”

“That’s what I’m here about,” Lois said. “Oh, cheer up, Salem. I’m not here to take you to Trevilsom. I’m just here to make sure the Silver Griffins don’t need to put this to the top of their list. I mean, an Arachnid? On Earth? That’s almost unheard of. Those creatures hardly leave the Dark Forest, let alone Oriceran.”

“How long does that video go on for?” Salem asked. He looked a bit relaxed now that Trevilsom was off the table.

“Not much longer,” Lois answered. She took her glasses off, breathed on the lenses, and then wiped them off with her shirt. “Far as we know, only one person recorded it. More could’ve been witnesses, but so far nothing has popped up on the web.”

“Can’t we claim it was a hoax? Special effects, that sort of thing?” Agnes asked.

“Believe me, they are. Lacey has people posting videos in reply that point out the use of CGI. A Debunk Team, of sorts. Like I said, no need to worry about the cleanup. Lacey is a tough witch; she’ll handle it. We’re just worried for the people of Earth’s safety.”

“No need,” Agnes answered. “Salem asked how long the video went on because Maria Apple there was the last Oriceran standing.”

Lois’s eyes got big behind the lenses of her glasses. “A young witch took out an Arachnid?”

“A reanimated Arachnid,” Salem said quietly.

The crowd near the ice cream machines had thinned out. Most had gone outside to enjoy the last bit of sunlight left in the day. Others, too weary of the heat, stayed inside and sat at the various tables.

“Oh, no,” Lois said. “Reanimated? That’s the worst kind of dark magic.”

Salem and Agnes nodded.

“But the Arachnid has been disposed of…again?”

Salem clapped his hands together loudly and said, “Poof!”

“And the threat is subdued?”

“For that, you will have to ask Ignatius.”

“Can you give me his address? Ignatius seems to have flown under our radar for most of his time here on Earth. How long’s it been? Twenty years?”

“Just about,” Agnes said. “I believe going on twenty, yes.”

“I can give you his address,” Salem said, his head tilted, waiting for Lois’s explosive reaction, “but he isn’t home.”

“Well, I’ll just go wait for him. Where’s he at, grocery store? Golf? I heard he’s gotten into golf lately. No fun when you can use magic.”

“About that…”

“He’s on Oriceran, isn’t he?”

Agnes smiled and gave a quick glance to the middle of the dining area, where the portal had opened to their homeworld not too long ago.

“Yes,” Salem answered, “he is. No telling when he’ll be getting back.”

“Subduing the threat?”

Salem nodded again.

Lois sighed and mumbled to herself, “I knew this wasn’t going to be easy. I’ll have to tell Earl I won’t be back in time for dinner. Lacey’s really going to have to owe me one.” She reached into her pocket and brought out two photos. “One last thing. Have you seen these agents?”

She held up a picture of Felah Fyre and Tone Doyon, the two missing members of the Order.

Almost instantly, Agnes and Salem lost the color in their faces.

“So you know of them?”

“I was pretty close with Felah. The other, I didn’t know too well. Felah was always complaining about him,” Salem said.

“Where are they?”

“Felah is…gone, I think. The Arachnid got her. As for the other, I’m not sure. I presume, being Felah’s partner, the Arachnid got him, too.”

Lois frowned. “Didn’t think to report it?”

“I-I-,” Salem stammered.

“We were scared. Besides, it only just happened. And we aren’t one hundred percent certain either of them is dead. The Arachnid used a transformation spell to look like Felah Fyre.”

Lois nodded. It made sense. She figured Trevilsom was in the back of all magical folks’ minds. One mess-up, and you could be sentenced there for a long time, only to come out half-insane and fully changed.

“I’m sorry, Lois,” Salem said. “I am. A lot has happened. More than I’d ever expected in this small corner of the world. I moved from Oriceran to get away from bloodshed.”

“And somehow it found us,” Agnes finished.

Lois offered a weak smile and put her hand on Salem’s shoulder. “Don’t worry about it, Salem. You could rob a bank, and I wouldn’t turn you in. Ignatius on the other hand… I’ll have to have a long chat with him.” She couldn’t help it; her old ways were showing. They became a habit after so long in the Order.

“Thank you, Lois,” Agnes said. “We were just trying to survive. We weren’t trying to cause a mess for the Order.”

Lois waved a hand. “Don’t worry about it. I’m just glad you’re all safe. As for the missing members, may the heart of Oriceran be with them.”

“You can wait here until Ignatius and Maria get back. They shouldn’t be too long. I think they’re tracking down a Gnome,” Salem said.

Lois shook her head. “Secretive things,” she replied, then she pulled out a chair from a nearby table and sat down. “I think I will wait. Mind getting me a chocolate cone?”

“Of course not,” Salem replied, smiling.

Suddenly a kid, obviously in the middle of a monumental sugar rush, his face smeared with chocolate, rushed past Lois’s table, screaming at the top of his lungs.

“That is, if that fellow left any for the rest us…” Lois said.

CHAPTER NINE

Ves Ielan was a seedy place carved at the bottom of the southeastern side of a mountain, not far from the Land of Terran.

The old wizard looked on it from a couple hundred feet away.

That old wizard was Ignatius Mangood, known as Ignatius Apple on Earth, and he had never been inside of Ves Ielan—but he had heard stories of its wretchedness. Creatures practicing dark magic could be found there, performing all types of unimaginable feats. They would even perform, if you paid the right price, resurrection spells on the long dead— or so the stories said. Frankly, Ignatius had not believed it until he’d come face to face with Malakai in the streets of Akron, Ohio outside of Salem’s Ice Cream Shop; Malakai, whom he’d watched die in the battle for Dominion all those years ago.

The thought of Salem came to him now.

Salem, keep Maria safe, old buddy; you and Agnes and the Muffler twins watch over her for me, at least until I get back… If I get back.

No, bad thoughts, Ignatius.

“I should’ve kept Sherlock with me. May not be able to talk to him, but at least he’d bark if things were going south. A nose like that can smell bad blood. Yes, it can.”

Ignatius sighed.

A couple of hooded figures had just walked into the large building, the door opening and spilling out the raucous sounds of music, talk, and laughter—wicked laughter.

“Time to suck it up, old man,” he said to himself and took a deep breath. He put the hood of his own cloak up, making sure his wand and various other weapons were well-hidden. In a place like this, it was no secret that the patrons kept their weapons on them. Everyone was armed. They had to be.

As he got closer, the smells of strong liquor hit his nostrils. Drinks he had not smelled in many moons—the type of stuff that would make Earth’s toughest alcoholic wet his pants and pass out after one sip.

Ignatius did not like that smell.

Had he been walking to Ves Ielan all those years ago when he was a little less gray and a little more strong, the fear would not be as complete. Alas, the worlds spin and the days pass, and time goes on as it always had.

Was it just a matter of confidence? He thought so. Being on Oriceran, he should’ve been able to draw upon its magical energy, but he just could not get his mind to focus on it.

He walked on.

He pushed the doors open, his steps heavy on the stone floor. As soon as the doors banged shut behind him, all the sound inside of the tavern silenced. At least a hundred pairs of eyes were on him. Ignatius allowed himself to linger and surveyed the crowd. Dark witches, dark wizards, large Orc half-breeds with swords just as big as themselves slung across their backs, Trolls running along the bar top, their green hair the only colorful object in all the grayness. He did not see a Gnome, though there were a lot of creatures scattered throughout the wide expanse of the tavern.

They looked at him until he turned away and slapped coins on the bar top. A nearby Troll somersaulted over his hands, talking gibberish. “Firejuice,” Ignatius said. The closest creatures to him gasped; two Goblins and a Dark Elf—an odd pairing.

“Did he just—” one of the Goblins said.

“He did,” the other one answered.

The barmaid was a pretty young woman, and her shirt was unbuttoned low so her hearty cleavage was exposed to the patrons. Judging by her overstuffed pockets, which jingled with coins from all over the land, no doubt her appearance was definitely playing to her favor.

“Firejuice, sire?” she asked in an unbelieving tone.

“Aye,” Ignatius answered.

The eyes were on him again as a hush settled over the crowd. Good. This was what he wanted. Earn their respect, make them think he was one of them, and they’re lips wouldn’t be so sealed.

So he dug into his robes again and slapped another coin onto the bar counter. The sound it made traveled the vast tavern, echoing off of its walls.

“Better make it a double,” he said.

“Sire—” the barmaid continued, but was cut off by a large, barrel-chested man with more hair in his beard than was on his head.

“Listen, my friend, if you want to die, you can go outside of my place. We’ve had enough death here to last a thousand lifetimes,” the man said.

Ignatius lifted his head up so his eyes bored into the man’s. “What’s one more death?”

“Let him drink, Rogerius! He’s got the gold, doesn’t he?”

The owner’s upper lip peeled back to reveal tobacco-stained teeth as he snarled.

Suddenly a chant of “LET HIM DRINK! LET HIM DRINK!” swept over the crowd. Pints of ale banged the tabletops, feet stomped, Trolls were launched into the air by the vibrations, playful smiles on their faces.

“Yes, Rogerius, let me drink,” Ignatius said; now it was his turn to smile.

Rogerius shook his head and waved the barmaid on. She looked as if she was tasked with beheading Ignatius instead of simply serving him. In a strange way, she kind of was.

Beneath the bar the maiden went, and from a locked cabinet she pulled free a dusty glass bottle and set it in front of Ignatius. The fire trapped within the liquid swirled and pulsed, as vibrant and deadly as flying too close to the sun.

On the outside, Ignatius remained calm, even as the crowd got up from their seats—some of them good seats that they had probably fought over—and pressed up against him. Somewhere among the sea of patrons, bets were being taken. Not bets on whether Ignatius would live or die, but rather how long until he eventually did die from the Firejuice.

The barmaid turned her head as she twisted the cap off the bottle. The fumes alone were known to singe the nostril hairs and eyebrows of anyone who got too close. From just below the counter, above the shelf the Firejuice came from, she grabbed a glass and set it next to the bottle.

Her skin had gone pale. “Sire, you’ll forgive me if I do not pour this for you.”

Ignatius raised a hand and nodded.

Some of the color rose back into the barmaid’s cheeks.

“Thirty on thirty seconds!” someone yelled to his left.

Ignatius took the bottle, the heat emanating through the glass hot enough to irritate his skin, and just as he was about to pour, a particularly drunk ranger-type slapped him on the shoulder, startling him. The man reeked of stale ale and his own urine. “I’s known the one who slain the dragon this here Firejuice is made from! I’s known him well. Bardol, his name was. Great, great warrior.” The ranger wobbled, and soon he was swallowed by many arms of the crowd as they swept him back, out of Ignatius’s face.

It’s amazing the things people will do for you when they want to see you die, he thought bitterly. Dragons. Not even I have seen a dragon.

“DRINK! DRINK! DRINK!”

“LAST CALL FOR BETS! LAST CALL!”

“FIFTY ON A MINUTE!” someone growled.

“ANYONE ELSE?”

“I’m going to disappoint a lot of people if I don’t die,” Ignatius whispered. No one could hear him over the roar of the crowd. That was okay. Respect went further than money in Oriceran. That was true. He’d known that since his days serving the King of Dominion, Maria’s father—an honorable man who’d treated his daughter Zimmy well, and who had died a horrid death.

“King Ancel, this is for you,” Ignatius muttered. He raised the glass. It was full nearly to the brim with that poisonous, liquid fire. “And for the dragon this drink has come from. May you both rest well.”

The crowd broke their previous decibel level, their cheers so loud, they rattled the windowpanes.

Ignatius brought the drink to his lips. He could already feel the layers of skin singe there. He closed his eyes and tilted his head backward.

Now the crowd went silent. Someone dropped a coin on the floor; it had sounded loud enough in that silent room to carry across the worlds.

The Firejuice tore down Ignatius’s throat like magma tearing down a mountainside. He gulped and gulped, eyes spouting tears, nose running, vision blurring. Already, the fumes had gone to his head, and the poison began to overtake his bloodstream. It had been many years since he’d drank Firejuice, and if he had a tolerance then (and one can never build up much of a tolerance to Firejuice), it was surely gone now. The world rotated beneath his feet. Visions of the past swept by him in blazing pictures. The Queen, the King, the music box, Maria as a baby, his own father bestowing the sword to him, his magical training, his first slain Arachnid.

Distantly, someone shouted, “What’s the time? What’s the time? He’s gonna drop. HE’S GONNA DROP! PAY UP! PAY UP!”

No.

Ignatius exhaled, his breath coming out of him like a jet of flames from a dragon’s mouth, and slowly the world came back into focus. Ugly faces crowded around him, their lips parted in silent gasps.

“Just passed a minute, gents!” the bookie shouted.

Ignatius swayed as he tried to stand. He almost lost his balance on more than one occasion, but he grabbed hold of a man next to him who was mumbling, “Fifteen more seconds, old man. Fifteen more seconds. Hold on for fifteen more seconds!”

But the fifteen seconds ticked by, then thirty, then forty-five. Finally, Ignatius was still on his own two feet at a little past two minutes, and the bookie was saying that no one bet past a minute, forty-five—because no one in their right mind would bet that far. No man, woman, or creature had ever drank a double of Firejuice and lived to tell the tale.

At least, that’s what they had thought.

Ignatius Mangood was no mere man, after all.

With the world coming more and more into focus, Ignatius climbed up on his barstool and stuck his hands up and out like a man accepting applause, except there was no applause for Ignatius then. Not yet, at least. Everyone was stunned into silence.

As Ignatius scanned the crowd, he thought he caught fear in the eyes of some of the patrons. Good. That was what he wanted. If not respect, then fear.

“I seek a Gnome!” Ignatius said. It burned his throat to talk, but he did it anyway. The crowd hung on his every word.

“Ain’t no Gnomes here, wizard!” someone shouted back. “They ain’t allowed inside.”

Ignatius thought this place not too strict on enforcing whatever rules it had, judging by the crowd below him.

“He goes by the name of Gelbus! He was a librarian, a keeper of secrets in the Light Elves’ castle.”

Nothing.

Slowly, the crowd watching him began to disperse. They turned away and found their tables again, bringing their cups to their lips. If death was not involved, they wanted no part of it.

Ignatius felt like a fool, standing up like he was. He got off his stool and sat back down. Did I drink the Firejuice for nothing? Oh, no… it was starting to hit him harder than before. The bar was as tilted as the look the bar’s owner gave him. Ignatius offered a weak smile, and the man turned away, heading into a backroom.

Have I failed my mission so early?

He pulled his hood down over his brow, shrouding his features in shadow, then dug into his pocket again and asked for a cup of ale, something to wash the Firejuice down; though he knew he’d be feeling it for days to come.

The barmaid gladly poured the ale. He told her to keep the change. She smiled a very practiced smile.

Ignatius sat at the bar, ignoring the swell of distant conversation filling the room. He just needed to get his feet back under him. He’d be better in a few minutes…he hoped.

He sat in silence as the Trolls started a game of straw jousting right in front of him. They each stood on small brown bottles and ran in place until the bottles lurched forward to one another. Before the bottles would clink, they’d stab each other in the chest with the straws, fall on their backs giggling, get back up, and do it again. It took three times before one of the bottles rolled off the bar and shattered on the floor. No one seemed to mind.

He never understood Trolls.

A wise person once said that no one ever did understand them, and Ignatius was almost one hundred percent sure that it was a rare Oriceran truth.

“Front row seats to two Trolls trying to kill each other with plastic straws. Maria would be so proud. C’mon, Ignatius, it’s time to adapt and find that Gnome,” he murmured to himself.

There was a time in Ignatius’s youth when he was offered the secrets of dark magic. Had he accepted those secrets, he believed he would not be in his current predicament.

No, you’re smarter than that. If you followed down the dark path, you wouldn’t be here at all. You’d be worse off, and you know it, Ignatius.

It was true.

“Wizard,” someone said from his right, much too close for comfort. With the Firejuice coursing through his system at light speeds, the voice sounded much too distorted.

Ignatius startled, his hand slipping down so his wand was easily accessible. He turned, his vision still swimming, and saw a black-haired woman, her hood drawn over her head. Under her eyes was the dark makeup native to a tribe of dark witches on the outskirts of the Dark Forest, a group completely fine with coexisting among Arachnids.

“Step back, witch,” Ignatius said, a snarl on his face.

The witch offered a sly smile. “The Firejuice is really taking its toll on you, is it not? Perhaps the bets are not completely off.”

“Leave me be,” Ignatius said. She was right. His insides were twisting with fire.

“Don’t be so hasty to get rid of me, wizard. We may be of use to each other.”

Ignatius turned to face her.

A trilling came to his right, and one of the Trolls—who was covered in seed, shells, and grime from rolling around the floor—was pulling itself up the side of Ignatius’s ale. He waved the Troll away with the back of his hand gently, much to the Troll’s displeasure.

“Buy your own,” Ignatius said.

The Troll stuck his tongue out and blew raspberries in Ignatius’s direction, showering his mug with Troll spit.

“Gross,” he murmured, taking the mug with a shaky hand and wiping it off with the sleeve of his robe.

“Those Trolls are such a nuisance,” the dark witch said.

“Oh, they’re nothing compared to my Bloodhound, Sherlock,” Ignatius said.

“Bloodhound?”

“Never mind.”

The dark witch leaned forward. “Ah, you have secrets, wizard. Don’t we all?”

“Please, let me drink in peace, my lady. I mean no disrespect.”

“As you wish, but I guess you aren’t interested in your Gnome’s whereabouts.”

Ignatius paused as he brought his cup up to his lips. “My Gnome? You know of Gelbus?”

“Yes, I do.”

“Please, spare me wasted time. If you are only here to mess with my head, I warn you, I am quite powerful,” Ignatius said.

“He was here only a fortnight ago. Cheery fellow. A bit of a heavy drinker though. But he was here looking for someone himself.”

Ignatius’s stomach flipped. That was Gelbus. Though he had never met the Gnome, he knew it was so from the Centaur’s description. How many Gnomes drank, after all?

“Where is he now?”

“He was abducted.”

“Abducted?” Ignatius’s mouth hung open. The burning of his insides from the Firejuice was the furthest thing from his mind.

“I’ve seen it in the flames, wizard,” the witch said. This all but confirmed her origin. Only a certain type of witch read flames, and it was a certain type of witch Ignatius didn’t particularly want to be associated with.

“The Gnome came in and asked for a friend. He was approached by a man undercover—sort of like you, Ignatius Mangood,” the witch continued in a low voice.

Ignatius grinned, his teeth showing bright in his beard. “Is it that obvious?”

“Your legend stretches far in the Dark Forest.” The witch returned the smile. “As for your Gnome friend, I will say no more.”

“What do you want in return for the information?” It seemed like everyone these days wanted something. Oriceran was changing right before his eyes.

“I don’t want anything.”

“Lies.”

The witch smiled slyly again. It was a nice smile. Ignatius found he was quite attracted to it, and he instantly felt regret for being attracted to her. She was not an enemy, per se, but she was certainly not an ally.

Now the witch sat down. “Fine, you’ve caught me. I do want something.” The smile never disappeared. “I want access to the world in between.”

Ignatius startled and leaned forward. “Keep your voice down.”

“Relax, no one is listening. Everyone here is too drunk or too stupid to believe in the world in between.”

“I don’t have access.”

“But you will.”

“Maybe, maybe not,” Ignatius answered. He sipped his ale. Steam rose up his throat, escaping his mouth and his nostrils. “Why do you want access? You surely know the horrors of that place.”

“I’d rather not say.”

“I can respect that. What if I guess your reasoning, will you then tell me if I’m right?”

The witch looked away toward the back of the tavern. A fistfight had broken out between a mountain man and an Orc. The Orc was tugging on the man’s long beard and screeching. Bets were being made in the same manner as the bets made before Ignatius downed the Firejuice.

“You will never guess it right, Mangood.”

“Don’t underestimate me.”

A few patrons sitting at the bar left to gather around the fighters. Glasses broke, a table flipped, and wood splintered.

“I will just tell you. I do not want a round-trip ticket.”

“Huh?”

“I want to get in, but I have no plans on coming back.”

Ignatius dropped his cup on the table. It landed on one of the Trolls’ toes, causing its small face to balloon in anger and turn a blazing-red color. “Sorry. sorry,” Ignatius whispered to it. He didn’t normally like Trolls, but he especially hated angry Trolls, because they grew much too big and scary for the cute creatures they were supposed to be.

He turned back to the witch, the shock still rippling through him. “You don’t want to come back? That’s suicide, you know that, right?”

The witch shrugged.

“There are dark forces at work inside the world in between—”

“And you want to join them?” Ignatius interrupted.

The witch smiled. “I see you jump to conclusions. I never thought the valiant wizard Ignatius would do such a thing.”

“I—uh, I’m sorry,” Ignatius said.

“No harm, no foul. Yes, an Earth saying. Don’t be so surprised. We Woodland Witches know a thing or two about the world beyond Oriceran.”

Ignatius cleared his throat. There was no denying the awkwardness of their conversation, but the witch seemed to take no notice of it.

“So if I tell you that I’ll help you get into the world in between,” Ignatius said, “then you’ll help me find the Gnome named Gelbus?”

The witch nodded then said, “I’ll do you one better, Ignatius. I’ll guide you to where he is. For you will need my guidance.”

He never thought he’d need guidance from a Woodland Witch. Ignatius looked around the tavern at the gathered patrons cheering and cursing at the fighters. His options were, as it stood, pretty slim as to who would or could guide him to Gelbus. He sighed and stuck out his hand. The witch took it.

“We have a deal,” Ignatius said.

“How wonderful,” the witch answered.

“But know, if you try to double-cross me, I won’t hesitate to show you my wand.”

The witch laughed. “Oh, Ignatius, I bet you’d like to show me your wand.”

He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Not what I meant…”

They shook hands. “I’m joking, of course,” the witch said.

“Good. Now what’s your name? It’d be nice to know who I’m doing business with.”

“Freida Storm,” the witch answered.

Ignatius took her hand and kissed it. She may have been a Woodland Witch, but Ignatius was a gentleman, through and through.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Frieda.”

She smiled warmly.

“Now, let’s talk somewhere a little more…orderly,” she said.

***

They went outside. Ignatius kept his sleeve at the ready in case things turned south quickly. Frieda was, after all, a Woodland Witch from the outskirts of the Dark Forest. Anything from the Dark Forest was hard to trust.

The sun blazed, a stark contrast to the darkness inside of Ves Ielan.

When Ignatius had turned to follow Frieda out of the tavern’s front doors, one of the Trolls had jumped into his hood. He hadn’t noticed it at first, but good thing Freida did; Ignatius didn’t think he could handle both Sherlock and a Troll.

Promptly, she plucked it from his hood and set it on an empty table. “Run along, little one,” she said in the sweetest voice Ignatius had heard her use since he had met her.

The Troll smiled serenely, looking at Frieda as if she were his mother. Ignatius never saw someone handle Trolls better—then again, she was familiar with the Woodlands and the various creatures that probably lived around them.

As Ignatius looked at her now, her hips swaying beneath the dark skirts that stretched to the middle of her calf, he realized, with bitterness, that perhaps he had picked up one bad habit while living on Earth—stereotyping others, being quick to judge.

Maybe she is really a kind soul, he thought.

Of course, he was right when he stereotyped the Troll; as soon as Frieda had pointed out the Troll’s rightful place on the oaken bar, the Troll’s serene expression transformed into something out of the far reaches of Hell, and he had blown the wettest raspberries Ignatius had seen a Troll blow. A fine spray of spittle had dotted their clothes and they both said, “Yuck!”

Then the Troll jumped down from the table and skipped to the bar.

Ignatius thought Freida might one day laugh about it—

No, not now, Ignatius. You can’t be falling in love when you have such an important mission. Not to mention with a Woodland Witch; one who sees your true desires in her ‘flames.’ How many others know of your quest because of her, Ignatius? You must stay on course.

Freida stopped and turned around, her skirts swishing in the brightness. She looked like she was dressed for a funeral. “Over here, old man—keep up.”

Whether Ignatius was an old man compared to Freida was debatable. Woodland Witches were known to live almost as long as the magic-practitioners of Dominion; except, being so vain, they would not allow time to steal their good looks. Many a spell would be cast in the cosmetic department.

It wasn’t her looks Ignatius was attracted to—sure, they weren’t a downside—but it was her demeanor, the way she carried herself so confidently, the way she seemed to be about a goal rather than holding grudges against her enemies—which, in the strictest sense, Ignatius was, according to lore.

They stopped in the shade of the mountain. The rock was cool and the outlying forest was fragrant with the smells of leaves and sap and earth.

“Now listen carefully, wizard,” Frieda began.

Ignatius frowned. “You know my name. You don’t need to keep calling me ‘wizard,’ my lady.”

“And there is no need for you to call me your lady, for I am no one’s lady but my own.”

“Duly noted. Forgive me, Frieda.”

That sly smile spread on her face once more. It conflicted Ignatius—he felt both more attracted to and more distrusting of her.

When she saw Ignatius studying her as if she was a painting on display in some fine art museum, the smile faded, and her cheeks grew red. They both looked away—Ignatius toward the forest floor, which was littered with pine needles, and her upward, toward the top of the mountain, shielding her eyes.

Frieda cleared her throat and spoke. “I will tell you all I know,” she finally said. “It is necessary for where our journey will take us.”

Ignatius leaned forward, now honestly intrigued.

“You may not believe me, but know, wizard—er, Ignatius Mangood—that I speak the truth.”

“Go on,” Ignatius said, twirling his thumbs.

“I spoke of the Dragon Tongue. Do you know of them?”

“Of course.”

“I have seen them in my flames. They are popping up all over Oriceran.”

The image of a Dragon Tongue, a devout follower of the worst kind of dragons—Rogue Dragons—popped into Ignatius’s head. Their pallid flesh, eyes haunted and tinged with fire, and of course their forked tongues—a cosmetic ‘enhancement’ made with their own heated daggers. He shuddered and shook his head.

“What is happening?” he asked himself, but Frieda took it upon herself to answer.

“As the planets come closer and closer to lining up, not only does the magic increase, but the evil take their opportunities as well.”

It was true. Ignatius knew it. Evil was as opportunistic as anything in the land.

“When is the last time one of the Rogue have been seen in Oriceran?”

“Oh, it’s been many, many years,” Frieda answered.

Ignatius could only shake his head. He saw new battles on the horizon—the Widow and her followers, and now the Rogue Dragons of Old Legend, and if not them, at least the crazy followers of the Rogue’s Order.

“The man who contacted your friend Gelbus was a Dragon Tongue under the guise of a normal man. Gelbus sought out his friend Elargo, who, upon correspondence, had told Gelbus Cogspark to meet him there.” She pointed to Ves Ielan. “When Gelbus arrived, Elargo was nowhere to be found, but the Dragon Tongue was there, waiting with a letter.”

“From Elargo.”

“Precisely,” Freida answered.

“And you have seen this all in your flames?” Ignatius asked. His old heart was giving him quite a run for his money inside of his sternum, but he couldn’t tell if it was because the more Frieda spoke, the more he grew to like her, or because of what she spoke of. “Why does the well-being of one Gnome concern you?” He didn’t mean to sound rude, but couldn’t help that he did.

Frieda took no notice of his tone. “I can’t help what I see in my flames, Ignatius. I see what is important, that’s all, just as I’d seen you with that pretty music box, the one of legend, thought to be lost in your village’s battle with the Arachnids.”

“Right. Makes sense that you saw that.”

She nodded.

“Where was the Gnome abducted to?”

“Oh, he wasn’t abducted, at least not yet. He was only guided to the town of Ashbourne. They knew if they abducted him this early on in the journey, it would’ve been tough getting him there unnoticed.”

“They made him think he stumbled onto his death by accident, but why?” Ignatius asked.

“Isn’t it obvious? What are Gnomes known for keeping? What is the reason you seek him?”

Ignatius nodded, understanding coming over him. “His secrets.”

“Precisely. Those who worship the Rogue Dragons know the only way to raise one is by dark magic; much like the only way into the world in between is the same. What dark spells? No one knows but the Gnomes and the dead.”

Her words sent a chill through him.

“Now I know Gnomes are normally stubborn, but Gelbus Cogspark has a loose enough tongue as it is. I fear it may already be too late.”

“You think they’ve killed him?”

Freida nodded. “It is possible, yes. I have heard nothing of Rogue Dragon sightings. Surely, news of an extinct evil would travel the land fast. We are not too far from Ashbourne, as it stands, but we are not close enough to see those hateful wings take flight. And there is always the chance that Gelbus spilled his information and the Dragon Tongue were unsuccessful.”

Legs weakening, Ignatius found a nearby rock to sit on. He put his hand to his chest, above his heart. The pain there was immense. It ached for Gelbus Cogspark and his friend Elargo, and all the rest of the fisherfolk of Ashbourne. If the Rogue Dragon had somehow risen from the grave, what was stopping it from wreaking havoc across all the land? What was stopping the Tongue from raising more? Nothing, and there wouldn’t be anything to stop it until it was too late.

“You care too much, Ignatius,” Frieda said, obviously noting the pained expression on his face. “It would do you better not to care.”

She may have been right. When you don’t care, there are no consequences, but Ignatius Mangood was not raised that way. He believed, like his father and his father’s father before him, that justice and protecting all those who were in need were a wizard’s sole purpose. If not, then what were they given powers for?

He thought of Maria then, how he had raised her the same way—to be honest, valiant, and honorable—and that only further complicated the situation. His plan had been to track down the Gnome by himself, to uncover the secrets and open the door to the world in between without the music box while Maria was nestled away safely on Earth. But a dragon? Ignatius knew he would not be able to slay a dragon on his own, and he did not trust Freida enough to enlist her help when Frieda was only interested in finding the Gnome. He had barely stood a chance against Malakai, who was already dead. He would need Maria. As much as he hated to put her in danger, he would have to.

“We must go,” Ignatius said.

“I know,” Frieda answered.

“I’ve never slain a dragon.”

“Neither have I.” Freida smiled. It was not the sly and mischievous one—it was genuine this time. “But it may not come to that. We may stop them before they can raise it from the ashes.”

“I hope so.”

Frieda sat next to him. A strong breeze rolled through the trees, rustling the leaves. It caught Freida’s scent and sent it to Ignatius’s nose. She smelled of wild roses. It was a nice smell.

Then, as if he were a young man realizing the existence of women for the first time, he stumbled over his words. “I-I, uh, I—” He shook his head.

Frieda chuckled. “All right, Ignatius?”

“I’m sorry,” he said, smiling back, finally getting control of his tongue. “I have to travel back to Earth. My granddaughter—”

“Yes, the new witch. I have seen her in my flames as well, Ignatius. She is powerful…more powerful than even you realize.” Woodland Witches didn’t see all in their flames, but Ignatius was beginning to learn that they saw a lot.

“That’s what I’m afraid of.”

“No, don’t be afraid.” She took his hand. His heart did a somersault in his chest. He had only been on a roller coaster once in all of his years on Earth. When Maria was younger, he had taken her and Claire to Cedar Point for her birthday. The nausea, lightheadedness, and nervousness he felt afterward were the reason he had sworn off rollercoasters for good. He never wanted to experience that feeling again, no matter how oddly pleasant the G-forces and weightlessness might have felt at times. But as Freida’s hand was in his own and her flesh warmed his, all those feelings came back and then some. “She is powerful, but she is also good because you, Ignatius Mangood, raised her. Take pride in that, and know she will always do the right thing, even in the face of temptation.”

Ignatius offered a weak smile. His eyes found hers. They were a deep blue, like that of the Caribbean Sea; not the way he had originally pictured a Woodland Witch’s eyes to look—black and red and beady. No, Frieda’s were beautiful. Sure, it could’ve been a spell doing that to her eyes, but Ignatius didn’t think so. There was truth in her gaze.

“Have you seen that in your flames, that she will always do good?” he asked.

Frieda shook her head. “I don’t need to.”

Ignatius looked out at the towering trees, gleaming in the sunlight, swaying in the wind. The two of them sat there, hand-in-hand, saying nothing.

It was nice. It was perfect.

After a moment, Ignatius stood up and said, “I have to go back and get her.”

Frieda rose, too. She nodded.

“Would you…maybe want to go with me?” Ignatius asked. “Since we’re partners now—not partners as in…you know.” He shook his head. “I’m sorry.”

It’s like you’ve never spoken to a woman before, Ignatius, he thought bitterly.

That sly smile was back on her face. “No, I understand.”

“Is that a yes?”

“I have never seen Earth.”

“It’s beautiful. We won’t be able to stay long, but it’s better than nothing.” Better, Ignatius, he thought. Now take her hand. He did. “I’d be honored if you came along with me,” he said.

She blushed and looked down at her shoes.

“Well, I’d be honored to come along, Ignatius Mangood.”

He almost said it was a date, but luckily the more mature part of his mind stopped him before he could make even more of a fool of himself.

“I shall open a portal then.”

They parted, Ignatius stepping forward and drawing on the magical energy present in Orcieran’s core. He sang softly. No less than five seconds later, the portal appeared, and Ignatius was looking onto his street, devoid of cars.

“Have you ever had buckeye ice cream?” Ignatius asked, turning to look at Freida. Her mouth hung wide open; her eyes were even wider. She must have never seen a live portal before. Most on Oriceran were able to open them, but some were too scared to leave their homeworld. Ignatius didn’t blame them. The first time he fled Oriceran and went to Earth with baby Maria in one arm and the music box in the other, Ignatius was terrified.

Of course, he already knew the answer. Freida might’ve had ice cream or something like it—though he doubted that—but she had never had the deliciousness that was Salem’s buckeye ice cream, which he currently had in his freezer at home.

“You’re in for quite a surprise,” he said. He stuck his hand out. Hesitantly, Frieda took it. He noticed how it had gone from warm to clammy. She was nervous. Ignatius didn’t blame her.

“You ready?”

She nodded, her eyes still wide, studying the other side of the portal.

“Let’s go.”

And they went.

CHAPTER TEN

While Ignatius had sat at the Ves Ielan with a burning glass of Firejuice in front of him and a crowd of curious onlookers behind him, Claire had hung around the Apple’s house with Sherlock, watching the Soap Network. It was a rerun of this old canceled soap opera called Passions, and it was enjoyable…if a little weird. The town, which was called Harmony, even had a witch named Tabitha, which reminded Claire…she pulled her phone out and texted Tabby.

Tabby responded almost instantly.

She had invited Tabby to come over and wait for Maria to get back so they could find out if the date went well or not.

Tabby replied by saying she was on her way, and not much later, Tabby arrived. Her dad was on his way into town and had dropped her off, though he thought she should’ve been in bed resting since her “accident,” which was definitely not explained to him as getting attacked by a giant humanoid spider.

They watched Passions for a while; turned out the Soap Network was running an all-day marathon of the show.

“This show is odd,” Tabby said.

Sherlock was sitting on the couch between them. He thought the same thing.

“I agree. We should play a board game or something. That’ll help pass the time until Maria comes back,” Claire said.

“A board game? What are you, like, lame or something?” Tabby said.

“No, but since I don’t know the Wi-Fi password, it would probably be better than sitting around watching this weird show or doing nothing.”

Tabby shrugged. “Got a point there.”

“I know Maria’s grandpa must have some weird board games, if he’s from another world and all that jazz. Maybe Jumanji.” Claire looked down at Sherlock. “Since I know you can understand me, can you show me where they are, instead of me rummaging through the house like some crazy burglar?”

Sherlock looked up at her, wagging his tail. As far as he was concerned, Claire and him at Dog Prom was still a thing—though, truth be told, he didn’t exactly know what Dog Prom was; but it contained lots of techno music, a cat piñata, and an all you can eat garbage/Milkbone buffet.

He zoned out thinking about it. When his eyes came back into focus, everything black and white, he was still staring at Claire and wagging his tail.

“Sherlock, there’s food in it for you,” Claire said. “Whatever you want. Garbage included.”

He stood up on the couch and thumped his tail harder, but instead of hitting the cushions, he hit Tabby in the face.

“Ouch, quit it, Sherlock!”

Now he jumped down and barked.

He would show her where the board games were. Hell, he’d do almost anything for the promise of food. That was one of the few things he lived for—the others included serving his masters, chasing squirrels, finding dead squirrels, and now, peeing on Gnomes. What a rush!

“Good boy!” Claire said, and that was the best thing she had ever said to him, especially when what she normally said to him almost always involved complaining about his farts. Whenever Dog Prom happened, Sherlock made a promise to himself to hold it all in just for Claire.

He padded up the steps faster than normal. When he reached the top, he looked back down at Claire, who was slowly making her way, and barked at her. It wasn’t a mean bark, but it was one of urgency.

“Coming, coming,” she said.

Now he went down the hallway, moving so fast, he almost tripped on more than one occasion. Ignatius’s room was cracked open. All Sherlock had to do was nudge it the rest of the way with his nose. He was so excited and happy that when he did push the door open, he left some moisture behind on the wood from his snout.

“Always feel weird going into this room,” Claire said. “Smells like Oriceran. Huh, funny that I know what that is, now.”

Sherlock guided her to an odd looking chest up against the wall opposite Ignatius’s bed, next to his dresser. It looked like a pirate’s treasure chest, and it smelled like the sea. Sherlock wasn’t sure where he had gotten it, but he wouldn’t have been surprised at all if Ignatius had, in fact, stolen it from pirates.

He barked at the chest—one of the many downsides to not having opposable thumbs.

“In there?”

He barked again. It’s so much easier communicating with Maria. Imagine if she would’ve been able to do that from birth. I’d probably have been able to pee on so many more Gnomes!

Slowly, Claire knelt and opened the chest. It smelled like cinnamon so strongly, it tickled her nose. Inside were stacks of board games—Monopoly, Clue, Risk, Operation, and the endlessly entertaining Mouse Trap. But Claire didn’t think Tabby would go for any of those. They were suited for a much younger audience.

She looked at Sherlock, who sat near her, watching with a canine intensity. “Looks like we’ll be watching that Passions marathon after all,” she said.

Sherlock whined through his nose.

Claire gathered all the dusty boxes to stuff them back into the chest where they came from. With the five boxes clutched to her side, she leaned over the chest and saw that she had forgotten one. It was half-buried under a scarf. She only saw the corner of it, but it looked quite worn and well used. She moved the scarf.

Under it was a Ouija board; one of the originals, from the look of the box—or at least from the fifties. If Ignatius has only been on Earth since the mid-nineties, what is he doing with a Ouija board from what looks like the fifties?

That man is one big mystery, Claire thought. But there was a smile on her face as she pulled the box out of the chest, blowing the dust off of it. It came away in a cloud, and both she and Sherlock broke out into a sneezing fit.

“Think Tab will go for this?” she asked Sherlock once they got control of themselves. "I know we can't afford any messed up juju right now, but I think if we used the board right, we could maybe communicate with whoever Maria's trying to save. We could help instead of just sitting here on our asses. What do you say, Sherlock?"

Sherlock barked. It sounded like a bark of approval to Claire.

“Claire!” Tabby said. “Please tell me how to turn the channel on this TV! I can’t even figure out how to turn it off!”

Claire snickered. There must’ve been some spell on the TV that prevented anyone but Ignatius from changing the channel. Clever old man, she thought.

Claire went downstairs  with Sherlock at her heels. Tabby was standing in front of the television, pressing every button visible with no luck.

“Think outside of the box,” Claire said.

“I am!”

“No, literally think outside of the box.” Claire bent behind the television and pulled the plug free from the outlet. The TV snapped off with a click.

“You must think you’re so clever,” Tabby said, crossing her arms.

Claire shrugged.

“I found this.” She showed Tabby the Ouija board game.

“Whoa…” Absentmindedly, Tabby began smoothing the bandages under her chin.

“I know, right? Everything else was, as you would put it, ‘lame’. I figured since you’re hardcore, that’d you’d be more interested in this.”

Tabby took the box from Claire’s hands and looked it over like it was some fine piece of art. “You know me so well, Claire.”

Claire beamed. “Sometimes, I don’t know if that’s a good thing or a bad thing.”

“Real funny.” Tabby stuck out her tongue.

“C’mon, let’s go in the dining room.”

***

They did, but not before Sherlock reminded Claire of what she promised. He went in the kitchen and barked his head off until Claire came in. She opened the fridge and let him take his pick. Sherlock wound up eating about a pound of sliced roast beef and, oddly enough, a bottle of horseradish.

Doesn’t taste like horse, he thought.

Claire thought it was pretty gross, especially seeing the horseradish smeared all over the Bloodhound’s muzzle. But I made a promise, and I never go back on my promises.

Sherlock burped and laid down on the kitchen tile. Just leave me here. I can die happy, now.

Claire did, returning to the dining room.

The lights were off, but a few candles sat flickering on the table. Claire and Tabby settled next to one another, obvious fear and excitement in their eyes.

They set up the board, which was tattered and falling apart. Claire wondered why, but the answer came to her soon enough. Wasn’t Maria tasked with finding a way to get a village of people out of the world in between? Otherwise known to the commoner as a type of purgatory?

Yep.

Claire believed Ignatius probably picked up the Ouija board at a garage sale or something, and used it as much as he could, trying to communicate with his old village.

“You ready?” Tabby asked.

The game was fairly easy to set up. All it consisted of was the board, the wedge piece, which Tabby and Claire both had their fingers on lightly, and their fear.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” Claire asked Tabby.

Tabby grinned. “Seriously?”

“Should’ve guessed.” But who am I kidding? She had never used a Ouija board before, but she had seen the horror movies where the characters would bring one out, and all hell would break loose. Of course, that wasn’t real…but neither were witches and wizards and magical worlds until the day before yesterday.

Tabby went on anyway, unaware of Claire’s fear.

“Are there any spirits here that want to communicate with us?”

The wedge drifted to YES.

“I didn’t do that,” Tabby said. “Look how lightly my fingers are on it.”

Claire hadn’t done it, either. In fact, she sincerely hoped the wedge wouldn’t move at all, that Ouija boards were nothing but a gimmick.

Amusement on Tabby’s face, she said, “What is your name?”

Again, slowly, the wedge moved across the letters and stopped on ‘D,’ then traveled to ‘E.’ Two letters in, and Claire already knew what the spirit was going to spell.

‘DEATH’.

She snapped her hand away. Not the time for that, she thought.

“Claire! You can’t take your fingers off the wedge.”

“Then stop moving it!”

“I’m not. It was Mr. D-E,” Tabby answered.

“You know what that’s going to spell, right? You’re not dumb.”

“Delbert? Devin? Delilah? Demi?”

“No,” Claire said. She was about ready to get up. The Soap Network wasn’t looking too bad compared to this…or maybe Clue.

“Don’t be a baby. Sit back down,” Tabby said.

Claire settled back in her chair and just as she reached her hand out to touch the wedge, the board cracked down the middle and a gash of misty blackness opened.

“What the fuck?” Claire screamed. Tabby was knocked back out of her chair. She landed with a rattling thump.

A long, black arm reached out of the gash in the board.

“MARIAAAAA!” a ghostly voice croaked.

The arm swiped at Claire. Sherlock came into the dining room, barking wildly at the black arm—which Claire realized was not a human arm at all, but a spider leg.

“Close it! Close it!” Tabby was yelling. She was back on her feet, holding the overturned chair out in front of her like a shield.

The leg still slapped at the table. A napkin dispenser fell over with a crash. Salt and pepper shakers rolled off the table. Claire lunged forward, her mouth silently screaming—or maybe screaming, she couldn’t hear much of anything over Sherlock’s barking.

“MARIAAAAA APPPLEEEE!”

The arm swiped, and Claire dodged it. She snagged the board and closed it in half. The spider leg stuck out from between the folded halves, but Claire pressed harder, trying to ignore its screaming. She could feel the dark energy resisting her. Tabby grabbed the box and held it open. Claire slammed the board into it, and Tabby put the top on. It bucked in her hands for a moment.

Then it stopped.

Sherlock kept barking, but Tabby and Claire hardly noticed. They just stared at each other.

“See, I told you,” Claire finally said.

“How was I supposed to know that a giant spider leg would pop out and try to strangle us?” Tabby said, defending herself.

“At Maria’s house, anything is possible.”

Their eyes both focused on the old Ouija board box.

“I say we burn it,” Tabby said.

“Or we put it in that warehouse they put the Ark of the Covenant in, Indiana Jones style,” Claire answered.

“You’re so lame.”

“At least I’m brave. Otherwise we would’ve been spider food.”

“I’m never using a Ouija board again,” Tabby said.

“Well let’s go put this back.”

Tabby thrust the box out to Claire. Claire took it apprehensively.

“I’m not going up there alone,” Claire said.

“Sherlock will go, won’t you, boy?”

Sherlock shook his head. Apparently, Bloodhounds were not immune to ghostly spider legs, either.

“We all go up together. How about that?” Claire suggested.

“Fine.”

They went upstairs and put the box back in the chest with the other board games piled on top of it. After they shut the chest, Claire said it would probably be a good idea to lock it up, or at least set the dresser on it for good measure, but they weren’t strong enough for that, nor did they have a padlock—much less one that would protect them from ghosts. So they just closed Ignatius’s door tightly behind them and vowed to never visit the labyrinth of craziness again.

Once downstairs, they turned the TV back on, and Passions filled the screen. They watched it and waited for Maria, not talking, trying to make everything seem like it was back to normal, even though it was far from it.

***

Two episodes later, they heard a car pull into the driveway. Tabby got up and looked out the window. Sherlock was already barking, which meant that he knew who it was.

“Come here!” Tabby hissed.

Claire did.

Tabby had cracked the curtains enough for them to be able to peek out and spy on Maria and Joe. Maria wore a big smile on her face. Joe was laughing, his head thrown back, one hand on the steering wheel, the other around Maria’s headrest.

“Oh, my God!” they both squee-ed.

“Wait, wait,” Claire said, “Shh, they’re getting out.”

Sure enough, Joe got out and went around to the passenger’s side. He opened Maria’s door and helped her out by holding her hand.

“Aw,” Tabby whispered. “Look at them.”

“Quick, get down!” Claire whispered back. They were coming up the walkway, their shadows thrown against the window by the light post in the front yard.

“I’m not missing this for anything.” Tabby leaned out farther. She was obviously visible to Joe and Maria, but they were too busy goggling each other’s eyes to notice.

Muffled, Claire heard Maria say, “I had a really good time tonight.”

“So did I,” Joe answered.

“We should do it again.”

“Really? So I didn’t screw it up?” Joe said, loud enough to be heard clearly.

“Oh, no, my dahling,” Maria answered, a goofy smile on her face.

Claire and Tabby exchanged a confused look, and Tabby stuck a finger in her mouth, faking a gag. Claire had to slap her hand over her mouth to stop herself from laughing loud enough for Joe and Maria to hear her.

“Milady, how does tomorrow night sound?”

‘Milady’? Tabby mouthed to Claire.

All Claire could do was shrug in return.

The two on the front porch laughed hard together. Maria put her hand on Joe’s shoulder, and with his opposite hand, he took hers. They stared longingly into each other’s eyes for a moment.

Claire and Tabby watched in anticipation. It was like witnessing a real live version of the soap opera playing on the TV behind them.

“Tomorrow sounds great,” Maria answered. Then she stammered as she turned her head and looked out at the front lawn. “Well, maybe.”

“Whenever you can.”

“What if you’re not free? I know you work a lot at the mall.”

“Unfortunately, yeah, but I can have Mikey cover for me. Besides, he owes me one.” Joe winked.

“Bet it’s hard to make dates when you have to work around fighting giant spiders and saving ghosts and whatnot,” Claire whispered.

“Shush,” Tabby demanded.

“Geez, just speaking the truth.”

As Tabby and Claire bickered back and forth, Sherlock pushed his way between them. Using the ledge for support, he put his front paws on the painted wood and looked out through the curtain. He was much less covert. Maria spied him from the front porch, and shook her head softly so Joe wouldn’t notice. But Sherlock wasn’t going anywhere. Maria is my master, and if that guy puts his hands on my master—

Suddenly, as if reading Sherlock’s mind, Joe did just that. He leaned in awkwardly, wrapping an arm around the small of Maria’s back. Though he stood about a head taller than Maria—who was quite tall for a female—when Joe bent down for their first kiss, Maria stood on her tiptoes.

Sherlock growled softly, not believing his eyes.

“What are you growling at, boy?” Claire asked.

“Oh, my God!” Tabby said, noticing what was happening, too.

Joe and Maria were lip-locked, their eyes closed, their bodies close. That kiss beats any soap opera kiss, Claire thought. But I see why Sherlock's jealous.

The kiss lasted for about five seconds—probably not long enough for Joe or Maria to slip in any tongue. That would have to be saved for a later date, Claire supposed, but when the two parted, Tabby and Claire squee-ed so loud that both Maria and Joe turned to the window. Tabby and Claire’s heads were no longer covered by the curtains; they were out in the open, all three of them.

Joe chuckled and scratched the back of his neck, a sure sign of his nervousness. First kisses, unless in the movies, hardly ever have an audience, but the one shared between Joe and Maria was as magical as the best of them.

“I better get going,” he said.

Maria took his hand, smiling. “Joe,” she said, before he could turn away and head back to his Honda.

“Yes?”

“Thank you for being such a gentleman.”

He bowed. “Thank you, fair lady, for being such a dahling.”

“Blech,” Tabby said.

Claire punched her lightly in the arm.

Maria snorted and shook her head. “Get out of here before I change my mind about a second date.”

All the color drained from Joe’s face.

“Kidding!” Maria assured him.

“Oh,” he laughed, “I knew that!” Then, practically skipping down the walkway, Joe went back to his car, got in, backed out, and disappeared down the road as Maria watched from the front porch.

As soon as the coast was clear, Claire and Tabby rushed to the door, Sherlock right on their heels. Their little run-in with a demon spider leg or whatever it had been was the furthest thing from their minds.

Claire threw open the door.

Maria still stared in a daze at the empty road.

Silence hung between them all.

Finally, Maria turned around, the color standing high on her cheeks.

“Oh. My. God!” Claire said.

“I know,” Maria answered, her voice hardly there.

“That was beautiful. Romeo and Juliet shit,” Tabby said.

“Well, gee, when you put it that way…” Claire said.

“Shut up.” It was Tabby’s turn to punch Claire back.

“Ouch!”

“Oh, don’t be a wuss!”

Maria had to step inside and break it up. “Guys! GUYS!”

“Sorry,” Claire said. “It’s been kind of an odd night…”

“What? Why? Can’t I just go a few hours without anything odd happening?” Maria asked no one in particular. She crossed the living room floor and plopped down on the old flowered love seat. The fragrant smells of what she now knew to be Oriceran wheezed out from between the cushions.

“We’ll tell you later,” Claire said.

“Yeah,” Tabby butted in, “nothing to worry about. We handled it.”

Sherlock barked.

“With the help of Sherlock, that is,” Tabby added.

Ghosts, Sherlock said, but Maria hardly paid him any attention. Her mind was on the kiss she had shared with Joe, how soft his lips were, and how, after all the garlic they ate, his breath still smelled like spearmint.

“It was just magical,” Maria said, looking off into space, reminiscing. Claire and Tabby raised their eyebrows. Maria had never been like this before. She usually was the first one to dismiss all that fairytale, romantic-fantasy bull crap as fiction, but seeing her now, you would’ve thought she was a female Cupid reincarnated. “And I don’t use that word lightly, since I’m technically magic and all.”

“Ooh,” Tabby said, “you can totally use that to your advantage! Magic him out of his shirt. I bet he’s ripped.”

Claire shook her head.

“No, that’s cheating—wait, you didn’t magic him into that kiss, did you?”

Maria looked offended. “What? No! It was just a really good night. I learned so much about him. He’s the youngest of six brothers! His dad owns a construction company. Gelepo!”

“Oh, man, I see their signs all over the city,” Claire said.

“I know, I know! I never put two and two together. His mom teaches Shakespeare and his World at Akron University.”

“Mrs. Gelepo? Oh, my God, I’ve had her!” Tabby said.

“It truly is a small world.”

Sherlock weaseled his way into the conversation. Not to be rude or anything, but I haven’t had a proper meal since I’ve gotten back from Oriceran…

Claire saw Maria staring at Sherlock, taking in his telepathic words, so she asked, “Is he talking about food?”

Maria nodded.

“He ate, don’t listen to him. I gave him roast beef and horse radish.”

Dammit, Sherlock said. Tell Claire Dog Prom is off again. Fucking traitor.

“I’m not telling her that, Sherlock. Dog Prom is not a thing, no matter how much you bring it up.”

It is! I swear. I have the invitation somewhere. Hold on. Don’t talk anymore until I come back. With that, Sherlock bolted out of the living room and into the room where his old dog crate was. It also held his bed, which he refused to sleep on, instead opting for Maria’s pillow where he could stick his tail end in her face and snore as loud as an Orc. There were toys in his crate, too. Stuffed elephants with the stuffing mostly ripped out and the eyes missing, squeaking rubber bones that had been squeezed so much that they only wheezed, and the ever-famous tennis ball, so drenched in dog spit it was a forest-green color instead of the neon green it was when fresh out of the packaging. Sometimes Sherlock liked to pretend he got mail delivered in that room, which he so haughtily called his ‘office.’ Doing that was his way of coping with the mailman, whom he could bark at constantly from inside the house. But once, Sherlock had been outside when the mailman came around, and had cowered in the front bushes, much like he had cowered away upon meeting his first Gnome.

So no, there was probably no Dog Prom invitation in there—probably.

The girls continued talking about Maria’s date, and it was obvious to both Claire and Tabby that Maria was head-over-heels in love with the cute security guard from Rolling Hill Mall. Though when Tabby suggested the idea of love, Maria blew a raspberry and said, “Not likely. I’ve got responsibilities now. I can’t just go around and fall in love with people.” She had avoided looking them in the eyes when she said it.

Claire and Tabby told her of their night, really downplaying the spider-leg, because they didn’t want to be the reason Maria’s pleasant night came crashing down. But Maria kept prodding them for more information, and they eventually settled—despite Tabby’s almost tearful pleas—to bring the Ouija board downstairs so Maria could see it for herself.

Sherlock shouted more than once, as the sounds of ripping paper and moving clutter rang out in his ‘office,’ I can hear you guys talking! Stop it, unless you all want to be on my shit-list, right under squirrels, the mailman, and Gnomes!

They kept talking.

Maria stood up, and Tabby was still pleading with her not to go get the Ouija board, to which Maria replied by saying, “I’ve got my sword now. No big deal.”

“You also have the music box here. Maybe the spider leg sensed it wasn’t here before and gave up,” Claire said. “And as big as it was, I’d hate to see what it’s attached to.”

Maria just patted her sword hilt. The belt was now cinched around her waist. She still wore the pretty blue dress, and on her way to the stairs, she caught her reflection in the hall mirror. “I better change into something more comfortable, if I’m gonna be fighting giant spiders again. You know, just in case.”

So she went to her room and changed into a pair of comfortable jeans, a tank top, and, because it made her look like a badass witch, especially with the sword around her waist, a leather jacket she had bought when she became obsessed with the movie Grease a couple years ago. She also removed the bobby pins from her hair and let it fall down. It was still done up, but looked much closer to her regular style than normal.

She smiled in her vanity mirror and said, “I kissed Joe Gelepo; I can do anything.”

Pleased with how she looked, she left her room and turned down the hall toward her grandpa’s. Just as she reached out for the doorknob, a great burst of energy crackled downstairs. Her heart trip-hammered in her chest. She feared the worst; especially with the image of a giant spider leg coming out of a black void in the middle of the Ouija board so fresh in her mind.

“Claire? Tabby?” she shouted down the steps. In her hand was the sword. She wasn’t even aware that she’d drawn it until she looked down. Now she took the steps two at a time—probably not the safest practice. They say don’t run with scissors, not the type of big swords you see in high fantasy movies, her mind mused.

When she turned the corner into the living room, where the TV was blaring, she saw a strange woman dressed in black. She was older, perhaps in her fifties, but her deep blue eyes shone with youthful enthusiasm.

Maria raised the sword up so it was diagonal in front of her, going by what she had seen in movies like The Lord of the Rings and Willow.

The woman’s mouth opened to say something, but Maria didn’t want her to even get one syllable out, because this woman was a witch, Maria could almost smell the dark magic lingering about her. She made a move.

“Maria!” Gramps shouted.

The witch backed up, lost her balance, and fell into Gramps’s arms. Claire and Tabby watched from the corner of the room, near the television, with shocked expressions on their faces.

“Sheath your sword. Freida is an ally!”

Maria obeyed.

There was an uncomfortable silence in the air for a moment, until Maria said, “Whoops! Almost stabbed you there. I’m so sorry!”

The dark witch named Frieda shook her head. “No, it’s no big deal. Do not worry, child. I should’ve announced myself before things got so out of…control.”

Sherlock waddled into the living room, his nose twitching as he sniffed the air near Frieda. In his mouth was a slobbery piece of paper.

Who’s this?

Maria was surprised to hear that his voice sounded muffled.

“Frieda, meet Maria and our dog Sherlock,” Gramps said. He was smiling, now that any sense of danger seemed to be vanquished.

Frieda stuck out her hand and shook Maria’s. “It is an honor, Maria.” Then she bent down and stroked Sherlock under his chin. She hit one of his many ticklish spots, and his leg kicked wildly. “And it is a pleasure to meet you, too, Sherlock.” When she stopped, Sherlock sat there in a daze, his tail going a mile a minute.

Wow! Ask her to Dog Prom for me, Maria! Please!

“For the last time, there is no Dog Prom!” Maria shouted, a smile on her face.

Then what’s this?

Sherlock dropped the wet piece of paper on the carpet in front of Maria. She picked it up by the lone dry corner, read it, and then burst into uncontrollable laughter.

What? What the hell is so funny?

“This…this is a subscription card for Cat Fancy magazine,” Maria said through her chuckles.

What? Sherlock lunged forward and snatched the soggy paper from her. That—That’s not mine. Someone must’ve left it here.

“Sherlock, it’s filled out with your name and ‘My office at the Apples’ house.’”

No, someone is playing a trick on me, I swear. I don’t like cats. Yuck!

Now everyone else was laughing, mainly because they saw how flustered Sherlock was in trying to cover his reasoning of requesting a subscription to a cat magazine, even if the rest of them couldn’t understand what he was saying.

Damn it, he muttered. I’ll be back. Gotta go burn this card.

But as Sherlock went up the hallway toward his so-called office, Maria leaned around the living room doorway and saw him slip the note through the mail slot before disappearing. All she could do was shake her head.

“That was Sherlock in a nutshell,” Gramps said to Freida.

“He’s seems nice for such an…odd creature.”

“He’s okay,” Maria said with a wink. “Now, what’s going on? Why are you back with a witch and not a Gnome?”

Gramps walked toward Maria and took her hands. “Our situation has become dire.”

“More dire than before?” Maria sat on the couch, her head spinning. “I find that hard to believe.”

“I wish it weren’t true,” Gramps answered. “Our friend Gelbus Cogspark may be in danger. Seeing how he is our one chance—aside from hiring a Willen to break into the Gnomes’ vault, that is, and that’s quite risky…never trust a Willen—we must get him out of said danger before it’s too late.”

“How does Frieda play into all of this?”

“She’ll be our guide,” Gramps answered.

Frieda bowed, her dark skirt flourishing. “At your service.”

“Frieda and I have worked out a deal. We can trust her,” Gramps said.

Behind him, Claire and Tabby made kissing noises. Gramps whirled around on them, and they shrank against the television, which was now showing a yogurt commercial with Jamie Lee Curtis talking about gut bacteria and her good digestion.

“Sorry, sorry,” Claire said.

“Yeah, please don’t turn us into frogs,” Tabby echoed.

Maria couldn’t help but smile. “Where are we going?” she asked once everyone settled down.

Gramps sighed. “I wish it was just me going, but I will need you, Maria. This will be no easy task.”

“Never expected it to be. So far, it’s been anything but easy. Giant spiders and blown up clown heads.”

The dark witch gave Maria an inquisitive look.

“Long story,” Maria answered, waving a hand.

“We are traveling to the town of Ashbourne. It’s a small fishing village not far from the Light Castle,” Gramps said.

“When you say ‘not far,’ do you mean like walking distance…or portaling distance?” Maria asked.

“Nearly everywhere in Oriceran is portaling distance.”

“Yeah, why walk when you can just portal?” Tabby said.

“Ooh, you should sell that technology to Google!” Claire squee-ed. “Make a killing.”

With a deep sigh, Gramps rubbed at his temples. “Magic is not for exploitation, nor is it something that can be learned by those who do not already possess some of the ability in their DNA. Google would not be interested in doing business with the magical community again.”

“Why not?” Maria asked, honestly curious.

“Long story.” Gramps waved a hand. “But since Google Plus never fully took off like they expected, they’ve been wary of dealing with magical folk.”

“You mean we had a hand in creating Google Plus?” Maria asked.

“Oh, we’ve had a hand in everything from The Rolling Stones’ success to the moon landing.”

“What the hell?” Claire said, amazed.

“That reminds me,” Gramps said, bringing a hand up to his beard, “I should give Mick a call. It’s been too long.”

“Mick as in Mick Jagger?” Tabby said. “Oh, my God, my mom loves him! Could you get me an autograph? If I gave her that for her birthday, I’d definitely become her favorite child.”

“I’m sure I can—” Gramps began, but Frieda cleared her throat and cut him off. “Right, we’ll see after our mission is complete.”

“Yeah, Ashbourne, right,” Maria said. “What exactly are we doing there?”

Gramps grinned, a slight amusement in his eyes. “We, Maria, are doing something not many people have done before.”

“The suspense is killing me,” Maria replied, twirling her index finger. “Go on.”

“We are going to slay a dragon.”

“What? No way, you’re messing with me.” Maria looked from Gramps to Frieda. There was no hint of a lie on either of their faces.

“No, no, I swear it.”

Now, Maria saw the expression on Claire and Tabby’s face. They were stark white, their eyes as big as plates.

“The Rogue Dragons were beasts raised by ancient evil. Long, long ago, they ruled over certain areas of the world. Those who opposed them were burnt to a crisp or eaten, and those who did not oppose them became followers of the Dragon’s rule. They are called Dragon Tongue,” Gramps said.

“Weird name.”

“Our friend Gelbus Cogspark was directed to the town by a Dragon Tongue. My guess is that they had heard of the Gnome’s firing from the library and hunted him down until they found him at Ves Ielan. And if Mr. Cogspark is in Ashbourne, there are only three possible outcomes for the poor Gnome,” Frieda said. She listed them off on her fingers. “One, he is being tortured until he spills the secrets of the raising of a Rogue Dragon. Two, he has already spilled the secrets and has been murdered by the followers. And last, the dragon has risen and swallowed the town whole.”

“So our prospects are looking pretty grim,” Maria said. “Sounds right up my alley.”

“Of course,” Gramps said, being the ray of hope in all the darkness, “there is another option… Gelbus held his tongue, and the dragon has yet to rise.”

Suddenly, Sherlock darted into the room, another slobbery piece of paper in his mouth. Maria took it mostly out of reflex, too lost in the idea of becoming a dragon slayer. If only her mother could see her now. She wondered if she would be proud. I’m doing the right thing. Of course she would be proud, Maria thought.

There it is. One Dog Prom invitation, Sherlock said.

Maria read the paper over and didn’t even bother to laugh this time. “Sherlock, this is a bill for the vet…for when you had to have your nip—”

Barking cut her off. Sherlock jumped up and snatched the paper back, chewing on it until it was nothing but a wet wad. Then he swallowed.

I don’t know what she’s talking about. I never had to go to the vet because anything went wrong with my nipples. What’s the point for males to even have nipples, you know?

Slowly, he was backing out of the room, his eyes searching everyone else’s.

“They can’t hear you, you do know that, don’t you?”

I promise. My nipples are all good. All in perfect working order.

“We both know that’s a lie. Don’t you remember when—” Maria said.

Can it, Maria! That’s it. Dog Prom is officially off! With that, Sherlock stormed out of the living room and back down the hall, softly growling to himself.

“It was never on in the first place because it’s a made-up thing,” Maria whispered to herself. She looked back at Freida and Gramps. “Right, okay, dragon, Gnome, crazy dragon worshippers.”

“Starting to sound like just another regular day in the life of Maria Apple,” Claire said, a smile on her face.

“I don’t know if that’s a good thing or a really weird thing,” Tabby said. She rubbed the bandage around her neck.

Maria shrugged. “Well, let’s go slay a fucking dragon.”

“Language, Maria!” Gramps snapped.

“Oh, please, we are about to do the impossible; I think I earned the right to cuss a little.”

Frieda nodded. “I cannot argue with that logic, Ignatius, especially if what you told me happened here the other day was true.”

Gramps sighed loudly. “Fine. Let’s go save that fucking town!”

“That’s the spirit!”

Out of nowhere, using his stored power from being on Oriceran, a portal opened in the living room.

“Next stop, Ashbourne,” he said.

Maria caught eyes with Tabby and Claire. “I think you should sit this one out.”

Tabby shifted uncomfortably and Claire looked quite disappointed.

“You know, stick around here and report on any weird, ghostly spider legs. If things are real slow, head on down to Salem’s. I’m sure he will need some back up when the Griffins show up, questioning him about what happened with Malakai and all that stuff.” They were Maria’s best friends, part of her family. She didn’t want to risk another near-death experience, like the one that occurred in the ruined village of Dominion. “If anyone can hold ghostly spider legs off, you two can.”

Claire nodded.

Tabby came forward and threw her arms around Maria. She hugged her so tight that Maria could hardly breathe. Claire came over seconds later and hugged her, too.

“Uh…guys,” Maria choked out, “can’t…b-breathe.”

They let go.

“Just be careful,” Claire said.

“Yeah, don’t be stupid.”

“Carefulness and stupidity while slaying a dragon don’t really go hand-in-hand, I think,” Maria answered.

“You know what we mean.”

Maria smiled. “I do. But if I die, at least wait a few months before one of you guys goes after Joe.” She winked.

“Don’t even joke about that,” Tabby said.

“Sorry, sorry.” Maria turned and whistled toward Sherlock’s room. “Come on, fatty, time to go kick a dragon’s ass.”

Hm, Sherlock answered, coming around the corner faster than before, as much fun as that sounds, I think—

“There’s a Gnome in it for you.”

Do I get to pee on him?

“I don’t know what’s with you and peeing on things,” Maria said, bending down so she was eye-to-eye with Sherlock, “but if we slay a dragon and save this Gnome’s life, I’m sure he’d be honored to have you pee on him.”

Sherlock’s eyes lit up. What’s the situation on the food?

“All the dead squirrels and Raffins you can eat,” Maria answered. It wasn’t exactly a lie because she couldn’t be one hundred percent certain that there wasn’t an all-you-can-eat feast of dead squirrels and Raffins in Ashbourne. She had never been there. And if saying that got Sherlock to come along for the ride, then she figured no harm, no foul.

Fine, count me in. But if I miss my Dog Prom…

“Cool it with the Dog Prom, Sherlock. It’s not real.”

Neither was magic a few days ago, eh, Maria?

Maria narrowed her eyes. Behind her, Frieda said her goodbyes to Tabby and Claire, mentioning how it was such a pleasure to meet real-live Earth people.

“You got a point there,” Maria said to the Bloodhound. “If you can’t get a date to go with you, then you can take me.”

You mean it?

“Yes, but just as friends…obviously.”

Obviously. You’re with Joe now, and I like cat— Er, I mean, catalope…I like cataracts.”

“Real good save there, Sherlock.”

Thank you. I mean, I dunno what you’re talking about, catalopes is my favorite!

“I think you mean cantaloupe.” Maria emphasized the ’n.’

Sherlock brought a paw up and examined his claws. Maria…oh, sweet Maria.

“Don’t do that—” Maria started to say.

Anything is food if you’re brave enough. Including catalope.

“You’re gross.”

“Are we ready? Time is ticking on the other side,” Gramps said.

Maria stepped forward, but not before Tabby and Claire could wish her good luck. She thanked them and took one last, long look around her living room, taking in the TV playing some weird soap opera, the ratty recliner and even older and more worn flowery love seat by the window, the mismatched curtains, the 70’s shag carpet. I hope I come back. I’m gonna miss this.

Okay, Maria, of course you’re gonna come back. You’re an ass-kicking witch now, she quickly thought.

Gramps stuck out his hand, Maria took it, then she took Freida’s, and Sherlock came up behind her and caught the hem of her leather jacket with his teeth.

“Let’s go,” Gramps said.

“Woo! Slay that fucking dragon!” Tabby shouted.

“Tab,” Claire whispered, embarrassed for her outburst.

They stepped through the portal. It was the last thing Maria heard before she was sent to Oriceran.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

The feeling of weightlessness, of traveling at the speed of light, that Maria felt the few times she had gone through a portal was stopped abruptly. Gramps had said that everyone experienced portaling differently; some get intense motion sickness, others get a euphoric feeling of being two places at once, as one foot catches up with the other. Maria normally seemed to be in the middle of these two extremes. If one could call portaling normal.

But now—now, something happened.

Something went wrong.

She heard high-pitched screaming drifting back to her. She heard Sherlock, barking and growling. She heard something thrashing.

She saw nothing…besides the darkness.

***

Suddenly, the breath was knocked out of her. “Oooh,” she moaned, rolling over. Her tailbone was throbbing. I thought Gramps said the landing gets easier. So wrong.

She felt grass beneath her fingers. It was short and stubbly, poking through her jeans. She opened her eyes, seeing stars floating around her vision, and something else—

The portal.

It was still open, but she no longer saw her living room or Claire and Tabby on the other side. Now there was just blackness.

“Gramps?” she looked around. Nothing. “Sherlock? Freida?” Nothing.

She then checked her satchel. The shape of the music box was there, but she opened it anyway and took it out, making sure it was all right. It was. Not even so much as a scuff. The music played as sweetly as ever.

“Where am I?” She scanned her surroundings. The grass only grew in patches because she was near a large mountain. One that stretched much higher than an Earth mountain. It wasn’t as tall as Mount Everest, but she reckoned it was close.

Not only was there no sign of her family, but there was also no sign of any civilization for as far as the eye could see. No towns, no villages, no rivers—didn’t Gramps say Ashbourne was a fishing village? She thought he did.

The portal still hadn’t closed. Maria put the music box back in the satchel and made sure it was securely closed, then she stood up with one hand on the hilt of her sword—the same hilt that had driven pretty hard into her side upon landing. Maybe she had to go through the portal again before it closed. Maybe something malfunctioned, and Gramps and the rest of them were still in the living room.

As she approached the portal, though, the blackness within shimmered. The sound of breaking glass filled Maria’s ear as something exploded through the portal. She brought her left hand up to shield her face while her right hand unsheathed the sword.

“MARIAAAAAA!” a horrible voice said.

Maria moved her hand away. From the portal stretched a spider leg as thick as the stump of an oak tree. It ended in a razor sharp point, as if sharpened by whetstone. From the leg came bristly black hairs that were as long as Maria’s middle finger.

“GIVE ME BACK WHAT IS MINE!” that voice said. Then the leg lashed out at her, seemingly coming for her heart.

It almost made Maria freeze.

Almost.

With one quick motion, Maria swung the blade. The metal was so light in her hand that her muscles hardly strained, and the gleaming silver looked like a fan rotating at a thousand miles per hour.

The edge connected with the hard flesh of the spider leg with a clink.

Just like Malakai, she thought bitterly.

Whoever the leg belonged to screamed shrilly at the top of their lungs. Maria had cut the leg clean off. It tumbled from the portal onto the scrubby grass right in front of Maria’s feet.

The nub pulled back through the portal, and the portal snapped closed with a crackling fzzzt.

Maria took a step back from the writhing leg, her sword held up in front of her, just in case. She’d seen enough horror movies to know not to let her guard down.

But nothing happened. The spider leg didn’t magically sprout a body or jagged teeth—nothing like that. Instead, it just fizzled and crackled, much like the portal had done. Then it disintegrated right before Maria’s eyes; Malakai’s body had done the same thing.

“The Widow,” Maria said softly to herself. She prodded the ground with her sword in the spot where the leg had been. All she stabbed was dirt. The immediate danger was gone. Now she had to worry about where the rest of her group had gone.

She sheathed her sword and turned around. As she did, a scream rippled through the air, followed closely by barking.

“Sherlock!?” Maria shouted back. She took off running in the direction of the sound.

***

Maria found Gramps, Freida, and Sherlock under a nearby tree. It was mostly bare of leaves. The ones that had been shed were on the ground, deep purple and fiery red. Not like fall in Ohio, that’s for sure.

Gramps was half-laying, half-sitting against the tree trunk. Frieda knelt next to him, holding his hand. Sherlock was licking his face.

“Gramps!” Maria shouted and sprinted the rest of the distance, leaves crumbling under her soles.

“He is all right,” Freida said. “Took a nasty spill when we came out of the portal.”

One look at Gramps, and she knew it was more than that. His white and gray hair was all frazzled, his long beard twisted, with twigs and bits of leaves stuck in it. On his forehead was a deep gash.

Suddenly, he opened his eyes and moaned.

“Gramps, are you okay?”

He brought a hand up to the gash, touching it gently. As he brought his fingers away and looked at them, he moaned again. They were sticky with blood.

“What happened?”

Frieda answered. “Interference. Something dark tried to reroute us.”

Maria nodded. “I think I know exactly what that something dark was.”

“Arachnid,” Gramps answered.

“Not just any Arachnid… The Widow.” Maria shivered. “Don’t worry, I cut off one of her legs.”

Gramps’s eyes shot wide open. “You saw her? Oh, you poor dear. I’m so sorry. I knew I should’ve never brought you along; we haven’t even faced the dragon. Oh, my—”

“Relax, Gramps,” Maria said, grabbing his hand. “I handled myself pretty well. Me: one. The Widow: Minus one…leg.” She winked.

It took a moment for Gramps’s stern look to melt into a smile, but eventually it did. He tried to stand up without much success. Maria and Frieda had to help steady him, but he got there mostly on his own. From his robe, he pulled out the same wand he’d used in Dominion, examining it closely.

“All good. I’d hate to break another wand,” he said.

“Exactly why I don’t use them,” Frieda replied.

“Yeah, but I don’t think I could handle flames as well as I could handle a wand. Much respect to you for taking the harder road.”

Frieda smiled, and Maria thought she might’ve even blushed a little.

Oooh, it’s like me and Claire, Sherlock said with a wink.

“Cool it,” Maria answered. She cleared her throat and Gramps and Frieda stopped goggling each other and turned to look at Maria. Freida’s pale skin was quite flushed. “Sorry,” Maria said. “I was just wondering where the town was.” She looked up in the sky, shielding her eyes from the sun. “Don’t see it and I don’t see a dragon, which I guess is pretty good.”

Gramps turned toward the crop of mountains surrounding them. “That’s because we aren’t anywhere near Ashbourne. No.” He spun around, almost losing his balance. Frieda and Maria both reached out to steady him. He smiled solemnly. “I’m okay. I’m okay.” He cleared his throat, touching the head wound again. “No, we must be in the mountains outside of the Land of Terran. Ashbourne is a ways over the other side. No matter. We shall just open another portal; since Maria has dispatched of the Widow for the time being, I feel it will go much smoother than before.”

They gathered in a circle, holding hands. Sherlock clamped onto Maria’s leather jacket again. She glared at him.

What? It tastes good. Real leather. You go, girl!

“You chew a hole in it, you’re buying me a new one, and Dog Prom will definitely be off.”

No worries. Sherlock showed his teeth in what he thought was a smile, but it came off as more of a snarl to Maria.

Gramps closed his eyes and began singing the usual song in a low voice. Maria followed suit. Frieda hummed along.

But nothing happened. No feeling of weightlessness. No traveling at the speed of light. No spider legs, either.

Just nothing.

“Not good,” Gramps said after a moment.

“What?” Maria heard herself ask. Her heart plummeted to her stomach.

“I…can’t open a portal.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean I’m more injured than I originally thought.”

They let go of each other’s hands, but Sherlock didn’t unlatch from Maria’s jacket. She was about to shoo him away, but thought that if it kept the dog distracted, what harm was a few holes in an old leather thing she hadn’t worn in years anyway?

“Maybe you should sit down,” Frieda said. “Rest.”

Gramps shook his head. Now Maria knew where the stubbornness in her family apparently came from; it had rubbed off on Sherlock, too.

“It’s not physical,” Gramps answered. “Not so much, at least. It’s magical. The Widow seems to have hit me where it hurts the most, yet I feel no pain.” He drew his wand and aimed it at a lone leaf. He mumbled something under his breath, some kind of spell. A light fizzled at the end of the wood, only glowing faintly. Maria could hardly see it in the glare of the sun.

“No,” Gramps said. “No, this is not good.”

Maria walked over and put her arm around him, hoping to make him feel better. “Can you open a portal, Frieda?”

Freida shifted on her feet nervously. “I’m afraid I’ve never learned that ability. As a Woodland Witch, we channel our magical energy on the Flames of Sight. Rarely do we have reason to leave our part of the forest.”

“Shit,” Maria muttered.

Maria, ask me if I can.

“No.”

C’mon, just ask me. You never know, I might be able to save the day.

“I know you can’t save the day because you’re a dog. Not a wizard or a witch. A talking dog, sure, but I think all dogs can probably talk, I just have the misfortune of hearing you.”

Rude.

Maria shrugged. “Well, can you open a portal?”

Sherlock shook his head. No…no, I can’t.

“Ugh. Why did we bring you?”

“I wish I could hear your conversations,” Gramps said, a smile on his face. That smile told Maria it was all going to be okay. Somehow, some way, it would be. He could always cheer her up with just his smile.

“Trust me,” she said, “you don’t want to hear what we talk about.”

Gramps laughed.

“I can try to open a portal. You say I’m powerful.”

“No, Maria, you must not. It takes an experienced magic user to open a portal of any kind. Proper training is required. When fiddling with portals, you risk ending up in the world in between. We cannot take that risk.”

“What do we do then? We’re just stuck here?” Good thing I didn’t set a second date in stone with Joe. It’d be really bad if I stood him up on accident.

Sherlock was near the tree, sniffing the bark—possibly for Raffins, possibly for Gnomes, or maybe some other magical creature he wanted to make into a new enemy number one—when he turned around and whined.

Stuck here? What about Dog Prom, Maria? Oh, no, I can’t miss it! I missed it last year.

“There’s no— You know what, Sherlock? Don’t worry. It’s all going to work out in the end, right, Gramps?”

Gramps was looking at the mountains. Maria followed his gaze. She saw a narrow passage slicing through them, far in the distance. These mountains stretched so high, they disappeared into the clouds. No way we can make that hike if Gramps is injured. No, Maria, have confidence. You’ve slain an Arachnid, gotten Kaylee, your former high school bully, and her goons to lay off of you…not to mention you’ve had your official first kiss. You can do anything after all that. A mountain hike will be a piece of cake. You’ll carry Gramps, if you have to.

“There,” Gramps said. “That marks our passage. It may be a long and arduous journey, but I expected that in the first place. I just hope we aren’t too late for our Gnome friend.”

“We won’t be,” Maria replied.

“No worries, Ignatius,” Frieda chimed in. “I have not looked in my flames for long, but I can feel that we will be okay.”

Gramps nodded.

“Very well. Onward we go. Our journey awaits!” he said.

Sherlock sat back on his haunches, tilted his head up, and howled to the sky.

***

Around the time Ignatius came back with Frieda, the dark witch, opening a portal right in the middle of his living room, Salem and Agnes were closing down the ice cream shop while Lois leaned back in her chair, working on her fifth ice cream cone.

It’s okay, I skipped dinner, she thought.

She stood up once she finished. “Let me help, you guys,” she offered.

Agnes waved her away. “No, no, Lois. You are our guest. Can I get you anything else?”

Lois smiled. She had forgotten how gracious Agnes and Salem were, how gracious Midwesterners were in general. “No, I’m okay. Thank you. I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to look at an ice cream cone again… Ah, who am I kidding? Of course, I will.”

“You’re welcome to have as much as you like, Lois,” Salem said. He was manually sweeping the floor behind the counter. “You may not want some now, but you will in a bit.”

Chatter came from the back room. Lois craned her head around to see the Muffler twins sitting at the card table. They were arguing about something—just like the good old days. Some habits, such as the ones Lois picked up from serving in the Silver Griffins for so long, were tough to break.

“When do you think Ignatius will be back? I really have to get back home,” Lois said.

Agnes and Salem shrugged almost simultaneously.

“You know Ignatius. He probably took a wrong turn, saw a town in need of saving, and decided it was his responsibility to save them. His granddaughter is much the same way; put them together, and no cat will ever get stuck in a tree again,” Salem said. “Besides, I see you noticed the Muffler twins are here now.”

“Unfortunately,” Lois murmured. “Sneaky bastards. Didn’t even hear them come in.”

“Well, it is card night. We’re playing 500 Rummy. I remember how good you used to be at that.”

“Still am,” Lois said. “Haven’t played in God knows how long.”

“Come play a couple hands,” Agnes offered. “It’ll be fun. Like the olden days.”

Lois exhaled. “Fine, just a couple hands. But if Ignatius isn’t back soon, we’ll have to go find him ourselves.”

It was supposed to be a joke.

CHAPTER TWELVE

The mountain passage was no easy task, especially with a hurt grandfather. Maria and Frieda had to constantly steady him on the uneven terrain.

Sherlock would take off up the rocks and scout ahead, then come back and give Maria the lowdown. So far, so good.

Gramps kept mumbling about the various creatures they needed to keep their eyes peeled for, creatures Maria couldn’t pronounce nor had ever heard of before. Suffice it to say, Maria kept her free hand near the hilt of her sword.

As they got higher and higher into the mountains, the air grew colder and the music box grew heavier; so heavy, in fact, that it felt like Maria was wearing the mountain around her neck instead of her satchel.

They had stopped to catch their breath.

Frieda was shivering, so she conjured up a fire in a pile of dry grass surrounded by small stones. The fire burned much brighter than it should have.

Magic, remember, Maria?

Her legs ached. Her head pounded. It wasn’t until the ability to teleport via one of Gramps’s portals was lost that Maria missed it. So often it seemed the people of Earth took things for granted. Maria guessed it wasn’t much different on the other world, judging by the irksome looks on both Gramps’s and Frieda’s faces. Sherlock, on the other hand, was loving the journey; sniffing everything and peeing on most everything.

He left around the time the fire started, saying, I’m going to find us some food. He came back with a mouthful of dead bugs, depositing them on a flat rock. Voila!

“Gross. We can’t eat that,” Maria said.

Gramps looked on, his face turning a sickly shade of green that Maria hoped was because of the beetles and ant-like insects, rather than the damage he had sustained in the Widow’s attack.

Why the hell not? They’re quite tasty. I only swallowed a few. Saved the rest for you guys. I think a thank you is in order here, Maria.

“Is there anything you don’t eat?”

Veg—

“Vegetables, right. How could I forget? It’s the thought that counts, I guess. So thank you, Sherlock. You’re a good boy.”

Sherlock’s tail beat at the surrounding dirt, causing a thin cloud to rise in the air and drift down the way they’d come.

“Mountains are typically devoid of wildlife anyhow. If we were starving, we’d be out of luck, I’m afraid,” Freida said.

Maria noticed, not for the first time, that Frieda had Gramps’s hand in her own. She wondered if this was a friendly gesture, or if there was something there between the two of them. The thought of her grandfather dating was almost as foreign to her as magic. But, then again, stranger things had happened. That was a motto she had begun to live by lately.

“No worries,” Gramps assured them. We do not have much longer of a trek. Ashbourne is just through there.” He pointed to the mouth of a cave as big as a storefront.

“A shortcut?” Frieda asked.

“I’m afraid we have no other choice.”

Ooh! I have to grab some food to-go. BRB, Sherlock said.

“Did you just use a texting acronym instead of just saying ‘be right back?’” Maria asked, shaking her head.

I heard Claire say it. Sue me, he said, running.

“What has become of my dog?”

“Come on, we must go. Sherlock will catch up with us,” Gramps said, trying to rise. He got about halfway up and then stumbled. Freida and Maria both reached out and grabbed him before he could crack his head on the rock he had been sitting on.

“No, you need to rest,” Maria said. “I can go alone from here—well, Sherlock can come with me, so I won’t be totally alone. As for how much use he’ll be? Well, that’s debatable.”

Gramps smiled, stuck a hand out, and brushed Maria’s hair from her face. He looked haggard, his wrinkles deeper, his eyes ringed and sagging. It broke Maria’s heart to see him like that.

“Oh, Maria, so much like your mother. She would’ve done the same thing, and she did on more than one occasion, despite my and her husband’s warnings. She was hardheaded.”

Maria laughed and knocked her fist lightly against her scalp. “I know where we both got it from.”

“Exactly.” With great strain, Gramps pulled himself. “I’m as hardheaded as they come, and you are not going about this alone, Maria.”

Freida stood up, too, a smile on her face. She put a hand on Maria’s shoulder. Her palm blazed with heat. “No, neither of you are. We can do this. We can save that town, and we can get whatever it is you need to know.”

Maria had never felt such love and support, not when the stakes were this high. She nodded.

“Let’s go. I’ll carry you, if I have to.”

“It won’t come down to that, Maria,” Gramps answered. “I can already feel my strength coming back.”

Maria sensed that wasn’t exactly the whole truth, but she didn’t say so.

Sherlock came back as they breasted the rising landscape. Dead trees stared down at them, their branches as jagged as wicked lightning bolts. From those trees hung odd birds with large yellow eyes, watching the wanderers’ every move. Each time Maria looked up at them, noting their scaly skin and sparse feathers, she expected them to look away, but they never did. They seemed to stare into her very soul.

“Too bad you don’t have wings,” Maria said to Sherlock as they passed one hanging upside down from a white tree branch like a bat. “Otherwise you could chase them off.”

Oh, you don’t think I’m young and spry enough to jump up there and scare them? Sherlock retorted.

“Not what I said, but no. No, I don’t.”

We’ll see about that.

Sherlock took off toward the towering white tree. He jumped and clawed up the trunk, tearing away strips of bark with his claws, but ultimately only got about half a foot off the ground. The bird-creature remained on its branch, watching Sherlock with curiosity.

Ow, Sherlock said after he’d given up and waddled back toward Maria. You’re right; I’m too old for that. Chasing birds up trees is a puppy’s game. He stretched, putting his front paws out, dipping, and sticking his tail end up in the air. Think they have doggy chiropractors here? I don’t think they do on Earth.

“Could always go to the V-E-T,” Maria said.

How dare you spell that word in my presence, Maria?

“Sorry.”

This little exchange raised a chuckle out of Gramps, who was only a few feet ahead of them, steadied by Freida. That was a good sign, Maria presumed. If he was laughing, he might be getting better. She knew she would need him for the rest of the journey, but that was nothing compared to the grand scheme of things—she would need her grandfather for the rest of her life, or at least as long as he walked the worlds. The thought of losing him… well, she couldn’t fathom that.

They reached the mouth of the cave no more than an hour later, though Maria thought it felt longer than that. Time had a funny way of moving on different planets, with different revolutions around their sun, and, in Oriceran’s case, their two moons.

“That’s not creepy at all.” Maria was observing the cave’s opening, which was completely devoid of light. It was so black inside the air seemed to shimmer.

“The Cave of Delusion,” Gramps said.

“Is that what they call it? Sounds like something out of The Princess Bride. You know, like the Dread Pirate Roberts or the Cliffs of Insanity?”

Gramps put his hands up as if to say I’m innocent. “Don’t look at me. I didn’t name such a thing. And whoever would name it that is obviously delusional.”

“Well, why do they call it that anyway?”

“Because you sometimes see things in all the blackness,” Freida answered. “But you mustn’t worry.” She snapped her fingers and a spark of flame shot out from her palm, hovering there, not burning her flesh. “We have light to guide us.”

Maria suddenly wished her magic was as easy as snapping her fingers. All in due time, my dear, her grandpa’s voice said in her mind.

***

Maria didn’t see anything inside of the Cave of Delusion, but she heard something.

They all did.

It was high laughter, like that of a person suffering from insanity.

Maria looked at her grandfather. Judging by the way his mouth turned into a thin line, she’d known for a fact he heard it.

“Ignore it. Keep moving on,” he said softly.

But it was hard. The laughter was as piercing as a blade to the eardrum. At one point, Frieda’s flame went out because she had to cup her palms to the sides of her head as she murmured, “I can’t take it! Make it stop! Make it stop!”

Maria had drawn her sword.

Sherlock whimpered and whined.

The whole time this went on, Gramps never wavered. He held his head high and stood as straight as his broken body would let him. To Maria, there was nothing more admirable about someone than their ability to go on in the face of the unknown. Her respect for him grew, as if it could grow any more.

Not long after, though it had felt like an eternity, they literally saw light at the end of the tunnel. Just a pinprick of white in the darkness.

Sherlock bolted toward the opening.

“No, Sherlock! Wait!”

Too late.

He escaped the light that was radiating from Frieda’s palm again, and plunged into the blackness. Maria couldn’t see so much as a hint of his tail or his floppy ears. She thought about chasing after him, but a quick glance at Gramps, who looked even more exhausted from the shadows dancing on his face, told her not to go.

“We will catch up to him, no worries,” Freida assured her. She closed her eyes and hummed, drawing on the power emanating from Oriceran’s core. The flame grew brighter, eating away the dark, but Sherlock was still nowhere to be seen. Stalactites hung above and around them, like blades hovering, ready to fall.

“I don’t see him,” Maria said, her voice shaky. She was getting worried. Now was the time for a last-ditch effort, the last resort. She opened her satchel, the music box gleaming in the firelight, and she pulled out the last few Milkbones she had stashed away on top of the refrigerator. She figured she would need them, and she was right.

“Keep going,” Gramps said. “We’ll catch up with him. He’s probably out on the other side of the mountain, chasing Flutterbees or the like.”

Flutterbees, Maria mentally shook her head, but the thought was quickly disintegrated by a distant shrieking.

“Sherlock!”

That was him; as plain as day, that was Sherlock whining. Did something hurt him or is he only scared? I will kill anyone who touches my dog, Maria swore, the anger boiling over her.

That same whimpering again, but this time, Sherlock cried out for Maria.

Maria, help me! Please!

She couldn’t take it anymore. Dimly, she was aware of Gramps reaching and trying to snag her arm. He wasn’t successful.

Maria tore off through the dark cave, not worried about stumbling or falling down a crack; all she was worried about was saving Sherlock.

***

Soon she became disoriented, but the darkness bled away, turning into a grayish film that seemed to settle over her eyes. Her hands brushed against the cool stone as she guided herself toward that distant pinprick of light that never grew closer no matter how fast she ran.

And the laughter came back, too—that high, maniacal laughter. It made Maria’s blood run cold.

Not the time to get scared, Maria, she thought. You’ve faced worse than this.

But had she?

At least when she fought Malakai, she’d been able to see him, thanks to the streetlights and the glow of magic—

That’s it! Magic, Maria! You keep forgetting you’re a witch.

She closed her eyes; or at least, she thought she did. Either way, the blackness was almost complete…until it wasn’t. Blue light rippled up her arms. It was nothing compared to Frieda’s palm-fire, but it was enough for her to see five or so feet ahead of her. She found it much easier to ‘light-up,’ as she called it, on Oriceran as opposed to Akron, where the magical energy was less prevalent. Though she hadn’t done it with the snap of her fingers, she realized she was already getting a better hang of it.

Sherlock, I’m coming for you.

The whimpering came about three minutes later, now from somewhere else—somewhere deeper. Maria took two rights and a left, and then the landscape sloped downward. She wasn’t sure now, because of her blue light, but she thought the darkness in the cave was quickly fading.

Maria!

An opening presented itself, seemingly out of thin air. Inside the opening, filtered gray light helped her see the rising land. In the middle of the land, which must’ve stood a hundred feet above from where she was, on a raised platform of rock, a man sat on a throne. He held a staff made of bone in one hand (of what bone, Maria was unsure), and he sat in a way that reminded Maria of George Demarco, her graduating class’s resident clown. His head leaned on the hand that held the staff, one leg hung over the opposite arm, and he had a big, goofy smile on his face. A very weird position indeed.

“Who are you?” Maria shouted up to him.

“Me? Why, Maria Apple, I am the ruler of the Cave of Delusion,” the man said.

Maria took a few steps forward, the blue light fading from her arms and the gray light taking over. As she got closer, she recognized this man as not being a man at all. He may have been a man at one point, but whatever he was now, she was sure of one thing—he was not alive…or he shouldn’t be. His skin was papery and stretched over his skull so tight that his cheekbones stood out like the points of blades. His eyes were sunk in far enough that Maria could not identify the color, if there was one other than black—even if she had been only inches away from his face. He was lanky, bony, withered and worn.

“Where is my dog?” Maria asked. Against her better judgment, she had not drawn her sword yet.

“Oh, do you mean Sherlock, the talking Bloodhound?” The man stood up and lifted his staff, a bloody grin spreading on his face. As he held the staff up, the air around it shimmered as if it had caught fire. Then Sherlock rose from the ground. He was out cold; his ears dangled back, and his tongue lolled from his mouth.

Maria gasped and stifled a sob.

“Oh, no, don’t worry, Maria. He is not dead. Yet,” the man said.

“But you will be,” she snarled. Already, she’d planned her route up the jagged platforms to save her canine companion and exact revenge. Her estimation was that she could make it up there in less than thirty seconds, moving fast enough to escape whatever dark magic the man on the throne possessed.

Only got one shot, she thought. Now!

She took off up the first slope, as the ground shifted beneath her feet. Using her reserved power, and drawing more from Oriceran, she was able to move much faster than she would’ve been able to on Earth. The first rise cleared, she breasted the second, then the third; the magic flowing through her like her own blood. As she climbed up the last rise, the ground was well below her and the adrenaline was making her skin prickle; she realized she was not tired, but re-energized.

“You’re dead!” she shouted as she jumped the last three feet to the edge of the rock platform and sprang up.

But Sherlock was gone, the throne was gone, and so was the man.

She spun around, whirling the sword in an arc. Nothing was behind her; she was by herself on the highest rise of the great cavern.

The man’s laughter cut through the air. Wicked laughter that Maria had only ever heard in the movies. Her body shook with anger and a growing rage. She was ready to explode.

“Why are you doing this?” she shouted to the empty space. The laughter cut off, and her voice echoed back to her, drifting, drifting, drifting…

No answer.

“What is it you want?”

“Want?” the man laughed again—if, in fact, he was a man. Maria had not known men to be able to wield such magic. “I do not want anything, Maria. Nothing tangible, that is. You, like many before you, must pass the tests if you want go on.”

“Tests?” Maria’s hand slid down the hilt of her sword. Her palms were sweaty, but the air in the cavern was cool. Somewhere in the distance, she thought she heard a waterfall.

“Yes, tests. Trials, if you prefer. The Trials of Antenele.” He laughed again, that wicked laughter. “Many have undergone the Trials, but few have walked away from them with a victory in their pocket and their sanity safely nestled inside of their brains.”

Good pep talk, Maria thought.

She spun around. The voice seemed to be getting closer and closer, as if the man was everywhere and nowhere at the same time.

“If I take your trials, will you return Sherlock to me unharmed?”

“Why, yes, Maria. I will return your mutt to you, and then you will be on your way, on to the other side, free of my mountain.”

“And Ignatius and Freida?”

“They will pass through here without a clue. I may watch from the shadows, but they will remain untouched.”

“The rules?” Maria asked.

The ground shifted behind her, from where she had climbed up. She whirled around and saw the cavern floor rising up to meet her. There was no more drop off. The land had smoothed into a plateau; there was not even a crack in the ground where the two ends met. Lights flickered, orange and red, eating away the gray gloom. Torches on the walls, burning with flame, sending acrid smoke high into the mountain.

“There are no rules, Maria. But there are guidelines. The Trials are simple to understand: you will be given three tasks, each one increasing in difficulty.”

“What tasks?”

“Ah, ah, ah,” the man said, clucking his tongue. “That’s for me to know and you to find out.”

Maria didn’t answer him; she was deep in thought. The man had known her last name, had known Sherlock could talk to her. Somehow, he had access into her mind, her thoughts.

“Yes,” the man answered. “I do.”

The way he spoke made Maria shudder.

“There is no need to be frightened. No going back now. As you can see, I have raised the land. There is no exit behind you. A good metaphor of life, I think. The only way to be successful is to keep going forward. And Maria, my dear friend, that is what you will have to do.” He broke out in laughter again.

The walls began to narrow, closing around her. Maria held her ground. Down the rocky corridor, that pinprick of light reappeared in the blackness where the torchlight would not stretch, like a slit eye.

“I feel your anxiety, Maria. I know you want to begin. But you will not be thinking this once you are faced with your first task; so patience, my dear witch. Since I’ve grown to admire your work—the inside of your head is quite amusing, I must say—I will give you a few hints. Each trial will test you in a different way. Skill, will, and thrill. In what order, you ask? That, you will have to find out on your own.” More laughter. “Now, let the Trials of Antenele begin!”

The cave shifted again, more violently than before, yet Maria held her ground. Once it stopped, the silence engulfed her. She could hear her own ragged breathing, her own thudding heartbeat.

The music box weighed her down. It was a burden, it seemed, too great to carry. Some voice deep inside of her mind was telling her to put it down, to leave it there in the bowels of this great mountain, where no one would ever find it, and where it would be safe from all creatures, from Arachnids to Orcs. Never to be found again.

“No,” Maria said, sternly. If this was the first test, Maria thought it would be a breeze. She could resist a little whispering.

With the sword in her right hand—the sword that should’ve been wielded with two hands—Maria took a step forward. The goal was simple: Besides survival, Maria knew she was supposed to move forward, like the man of the mountain had said. The pinprick of light on the other side of the dimly lit rock corridor was where she needed to go. Along the way, the tests would be taken. Yet she found herself slightly afraid to take that first step. She had read somewhere that the first step of any journey was always the hardest. It had been true on her birthday, when the magic had started to surface, and it had been true when she left the portal into Oriceran for the first time. But she had done it, hadn’t she? She had taken that first step, and then the second and third and fourth.

C’mon, Maria. C’mon, she thought.

She stepped, her breathing ragged.

But when she stepped, the cave disappeared. Gone were the torch lights and the rock walls and the raised land behind her.

Now she was in a gray field. Two moons shone high in the dark sky. She could see her breath on the air. The temperature was low enough to make her flesh break out in goosebumps. She no longer saw the pinprick of light that was her goal, but a great wrought-iron gate.

She approached it, her sword still in hand. There was a word written in twisted steel at the top of the entrance, but Maria could not understand what it said. It was in a language outside of her English and two years of high school Spanish. The letters and symbols were enough to tell her that she was not looking at an Earthen language.

Still, understanding the words or not, it did not take a genius to realize where she was.

Beyond the gates were large slabs of stone sticking out of the ground—headstones.

The hinges squeaked rustily as the gates opened. As they did, the pinprick of light bobbed beyond in the blackness.

It’s back. I have no choice but to go forward.

Taking the path, she strolled at a pace faster than she would normally walk. On the headstones were the same letters and symbols she did not understand on the gate, though if she could understand them, she still wouldn’t have stuck around to read them. Graveyards were inherently creepy, but graveyards at night were the worst.

Sherlock, I’m coming, she thought. Sherlock, just hang on.

It was all she could do to keep herself from freezing in fear. Sure, she was a witch with the potential to grow into a badass witch, but the dead sleeping just below her feet would be too much for the bravest of souls.

A low rumble caused her to stop. Her head on a swivel, she scanned the surrounding area.

“That didn’t sound good,” she whispered, gripping the sword tighter. Despite the chill in the air, her palms were still sweaty.

The rumbling came again, this time worse than before; even worse than the rumbling when the land had risen to meet the cliff, inside the cave.

Then all at once, the ground exploded. Clumps of dirt shot into the air, raining down on the path and on Maria’s shoulders. She held the sword up high, in her movie-defense pose, the one she’d picked up from The Princess Bride, Star Wars, and The Lord of the Rings.

If Obi-Wan holds his lightsaber like this, then where could I go wrong?

She caught the first glimpse of white emerging from the earth before the last bit of dirt fell. It was bones. Skeleton fingers.

The first test.

The skeletons pulled themselves out of the graves, wearing tattered and dirty robes, ripped leather jerkins, long dresses. Their jaws were propped open by packed mud, and worms and beetles and other insects Maria thought were from Earth fell off of them, landing on the path with meaty thumps.

“All right, assholes,” Maria said, “let’s do this.”

***

The skeletons did not move like the dead. They had more life in them than most people on Earth did.

But that didn’t matter for Maria.

She swung the sword in a three-hundred-and-sixty-degree circle, connecting with rib, severing spinal cords, detaching arms. This gave her enough room to back up the path, but all around her, the ground was exploding; dirt was raining down on her, and more skeletons were digging themselves out of their graves.

The fear had left Maria after she’d taken down the first skeleton dressed in dark robes, still wearing its hood. Now she was running on pure adrenaline.

As she swung down on a skeleton’s skull, cracking it down the middle and leaving a lightning bolt fissure in the bone, she felt hot fire ripple through her back, down to the back of her thigh. She let out a scream, spinning around. Two skeletons had clawed her with their sharp finger bones, deep enough to rip her leather jacket and her shirt beneath it. She thought she felt blood trickle down to her waistband, but she didn’t have time to check.

“No one gets to touch my ass without my permission,” she said, grimacing. With a shout, she severed skulls from vertebrae. The heads rolled down the gentle slope of the graveyard until they clattered against a gravestone, like bowling balls collecting in a Resurfacing Machine. More came up behind her, so she didn’t have time to admire what she had done; two birds with one stone, and all that.

“You have to buy me a drink first!” she grunted, taking out three more skeletons.

Maria chopped and hacked until  her chest was heaving and the sweat trickled down the back of her neck, making her hair stick to her skin.

She nearly collapsed out of exhaustion, but caught herself on one knee in the path, surrounded by piles of bones. Her head was tilted downward, absently watching a worm wiggle and squirm its way back into the lush grass when she heard the rattle of bones.

“No fucking way,” she said, breathlessly.

Looking up, she saw just one more skeleton coming toward her. It was missing most of its teeth, and she could’ve sworn there was some sort of life flickering in the blackness of its hollow eye sockets.

She stood up on shaky legs and took the sword in both of her hands. She was too beat to lift the sword up with one anymore; all the magic she had called on from Oriceran was depleted.

“I think it’s bedtime,” she wheezed as she swung the sword downward like a medieval executioner. The hit wasn’t a clean one, but it did the trick. The skeleton dropped into the large pile of bones; gone to rest for eternity—or until the next weary wanderer stumbled into the Trials of Antenele.

From behind her, in the direction she was supposed to be going, the far gates squeaked open.

She had passed the first test.

Skill, she thought.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Maria wanted nothing more than to fall to her knees again and rest, but she couldn’t. The gates were open, and she didn’t know for how much longer. So she sheathed her sword, only because she could not bear to carry it anymore, and headed for the opening, toward that pinprick of light.

When she cleared the gates, they slammed shut behind her. Reflexively, she wheeled around. The graveyard sank, bleeding away into a dark mist.

“Okay, Maria, one down, two more to go. Sherlock, I’m coming for you. Don’t worry; when I get there, I promise you can pee on all the Gnomes you want.”

She turned back around to find the darkness was gone, replaced with a burning light of orange and red. Maria took a step and quickly stopped, her heart plummeting, and threw herself backward.

The ground was gone.

Where the walkway should’ve been, there was just a large gap, empty space for hundreds of feet until it ended in the sweltering magma below. A chunk of rock broke off from the edge and fell. It landed in the magma with a splash, quickly followed by a sizzling. Maria, now sitting, shook her head.

“Okay, how the hell am I supposed to get across that? Killing skeletons was one thing, but I’m not superhuman. No way I can make that jump.”

Not with that attitude, my dear, Gramps’s voice answered.

“Gotta be another way.”

She looked around. Behind her was a dead end. The corridor was narrow enough for her to be able to touch the walls to either side.

She got up, walked over to the left wall, and ran her hands along it. The stone was firm, and jagged enough she could get her hands into the cracks and crevasses.

I’ll have to climb. I’ll have to shimmy over like fucking Batman; except how often does Batman have to do it over a sea of lava? Probably never.

Then, aloud, “This is ‘thrill’. Gotta be. Or it could be ‘will’. Whatever it is, I don’t fucking like it.” She stepped onto the rocky ledge and grabbed ahold of a knob of rock a little to the right of her foot. Already, the pain biting into her palm was sharp.

Three sideways steps later, she was over the orange abyss, the heat reaching up to bake her from below.

This is fucking crazy.

Sweat poured off of her. Each time she shifted her hands, she felt her grip on the rock getting looser and looser.

When she was halfway to the other side, her foot slipped out from beneath her. With a fair amount of pain driving into the flesh of her palm, she screamed.

But she held on.

Then, at three-quarters of the way—so close she could see that the pinprick of light was now bigger on the other side—she slipped and fell.

Screaming the whole way down, she stopped abruptly, the wind knocked out of her, her head rebounding off of something hard. There was no splash, no magma consuming her body; none of that.

She opened her eyes and saw the orange light still dancing on the cave’s ceiling in front of her.

“What the hell?”

She rolled over slowly on her side, and her breath froze in her lungs when she realized that she was hovering above the lava, as if she were lying on a see-through floor.

“This is impossible,” she whispered.

Magic, her grandfather answered in her head.

Even more slowly than she rolled over, she sat up. With her left hand, she knocked on what seemed like thin air. Its hard surface made a clink-clink sound when she did it.

“This is just crazy.”

Now she stood up, her arms out to her sides for balance. But she didn’t need it, which she realized as she took a cautious step forward. The air was not air at all—it was as hard as the rock bridge she had come from; harder, maybe, than the ledge she had fallen from.

As she righted herself, she saw the other side of the bridge. It was slightly above her. Nothing she couldn’t reach by jumping.

The sensation that she was walking on thin air never left her, even after taking eight or so steps.

“Thrill,” she said. “This has gotta be thrill.” Though she felt nothing close to a thrill. Each step was a test in terror, but it was one she was currently acing.

That was, until she got closer to the other side of the bridge and decided to speed up her pace. Suddenly, she heard crackling below her feet, and it caused her to stop. She looked down and saw the very air she was walking on fracture. Spiderweb-cracks branched out from beneath her soles.

“Oh, shit. Not good.”

Then the sound of breaking glass filled her ears. It started behind her and, like a flash fire, began to chase her. She moved with such speed, it was as if she were not putting any weight down at all.

The pieces of whatever she had been walking on fell to the lava below, getting swallowed up by the flames, splitting and cracking as it turned into rising smoke.

Maria realized, almost too late, that she wouldn’t make the jump to the other side of the bridge. She had to think fast, just like Gramps had taught her.

And she did.

She pulled the sword out of its sheath and planted it on a piece of un-cracked air, which looked like nothing at all; using it in much the same way a pole vaulter uses their stick, she planted the point into the surface, feeling it give as she launched herself into the air.

But it was enough.

The shattering of glass below her, the lava swallowing up the pieces—Maria grabbed onto the edge of the other side of the bridge with one arm, her sternum pressed up against the rock, digging into her. She threw the sword up and over with her right hand to free it, then she clawed at the edge, using her nails to get some purchase as she kicked her legs and tried to find a foothold.

The glass floor below her was completely gone. She was suspended over nothing but the lava and her impending doom.

“Not today,” she wheezed, and with one great pull, she scrabbled up to safety. She lay there a moment, catching her breath. Laughter rippled through the warm air, and it was quickly followed by slow clapping.

“Wonderful job, Maria. You have officially gone farther in the Trials than most of those who’ve set foot in my mountain. That is something to be proud of, in and of itself. So remember that when you fail during round three.”

“We’ll see about that,” Maria muttered. No time to rest. Must keep going. Not only for Sherlock, but for the village, and Gramps, and now Frieda. Man, the crew just keeps getting bigger and bigger. More eggs in the basket. It’s a good feeling, living for something other than myself.

Slowly, she got to her feet. This time she wasn’t surprised to see that the rocky bridge in front of her dissolved like the graveyard had done after it served its purpose. Now she stood in the village of Dominion. The King’s castle—my father’s castle—brooded in the background.

This was not the Dominion Maria had seen on the two occasions before. The first time being in Duke, the dead soldier’s, memory, and the other time being when she, Gramps, Tabby, Claire, and Sherlock had traveled to the ruins the first time she remembered setting foot on Oriceran.

Now, the sky was a brilliant blue. No clouds. It was warm, but not so hot that Maria would start sweating. There was a light breeze in the air that brought the sweet, rich smell of fall—leaves, grass, and spices that reminded Maria of pumpkins and pecans and Halloween.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” a voice said from behind Maria.

She spun around, her hand on the hilt of her sheathed sword. Quickly, she realized she wouldn’t need it. The woman standing in front of her was no threat. She didn’t know how she knew, but she did—the woman standing in front of her was Zimmy Ba, Ignatius Mangood’s daughter, the King’s wife.

“Mom?”

“That’s right, Maria.”

Maria couldn’t control herself. She rushed forward, and the two women embraced. She was so warm, so real, so alive.

But how? How can this be?

Maria burst into tears of joy as the women separated.

“Oh, my, you’ve grown into such a beautiful young woman,” Zimmy said. “I’m so proud of you.”

“Mom,” Maria said, “how are you here? How am I here?”

“Maria, that doesn’t matter. What matters is that we are here, the both of us, for the first time in nearly twenty Earth years. Together.”

She was right.

Zimmy swept her hand over the village. “See this, Maria? This wonderful village where we were going to live and grow and love one another?”

Maria took it all in until Zimmy snapped her fingers, and the beauty was gone in the blink of an eye. Arachnids marched down the fences. Fire raged across the land. Buildings crumbled. Maria had drawn her sword, but Zimmy put a hand on hers and said, “No, Maria, you do not need that.”

Maria had no choice but to listen to her mother. It was the only time she had ever been given the opportunity to listen to her mother, and she was going to take it. As quickly as the village had changed into a burning graveyard of destruction, it changed back to its original peaceful state.

“Maria, see that? See how it changes? That is because of you. Because you are a shining beacon of light in a time of darkness. Because you are so pure and good and wonderful.”

Tears welled in Maria’s eyes. “Mom,” she moaned.

“Do not cry, my dear daughter. There is hope, yet. Hope because of you. I must go now, Maria. I must go on to the afterlife. But I will be waiting for you; though I won’t see you for a long, long time, know I will always be watching over you.”

Maria whimpered. “But I can’t— I don’t…Mom, don’t go.”

Zimmy turned, her colorful skirts swirling around her. “I must, Maria…unless—” She turned back around, her happy expression morphing into one of grim satisfaction.

“Unless what?” Maria asked. “Unless what?”

“Oh, no, Maria, I can’t ask you that. That wouldn’t be fair of me.”

Maria’s eyes lit up. “Anything, Mom. Anything, please. Please, tell me.”

“Take out your sword, Maria. Take out your grandfather’s sword.”

Maria listened. The steel glimmered in the sunlight, the rays dancing along its edge.

“Good, Maria, good. Now hand it over to me.”

Maria hesitated.

“What is it, daughter? Do you not trust your mother?”

Something had changed in Zimmy’s eyes. The deep color drained away until all that was left were tar-black pupils.

“I—” Maria began.

Don’t listen to her, Maria. Don’t. It’s a trick. Remember the Trials of Antenele; this is a test. Only a test. Her grandfather’s voice pleaded from somewhere so deep inside her head, that she could barely hear and understand it.

Zimmy held out her hand. “Please, Maria. It will only hurt a moment; then, my dear daughter, you can join me for all of eternity. Mother and daughter, together at last. I promise I will go straight for the heart. The pain will bleed into pleasure as death takes you and the void claims us.”

Maria drew her hand away from the thing posing as Zimmy Ba, and those black eyes turned red and heated; the voice coming from within growing distorted.

This was not her mother.

“Maria Apple, you will listen to me! Give me that sword and die honorably!”

The tears poured down Maria’s face. She took a step back and raised the sword. “Never!” she shouted back, and swiped the blade downward in a long slash, connecting with the thing’s shoulder.

There was no blood, no severed limbs, no screams of pain.

All that entered Maria’s ears was the sound of a great pane of glass, shattering beneath her blade. Zimmy Ba’s image crumbled, along with the background of Dominion, the blue sky, the swaying trees.

Maria fell to her knees, crying. The sword hit the ground in front of her, which was not ground at all, but a pile of shards of splintered world glass.

Maria bowed her head.

Will, she thought. The final test. Sheer will, and I have passed. But I will kill the man of the mountain for using my mind and my dead mother against me. Mark my words, I will kill him.

She looked up, and when she did, the skeleton man with the staff stood in front of her, the throne looming behind him. He rested the staff against his body and clapped slowly.

“Congratulations, Maria Apple. You have made it through the Trials of Antenele; you have done what no one else has done before. You have done the impossible.”

“Fuck you,” Maria said. “And give me back my dog.”

The man of the mountain didn’t look the slightest bit offended. In fact, he smiled, and Maria thought she saw a sick kind of pride in his eyes.

“Fine, Maria. I shall give you your dog back.”

“Unharmed.”

He nodded. “Yes, unharmed.”

“And you will let us pass toward the Land of Terran on the other side of the mountain. You will leave my grandfather, Ignatius Apple, and his traveling companion, Frieda, the dark witch, alone. They will come out on the other side unharmed.”

“Details, details,” the man said, twirling the fingers of one hand. “But yes, Maria, I shall do all of that.”

“Good, now never let me see your face again, because the next time, I do, I will kill you,” Maria said. She stood up shakily. Had she not been drained of all energy, she would’ve slain him right then and there.

The man of the mountain threw his head back in laughter, and he lifted his staff. The air shimmered and lit with flame. Sherlock appeared out of nowhere. Maria rushed to him. She petted him, but he didn’t wake up. With her right arm, she set his head into her lap. “Sherlock! Sherlock!”

No response.

The tears were back—had they really ever left?—and she hugged him close and tight, thinking the man of the mountain had lied, and who was she to trust a dark conjurer of such cheap tricks, anyway?

“Sherlock, wake up, please. If you wake up, I’ll round up all the Gnomes and Raffins and dead squirrels and trash ice cream that I can find, and you can eat until you pop or pass out.”

His eyes fluttered and opened. Tongue snapping back into his mouth, he said, What? Did I dream that? Or—

“Sherlock!” Maria hugged him again, tighter this time.

Oh, no…

Sherlock passed gas loud enough to echo off the cave’s walls.

Sorry about that.

“You know, I don’t even care. You can do that all you want.”

Really?

“No, please don’t.”

I heard it! That’s, like, a legally binding verbal contract.

“Maybe on Earth, but we’re on Oriceran. I don’t think the same rules apply here, buddy.”

Sherlock rolled over onto his feet and shook himself out. Drool flew in all directions, some even splashing onto Maria’s face, but Maria didn’t care. She was just glad that Sherlock was okay.

The man of the mountain was gone; so were his throne, his staff, and his terrible laughter. What took his place was not the pinprick of light. No. The pinprick had changed into a doorway. Maria and Sherlock walked toward it. As they got closer, they could smell the outside world, the clean, crisp air, the leaves, the trees, the dirt, and the rocks. No longer did the cold and damp sink into their bones.

“Don’t go running off yet,” Maria said.

Oh, I’ve learned my lesson, Sherlock replied.

“Whoa, that’s a first. Never thought I’d hear you say you learned a lesson. ‘Can’t teach an old dog new tricks,’ and all that.”

You can if you get kidnapped by some weirdo with a penis-shaped stick, like some kind of unsettling Gandalf.

“A penis? Did it really look like that? I couldn’t tell.”

Eh, maybe.

Maria laughed. “Ah, good ol’ Sherlock.”

They reached the opening and saw another white tree nearby. This one was full of leaves; it didn’t appear that even one had fallen off yet. They were a crisp and vibrant red, standing out starkly against the backdrop of the blue sky.

Can you see the town from here? Sherlock asked.

Maria was climbing up a boulder, trying to get a better look. She wasn’t having much luck. “No,” she answered. “Just more mountain. We’ve got a bit of a journey before we’re there.”

Let’s go.

“Nuh-uh, buddy. Gotta wait for Gramps and Frieda. Believe me, I want nothing more than to get to that town and save those people if they need saving, but we are a crew. We can’t go at it alone. It took almost losing you for me to realize that, and I’m not going to let that happen again.”

But Sherlock wasn’t listening. He was pacing back and forth, his head on a swivel, tail between his legs.

How do you know they didn’t get hurt or something in there? he said. Oh, God, Maria, what if they’re captured like I was? Who’s gonna feed me!?

“They’re not.”

How do you know?

“I just do.”

He eyed her warily, but Maria didn’t give him any reason to not believe her by her expression.

She sat down and patted the spot next to her. “Come here, boy. We have to wait. Shouldn’t be too much longer.”

Sherlock padded over, his tail finally gaining momentum and swinging wildly. It was hard for him to resist Maria’s invitations because—even though deep down he knew there wasn’t—the animalistic part of his mind thought there were always treats involved whenever he was a ‘good boy.’

Sherlock lay down, curling his body into a ball, while Maria leaned against the rock and stroked the Bloodhound’s back. Sherlock even set his head down on her thigh and looked up at her with pure love and admiration.

She slipped him a treat.

The wind blew, and soon they both drifted off to sleep while they waited for Ignatius and Freida. Lord knew they needed it.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

On Oriceran, the quest was in full swing. Maria was battling her way through the Trials of Antenele, while Freida and Ignatius made their way through the Cave of Delusion, seeing their own personal ghosts and demons. Yet, despite Ignatius’s injury, he remained strong, and he eventually led Freida toward that pinprick of light at the other side of the mountain.

But Lois didn’t know any of this.

On Earth, the hours grew later. Lois, the Muffler twins—in all their oddness, she still found their company comforting—Agnes, and Salem played 500 Rummy deep into the night, until the sun began to purple the dark sky. She did not feel tired, though she kept taking her glasses off and rubbing her eyes, thinking about Earl. It sucked to leave him, but she had to do what she had to do, and they had both known that this task given to her from Lacey Trader was not going to be an easy one.

Near six in the morning, the laughter died down. Salem got up and gathered everyone’s empty containers of ice cream to throw in the trashcan. Lois had nearly drowned herself in the buckeye flavor; one of the few things she missed about the Midwest, besides the people.

She stood up.

“I’m gonna go look for him. I can’t wait anymore. I gotta husband at home, and Patsy manning my PDA line; she’s probably a trainwreck, now.”

Agnes got up, too, and put her arm around Lois’s shoulder. “All right, we’ll take you over to his house. Maybe we can find some clue as to why he’s not back yet.”

“Yeah, it’s not like him to stay over for so long,” one of the Muffler twins said as she paused between gulping down the last bit of melted ice cream.

“True, but we shouldn’t worry…yet,” Agnes said.

“That’s comforting,” Lois answered.

Salem came back. He had heard the conversation, and was glad to help Lois and the Silver Griffins. If there was one thing he’d learned in his many years on Earth, it was not to get on the Griffins’ bad side.

He turned to the Muffler twins. “I know you two don’t want to leave here, on account of I won’t be around to put a cap on your ice cream consumption.” Salem stroked his long beard. “So,” he said softly as he dug a hand into the pocket of his tweed trousers and pulled out a key ring, “there’s a chance I won’t be here to open the store. Two moons forbid that’s the case, but it’s possible. Would you mind opening up for me around ten?”

The Muffler twins nodded, sly grins on their ice cream-covered faces.

“Thank you kindly,” Salem said. “Knew I could count on you. Please, don’t—I repeat, do not—eat all of my inventory.”

“No worries,” they said simultaneously.

“Thank you, and try not to make a big mess, either. I got an image to uphold.”

“Yeah, of the old wizard who gives away free ice cream,” Agnes said, laughing.

Salem rolled his eyes and put his arm around Agnes. “Ready?” he asked Lois.

“Want the truth?” Lois replied. “I’m not. I’m kind of fearing the worst.”

“Don’t worry,” Salem said, reaching a hand out and putting it on Lois’s forearm. “Whatever’s wrong, we can fix. That’s what friends are for.”

And they all knew Salem was right.

***

No less than fifteen minutes later, they pulled into Ignatius’s driveway. Lois found it hard to catch her breath. She was nervous—dead and missing members of the Order, Arachnids, music boxes, and the world in between… could it get much worse?

The house seemed still and empty.

Salem walked right up to the front windows and peered in.

“TV’s on,” he said. “Someone’s here.”

Lois’s hand hovered over her 3-D printed, government-issued wand.

“Should we knock?”

“No need, I have a key,” Salem answered.

Agnes shook her head at Lois, and mouthed, ‘He doesn’t’.

Instead of a key, Salem took out his own wand and tapped the doorknob. Light flashed in the hazy morning, illuminating the brass. With a click, the lock undid itself, and the door creaked open.

He pushed his way in, Agnes and Lois following right behind him.

I’ve got a bad feeling about this, Lois was thinking. Her glasses were slipping off the end of her nose, but she didn’t have the time or the urge to fix them. No, she grabbed her wand instead, ready for a fight.

The TV wasn’t playing any program at all—just static and that awful fzzt noise that comes with a dead channel. And even though the sun was coming up, it was still quite dark inside of Ignatius’s living room; this was, unsurprisingly to Lois, as quirky as she had expected it to be for a wizard of Ignatius’s personality.

“We split up,” Agnes said, taking control of the situation from Salem. Lois felt a little better as she did. Witches and magical females, in her experience, were meant to lead. They stayed calm when shit hit the fan. Take Leira Berens of Austin, for example. Half-Light Elf and new to the hidden magical world, at that, and Lois had never met someone with such resolve in all of her years.

Agnes directed Salem toward the stairs and pointed up, then she motioned Lois to the living room, where the dead TV played its dead channel. She herself went to the left, toward the kitchen and another hallway that smelled like dog.

They went, each tiptoeing over the hardwood, not making a sound.

As Lois passed the couch, she stared at the TV. It was hypnotizing in its own way, and she hadn’t noticed the two covered lumps on the living room floor. Her shoe drove into one, and both Lois and the person under the covers cried out. Lois went stumbling into the opposite wall, catching her balance enough to direct herself into a ratty E-Z chair, while the other lump shifted underneath the covers and screamed.

“Ouch!” Claire said. “Tab, what the hell did you do that for?” Her eyes were bleary, hardly opened.

“Do what?” the other lump answered, which must’ve been Tab.

“Kick me in the ribs. Not cool.”

“What? I didn’t… I’m right here, Claire,” Tab said.

“Huh?”

Lois watched this exchange with strange fascination.

Claire turned toward the figure in the chair, thinking it must be Maria or her grandfather—who else would be up at this ungodly hour? She rubbed her eyes, wiping the sleep away from them. Suddenly, she stopped, and her eyes opened as wide as two full moons.

Lois looked at the Claire.  “Don’t worry, I am an ally,” she said, raising her hand.

“What are you doing in here? Get out!” Tabby demanded from the floor.

“This isn’t your house. Get out, or we’ll call the police!” Claire echoed.

Thankfully, Agnes and Salem rushed into the living room then, and recognition registered in the eyes of both young women.

“What is going on?” Claire asked, getting up, but still backing against the wall with Tab right next to her.

“We’re looking for Ignatius,” Agnes said, smiling. “Has he not come back yet?”

Everyone seemed to have calmed down a bit, though Claire rubbed at her ribs where Lois accidentally kicked her.

The girls shook their heads. “I, uh… geez, what time is it?” Claire asked, stifling a yawn. “Way too early to get kicked in the ribs.”

“Sorry about that,” Lois said. “It was an accident. Didn’t see you on the floor. I was coming over to unplug that TV. Damn thing was giving me the heebie-jeebies.”

They turned to look at the fuzzy station. Claire nodded. “Makes sense.” Then she turned it off.

It was Tabby who got them all back on track. “Ignatius came back sometime last night. He opened a door or a portal or whatever right here in the living room.”

“He did?” Lois asked, standing up now.

“Did he find the Gnome? Any news about the music box?” Salem inched closer to the couch and leaned his elbows on the back of it.

Tabby shook her head, one hand settled on her chin, deep in thought. “No, no—”

“He was with a dark witch, or at least she looked dark. Didn’t give off the kind of vibe you two give off,” Claire said, pointing to Agnes and Lois. “But she was nice enough.”

“What else?” Agnes asked.

“Something about a dragon and a seaside town where the Gnome was at. They were going to rescue him and the townspeople from the dragon, and then hopefully unlock whatever secrets they need to get into that dead place…you know, where Duke was at,” Claire went on. “But that was the last time that we saw them. Anyway, who is this lady who kicked me? I’m—”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Salem said, standing straighter and putting his arms up. “What did you say? A dragon?”

The girls nodded.

Oh, no, this is not good, Lois thought. Not many have faced a dragon and lived to talk about it.

“It was only last night,” Tabby said, but she saw, as did Claire, the pained, ashen expressions on the witches’ and wizard’s faces.

“One night here is much longer there,” Salem explained quietly. He turned to Lois. “I had thought that maybe he was taking his time and training Maria. I never knew about any dragon…”

“Yeah, something like a Rogue and Dragon Tongue,” Claire said, remembering.

“Oh, no,” Agnes said. “The Rogues have been gone for centuries. If the Dragon Tongue are back and plan to raise one…”

“They’ll raise them all,” Salem finished.

Lois put her wand back in her pocket, stretched her arms high above her head, and laced her fingers together. They cracked loudly.

“Did you hear what town, girls?” she asked.

“Ashland…or Ashtown?” Claire said. She furrowed her brow, trying to think.

“Ashbourne!” Tabby said. “It was Ashbourne. I remember because I thought they said Airborne, then I thought of dragons flying, airborne, but ash like fire, and—”

“Okay, Tab,” Claire said, “enough with the mnemonic devices.” She rolled her eyes. “She used to do this in high school. It was so annoying.”

“Well, her annoying tendencies may have just saved your friends’ lives,” Lois said. “Thank you both, and I’m sorry about kicking you in the ribs.”

“No problem,” Claire said, waving a hand.

Lois turned to Agnes and Salem. “You know what has to be done.”

They nodded gravely.

“It will not be an easy task,” Lois said. “Hardly ever is, and I wish I could come with you.”

"You can't?" Salem asked, disappointed.

"I can't," Lois answered. "But if you run in to trouble, you know how to reach me. I have duties to preform at the PDA, and a husband and a partner to get back to or they'll have my head."

Salem nodded. He understood. Agnes stepped forward and hugged Lois. Salem joined in, too.

“We’ll succeed because we are stronger together, Lois,” Agnes said, smiling somberly. "Don't you worry."

"Oh, I know you will," Lois replied. “Just like the old days.”

“Wait, you’re going after them?” Claire asked Salem, interrupting the farewells.

Salem, looking at her, nodded.

“Then we’re coming, too. Right, Tab?”

Tabby didn’t even hesitate. The run-in with the Arachnid was the furthest thing from her mind, though the pain was still present. “Yeah, count us in.”

They could tell by the set expressions on the girls’ faces that there was no denying these two Earthlings.

Ah, well, what better group to save the day then these four? Lois thought. It will all be okay. I'm here if they need me.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Maria opened her eyes to see a deep orange, flickering light bouncing through the cave’s exit. She didn’t know how long she’d been asleep, but it felt like more than an hour; her body was reinvigorated. She shot up from the rock, not even waking up the snoring Sherlock, who was sprawled out on his back, before rushing to her grandfather.

“Maria!” Gramps said. He did not look much better, but he was alive, and that was all that mattered.

She hugged him and laughed.

Sherlock perked up, rolling over. He rose like he had in the days of his youth and bounded over to Gramps and Frieda.

Oh, my GOD! I thought I was never gonna be able to listen to you snore again! What would I have done without you?

“He says he missed you and he’s glad you’re back,” Maria told her grandfather.

“I’m glad I’m back, too, Sherlock, and I’m glad you’re back. Never run off like that again, my dear friend,” Gramps answered.

I won’t! Never again, I promise. I just heard a Raffin growling, and a bunch of squirrels chittering all mockingly. I couldn’t help myself.

Maria didn’t have to tell Gramps what he said. She saw him read it in the Bloodhound’s eyes. “It was not an easy journey,” he said, turning to look at Maria.

“You’re telling me,” Maria said.

“We saw terrible things,” Freida took Gramps’s hand and squeezed.

“So did I,” Maria said. She wanted to tell them all about the Trials of Antenele, but knew it was not the time. There was a town possibly under siege by a dragon; people needed saving there, and from the world in between. Maybe when this was all said and done, she would speak of it—though she never wanted to relive that terrible experience.

“I’m just glad we are all right,” Gramps said. He brushed Maria’s hair away from her face, and then turned to walk down the mountain pass.

“Wait, Gramps, don’t you think you should rest up a bit?” Maria called after him.

He smiled and looked up at the towering white tree with its full red leaves. “I shall rest enough when I am dead. Come on, you three, we are not far.”

They went on.

***

By the time they cleared the mountain, Oriceran’s two moons were high in the sky, shining brilliant white light down upon them. Frieda helped guide them through the rocky landscape with her flames.

As they came out of the mountain pass, Maria saw a black lake shimmering with moonlight behind a sleepy town.

“There it is,” Gramps said, pointing. They all paused to look, standing on the last rise of the mountain before they reached the ground. “Ashbourne.”

Relief undid the knots in Maria’s chest. The town was all right; it wasn’t burned to ashes, and no dragon flew above it, roaring and breathing fire onto the citizens below.

“Our luck may not have run out yet,” Gramps said. “Ashbourne and Gelbus the Gnome await us.”

“And the secrets to the world in between,” Maria added.

Freida’s flame grew, painting the rocky path with orange light.

“Yes, and the villagers waiting to be saved.” Gramps led the way, and Sherlock padded behind him, sniffing along the path.

This is good, being back with my family, Maria thought, especially after what happened in the Cave of Delusion.

Then she heard something. Though she wasn’t sure if it was real or if her mind was playing tricks on her, the sound was unmistakable: it was the distant roaring of some great beast. Perhaps the same beast she had dreamed about; the one who shook the trees and blocked out the two moons.

That beast, she now knew, was a dragon.

FINIS

Author Notes - Flint Maxwell

Written October 26, 2017

Thank you for reading all the way to the end of The Midwest Wanderer. I still can't believe this is a thing, you know, readers actually reading my work. I've published about a dozen books since I started this author gig and the feeling of getting a good review or having one of you wonderful readers reach out to me through Facebook or email hasn't lost its luster, nor do I think it ever will. So thank you for all you do for me. Without your hunger for stories, there would be no Maria, Ignatius, or Sherlock—and my life would be especially boring if I never got to write about that talking Bloodhound again.

I read each and every review for book 1. They were all mostly great, and the ones that would be considered bad weren't exactly that bad. I tried to incorporate some of the suggestions you all had into this book. In book 1, Maria was really just a normal nineteen year old girl so I wrote her how I thought she would talk and act even though I've never exactly been a nineteen year old teenage girl. Now, Maria has grown a lot since she defeated Malakai on Main Street, and I think that's evident in book 2 by the way she carries herself and leads the group toward Ashbourne despite all that's thrown in her way. She will continue growing throughout the rest of the series, that I know for sure, and Sherlock will continue doing things he shouldn't be doing…such as marking his territory on Gnomes.

You know, while we are on the subject of Sherlock, I should tell you about his creation. While growing up, I've always had a lot of dogs as pets. When I was in the third grade, I begged my mom for a dog. I mean, begged. She was reluctant to give in, knowing she'd probably be the one who had to take care of it since I was so young, but she did eventually give in. My mom and I drove to Hartville, Ohio one winter evening to a barn that was selling puppies for $50. My mom told me I could take my pick when we got there. I still remember the smell—unpleasant—and the straw strewn all over the floor. The puppies were a mix between Beagle and Lab (a weird mashup, I know) and they all seemed so lively and happy to have company. Naturally, I didn't pick any of these puppies. No, I saw one of them nestled away in the corner, looking quite glum. She was a black Lab with the floppiest ears I've ever seen. I picked her much to my mom's displeasure and named her Cupcake.

Cupcake sat on my lap the whole ride home. Of course, she peed, too, but I didn't mind. She was nervous, but as I looked into her eyes, I could tell she was happy enough. When we got home, Cupcake adjusted slowly, often hiding under a chair in our living room, and there was talk of taking her back to Hartville in exchange for one of the more-livelier puppies, but I wouldn't have it. Third-grade me put his foot down and said she'd come around.

And boy did she ever. Cupcake was soon knocking over the trashcan, chewing shoes, snatching pizza out of our hands, and even on one terrifying occasion, eating paintballs. She had an iron stomach, though. Most of what she ate never bothered her. So for Sherlock, I took this trait and gave it to him. After Cupcake got a little older, my mom caught what I call 'Dog Fever,' and before I knew it, the small house was filled with puppies. At one point we had seven, all of them mostly small ankle-biter types. It was, as you probably assumed, mayhem. But man, was it fun as hell.

So when Martha and I brainstormed Maria's companion, I naturally thought a cat would be the best pet for a witch, an idea that Martha promptly rejected, and rightfully so. A cat? Talk about cliché. We went with a dog instead, and I didn't know he was going to have telepathic abilities until I started writing the first draft of book 1. I knew he was going to communicate with Maria somehow, but had no idea how. The simple answer is magic, but the more complicated answer as to how Maria can hear Sherlock's thoughts is coming in book 3, so stay tuned.

Cupcake passed away almost three years ago. She lived to be close to sixteen years old. She was my first best friend. I think about her everyday. I've actually never cried as hard as I did the day she was put to sleep. But I know she's up there in doggy heaven with a full trashcan to snack from and endless supplies of socks to chew and rip, watching over me. And that gives me comfort.

These days, I still have two of the original seven dogs living with me, Louis and Lola, while the rest are happily at home with my mom. Louis is a Brussels Griffon and Lola is a round, fluffy mutt with Pug and some other breeds mixed in—I don't know for sure, but I do know both of them are cute as hell. I also have three cats, but they, like cats often do, mostly keep to themselves—Kevin, Claire, and Melinda.

As always, I'd like to thank a few people who were instrumental in helping me put this book together. Martha Carr and Michael Anderle for recruiting me into this wild world full of magic, Jen McDonell for editing, Andrew Dobell for putting together the cover, the rest of the Oriceran Universe authors for being so encouraging and helpful doing the process of creating, and most importantly, as I've stated earlier, the wonderful people who read the book when it's released. Thank you.

-Flint Maxwell

Author Notes - Martha Carr

Written October 29, 2017

Cold weather moving in… Texas style. That means a jacket has now become necessary. Can’t help thinking of Flint Maxwell in Ohio where this would be considered spring and plenty of people would be in short sleeves and flip flops. They’d call this brisk! I grew up in Philadelphia when I was young and I still remember a blizzard that came up to my waist. My parents still let us go out into it. Different times.

We had the elaborate snowsuit and you went outside and stayed out till you couldn’t stand it any longer. Hours. My feet and hands would be numb and it was hard to pronounce any consonants. Once we got warmed up by the fire it was hard to talk ourselves into going back out again – at least for a few hours. That’s where Flint is busy creating stories about witches and wizards and the world in between… It’s all about the layers Flint! Wrap up and stay warm… we have so many more books to go on this Oriceran adventure!

Publisher Notes - Michael Anderle

Written Oct 30, 2017

First, thank you for reading our stories, even about dogs with iron stomachs. That you read this book all of the way through and now are reading my little publisher notes is both special, and confusing.

Why it is special is obvious I would think, who wants to read anything by the publisher?  Confusing…well, uh, the same reason!

Who wants to read anything by the publisher?

As the publisher of the Oriceran Universe, I get the opportunity to see authors (hopefully) changed by their involvement in this effort and the feedback from amazing fans. I get to see them come out of their shell as we all work together in a supportive environment.

Writing can be damned lonely. I remember writing my first books in a vacuum.  The first few fans were amazing, giving me back much-needed feedback and suggestions as I moved forward.

I know that a lot of fans spoke to me (as an author) and mentioned how they missed getting a chance to talk with their favorite authors. Certainly, some of that is due to how much of a pain it was to send letters so many years ago.

You know, the time before email? (Dark Ages for Sure!)

As a very new publisher, I’m encouraging those authors involved with LMBPN to go out there and communicate with fans. If they do, they may find the Fountain of Wisdom. Or at least the (water) Fountain of Wisdom.

So many times, as an author, when I have a question I just go to fans and ask.

Now, as a publisher, I think I need to figure out how to make this happen. I’ve no idea how to make this stuff work for LMBPN Publishing… But I will.

I hope.

I have a lot of ignorance, and I think it stems from not knowing the desires of readers. Please reach out to me on Facebook on the KurtherianBooks Facebook page if you have ideas related to how a book publisher could do something cool for you, the readers and fans. I’m interested to hear and see if maybe, just maybe…

We can change the face of publishing together.

Ad Aeternitatem,

Michael Anderle

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/TheKurtherianGambitBooks

Want more?

Join the email list here:

http://oriceran.com/email/

Find the Oriceran Universe on Facebook:

https://www.facebook.com/OriceranUniverse/

Find the Oriceran Universe on Pinterest:

https://www.pinterest.com/lmbpn/pins/

The email list will be a way to share upcoming news and let you know about giveaways and other fun stuff. The Facebook group is a way for us to connect faster – in other words, a chat, plus a way to share new spy tools, ways to keep your information safe, and other cool information and stories. Plus, from time to time I’ll share other great indie authors’ upcoming worlds of magic and adventure. Signing up for the email list is an easy way to ensure you receive all of the big news and make sure you don’t miss any major releases or updates.

Enjoy the new adventure!

Flint Maxwell and Martha Carr  2017

Flint Maxwell Social

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/flintmaxwellbooks/

Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/Flint-Maxwell/e/B01N6O11C9/

Email list: http://flintmaxwell.us14.list-manage.com/subscribe

Martha Carr Social

Website:  http://oriceran.com/

Facebook:  https://www.facebook.com/ChroniclesofLeira/

Books by Martha Carr

The Revelations of Oriceran

The Leira Chronicles

* with Michael Anderle *

Waking Magic (1)

Release of Magic (2)

Protection of Magic (3)

Rule of Magic (4)

The Kacy Chronicles

* with A.L. Knorr *

Descendant (1)

Ascendant (2)

The Soul Stone Mage Series

* with Sarah Noffke *

House of Enchanted (1)

The Dark Forest (2)

Mountain of Truth (3)

Land of Terran (4)

The Midwest Magic Chronicles

* with Flint Maxwell *

The Midwest Witch (1)

The Midwest Wanderer (2)

The Fairhaven Chronicles

* with S.M. Boyce *

Glow (1)

Shimmer (2)

Michael Anderle

Kurtherian Gambit Series Titles Include:

First Arc

Death Becomes Her (01) - Queen Bitch (02) - Love Lost (03) - Bite This (04)

Never Forsaken (05) - Under My Heel (06) - Kneel Or Die (07)

Second Arc

We Will Build (08) - It’s Hell To Choose (09) - Release The Dogs of War (10)

Sued For Peace (11) - We Have Contact (12) - My Ride is a Bitch (13)

Don’t Cross This Line (14)

Third Arc (2017)

Never Submit (15) - Never Surrender (16) - Forever Defend (17)

Might Makes Right (18) - Ahead Full (19) - Capture Death (20)

Life Goes On (21)

The Second Dark Ages

The Dark Messiah (01)

The Darkest Night (02)

Darkest Before The Dawn (03)

*with Ell Leigh Clarke*

The Boris Chronicles

* With Paul C. Middleton *

Evacuation

Retaliation

Revelation

Restitution 2017

Reclaiming Honor

* With JUSTIN SLOAN *

Justice Is Calling (01)

Claimed By Honor (02)

Judgement Has Fallen (03)

Angel of Reckoning (04)

Born Into Flames (05)

Defending The Lost (06)

Saved By Valor (07)

Return of Victory (08)

The Etheric Academy

* With TS PAUL *

ALPHA CLASS (01)

ALPHA CLASS - Engineering (02)

ALPHA CLASS (03) Coming soon

Terry Henry “TH” Walton Chronicles

* With CRAIG MARTELLE *

Nomad Found (01)

Nomad Redeemed (02)

Nomad Unleashed (03)

Nomad Supreme (04)

Nomad’s Fury (05)

Nomad’s Justice (06)

Nomad Avenged (07)

Nomad Mortis (08)

Nomad’s Force (09)

Nomad’s Galaxy (10)

Trials and Tribulations

* With Natalie Grey *

Risk Be Damned (01)

Damned to Hell (02)

Hell’s Worst Nightmare (03) coming soon

The Age of Magic

The Rise of Magic

* With CM Raymond / LE Barbant *

Restriction (01)

Reawakening (02)

Rebellion (03)

Revolution (04)

Unlawful Passage (05)

Darkness Rises (06)

The Gods Beneath (07)

The Hidden Magic Chronicles

* With Justin Sloan *

Shades of Light (01)

Shades of Dark (02)

Shades of Glory (03)

Shades of Justice (04)

Storms of Magic

*With PT Hylton*

Storm Raiders (01)

Storm Callers (02)

Storm Breakers (03)

Storm Warrior (04)

Tales of the Feisty Druid

*With Candy Crum*

The Arcadian Druid (01)

The Undying Illusionist (02)

The Frozen Wasteland (03)

The Deceiver (04)

Path of Heroes

*With Brandon Barr*

Rogue Mage (01)

A New Dawn

*With Amy Hopkins*

Dawn of Destiny (01)

Dawn of Darkness (02)

Dawn of Deliverance (03)

The Age of Expansion

The Ascension Myth

* With Ell Leigh Clarke *

Awakened (01)

Activated (02)

Called (03)

Sanctioned (04)

Rebirth (05)

Retribution (06)

Cloaked (07)

The Uprise Saga

* With Amy Duboff & Craig Martelle*

Covert Talents (01)

Other Books

Etheric Recruit

*With S.R. Russell*

Gateway to the Universe

*With Craig Martelle & Justin Sloan*

SHORT STORIES

Frank Kurns Stories of the Unknownworld 01 (7.5)

You Don’t Touch John’s Cousin

Frank Kurns Stories of the Unknownworld 02 (9.5)

Bitch’s Night Out

Bellatrix: Frank Kurns Stories of the Unknownworld 03 (13.25)

With Natalie Grey

AudioBooks

CLICK HERE TO SEE ALL LMBPN BOOKS ON AUDIBLE

Available at Audible.com and iTunes

Table of Contents

Contents

Oriceran

Dedication

Legal

Oriceran US Map

Oriceran Map

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Author Notes - Flint

Author Notes - Martha

Publisher Notes - Michael

Social Links

Martha Carr Series List

Other LMBPN Books