“This is it!” Regis shouted up to Johnny. “This is where the red mist comes from!”

  Dozens of Drefids formed a living fence around the building. They fired arc rifles, arc cannons and black-shafted arrows, trying to keep the invaders at bay. Several Drefids managed to leap up to the turret door. They disappeared inside momentarily. Suddenly, one after the other, these Drefids leaped out of the building, soaring to heights the Elves had never seen them reach before. They fell like deadly comets and stood before the invaders.

  “Something different about them,” Charlie said. “The red mist?”

  “It changes them,” Regis said. “Be wary.”

  Six Drefids stood defiantly now between the invaders and the building that contained their precious mist. One of the Drefids exposed his talons, but they glowed white hot. Another’s eyes shone like red spotlights. And still another seemed to be tearing a hole in the air.

  “This isn’t gonna happen,” Charlie said. “Kat, now!”

  “Johnny and Taeva,” Kat’s mind voice spoke clearly. “End this.”

  Two Scarlet Raptors swooped down overhead. “Take COVER!” Charlie yelled.

  Johnny and Taeva banked in opposite directions and nearly met directly above the red mist building. Fire and lightning blasted down from their hands. There came the snap of thunder, but then something extraordinary. There was a low hum that throbbed as it got louder. Suddenly, a great flash. For a moment, day turned to night. A frightening silence consumed all sound.

  Those still standing—Drefid and Elf alike—fell to their knees, deafened and momentarily disoriented. The Drefids nearest the building screamed and shrieked, but no one heard them. Small fissures of white light began to appear in the turret. They crawled down the tower, across the roof and down the foundation. The fissures pulsed and widened. There came a shrill ringing, and the building disintegrated. The Drefids guarding the building were backlit by white fire for a heartbeat, and then, they too vanished as the voracious destruction spread outward.

  The six Dark Arts-wielding Drefids tried to run away but were half devoured from behind. What very little of them was left slowly gurgled into a spreading black pool.

  Charlie and his team had fled a safe distance but, aside of Bengfist, they’d all been knocked off their feet. Blinking and dizzy, they stood and gazed upon the destruction spread out a hundred yards in all directions.

  Kat, Kiri Lee, Tommy, Johnny and Taeva converged on their friends. “Anyone hurt?” Tommy called out.

  “Ears ringin’ like Christmas bells,” Charlie said, “but other than that, I think we’re…uh, fine.”

  Kat finally spoke what they’d all been wondering, “Johnny, Taeva…what in Allyra was THAT?”

  Johnny leaped down from his raptor and stared at his hands. “I…I dunno,” he said. “I’ve made fireballs explode before. Well, you’ve all seen those…I…I don’t think it was me.”

  All eyes turned to Taeva. “What?” she said, stepping backward. “You don’t think—look, I throw lightning bolts. I don’t vaporize.”

  “The red mist,” Regis said.

  “Must’a been,” Charlie said. “Now, listen…we’ll have time to ponder all this later, but we still have a few Drefids to clean up.” He pointed west with his axe. “And some portals to explore.”

  “Let’s get to it, then!” Bengfist roared.

  “Now wasn’t that exciting?” said Bengfist, smiling as he wiped black Drefid blood from his warhammer.

  “I’m not sure exciting is how I’d describe it,” said Tommy.

  “I thought it was,” said Johnny, more than a handful of corpses still smoldering from his handiwork.

  “Boys, I think we have more pressing issues before us,” Taeva said.

  Kat looked over to Kiri Lee and Autumn. “I’m liking this girl.” The other two smiled.

  There were a total of twenty-three portals in the chamber, each roughly fifteen feet wide, each shimmering with an electrically-charged blue aura. Some, however, were less strong than others, a few even flickering.

  The Seven approached one of the nearest portals, with Taeva, Regis, Migmar and Mr. Charlie joining them.

  Bengfist holstered his weapon and edged close to an adjacent portal. “Where do you think they lead?” he asked, extending a knobby finger toward the glass-like pane.

  “Don’t touch, your Overlordship,” said Autumn.

  “Overlordship?” Johnny sneered. “I don’t think that’s a word.”

  “No telling where it might pull you,” added Kiri Lee.

  The Overlord grimaced. “Then how do we know where to go?”

  “Well, I guess that’s the point right now,” admitted Tommy. “We’re just going to have to try them.”

  “Surely not all of us,” said Regis. “The Tide.”

  “I remember,” said Tommy. “That’s why one of us will need to test each one.”

  “Each one?” Kiri Lee asked.

  Jimmy agreed with Tommy. “How else are we supposed to know which one Asp is using to deliver his minions?”

  “Who’s to say he’s not using all of them?” Kat added.

  “So we test them all,” concluded Tommy. He squared his shoulders and walked up to the glowing pane directly before the team. The light was strong and steady, emnating so much energy it made Tommy’s hair stand up on his arms and neck. It had been almost eight years since he’d gone through a portal; the experience wasn’t one of his more fond memories. “I might as well go first.”

  “Lord Felheart,” Bengfist stepped forward. “Let me be the first to go.”

  But Tommy shook his head. “A good leader cannot ask his followers to go where he has not first dared to go.”

  Bengfist appreciated Tommy’s surprising wisdom, as did the rest of the team, noting it was something he was growing into. “Well said,” smiled the Overlord. “Only, let me be next.”

  “As you wish,” said Tommy. He squared his shoulders and stared at his own vibrating reflection.

  “Make sure to come right back,” Kat burst out. Tommy turned around, slightly surprised at her sudden concern. “Or…or else we’ll be coming through with the whole army. You know…”

  “Don’t worry, Kat. I’ll be fine.”

  “OK,” she said, feeling awkward by her outburst. But the concern was genuine.

  “Here goes.” And with that, Tommy took and deep breath and stepped into the field.

  Sam had been waiting her whole life to be at West 53rd and Broadway, sitting in the famous theatre for which all musicals would derive their names.

  Broadway Theatre.

  For her birthday, Sam’s dad and mom had surprised her with opening night tickets to see The Bohemian. It’d cost them a small fortune, but it was worth it just to see the look in Sam’s eyes.

  The upcoming trip to Manhattan was all Sam could talk about at school, and her parents wondered how she slept at night. But the four weeks passed quickly enough, and before long the Masseys were flying to JFK.

  It all seemed like a blur, right up until the moment when Sam sat down in her seat at the theater. She held the playbill in her lap like a lost Dead Sea Scroll, hardly able to bring herself to touch it. She’d bought plenty on eBay, plastering her room with them, as well as posters of retired musicals whose memorabilia was stuff of legend. But this playbill—this was hers. It was special, more so than any of the others she owned. She opened it gently and smelled the inside pages, savoring the ink and heavyweight paper.

  The lights dimmed, then were raised again.

  “It’s about to start!” Sam tittered to her parents, nearly exploding out of her seat. She could hear the violins tuning to A440 in the pit. The air was electric.

  The lights went down and the audience started their applause as the overture commenced. Sam’s dad and mom looked over at her, impressed that she had not magically levitated out of her seat and floated onto the stage already.

  The curtain opened on a lonely soul mourning the loss of her father. Her angelic voice paired with the strains of a melancholy cello, the mood soaking the audience in instant empathy. But as the orchestra began to enter, piece by piece, the music swelled with the push of lights and the arrival of new cast members. Before long the stage was magically transformed into a bustling 16th century island square, bursting with color and life and noise.

  Sam was thrilled, her smile wider than either of her parents had ever seen. She literally sat on the edge of her seat, nearly pressed between the shoulders of the patrons in front of her.

  In the climax of the chorus line, a brilliant blue light exploded about six feet above the stage. The theatre lit up like daylight, and women in the audience screamed. Sam flew back into her seat, holding up her arm against the brilliant light. All at once the orchestra fell apart, strings tapering off and cymbals clashing.

  Sam squinted, eyes searching the stage. She’d read the screenplay and stage notes for The Bohemian a hundred times; she didn’t ever remember this lighting cue. Her eyes were adjusting now, and she could see the actors scattering. There were shouts from backstage, and musicians were fumbling around in the pit.

  Something was definitely wrong.

  Suddenly the blue light flared. Sam willed herself to keep watching despite the searing pain throbbing behind her eyes. Just when she thought she couldn’t bear anymore, a man appeared in the light and fell onto the stage, dropping to his knees.

  Gasps went out from members of the audience all around her. She wasn’t the only one seeing this. It was as if the man materialized out of thin air, descending from the circular disc of light that lay horizontally across the stage.

  Perhaps it was an opening night prank? Or a special one-of-a-kind moment in the performance? She’d heard of things like that happening before. But with all the shouting going on backstage right and left, somehow she figured this wasn’t the case.

  The man stood up and looked around, apparently as blinded by the stage lights as onlookers were by the aura above his head. The figure squinted, holding up one hand while his other held tight to a bow. He wore a beautiful black cloak, and was outfitted in the most impressive hardened-leather stage armor Sam had ever seen constructed. Though still not as good as the real thing, she thought. He turned this way and that, as if looking for something, or someone, then seemed to have a sudden understanding of where he was.

  “Oh,” he said, loudly enough for Sam to hear at least. “I’m…I’m so sorry, everyone.”

  People were standing from their seats and entering the isles in an awkward slow-motion retreat.

  “I didn’t mean to interrupt anything.” He looked around the stage. The actors were both awestruck and terrified.

  If this is a prank, it was the best one anyone has ever seen, Sam thought. Still, no one said a thing.

  “Uh, I’ll, um, I’ll just be going now,” said the man. And with that he raised his hands and lunged up into the blue disc above his head. No sooner had his arms been absorbed into the light, his whole body was sucked up, vanishing as it went. The light expanded rapidly, and then in a brilliant flash it snapped shut with a percussive clap to the air. A dozen stage lights popped, sparks shooting across the stage. More screaming.

  In the momentary quiet that followed, the entire cast, crew and audience sat wondering what had happened. Finally Sam’s dad leaned over to her and said, “I’m pretty sure that wasn’t in the script.”

  Tommy came back shaking his head. “Definitely not that one,” he said.

  “Why?” asked Kiri Lee. “How can you tell?”

  Tommy looked up at her and said one word. “Broadway.”

  Johnny started laughing. “You’re kidding me!”

  “Oh, now that’s funny,” said Kat. She was laughing too.

  “Yeah, next time you’re all going,” Tommy said with a slight smile.

  “No, no,” Bengfist stepped forward. “I’m going next. I do not fear this Broadway warrior. Let me at him.”

  Autumn was laughing so hard she was crying. “It’s not a warrior,” she sputtered. “It’s a place. For musical performances. Dancing. Acting.”

  “Ah,” Bengfist withdrew a little. “Well then, perhaps I would fear the dancing more than a little.”

  The Seven were in stitches, their souls happy for the chance at humor.

  “You’re up,” said Tommy, bowing to the Overlord in deference. Bengfist seemed a little more hesitant than he was moments before.

  “Earth. It is full of dancing chambers then?”

  The Six chuckled. “Not everywhere,” said Jimmy. “Still, I’d be on your guard.”

  Bengfist nodded, looking more like an anxious child than a warlord. He held his warhammer in both hands and stepped up to the next portal.

  “I’m not sure you’ll be needing that,” said Kat.

  “No, no,” Bengfist defended. “If it’s a chamber full of dancers, I most certainly will.”

  “But it can’na go through the portal,” Jimmy said. “Unless it’s made of natural stooff.”

  “Heh, heh,” Bengfist laughed, patting the hammer’s head. “Wood, cord, and stone. Nothing more.”

  Bengfist was sure his stomach had lodged itself somewhere in his brain, while his shoulders felt like they’d become kindreds of his ankles. While the light display was more spectacular than anything he’d ever seen, he couldn’t ignore the overwhelming urge to vomit that sent cold sweats down his back. Or was it waves of heat? With all the rushing wind blasting in his ears it was hard to focus on much of anything.

  Suddenly the light grew stronger and Bengfist was sure he was about to lose his last several meals. But the sense of flying was coming to an end, and gravity took over.

  The next thing Bengfist knew, he was thrust out of the light and emerged into a small room adorned with strange furnishings and filled with small people that resembled beardless Gnomes. They even wore pointy hats, though the strange multicolored tassels were new.

  A few more mature Gnomes who oversaw the smaller ones noticed Bengfist first. Then all at once the entire gathering turned and began shrieking.

  These be not Migmar’s kin, Bengfist thought frantically. Some evil cousins, I deem!

  Brightly colored orbs exploded around the room, popping with the lightest touch. Bengfist lost his balance and roared. He stepped on a wheeled board and then fell backward, landing in a heap of white and brown sludge that caked his backside, the central table splitting beneath him. Bengfist cursed himself for falling prey to one of the enemy’s diabolical plans.

  To add insult to injury, brightly colored boxes toppled upon him, no doubt meant to distract invaders while the vile gnomic race escaped. Bengifst struggled to get up as a pair of the beardless imps began kicking him in the legs, more than one blow landing against his shin bones. He roared again, to which the little minions answered with more shrieking. His warhammer lay across his chest, but was nearly impossible to clutch, what with all the slime covering his hands.

  He used his elbows to crawl further back through the sludge, preferring the sticky substance to any further abuse by his assailants. But just as more of the little terrors started bounding toward him, he heard a sharp snapping sound as his head passed through a blue aura. Soon the glow sucked his body backward and absorbed him into a swirling vortex of bright lights.

  The portal.

  He much preferred vomiting to whatever that had been.

  “Earth is a terrible, terrible place,” Bengfist spat as he crawled out of the portal on all fours, dragging his warhammer.

  The Seven were utterly shocked. “What—what happened to you?” cried Kat, a look of genuine concern suddenly transforming to sheer amusement.

  “It was horrible!” Bengfist said as he tried to stand. “There was this awful lair of Gnomes!”

  “Gnomes?” asked Migmar.

  “Beardless ones!”

  “Beardless Gnomes?” asked Autumn.

  “And they shrieked at me, and used floating arc stones!”

  “Arc stones?”

  “Yes! All different colors! And then they sent me hurtling into their sludge pit and started kicking me.” He began shaking his head. “It was awful, I tell you. Just awful.”

  Autumn walked up to him and swiped a finger full of the sludge into her mouth. “Birthday cake,” she said to the others.

  The Six and the Sentinels and Dreadnoughts started laughing.

  “It seems,” Tommy could hardly breathe, “that you were ambushed by a birthday party.”

  “A birthday party?” questioned Bengfist. “I know not this birthday party.”

  “They were children,” said Regis with a wide smile on her face. “Human children, in the annual celebration of one of their own. It was a party.”

  “Vile practice,” Bengfist muttered as he walked away to collect himself, brushing the cake off his backside. “Vile practice indeed.”

  “I think it’s safe to say Asp hasn’t acquired a sudden love of theatre,” Tommy surmised.

  “Or invites to birthday parties,” added Kat. Bengfist winced at the mere mentioned of the term.

  “So all day on this we’ll take?” Migmar spouted. “Unacceptable.”

  “There’s got to be a better way to figure out where Asp has gone,” added Regis.

  “I think there is. Look,” said Kiri Lee, pointing out a portal to her left. “That one there is glowing brighter, like those other three across the room, and the two Tommy and Bengfist slipped through.” The others hadn’t thought much of the variations earlier, but they saw the logic now.

  “Those gates are more stable,” Taeva remarked. “Like they’re less used.”

  “Right. And I see almost no scuff marks on the floor,” said Kiri Lee.

  “Like they’re of little importance,” concluded Johnny.

 

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