

Haven: A Stranger Magic

Published by D.C. Akers at Smashwords

Copyright © 2013 by D.C. Akers

All Rights Reserved

Cover design by Roy Migabon

Book design by D.C. Akers

Formatting by Maureen Cutajar

All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

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ISBN-13 978-0-9845871-3-1 (pbk)
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

No one walks alone on the journey of life; therefore, I would like to thank those who joined me, and walked beside me, and helped me along the way continually urging me to write.

Perhaps somehow this book and its pages will be seen as "thanks" to all of you who have helped make this dream possible.

Much of what I have learned over the years has come as the result of being a father to two wonderful children, Myranda and Sarah, who, in their own ways, inspired me and subconsciously contributed a tremendous amount to the content of this book. A little bit of each of them will be found here weaving in and out of the pages—thanks kids!

I would also like to thank a group of individuals with amazing talent. They have dedicated endless hours of their time, knowledge, ideas, and numerous tips—all of which culminated in the completion of this book. So to Clare Gilbert, Krista Bohr, Terri May, and Skip Morris, thank you for everything and most of all, thank you for your friendship.

Always,

D.C. Akers
TABLE OF CONTENTS

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

About the Author

Other Books by D.C. Akers

"A friend is one that knows you as you are, understands where you have been, accepts what you have become, and still, gently allows you to grow."

―William Shakespeare
CHAPTER 1

Sam stood gasping for breath. His muscles ached, and he was terrified. He was lost. Massive redwood trees towered above him, branching out in all directions. Patches of snow and large rocks littered the ground before him. He winced and took a knee. The ache in his side felt like a stab wound. His heart pounded against his rib cage as if it would burst from his chest at any moment. How long had he been running? The cold air stung his throat when he swallowed; he needed water. Sam straightened himself slowly, inching forward down the narrow pathway. Large boulders covered in dense ferns and moss that dripped of moisture formed a winding pathway between the redwoods. Sam knew for certain that wherever he was, it was far from home.

He didn't know why, but he knew that he was in danger. Something was chasing him.

Sam looked for a weapon, a stick or rock—something to protect himself—but it was getting too dark to see anything clearly. The moonlight, which had once pierced the veil of the mighty treetops, was beginning to fade. Menacing black clouds were gradually enveloping the enormous moon. Sam was losing the only light he had left. As reality set in a cold shiver ran down his spine.

Blackbirds scattered from the treetops, fleeing their nests. The footsteps were moving closer. It was circling him; he could hear it moving from all directions. His eyes shifted from side to side, trying to catch a glimpse of his pursuer. Sam's heartbeat hammered his insides. The sound was deafening. His feet scuffled over the ground, failing him, causing him to stumble and stop. He stood frozen as he watched the last glimmer of moonlight vanish, stifled by a sea of dark clouds.

Despair seeped through his veins like a slow-moving poison, choking out any hope from within. The darkness had become so impenetrable he could not see his own hands in front of him. Loud stomping, like a gallop, came ever closer, striking the ground with a deadly force.

It was just beyond the tree line now. He could feel it; he could feel its presence closing in on him, and that's when he saw it.

Sam stopped breathing, and his body tensed. The beast was massive, towering above him like a giant. It had large, seething, blood-red eyes that cut through the darkness as it moved closer. The area around them was bathed in a pale red hue that glowed in the moonlight.

Sam tried to swallow, but his tongue felt like sandpaper. He wanted to back away, run, but could not move. Frozen like one of those awful-looking statues in the city park, Sam watched the beast emerge from the trees. At first glance he thought it was a massive horse, except for the curling horns at the sides of its head. The creature's hide was smooth and pitch black. If it was a horse, it was the tallest horse Sam had ever seen. It had unnaturally long, thin legs, ending with long, branch-like clawed fingers instead of hooves. The beast moved with an eerie elegance despite its unusual-looking legs. But it was the face that made Sam's skin crawl. Huge fangs protruded from its mouth, sharp and bloodstained. Its eyes were an empty, soulless crimson that glowed, but never blinked.

Willing himself to move, Sam felt his foot slide backward. Like a child taking his first step, he dragged his foot across the uneven landscape and began to slowly back away. The beast followed, its panting becoming faster and harder. Sam continued to back away as the monster advanced. He was about to turn and run when he heard it.

"Sam, can you hear me? Sam!"

It was Sarah's voice. It was faint, but where? She must be close by. He looked over his shoulder, scanning the surrounding area. But there was nothing there.

"Sam!" she yelled again.

Sam turned to follow her voice when all of the sudden the trees that stood in his way disappeared. As if by magic, the clouds parted, and the moonlight seeped through the treetops, illuminating his surroundings once again. Sam looked around and saw a new pathway that cut through the forest. He turned and ran toward Sarah's voice.

The beast roared into the night, filling the air with its rage. Sam ran as fast as he could. He could see just far enough ahead to follow the curving path. Dark shadows of the enormous trees sped past him. Galloping claws struck the hard ground, echoing loudly into the night as Sam ran for his life.

"Sarah, I'm coming!" he cried out.

"SAM, you moron, I'm right here!"

Sam sprang up in his bed. His eyes flew open. He was blinded momentarily by the light in the hallway. He twisted and turned in his sheets. His bedroom was usually dark except for the flickering street lamp that cast the occasional weak glimmer of light through his window. Sam was drenched in sweat, and his heart was still pounding. He saw the lanky silhouette of his sister standing in the doorway.

Sarah, she was okay.

With her hands on her hips, she stood like a beacon of reality. Quickly, the bitter sense of normality that Sam was all too familiar with came rushing back to him. He had no doubt been dreaming again, and his sister had, unfortunately, witnessed it all.

"Are you okay?" she asked. "It's the middle of the night! Are you trying to wake up everyone on the street?"

Sam wanted to die. This was going to be bad. The fact that he had had a nightmare was one more thing Sarah would add to her arsenal of verbal insults she liked to have on hand. Just because she was two years older than he didn't mean that he was a child. Last time Sam checked, thirteen was still a teenager.

"What ... um yeah ... yeah I'm fine," he said, still trying to catch his breath.

"Well, for the record, you don't look fine! You look like you ran a marathon. You're a sweaty mess," she said, and Sam could hear the aggravation in her voice.

He could only vaguely see Sarah's face from where he sat in bed, but there was no confusing the look of someone wanting to pulverize you for simply being born.

"I'm FINE!" he said through gritted teeth, just wanting her to leave now. "You're going to wake up Mom!"

Waking his mother was the last thing Sam needed. As it was, she rarely got any sleep working doubles at the diner. If she knew he was having recurring nightmares, she would be worried. Actually, Sam was surprised Sarah had not told her already. But knowing Sarah, there was probably some sinister master plan in the works.

Sarah slowly folded her arms in disgust and tapped her right foot loudly. "Well, fine. I know better than to argue with an idiot. Besides, you have way too much experience at being one!"

Sam sighed and ran his hands though his hair, trying to remain calm.

"Sarah, the last thing I want to do is hurt you. But it's still on the list. So please just leave!"

After Sarah left, the room went dark, and things were quiet again. The street lamp had stopped for the moment. Sam sat motionless on his bed. Slowly his heart returned to normal, but he was cold now from all the sweat on his body.

He pulled the covers tight and gently lay back into his warm bed. His eyes fixated on the wobbling fan that hung directly above him. He could barely see it now, but he could feel the slight breeze that it provided on his face.

Why? he thought. Why the same dream over and over again? Why was he in a forest? He had never been anywhere like that in his life. He grew up in the suburbs. The only forest he had seen had been on TV in one of those wildlife shows. Speaking of wildlife, what was up with that massive horse thing, and why was it chasing him? The dream had revisited him three nights in a row now, always ending in the same place. Was he going crazy? Would there be guys in white jackets and bad haircuts showing up soon to take him to a psycho ward?

Just the thought of being placed in a wheelchair and dressed in a white gown that opened from the back was bad enough. But being forced to take little red pills to keep him sane, well that was crazy.

Sam lay in bed for close to an hour, thinking about the dream. He could not believe how real it seemed, especially the beast. Those long, protruding fangs, the clawed feet, curling horns, and those eyes—those blood-red eyes. Frustrated, Sam finally climbed out of bed and walked over to the window. He pulled the thin curtains back and looked down at the street below. As usual, there was nothing remotely interesting happening there. There was the small, pitiful patch of grass his mother called a front lawn. It had become brown and crunchy from the lack of rain. There was the crooked street lamp two doors down. The city dump truck had hit it while patching a hole in the road. Since then the light flickered intermittently and kept Sam up most nights, but it looked like it finally had gone out now. At the foot of the lamp post lay Teddy Parkinson's mangled red bike. Teddy was notorious for leaving his bike on the curb in front of people's houses. His mother had already run over it twice, and it looked like a third time was in Teddy's near future. Sam's eyes wandered up to the night sky. It was clear. The moon was bright, and the stars sparkled from above, a million miles away. It was all so peaceful. So peaceful, in fact, that there was no reason on earth he should not be able to sleep.

Sam glanced down directly across the street to Mrs. Cambridge's manicured front lawn. It was so green that he could practically see it in the moonlight. The benefits of a sprinkler system, he thought. Or maybe she really is a witch like everyone says. Mrs. Cambridge was known as the witch lady of Giddyup Lane. Mostly because she was a widow, wore black year-round, and had five fat black cats named Tyco, Bubbles, Reno, Janko, and Nelson. She was an irritable old lady with a hump on her back and a limp when she walked. Her yard was her sanctuary, and if you knew what was good for you, you stayed out of it. Bored, Sam started to turn away when he saw something flash next to the large maple tree in the center of her lawn. It was more of a glimmer really, as if the moonlight struck something reflective.

That's odd.

Mrs. Cambridge never left her house at night, and neither did her cats. Sam didn't know of anyone dumb enough to step foot on her lawn. So what was that?

He rubbed his eyes then focused hard again, staring into the depths of the shadows. His eyes strained to make out any sign of movement.

It could have been Dirty Ernie looking for discarded items in people's trash again, but tomorrow wasn't trash day. Dirty Ernie was just that—dirty. The man had not seen the inside of a bathtub in years. At night Dirty Ernie would make his rounds throughout the neighborhood digging for cans or anything else he felt he might get money for. The phrase "One man's trash is another man's treasure" pretty much summed up Dirty Ernie.

The more Sam thought about it, the more he was convinced that he was just seeing things. It would make perfect sense, he thought. After all, he had not had a decent night's sleep in what felt like forever. He reached to close the curtains, thinking he would give sleep one more try when he saw it again. Something moved out of the shadows. Sam froze, his hand still gripping the curtain. Narrowing his eyes, he stared down into the yard.

There was definitely something out there; he wasn't imagining things this time. That was a good sign, he thought. That meant he wasn't going crazy just yet, and he could put off meeting the guys in the white coats just a little bit longer.

Sam slowly dropped his hand and leaned back against the wall next to the window. He tried to peer inconspicuously through the curtains and down into Mrs. Cambridge's yard. The dark figure moved back into the shadows behind the large maple tree, as if he noticed Sam looking down at him. But that's impossible, Sam thought. The stranger was too far away to see him through his window. But if he could see the stranger, then perhaps the stranger could see Sam as well.

Sam could barely see between the curtain and the wall. It was almost impossible to scan Mrs. Cambridge's entire yard like this. He still couldn't see anything, but he knew the stranger was still there.

He quickly reached for his shirt and shorts that hung on his desk chair and put them on. Moving as fast and as quietly as he could, he scrambled down the stairs. Each step he took on the rickety staircase was like a house alarm going off. It was a good thing his mother was a heavy sleeper. He just hoped Sarah would not wake up again. But knowing Sarah, she was not getting out of bed unless someone was screaming her name. Even if there were a burglar or something, she would probably stay in bed. In fact, she probably thought if she was really quiet they would just take Sam, and she could be an only child again.

It seemed like an eternity had passed by the time Sam reached the bottom floor and made his way over to the small living room window.

The room was dark except for the dim light above the stove that shone in from the kitchen. Sam's mother always left it on at night. It made a great night-light when Sam needed to raid the refrigerator. The living room was small, just like every other room in Sam's house. The brown worn-out couch sat in the center of the room, and was used as a divider between the living room and the kitchen. Pictures of Sam and Sarah, and a few candle sconces sat neatly arranged on the mantle. Everything was quiet until the grandfather clock to Sam's right chimed three o'clock. Sam jerked forward, almost falling over.

"Jeez," he muttered, disappointed at his spying skills.

He moved back into position and looked between the curtain and wall, hoping the stranger was still there.

Sure enough, the stranger was still standing next to the large maple tree in Mrs. Cambridge's yard, looking up at Sam's window.

He was a tall man, well over six feet if Sam had to guess, and lean. He wore a long, black coat that hung close to his ankles. Sam could not see his face; it was too dark for that, but he could see the large stick the man gripped in his right hand. It looked like a large root of a tree, naturally twisted and tan in color. There was a stained glass sphere that sat on top of it.

The man stood there for some time, periodically moving his hand to his mouth as if to scratch his chin, or maybe to eat something. But it was so dark that Sam wasn't sure what the man was doing. For all he knew he could he be talking on his cell phone, but why?

Who in their right mind would be out at three o'clock in the morning on their cell phone wearing a coat in ninety-degree weather holding a stick? Circus people maybe, but no one like that lived on Giddyup Lane.

Sam watched closely, trying to make out some of the finer details of the stranger, but it was impossible. It was just too dark. Muscles twitched in the back of Sam's neck. His eyes were straining so hard to see that his head began to ache. He needed to get closer. He needed to go outside.

With that thought, Sam pressed himself back against the wall and darted across the living room and the kitchen to the back door. Slowly, using his stealthiest moves, he unlocked the deadbolt and turned the doorknob.

The door let out a loud prolonged squeak, one that Sam had never noticed in the daytime. It was no wonder his mother never got a house alarm. Who needed one when the house was falling apart?

Sam inched the door back halfway and stepped outside. The moonlight was bright on the back of the house, and the night air was humid. He shut the door and gradually inched his way past the flower beds to the side of the house. It was much darker and somewhat cooler there, but that did not stop the small beads of sweat from forming on Sam's forehead.

Looking down, he noticed the outside faucet was still leaking, and the cracks in the foundation were getting worse. The entire house was falling apart all around them. He was probably safer sleeping outside of the house than he was inside.

Cautiously Sam pressed on, hoping all the hours he had logged playing Ninja Warrior 5 would pay off. He was scared, but excited. His blatant curiosity drove his every step toward the front of the house.

The gravel beneath his feet hurt as the jagged rocks dug into his bare skin. Sweat streamed down the sides of his face as he reached the two garbage cans near the front of the house and crouched down behind them.

Finally he could see the outline of the stranger perfectly. Sam was right—he was holding a long staff with a round glass pommel. He wore black pants and tall black boots that came up to his knees. His face was still in shadow but Sam could see the bottom of his rigid jaw line. He leaned forward staring at the stranger, thinking how eerie the night had become. There was no breeze, no chirping crickets; there was nothing but the sound of Sam's breathing.

Something hairy brushed up against Sam's leg. He jumped up and staggered forward into the garbage cans, knocking them over. The tin lids slid to the ground with a loud crash. Barron, the neighborhood's stray cat, hissed and darted across the lawn.

Sam panicked and tried to grab the lids as they banged and clattered around his feet. So much for the ninja moves, he thought. He looked over at the stranger, who was startled as well. The man was crouched down next to Mrs. Cambridge's maple tree with his staff across his chest in a defensive position. Then in one fluid movement he stood, lifted his staff and tapped it once on the ground. A flash of emerald light burst from the glass ball and engulfed the man, leaving only a green haze in his wake.

Sam stood there, mesmerized as the last of the two lids came to a stop at his feet. He could not believe his eyes. Did that just happen, or was he really going nuts? There was no way anyone with half a brain was going to believe this. He wasn't even sure he did.

Sam was more than just scared; he was also fascinated and a little dumb-founded at what had just happened. But who wouldn't be? he thought. It's not every day someone is staring up at your window and then disappears into thin air!

While Sam was trying to process all this, the toppled trash cans had rolled down his driveway, churning out trash as they went. This forced Sam back to the reality of the situation at hand. With a half-hearted run, he quickly recovered the cans at the end of the driveway.

He looked over to the tree in Mrs. Cambridge's yard where the stranger had stood just minutes ago. He still could not believe it had happened. How in the world did he do that, and where did he go?

Sam noticed several small pieces of white paper scattered near the base of the tree. Quickly he scanned the rest of the yard.

The lady may have been a witch, but she was a witch with a green thumb. She had an extensive collection of shrubs and conifers that bordered the perimeter of the house. Daffodils and apricot tulips lined the curved stone pathway that led from the sidewalk to the front porch. Her grass was so green it looked like a golf course. The white pieces of paper were the only things out of place.

Sam set the cans upright before they rolled into the street and swiftly crept across the street to Mrs. Cambridge's yard to take a better look. The street was still warm from the hundred-degree day, and the tiny rocks continued to poke away at the bottom of his already tender feet.

He reached the cool, plush grass and made his way to the tree. He scanned the surrounding houses just to make sure no one had come out during the great trash can debacle.

Sam looked down at the small white papers, which were thrown carelessly on the ground. He picked one up and carefully scrutinized it. It was a candy wrapper.

The wrapper itself was made of cloth paper, not regular wax paper like you see today. The name "Becker's Famous Chocolates" was written in bold red letters across the wrapper. The letter style looked old-fashioned to Sam, like something you see in a black-and-white movie, large and overstated.

Sam thought it odd because the name Becker's Famous Chocolates did not sound familiar to him, and he was well-versed in the ways of the chocolate. Whatever it was, he was sure it was not as good as the Goldkenn Chocolate Bar his best friend Travis Martin had brought back for him after his family went on vacation in Switzerland. The Black Praline Goldkenn was sweet, but not too sweet, and its creaminess was offset by thin layers of almonds and hazelnuts. It was chocolate perfection. When it came to chocolate no one could out-do the Swiss, as far as Sam was concerned, and Travis was probably the only person on Earth who knew chocolate better than Sam.

Sam surveyed the area one last time, then gathered at least five wrappers from the ground and headed back toward the garbage cans.

He grudgingly gathered the trash that had fallen out of the cans earlier and replaced the lids. He placed the garbage cans back where they belonged and headed back into the house and up to his room.

Finally, he reached his bedroom door. There was no sign of his mom, and, more importantly, there was no sign of Sarah either. Sam quietly opened the door and crawled into bed. The rickety ceiling fan was still turning overhead, sending out a cool, gentle breeze. The crooked street lamp outside had somehow resurrected itself, casting flickering shadows on his bedroom wall, but Sam was too tired to care.

His mind continued to work through every detail of the night, from the monster in his dream to the disappearing stranger.

He was tired. The adrenaline he felt when he first saw the stranger was gone, replaced by exhaustion. His mind was drifting with fading thoughts of the stranger, his disappearance, and Becker's Famous Chocolates.
CHAPTER 2

The morning came in a blink of an eye. Sam was barely awake when he smelled it—it was awful. There was no other word for it. The smell was so pungent it not only woke him up from his deep sleep—it was starting to make his stomach turn too.

He jerked abruptly, and his eyes opened, but instead of seeing his room as he expected, he saw nothing. There was something covering his eyes. It was white—well, kind of white, and made of a soft material. Sam reached up and grabbed the fabric from his face. He squinted as the sunlight rushed into his room like a blinding spotlight.

He hated mornings.

The room slowly came into focus as he tried to figure out what the material in his hand was. To his surprise it was a sock, but it wasn't just any sock. It was one of his filthy, extremely smelly gym socks.

Laughter erupted from just beyond the doorway of his bedroom. Sam looked up to see Sarah. She was standing in the hallway, half-dressed for school, with a black top on and blue pajama bottoms with hearts on them. Sarah was laughing and snapping what looked to be salad tongs in her right hand. Apparently, she had not wanted to touch the sock.

snap snap snap

Sam also noticed that she was pointing her cell phone in his direction with her left hand.

click click

Was she taking his freaking picture?

"You are such a dork!" she said, laughing. "That was absolutely brilliant! You should have seen your face when you finally got a whiff of that stench! This is sooo going on Facebook!"

Sarah's face was red from laughter, and her voice was giddy with delight. Her long brown hair was wrapped in a loose bun that was starting to come unraveled, and her blue eyes were watering like she had been crying.

Sarah threw the salad tongs on his bed where they bounced off and landed on the floor next to a pile of clothes. Still laughing, she reached up and wiped a small tear that seeped from her eye.

"You know, freak show, I don't think I have ever laughed that hard in my life!"

Sam blinked one eye and then another. Is this really happening? Did my sister just take a picture of me with a nasty gym sock on my face?

After a minute or so, Sarah finally pulled herself together. "Time to eat, moron, and Mom said to clean your room before you go to school." She turned and walked down the hallway talking to herself and shaking her head.

"Man, I'm good. That was awesome!" he heard her say.

She reached the end of the hallway and stopped. She turned around slowly and looked straight back into her brother's eyes.

Sam, who had not moved anything but his eyelids at this point, sat motionless, watching the corners of Sarah's mouth curl up ever so slightly.

Ooh no! his brain warned him. THE GRIN!

It was like watching a train wreck in slow motion.

The "grin", if that's what you wanted to call it, was like that of a sly wolf, the cat that ate the canary, or the Grinch who stole Christmas. It was the kind of grin that would have consequences. It was mischievous in every sense of the word, and whatever happened next would not be good for Sam, that much he knew. He was already visualizing the duct tape over her mouth.

"Hey, Mom," she called out. The grin was gone, replaced with a gleaming white smile. "Sam said he's NOT getting up OR cleaning his room!"

As if on cue, a voice from downstairs shouted out like a drill sergeant, "Samuel Rylan Dalcome, you get yourself out of that bed right now and clean your room or you will be grounded! You're going to be late for school again!"

Sam cringed when he heard his mother's voice. She was not happy. His eyes narrowed as they fixed on his sister.

Sarah quickly turned and began to walk down the stairs, when suddenly she stopped, turned, and walked back up. Still smiling, she looked at her younger brother and proceeded to take a bow.

When she stood, she pointed at Sam and winked. "Thank you, I'm here all week," she said.

Sam could feel his blood begin to boil.

Any similarity between his sister and a human being had to be purely coincidental. It just had to be!

Sarah turned and casually strolled down the stairs as if she didn't have a care in the world.

Sam sat up, threw the sock into the hallway, and looked around his room in frustration.

The room was a disaster; it looked like his closet had thrown up on his floor. There were piles of clothes in just about every corner of the room. But, to Sam's satisfaction, the piles were all color-coordinated in lights and darks. Just in case the world ended and he was forced to do his own laundry, he was good to go.

His wooden dresser and matching desk were a complete mess. The dresser was covered with sport bottles, coffee mugs, skateboard parts, and broken PlayStation controllers, while the desk was cluttered with school books, magazines, and more clothes. He was sure there was a computer under there somewhere, but he hadn't seen it in months.

The Sony PlayStation, which sat atop a small entertainment center with a twenty-inch TV, seemed to have the least amount of clothes thrown on it.

The only thing remotely straight, or that had any kind of order whatsoever in Sam's room, were the dragon posters on his walls. They were almost like wallpaper. Each poster was roughly the same size; every corner matched and lined up perfectly. His room looked like one large cave of dragons. A messy cave, but a cave nonetheless.

Sam loved dragons. Sarah made fun of him because she thought it was childish, but he didn't care. It was something he had loved since he was a small child. He had pictures of dragons in all shapes, sizes, and colors. His father had been interested in dragons as a kid too; at least that's what his mother told him, since he had never really met his father.

Sam's father died a few months after Sam was born. His mother didn't like to talk about it much; it made her sad. But when she did, she would always say the same thing.

"Your father was the most caring man I have ever met; he was my better half and my soul mate. The day your father died was the day I lost a part of myself, a part that I will never get back."

Sam didn't really know what all that meant, but it sure made her miserable when she did talk about him. His mother would always have her husband's love, and Sam, well Sam shared his father's fascination with dragons. It was strange, he thought, to miss someone he never even knew. But he did, and that was something he would have to learn to live with.

Sam reluctantly spun around in his bed and placed his feet on the cold, wooden floor. He needed to get moving or he would be staring at the inside of his room for the next week. Ten minutes had already passed since his mother warned him to get up. There was no way he had time to clean his room now. Sam looked around for the shorts he'd had on last night, but they were nowhere in sight. He must have taken them off in the middle of the night, because all he had on now were his boxers. He would need to find them; those shorts contained the only evidence of the vanishing stranger. He still could not believe what had happened. The man had actually disappeared right in front of his eyes! Sam made a mental note to keep his mouth shut and say nothing to anyone about the disappearing stranger. Not even to Travis. A person thinking you were crazy was one thing; talking as if you were crazy was something totally different.

Sam stood up slowly. He was still tired. He glanced up and caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror.

Hello there, Mr. Average, he thought with a yawn and a stretch.

There was no other way to put it—he felt so ordinary. He wasn't tall, he wasn't short; he was just average size. His face was thin, and his ears were small. He had a short nose and full lips, like his mother. He wasn't sure what features he had of his father's, but whatever they were he hoped they hadn't shown up yet. Because if this was all there would ever be, Sam felt cheated. He stared at himself in disgust. His light blue eyes were probably the only feature that stood out whatsoever. They were an ice blue, just like his mother's and sister's. People commented on them all the time.

"Wow, your eyes are cool!" or, "Wicked eyes dude!" they said. Once a girl even told him, "You have the most amazing eyes!" which was kind of cool.

At least that's what he thought she had said. Her name was Mary Bartlett and it was sixth grade during lunch. They were standing in line when she turned around and told him. Although, it was hard to tell exactly what she said, because she had half a roll in her mouth. But Sam was quite sure that's what she said through the spray of bread crumbs.

Today was the last day of eighth grade and Sam would finish out the year looking like crap. He had circles under his eyes from lack of sleep, his normally olive-colored skin was unusually pale—like the living dead kind of pale—and he had the worst case of bed head. He had bed head every morning, but today it was particularly bad. He had large lumps on every side of his head, making his short, straight hair look curly. It also made him look ten inches taller. It was like a bomb went off inside his hair.

Sam stood there, slumped over with his oversized Garfield boxers and giant hair, thinking to himself, Nothing like giving the ladies something to remember you by. The words "epic fail" came to mind.

Quickly, he straightened his back, puffed out his chest, and flexed his arms in the mirror.

"Welcome to the gun show!" he said as he tried to flex his skinny muscle-free arms. Sam was checking to see if by some sort of miracle his arms had sprouted muscles since the last time he had checked. They hadn't.

Just then he heard a snort from the hallway.

"Oh yeah, well I want my money back!" Sarah said, letting out a giggle.

Sam whipped his head around so fast he thought it would spin off his body. The blood rushed to his face. Embarrassed and still in his underwear, he panicked.

"GET OUT!" he yelled.

Sarah did not move.

"You are so gross!" she continued, standing in the hallway fully dressed. Sam was furious. He was about to go Ninja on her, he could feel it.

"Mom, Sam's being gross again!" she yelled out. Then she gave him the irritatingly mischievous grin he hated so much.

Okay, that was it! Therapy was too expensive. But a good blow to the head was cheap! Sam reached for the closest object he could find, which was an empty video game case lying on the floor, and hurled it at her. The plastic case whirled through the air like a boomerang, finally striking the side of the door frame next to her.

Sarah didn't move or flinch a single muscle. She watched unimpressed as the plastic case fell to the ground and looked back at her brother.

"And that's why you don't play baseball, loser!"

Sam thought his head was going to explode with rage.

"I ... I ..."

He was trying desperately to think of something hurtful, yet clever enough to leave his sister speechless, but all that came out was, "... think you're stupid!"

Sarah rolled her eyes, folded her arms, and leaned into the frame of the door.

"You know, dork, you should never enter a battle of wits unarmed, just sayin'."

Then she sighed while looking down at her nails, as if she were bored.

Sam clutched both of his fists, trying to control his temper.

"Look," she said calmly, "I can see you're a little overwhelmed right now trying to think and all, so I'm going to play nice and throw you a bone."

She blew on her nails and looked up at her brother.

"We have new neighbors. They moved in yesterday while you were with your girlfriend, Travis."

Livid, Sam stared into her eyes. She hated Travis, despite the fact he had a crush on her, and for whatever reason, was always nice to her.

"So?" Sam said, becoming more frustrated by the moment. "So" and "stupid" were all he had in his arsenal of comebacks at the moment.

Sarah grinned, "Sooo, they have a daughter about your age."

Why in the world would she be telling him this? She had never talked to him about girls before, and why was The Grin back?

"So, I don't care!" he said abruptly, even though he knew he sounded like a child. There was a moment of silence between them, where the two of them just stared at one another—Sam with his big hair and bad boxers and Sarah with that stupid grin on her face.

Sarah's grin turned into a smile. "Well, you should care, because she's staring at you right now through her window! And guess what? You're still wearing your boxers!"

At first, Sam wasn't sure he had heard her right. Did she say she was staring at him? Like right now?

In that split-second Sam's world went silent, and everything closed in around him. He froze in place as the ill feeling of humiliation began to slowly creep its way in. His mind was confused again.

Please, he told himself, let her be lying to me just one last time!

Sam slowly turned to face his side bedroom window and glanced across the breezeway to the other house. There, staring back at him through the adjacent window was a very pretty girl. She had long, black hair, magnificent green eyes, and she was dressed in a purple shirt with faded blue jeans.

Sam could feel the blood drain from his face. He wanted to duck, run, or do anything instead of just stand there, but it was too late for any of that.

He stared back like a complete idiot at this beautiful girl with his big hair, skinny body, and his stupid, giant, what-was-he-thinking Garfield boxers on.

There was another brief moment of silence until Sarah cleared her throat and stood up straight.

"Now that, my little minion, was priceless," she said.

Still unable to move, Sam stared back at the girl, not knowing what to do. Then, as if nothing had ever happened, the girl smiled, reached for the blinds on the window and slid them shut.

Sarah turned, flinging her hair around her shoulders like she always did when she felt she had proven her point, and walked briskly down the hallway. It wasn't long before he heard his mother's voice again.

"Sam, don't throw things at your sister, and get down here and eat your breakfast!"

Sam sat back down on his bed and put his face in his hands in utter defeat.

I hate my life.
CHAPTER 3

The grandfather clock chimed eight times as Sam made it down the stairs and into the kitchen. He would be late again. Dressed in a black vintage KISS t-shirt, faded blue jeans, and black tennis shoes he felt ready to take on the day. The once enormous mound of bed head had been transformed into a more socially acceptable hair style. His black hair was short with textured layers and was styled forward in a sweeping manner that framed his face.

Sam had found the five candy wrappers from last night. They were now in his pants pocket for safekeeping. He needed to figure out a way to ask Travis about them without mentioning the vanishing stranger.

Sam's mother had already left for work, no doubt working another double shift at the diner. She had been doing this for months on end, anything to keep them afloat. Her busy schedule had taken its toll on her now. She was tired and distant most of the time. Sam hated the fact that she had to work so hard, and he wished he could help out. Sam needed a job now, not in three years. Sixteen seemed so far off, but what choice did he have? It was hard being the only man in the house when you were still too young to get a job.

The morning sun filled the small kitchen. Earthy neutral colors bathed the walls, counter tops, and floor. Cabinets stained in a deep chocolate lined the perimeter, rendering the room as cozy and inviting. The kitchen color pallet had been his mom's idea, but his father had done all the work, according to his mother.

Sam's stomach growled; he felt like he had not eaten in years, and as usual Barry had left him nothing to eat. Barry Rogers, Sarah's boyfriend, graced the Daclomes with his presence every morning to walk with Sarah and Sam to school and to eat what he considered to be any leftover breakfast.

Barry stood at the kitchen counter, inhaling a piece of buttered toast. A cup of orange juice sat next to him. He had short brown hair, and dark brown eyes which looked like giant brown beetles. He was a big jock, and was not particularly smart, which was perfect for Sarah, Sam surmised.

As always, Barry wore his typical jock attire. It consisted of a blue football jersey with the number seven, designer jeans, and Nike sneakers.

Sarah was busy behind the counter, putting together her lunch and chastising Barry for smacking his food while he chewed it. Sam couldn't agree with Sarah more. Barry resembled a cow chewing grass, with a slow, agonizing gnawing that let out a loud SMACK as his jaw came full circle.

Sam stood motionless for a moment, transfixed at the lip-smacking football player Sarah called her boyfriend.

Talk about your lack of options. I hope she doesn't marry Mr. Knucklehead and taint the gene pool, he thought.

Sam's staring came to an abrupt halt when Sarah caught him gawking at her boyfriend.

"You know, Barry," she said loud enough to break Sam's concentration. "I'm a huge fan of Garfield, I mean HUGE!" Sarah met Sam's gaze, and the corners of her mouth curled up into a devilish smirk.

Barry didn't say a word, because talking and drinking orange juice at the same time can be quite challenging.

Sam remained quiet; getting into a heated debate as to whether or not he had on Garfield boxers might not be the best idea. Without saying a word, Sam moved Barry's backpack off his school books that lay on the table and placed the bag on the floor next to Barry.

"Hey, morning, dude," Barry finally mumbled with half a piece of toast hanging from his mouth.

"Morning, Barry, how's my breakfast? Good, I hope?" Sam laid the sarcasm on a little thick, but Barry's head was pretty thick, too. There was absolutely no chance Mr. Football noticed his tone. It's not like all the lights were on. It was like using a Jedi mind trick—it only works on the weak-minded.

"Um, yeah, not bad," he replied smacking his lips and pouring himself another cup of orange juice.

"Good, glad to hear it. Hey, Sarah, why don't you get Barry here some more toast? He's getting a little low."

Sarah's eyes narrowed into tiny slits. Sam liked to refer to this face as the Look of Death.

"You know, a guy like you with such a low IQ should have a low voice, too," she countered.

Sam returned her glare with a kind smile and a wink for extra measure. He grabbed his books and headed for the front door yelling, "Come on, Sarah, you're going to make me late again!"

Outside, the vivid bands of sunlight fractured the white, billowing clouds and greeted Sam like a warm embrace. Giddyup Lane, a quiet, middle-class neighborhood tucked away in the center of town, had been his home all his life. His house was a charming Cape Cod-style home nestled in the middle of the street that curved like a horseshoe.

The outside of the house was a dingy light gray trimmed in white, with a brown steeply pitched roof, and three white gables. It had a white front door and two windows on each side. The house had plenty of charm.

The sweeping front porch had settled over time and now leaned to the left. His father had built a swing for his mother years ago to enjoy the summer evenings together. The swing still hung from rafters with ropes instead of chains for a more natural look. Originally it had been painted white, but the color had now turned to a pale yellow. Sam thought it looked like a rotten banana with the chipping paint and dark patches of wood. But Barron the cat didn't seem to mind, as he had deemed it his favorite spot in town.

The front lawn had definitely been neglected, but it was nothing a little water and a lawn mower wouldn't fix. The flower beds needed attention too. Right now they were empty and waiting for the seasonal planting.

Even though it was still early in the morning, it was extremely hot and humid outside. Sam was used to this; Texas weather was unpredictable. It could be hot and sunny in the morning and cold with a chance of snow in the evening. To be honest, Sam liked the unpredictable. For him, unpredictable meant change, perhaps for the better.

Sitting on the front steps waiting for Sam, was Travis. This was a daily routine for the two of them. Travis waited for Sam each morning as Sam dragged himself out of bed and out of the house. Which was strange because Travis was never early for anything. Compared to Travis, Sam had his game together, at least to the untrained eye.

Travis sat on the edge of the wooden steps, jabbing a soda straw at an innocent spider. It was an unusual-looking spider, mostly black except for the three green stripes on its abdomen. Travis continued to prod as the spider tried desperately to scurry across the steps.

Sam watched for a moment as Travis entertained himself. It was like watching a small child play with dirt on a playground. Sam laughed to himself; Travis may be a teenager, but in his heart he was still a great big kid.

Sam and Travis had known each other for years, but they weren't always close. At first, Sam had felt sorry for Travis when they met five years ago. Back then no one liked Travis, although sometimes it was understandable. He could be a giant pain in the rear, but you got use to him after a while. If you could get past his ADD, he was actually fun to have around.

Back then the kids at school had picked on Travis and called him names. There were a few times Sam had stood up for Travis. Like the time Brent Holland thought he'd caught Travis staring at his girlfriend Tina. In reality, Travis was staring at Sarah, who had a locker next to Tina. Sam had intervened, telling Brent that Travis suffered from neck spasms. Travis had played along, knowing if he didn't, Brent would beat them both up. They both had turned and slowly walked away. Sam had looked straight ahead, hoping the plan would work. Travis had inched along at his side with his neck still turned to the left. Over the years things had changed; people made less fun of Travis. As fate would have it, newer kids moved in who seemed to have much bigger problems. Like Missy Baker, who ate her hair when she got nervous.

Travis, for all intents and purposes, was a slob—a big ball of mess, walking around bumping into life. He had light brown hair that was never combed and stuck out in every direction. He was Sam's height, but heavier. Travis also had an unusual sense of fashion; he wore clothes that looked like they belonged back in the seventies, lots of brown and orange. His shoes were torn and ragged and sometimes did not match. He was not poor; he just didn't care.

But, for the record, Travis occasionally tried. He wore cologne—Old Spice, Sam thought, because he smelled just like Travis's grandfather. Without a doubt he was a fashion disaster and a reject from the seventies, but he was a loyal friend, and that was the most important thing to Sam.

"Hey, dude, 'bout time," Travis said, looking up through his disheveled bangs. His eyes were a dark hazel, and he had a small patch of freckles that fell to just below his eyes. His face was round with sporadic patches of hair on his cheeks he like to call his man beard. He would constantly brag to Sam that he was more mature because of his three whiskers as opposed to Sam's girlish face, which had zero.

"Morning, Trav, how long you been out here?"

"Umm, a few days, give or take."

"Right, I'm not that late," Sam said smiling.

"Since about seven-thirty, I guess. Hey, your mom said pack a lunch."

Travis always chatted with Sam's mom as she made her way out of the house and to her car.

"Why didn't you just come in?"

"Well, I was going to but Barry showed up and well, you know ..."

Travis didn't want Barry to find out about his crush on Sarah. But Barry knew, and he didn't care; heck, he thought it was funny. Sam had overheard Barry mention it to Sarah one time, and they both laughed about it. Travis had made a fool out of himself plenty of times in front of Sarah. Sarah thought Travis was grosser than Sam, and that's pretty darn gross!

Sam always hated to see Travis interact with Sarah; it was sad, really. Travis would make a complete 180, from a confident wise crack to a bubbling idiot who couldn't string three words together the moment she walked into the room.

Just then, the door flew open, and his sister came dashing out of the house with a frown on her face and overdressed as usual. Sam hated to admit it, but Sarah was a striking girl. She had long, chestnut brown hair, and the same ice blue eyes and dark skin as Sam, but her skin was darker because she laid out in the sun so much. His mom said they got their dark features from the Italian side of the family they'd never met.

Sarah wore a black tank top and a black skirt with sandals, a matching purse, and a small backpack thrown over her right shoulder. Her smooth, shiny hair fell below her shoulders and was gently layered around her face.

She walked briskly by the two boys with her nose held high, as if she smelled something foul. Barry, of course, was close behind, like a small lap dog that had lost his way.

"Come on, turds, you're already late," she groaned.

Travis stood at attention and straightened his wrinkled shirt, but never looked up.

"Hi Sarah," he mumbled, staring at his worn sneakers as she passed by.

Like always, Sarah was crude and annoyed.

"Hello, Travis, and what did we say about talking to me?" she said coldly.

Travis scratched his head and muttered "Um, not to?"

"That's right. Let's keep working on that, shall we?"

Sarah rounded the corner of the white picket fence in the front yard and never looked back. Barry laughed and shook his head as he followed her.

Sam stood staring in disbelief; he could never see what Travis saw in his sister. She was mean, rude, and hated everyone except for herself. He wasn't even sure she liked Barry.

Sam stood next to Travis looking disgusted. "I see you've set aside this moment to humiliate yourself again," he said.

"Whatever, dude," Travis said, watching Sarah and Barry walk off.

"Why do you do that to yourself?" Sam asked.

"Do what?" Travis replied.

"You know what." Sam shook his head and stepped down onto the front lawn. "It's like I'm watching the same car crash every morning with you and her. When are you ever going to learn?"

"Dude, she'll come around. I practically have her right where I want her." Travis patted his chest.

Sam rolled his eyes. "You're joking, right? Please tell me you're joking."

"What?" Travis asked, throwing his hands up in a mock surrender.

"Ummm, that you're not blind to my sister's witch-like charm. That you actually see that she can't stand anyone on this planet beside herself."

"Like I said, I have her right where I want her. Have a little faith, buddy," he said and gave Sam a wink.

"Well, if having her ticked off and annoyed is part of the plan I would say yeah, you got her right where you want her."

"There was a smile this time. I saw it!" Travis said with a smile of his own, like he was proud of some great accomplishment.

"I think you're confusing the smile with what people here on Earth refer to as a sneer, genius!"

Looking a little more perplexed, Travis replied, "Whatever, dude. All I'm saying is the world's round—I'll get there!"

Sam looked at Travis and rolled his eyes again, "Quit stealing your comebacks from old movies, Spicoli"

"Who, me?" Travis said, smiling and placing his hand over his heart, as if he were offended.

"Fast Times at Ridgemont High, Jeff Spicoli. Hello? I know movies too, dork!"

This time it was Travis who rolled his eyes and sighed. "Yeah whatever, it fits. Can we get off of me now and on to the situation at hand please?" then pointed to his stomach. "I'm hungry. I need food, dude. You got anything to eat?" His smile was fading into a more serious frown.

But Sam found it hard to just let the Sarah thing go. It didn't even bother Travis. He was oblivious to rejection and hatred when it came to Sarah. Sam felt himself becoming more frustrated by the minute. But who knows, perhaps Travis was right, perhaps it was best to change the subject. Besides, if Travis wanted to get his ego crushed by Broadzilla, who was Sam to stand in the way of progress?

"No, there's nothing to eat. Barry was here; what do you think?"

"Dude, I'm starving! Can we make something real quick?"

"No, Trav. What am I, your mother? You should've eaten before you left your house!"

"Come on, Samster!"

"Nooo, Travis! And stop calling me that!" he said as he turned and walked around the front gate.

"Oh man, we're already late, what's the big deal?" Travis asked and mumbled something else Sam could not make out.

Travis picked his backpack up and swung it over his shoulder.

"It's the last day of school! Hey, wait up!"
CHAPTER 4

Marcus Snider stood at the back of the small, litter-filled alleyway between Angelo's Bakery and Coffman's Sportswear smoking his last cigarette before going to school. The buildings were fairly new since the town square had recently been built, but the alleyway was still dark and dank. Large dumpsters were staggered from one another toward the rear of the stores.

Taking long measured drags, Marcus looked on from across the street as the school bells rang for both Junior High and Saginaw High School announcing that the last day of school had begun. The two campuses were across the street from one another.

Teenagers grouped in small cliques began to disband and file through the large metal doors, like oversized lab rats reacting to the bell.

Vernon Emerson and few of his band friends stopped at the crosswalk. They were standing in front of the bakery when they spotted Marcus in the alleyway. They were not fans of Marcus Snider, but no one really was. They were scared of him, just like every other student at Saginaw High was. Not because he was a big, overbearing athlete hyped up on steroids with a god complex. No, they were scared because he was crazy in the head and capable of doing all the horrible things he was rumored to have done.

Vernon fiddled with his shirt and adjusted his collar, which suddenly felt tight on his neck. He was about to turn away when he noticed Marcus staring back at him. Built like a linebacker, Marcus was tall and muscular. He had greasy brown hair that was long and shaggy. His face was scarred with acne, and he had dark circles under his eyes.

"Um, hey Marcus, what's going on?" Vernon asked with a slight wave and an apprehensive smile.

Vernon was a tall, gangly kid. He had short black hair and wore thick black glasses that he was constantly pushing back up his nose. He had once seen Marcus fight after school. His opponent had been destroyed, and Vernon wanted no part of that.

Marcus stared for a moment at the group. His eyes narrowed into small slits, and he sucked on the end of his cigarette until the tip became a glowing orange.

With his lungs full, he pulled the cigarette from his mouth and blew a steady stream of gray smoke into the air.

"Does it matter?" he asked.

Vernon looked over at his friends anxiously, unsure how to reply when Mary Hemphill, a short redhead girl, who was standing closest to Vernon, whispered, "Let's just go, Vernon. He's a creep."

Vernon looked at Mary and then back to Marcus, who flicked the lit cigarette in their direction.

He didn't want to upset Marcus, and he certainly didn't want Marcus to say anything that could embarrass him in front of his friends.

"Okay, sure ..." he replied to Mary, then turned to Marcus and said, "Gotta go, we're late, so see you later."

Vernon turned just as the signal light changed, indicating it was safe to cross. The small group quickly scurried across the street. They looked like a herd of frightened cattle running to safety.

Marcus grinned with satisfaction; he didn't like Vernon, or any of his band friends for that matter. They were weak, spastic nerds that need to be stomped out like roaches as far as he was concerned.

Marcus dusted the cigarette ash off his black Punisher t-shirt and ran his hand through his hair. He started to walk toward the street light when he saw Sarah and Barry approaching the corner. Marcus grinned again and stepped back into the shadows.

"You go ahead and go. I need to wait for Sam. He didn't make a lunch, and he's going to need some money."

Barry rolled his eyes, "What, why, Sarah? No, you need to walk in with your man on the last day of school. The two hottest people in school need to be seen together. It gives the dweebs something to aspire to over the summer," he said, laughing at his own joke.

Sarah gave a half-hearted grin and replied, "You'll be fine. I'm sure you'll find someone to keep you company, just like you did Saturday night."

Barry's smile faded quickly, and his cheeks flushed. He wasn't sure if Sarah had heard what happened, or if she was just saying that to see if he would admit to something.

Sarah knew all about Saturday night, and even if she didn't, the look on Barry's face spoke a thousand words. None of which was good to hear.

"What does that mean?" Barry asked, playing along as if he had absolutely no idea what she was talking about. But he knew the truth. He knew all too well what had happened at Mason Parker's party. He had ended up kissing Brenda Jenson, who, for the record, he thought wasn't bad looking. In fact, she was the captain of the cheerleading squad. That automatically made her better looking in his book. Besides, she had always had a crush on Barry. But Sarah was his girlfriend now—at least she had been for the last year. Everyone thought that Sarah was hot, which was an understatement. Every guy wanted to be Sarah's boyfriend, but she had chosen Barry. Although that had not happened until he made quarterback. It made Barry wonder if she was with him because she liked him, or because he was the quarterback of the varsity team. Sarah was known to have never dated anyone longer than a few months. But they had been together the entire school year, and Barry was proud of that record. No one in the history of Saginaw High had remotely come close to that with Sarah. Even though it took most of the previous summer of being nothing but nice and thoughtful to her—like inviting her to all the summer parties he had thrown and stopping by just to see how her day was going. In the end it paid off, and he was victorious. Sarah Dalcome had fallen victim to the Barry Rogers charm. So, if it happened to end today, he needed to be the one to end it. After all, he had a reputation to protect.

"It means I'll be waiting for my brother like I said, that's what it means," Sarah said, her tone sharp and resolute.

The signal light changed again, and the traffic came to a stop.

"You better go, Barry, your entourage is waiting."

Barry looked up at the light and then across the street where his friends Matt, Jason, Aubrie, and Lisa were waving him on.

"Fine, whatever. Wait for your dork brother and his boyfriend," he said smugly. Then he jogged across the street with his hand in the air, where he received a high-five from Matt and a pat on the back from Lisa.

The light changed. Sarah crossed her arms and turned toward Angelo's Bakery. Maybe she should just get Sam something there. After all, lunch at the school cafeteria was always bad. There was no telling what leftovers they would be serving on the last day of school.

Sam was still her brother, even if he was a giant pain most of the time. He annoyed her, but not for the reasons most people thought he did. Sam had it easy; life just rolled off him. He blended in, he was under the radar, and no one ever noticed him. It was like he was invisible. And because of that, people were not always expecting things from him like they did from her. He could be himself and not what everyone expected him to be. Sam didn't need to put walls up for protection like she did. He had everything—a great life, a best friend, and things were probably only going to get better from here.

Sarah, on the other hand, had none of that. Her friends could not be trusted; they were only her friends because she was popular, and she was only popular because of the way she looked. She could never call one of them up and confide in them, like Sam could Travis, without the whole school finding out. They were all superficial wannabes, pretending to care as long as she stayed popular. She hated who she had become, hated that she had to be so mean to everyone, including her own brother, but that's what was expected—that was the price of popularity. She couldn't even be normal in her own house anymore; she couldn't remember how. She walked around so frustrated and angry all the time. The only restraint she could show was to her mother, because she was all they had left.

Every day she felt like she was getting closer and closer to the edge. She was scared of what might happen if she reached a breaking point. It was hard keeping it all bottled up inside. But what choice did she have? Who could she really tell? She knew the answer to that question—no one. She couldn't tell her friends that there was more to life than being popular. That there was socializing for the simple purpose of getting to know someone and enjoying their company instead of how they could help you climb the social ladder. Going to the mall with your hair up, no makeup, and eating a big fat pizza without worrying about the carbs. She knew they would never go for that. They would just say that's what ugly people do. Which was fitting, she thought, because she felt ugly inside, even though people thought she was so pretty. She wanted to tell them she was lonely for a real boyfriend; one that she could trust, not one that liked her for her looks and then cheated on her. She wanted someone to care about her and to like her for who she was as a person.

But again, what chance did she really have? She knew she would never let anyone inside the emotional walls she had built. The risk of being hurt was far too great. Her past choices in friends and boyfriends had taught her one thing—no one could be trusted. Perhaps she couldn't be trusted to make the right choices either. After all, she was responsible for choosing her friends and Barry. Sarah walked toward the bakery and glanced over to see someone lurking in the alleyway. It was Marcus. He had a roguish smirk of his face.

"Well, well, it looks like the queen might have lost her king and all because of her jester brother," he said, laughing.

Sarah was not laughing. She loathed Marcus Snider. He was a bully and a pig. It made her angry just to look at him. For four years students had endured his rude and crude comments, and for four years she had done nothing.

The jocks stayed away from him because he was rumored to have stabbed someone in a fight once. Whether it was true or not, Sarah didn't know. But people had seen him fight on campus many times and he always won.

Sarah was not scared of him; she was more disgusted than anything. Someone needed to teach Marcus a lesson, and maybe the last day of his senior year was a good place to start.

"Keep your mouth shut, Marcus!" she said, her fist clenched at her side.

"Or what?" he shouted back. "Are you gonna call Daddy? Oh, no, wait," he said putting his hand to his mouth like he was surprised. "You haven't got a daddy, do you? Maybe your mommy is a little too prissy like her daughter, and no one wants a Dalcome woman!" he said, laughing.

Sarah began to walk toward Marcus, her ice blue eyes narrowing on the filthy, long-haired boy. To talk about her and her friends was one thing. To talk about her mother and father, that was something totally different.

"You had better shut your mouth, you creep!" she said, advancing on Marcus. She wasn't sure what she was doing; she was no longer thinking straight.

Marcus laughed louder and backed up into the alleyway.

"Come make me, pretty thing. We can talk about your daddy issues in here. I can be your daddy," he said with a wink.

Sarah could feel the anger welling inside of her. It was the same anger her mother was always telling her to suppress.

Strange things happened when Sarah got angry. She didn't know why or how, but sometimes things would break around her. It started about a month ago when she cut her finger on a kitchen knife while unloading the dishwasher. She had winced in pain, mad at herself for not paying attention. Sarah became angry. It was at that point the glass of water sitting on the kitchen counter began to rattle. Then, suddenly the glass exploded, sending shards of glass in every direction. She had screamed and ran out of the kitchen. Another time, while she had been in the garage looking for a school yearbook she had accidentally backed up into the yard tools hanging on the wall. They had come crashing down. She'd shrieked and clenched her body tight as they fell to the ground around her. That's when it happened—all eight sprinkler heads on the side of the house burst. Thin jets of water shot into the air nearly ten feet high. Prior to that the sprinkler system had not worked in years.

At first Sarah lied about what happened. She did not want to tell her mother—it just sounded too crazy. In the end, the truth came out, but to her surprise all that her mother said was "Suppression keeps you calm; calm places you in control." But she said it as if she was thinking out loud, reciting it from memory or something. When Sarah asked if she believed her story, her mother replied, "The pipes are old; the whole house is falling apart, Dear."

Sarah didn't press the issue. Her mother had to be right. There was no way Sarah had anything to do with that.

Too much had happened this week with finals, finding out that Barry cheated on her, and worst of all, her so-called friends knowing what Barry had done and never saying a single word. Apparently, getting sick the day of a party was unacceptable girlfriend behavior punishable by cheating. If she had not overheard Blake Miller talking about it to one of the cheerleaders in the hallway, she would have never known. As it was, it took her a week to find out. Her girlfriends hadn't said anything; they probably enjoyed humiliating her, and they couldn't wait for the fall-out between her and Barry to happen.

So now, on top of all this, she had to deal with Marcus too. This creep, this low-life who was going to insult her family! Insult her dead father and the only parent she had left? No. Not today. Today she would not be calm. Today she wanted to be angry. Her anger was like a caged lion—beautiful, powerful, and dying to be set free.

Sarah walked between the two buildings with her hands clenched and knuckles white. She was determined to make Marcus suffer for every innocent kid he had ever picked on. For every girl he had ever humiliated. For every loathing comment that had slithered out of his mouth.

Marcus continued to laugh and motioned for her to come closer. Sarah kept walking until she was consumed in the shadows between the two buildings. She stopped to face Marcus.

"Take it back, Marcus!" she said. She was so angry that her hands were shaking. She let her backpack slide off her shoulder onto the ground.

Marcus was still grinning, as if he were a cat and she was a small, pathetic mouse.

Her anger was fueled by his vile remarks about the father she had never known, and her mother who tried so hard to take care of her and her brother. He had no right to cheapen that. She wanted to wipe that pathetic grin off his face.

Sarah reached down and picked up a rock the size of a baseball.

"You're joking, right princess?" he said, looking at the rock.

"Shut up, Marcus, I told you to shut your mouth!"

"Or what? You're going to throw a rock at me? Sweetheart, you're gonna have to do a lot more than that to shut me up!"

Sarah reared back, and with all her might threw the rock as hard as she could. The rock soared through the air, but fell far from its intended target. It landed several feet to the left of Marcus.

He bellowed with laugher. It was a deep, gravelly, smoker's laugh. To Sarah it was like nails on a chalkboard. It made her skin crawl.

Marcus bent over and picked up a rock of his own from near his feet. He had stopped laughing; his wicked grin faded into a taut thin line across his sallow face.

"Guess whose turn it is now, princess?" His stare narrowed and his eyes met Sarah's. She could see the malice in his eyes. He hated her as much as she hated him.

Sarah stood her ground. She was breathing heavily, and she could feel her pulse pounding in her head. She clenched her fists until her fingernails dug into her palms. She could feel her arms tremble.

Suddenly, there was loud rumble and several things happened at once. Deep cracks began to spread from the edges around a manhole that was between Sarah and Marcus. The cracks spread across the ground and up the sides of both buildings in the alleyway. Water burst from the manhole, sending its enormous cover twenty feet into the air. The heavy steel lid came crashing down near Marcus. The cracks in the walls sprayed water through the crevices, and the sounds of pipes bursting and buckling behind the walls rang out.

Marcus fell to the ground, his eyes wide and face pale. "Earthquake!" he cried out. He got up and began to run.

Sarah could barely see him as he ran farther down the alleyway. She could feel the ground shake beneath her. She stumbled and fell to the ground, landing on her side. Water rained down on her, and bricks fell from the sides of both buildings onto the street. She let out a loud scream.

Quickly, she got to her feet, turned, and began running as fast as she could toward school. She didn't stop for her backpack or the traffic light at the end of the alleyway. Latecomers who were gathering across the street parted as a drenched girl ran past them, terrified. Sarah ran to the back of the campus toward the gymnasium. She didn't stop running until she reached the back door. Quickly, she opened the door and closed it behind her. She looked down the hallway. No one was there. Everyone was in class. Sarah turned around, looking through the two small windows of the door. Fire trucks had pulled up next to the alleyway.

She leaned her dripping head against the door and tried to catch her breath. Her body was still trembling.

What in the world did I just do?
CHAPTER 5

When first period rolled around Sam was beginning to feel a little optimistic about the last day of eighth grade. But before long the optimism vanished. His first class was gym, a class that he did not excel in at all.

Coach Pillars was a tall, rather portly, balding man. He had the brilliant idea of playing dodgeball for the last day of the year. Sam hated the idea. Having balls thrown at his head at light speed did not sound like fun to him.

Like always, Sam was chosen last, next to David Johnson, who had broken his leg about six months ago and still had a limp. And, like always, he was the first person to get out. This time it was Mark Preston, ex-football player, who threw the ball from the opposite end of the gym, and smacked Sam in the chest. The sheer force of the impact took Sam off his feet. Next to get out was David; he took a ball to the face.

When class ended Sam made his way into the locker room to find his locker door wide open. His deodorant, towel, pants, and shower gel were all on the floor. But there was no shirt. His vintage 1976 KISS Destroyer t-shirt was gone. Sam began to panic. He got that shirt for Christmas last year from his mother, and there was no telling how much she spent on it. It was his favorite t-shirt!

Sam looked to the two remaining people in the locker room, David Johnson and Steve Allen.

"Hey, did either of you see who did this? My shirt is gone!"

David, who had been hit in the head eight times out of the nine games they played, was sitting on one of the locker room benches with his face in his hands.

"I can't see my hands, Sam, much less anything else," he said.

Steve shut his locker and said as he walked by, "Just so you know—it wasn't me, but if I were you, I would start with the toilet stalls." Then he smiled and left the room.

"What? Noooo!" Sam cried in disbelief. He ran to the first stall and kicked the door open. There was no shirt. Sam continued to kick open each door one after another until he came to last stall. There he saw his vintage KISS t-shirt on the edge of the toilet. To his relief it was not in the water. But as he stepped closer it became all too clear. The vintage t-shirt had been torn into three separate pieces, two of which were floating in the used toiled bowel.

Sam's heart sank. He loved that shirt, and now it was gone forever. How in the world was he going to explain this to his mother?

After putting on his pants, he threw the remains of his locker in the garbage. Sam was not taking any chances; there was no telling what the perpetrator had done to those things. He quickly made his way to the school office. He felt ridiculous walking through the hallway wearing his sweaty gray t-shirt from gym class. But that was far better than the t-shirt he found in the lost-and-found. Since it was the last day of school, there were only two shirts left—one red, one pink. Sam chose the red. As fate would have it, the t-shirt had white letters that said, "I See Ninjas!" in bold across the front.

He tried to talk the principal into letting him go home early or wearing his gym shirt the rest of the day. Both ideas were shot down. The gym shirt was school-issued and needed to be turned in that day. Leaving early was not an option, not without written permission or a phone call from a parent, or having his mother pick him up at school. All of which were never going to happen. The last thing Sam wanted to do was tell his mother about his KISS t-shirt lying in several pieces at the bottom of a toilet.

Unfortunately, gym would be the highlight of his day. School seemed to drag on. Thank God it's the last day, Sam thought.

He made it through the rest of the morning unscathed. By lunch time he was starving. As he approached his locker with his stomach growling, Sam recalled the first thing Travis had said to him that morning: "Hey, your mom said pack a lunch". He never had.

Sam slowly stopped walking, took in a deep breath and told himself, Just breathe, Sam, just breathe. He turned and grudgingly walked back in the direction of the lunch room.

He only had fifty cents to his name, so he got a carton of milk for lunch. It would have to hold him over till he got home, if he made it that long without starving to death. He spent the entire lunch hour waiting for Travis, but Travis never showed up. He had gym right before lunch. Travis was always late, but he never missed lunch. Sam knew that was not a good sign.

When the school bell finally rang at the end of last period Sam had to contain himself from bolting through the doors and screaming out FREEDOM AT LAST!

Kids ran from all corners of the building. They looked like ants leaving their hill. Sam, who was feeling extremely self-conscious in his new adopted wardrobe, waited patiently for Travis in front of the school. Like always, Travis was late. Finally, after about twenty minutes or so, he surfaced. At first, Sam did not recognize him. His head was hanging low, and he was wearing a different shirt too.

As Travis came closer what had happened became all too clear. Sam could feel his blood pressure starting to skyrocket as he stared at Travis, appalled. The sheer humility Travis wore on his face spoke volumes as he weaved through the crowd of kids who were laughing at him.

"You have got to be kidding me!" Sam said through gritted teeth.

The shirt Travis wore was bright pink with large, bold black letters that said, "I Don't Skinny Dip, I Chunky Dip."

"What happened to your shirt?" Sam asked quietly, trying desperately not to draw any more attention to them than necessary.

"Someone stole it in gym!" Travis replied, defeated and embarrassed. "Hey, what happened to yours?"

"Don't ask!" Sam replied. "Let's go and find a rock to crawl under."

They both turned in time to see Daniel Harris, the school prankster, walk by with his group of knuckle-draggers.

"Aw, look at the twins! Did you fish that out of the toilet too?" he yelled pointing at Travis. They all laughed and pointed in Sam's and Travis's direction while climbing into Daniel's SUV.

Suddenly, it all made sense. Daniel was in Travis's gym class, and Billy, Bobby, Timmy, and Todd were in Sam's. Sam's and Travis's numbers had finally come up. Daniel and his group of idiots had been the ones to take their shirts. They had pulled one last prank before school ended, and Sam and Travis had been the victims.

"Can this day get any worse?" Sam moaned as he turned and walked toward home.

"Hey, I kind of like your shirt," Travis said.

"Figures," Sam replied.

The walk home was less than thrilling. Travis rambled on about Star Wars.

"You know I love the movie but come on! First you try to save the princess, then you kiss her, then you find out she's your sister! I don't know about you, but I'm thinking I would have shot myself in the face with a blaster!"

Sam paid no attention to Travis's ramblings, except for the part about Travis sucking Jell-O off Paul Axtell's plate. Apparently Travis took a late lunch after acquiring a new shirt. He went with the detention group. They always took the late lunch to keep them separated from the rest of the student body as part of their punishment.

"So, I ask him, 'Can I have your Jell-O?' He says, 'No.' So I put my finger in it. He said, 'I don't care what you do to it, Travis, I'm going to eat my Jell-O.' So I look around to make sure there were no teachers standing by. Then I leaned over and sucked it right off his plate!" Travis laughed, "You should have seen his face!"

Sam laughed too. He found that entertaining in a strange kind of way, mostly because Paul deserved it. Paul was always putting his finger in people's food at lunch.

It was starting to get cloudy. Things cooled off as a light breeze blew in from the north. The weatherman had talked about rain for days, and it looked like he was going to be right for a change. They needed the rain.

Sam had waited all day to ask Travis about the chocolate wrapper he had found last night. He was sure it wasn't from around here. But, one more opinion wouldn't hurt, he thought.

"Hey, Trav, you ever heard of Becker's Famous Chocolates?" he asked in his best nonchalant voice.

"Becker's?"

"Yeah, take a look at this." Sam dug into his pocket, pulled out the now crumpled piece of white and red paper and gave it Travis.

Travis took the wrapper and smoothed it out with his fingers, then brought it to his nose and inhaled, as if to smell the bouquet of a fine wine.

"Hmmm, it's a dark chocolate ... maybe extra-dark." Travis took the wrapper away from his nose and repeated the process.

"It's expensive cocoa butter too, not that stuff flavored with cheap sugar, vegetable fat, or powdered milk."

Sam was amazed. Travis may be a social outcast in eighth grade, but he was definitely the man when it came to chocolate.

"Becker's huh? No, never heard of it. Where's it made?" he asked as a look of curiosity set in.

He turned the wrapper over and read aloud the fine print on its back.

Becker's Famous Chocolates

Hatter's Cove Rd., Swan's Cove

Ingredients: Family Secret

Sam hadn't thought about the back of the wrapper. He had been too caught up with who it belonged to that he simply hadn't thought of it.

"Um, I don't think it's from around here. I mean, you can't get away with just saying "Family Secret" for the ingredients. Maybe it's from overseas or something," Travis said as he twisted the paper back and forth, examining it more closely.

Sam was more puzzled than before. "Yeah, but where is Swan's Cove, and why isn't there a state or country listed?"

"You got me. I don't have a clue," Travis said, handing the wrapper back to Sam.

Sam was bursting at the seams to tell him everything, but that wasn't going to happen. How could he tell Travis something he wasn't sure he understood himself? No, it was best to wait until he could think it over and figure it out on his own.

It wasn't long before Travis had changed the subject and began to ramble on about something Sam had no interest in. Sam, however, was still too focused on the stranger and the chocolate from nowhere to think about anything else.
CHAPTER 6

It began to sprinkle as they finally arrived at Sam's house. Travis was still rambling as Sam headed for the rosebushes, like always. Every day the paper guy would throw the newspaper into the rosebush, so it was a real chore to try to get it out. Sam was pretty sure the paper guy did it on purpose to get back at Sam's mother for turning him down when he offered to take her out on a date.

The bushes were full of small thorns that looked like tiny shark fins protruding from the branches. Some of the areas were covered with spider webs, which was unusual since the roses were supposed to be insect-free. It was the reason his mother had planted them to begin with.

Sam grabbed a broken branch from the ground below and tore a hole in the spider web, big enough to reach through and grab the paper. As he brought the stick back through the hole, he noticed a large black and green spider attached to the end of it.

It was the same type of spider Travis had been playing with this morning. Upon closer inspection, Sam could see six red eyes arranged into three pairs that formed a semicircle on the front of its pea-size head. Its segmented body was branded with three green stripes and a small circle near its head.

Sam quickly threw the stick out onto the road, then scanned himself and the rosebush to make sure there were no other spiders hiding anywhere.

He stared into the prickly bush. It would take his complete concentration if he was going to stick his arm into the rosebush and pull the newspaper out with any skin left on his arm. One false move meant pain, and lots of it. Sam knelt down in front of the bushes and slowly placed his hand through the destroyed web and into the tangled array of stems and thorns toward the rolled up paper.

"So, what do you think?" Travis said with a hint of enthusiasm.

"Think about what?" Sam was half-listening as he weaved his hand up and down through the maze of stems.

"About going to the caves tonight. It's Friday night, we're out of school and we have nothing else to do."

"Um, I don't know Trav, OUCH!" Sam nicked himself on the top part of his hand. "That's one," he mumbled to himself. If he could get out of the bushes with less than three cuts he would break his own record.

"What, like you got some big plans or something?"

"No, it's just been a long ... OUCH ... week, that's all, and I'm kind of tired ... GOT YOU!" Sam had the paper in his hand. He had done it, now he was ready to make his exit.

"What are you like eighty? You sound like my grandpa!"

"Whatever, Trav, it's just been one thing after another, and now I'm digging in a rosebush wearing a t-shirt that says 'I See Ninjas.' I mean, do I need to really push my luck?"

Sarah was rounding the corner of Giddyup Lane when she noticed her brother and Travis by the rosebushes. The day had gone by so fast that she barely had enough time to dwell on what had happened this morning with Marcus Snider. But she was dwelling on it now.

Had she caused all of that to happen this morning? Did her anger cause the pipes to break and the water to burst from the ground? Sarah sighed; there was no point in denying it any longer. If she did, she would only be lying to herself. When she got mad, bad things happened, and when they did it usually involved—

Sarah stopped in her tracks. She felt her skin crawl with sudden awareness. It usually involved water. Her mind raced back to the glass on the kitchen counter—it was filled with water. The pipes in the walls of the building were filled with water. The manhole cover had flown into the air because of the water underneath the ground.

Every single time within the last month that there had been a strange event, two things had always been present—her anger and water. Was it just a coincidence or were the two related?

Sarah started to walk again in a daze, her mind quickly sifting through the details of the events. This was so incomprehensible that she could barely wrap her mind around it.

Before she realized it, she was standing just a few feet away from Travis and her brother. Sarah straightened her back. She could not show that anything unusual had happened. It was a good thing that she had run into the gymnasium locker room this morning where she dried her clothes and put herself back together.

She would need to keep this a secret until she figured it all out. She would need to act as if nothing bizarre had happened today. She wouldn't say a word about almost destroying the corner bakery and sporting goods store, almost killing Marcus and herself with a manhole cover, or the fight with loser Barry. No, she would keep it all inside like she always did. No one could be trusted with this.

Sarah took a deep breath and pulled herself together. Act like you always do, she told herself. She watched as Travis and Sam continued their conversation, unaware of her presence. Sarah began to grin as a thought entered her mind. Act like you always do.

The boys were so caught up in their own conversation that they never saw Sarah sneak up behind them. She moved closer, creeping up to Travis until she was only inches away.

His mouth was still moving ninety to nothing. His bad aftershave was almost unbearable but she stayed focused. She stood there calmly and took another deep breath and as loud as she could screamed out,

"MORONS!"

Travis jumped forward, screaming at the top of his lungs like a frightened school girl, and knocked Sam, who had almost gotten the paper out, face-first into the rosebushes. He let out a scream of his own as the thorns slashed across his forearms and face.

"What in the world?" he cried, whipping his head around to see what was going on.

Sarah stood in front of them, red-faced with her hands over her mouth.

"Have you lost your freaking mind?" Sam screamed back at her.

Sarah tried to apologize between sudden bursts of laughter.

"Oh my god, that was so funny! Sam, I promise I had no idea Travis was going to scream like that and kick you into the roses!"

Sam was not amused in the least; he was mad. He was hurt, and today had been, without question, one of the worst days of his life.

He stood up slowly. His arms and face were bleeding from the scratches and tiny thorns that had lodged in his skin. He felt defeated. He stared down at the newspaper that he had dropped. It looked seemingly untouched in the middle of the twisted chaos they called a rosebush.

Sarah tried to conceal her laughter with her hands, but she still snickered under her breath as she tried to keep her composure. Travis stood with his hand on his chest as if he were about to pass out.

"I said I was sorry," Sarah said still laughing.

"Shut up, Sarah, and leave me alone!" Sam shouted and turned toward the house.

"Hey where are you going?" Travis panted, "Are we not going to the caves?"

Sam slowly climbed the stairs of the front porch with his head hung low. He turned and looked back at Travis.

"Not tonight, Travis. Go home."
CHAPTER 7

Rain began to fall in earnest at about eight o'clock that night. The tiny raindrops beaded up on Sam's bedroom window and shimmered in the moonlight before streaking down like silver ribbons onto the wooden ledge. The street light down below flickered on and off as it always did.

Sam lay on his bed with the lights off, staring at the ceiling and contemplating revenge on his stupid sister. He also thought of adding Daniel Harris to his mental list of paybacks for ruining his favorite t-shirt and leaving him with that loser of a garment he had to wear home.

Sam sat up in his bed and stared at the small puddle that was starting to form on his windowsill. The lightning cracked, and thunder rumbled, followed by another bright flash that streaked across the sky. It was a good thing he didn't go to the caves, he thought. He could see himself getting trapped there with Travis until the whole storm had passed.

Sam forced himself to stand up and grab the bath towel that was draped over his desk chair. The leak from his window was now dripping onto the floor. He carefully folded the towel and placed it snugly under the edge of the windowsill.

Lightning struck again. The street light below popped; sparks of electricity flew into the air like fireworks, then slowly fell to the ground.

In that moment, Sam thought he saw someone standing next to the light post. He waited, but it was too dark. His eyes were still trying to adjust from the sudden flash of light. Was it the stranger from before? He couldn't be sure.

Suddenly, lightning flashed again, and Sam saw him. The dark figure stood next to the street light in his long coat, holding his staff, looking up at Sam.

Thunder roared, and it was dark once more. Sam quickly rubbed his eyes, trying hard to focus as the lightning struck again, blinding him momentarily. He searched frantically through the spots of green and blue floating in front of him, but the stranger was gone, vanished into thin air.

Then a small click echoed from behind him, and the light in his bedroom switched on. Sam whirled around to see his mother standing in his doorway.

She had her long brown hair pulled in a tight pony tail that draped across her right shoulder. Her light blue eyes were trapped behind a pair of thin reading glasses. She was wearing a light pink robe and house-shoes.

"Mom, turn off the light!" Sam whispered, worried that the stranger could see him now. Alisa Dalcome turned off the light and stood there in the doorway. Her silhouette stretched across the wooden floor.

"Shut the door, something's out there!" Sam whispered.

"What? What on Earth are you talking about?" Mrs. Dalcome asked as she closed the door to his room. The lightning flickered again. Mrs. Dalcome scuffled across the cluttered floor, trying to reach Sam.

"Mom, I swear there's someone out there!"

"Don't swear. You know I hate that! Now see there, you made me say hate! I don't like that word either!" His mother could be a bit old-fashioned at times, Sam thought. Words such as swear, hate, and liar were off-limits in the Dalcome household. Mrs. Dalcome thought there were better ways, nicer ways, to get your point across.

"Why are you whispering?" she asked.

"Mom, shhhhhhh!" Sam said, trying desperately to see any sign of the man outside.

"Sam, you need to clean this room. You can't even walk in here!" she said, not bothering at all to whisper.

Sam wasn't listening to a word she said; the stranger was out there, he was sure of it. He may have vanished from sight, but that didn't mean he was gone.

Mrs. Dalcome finally made it to the window; she grasped one corner of the windowsill and placed her other hand on Sam, trying to keep her footing amidst the piles of clothes. She reluctantly leaned toward the window, scanning the front yard and the street below.

"Oh, Sam, I don't see a thing."

"I'm telling you. I saw something!"

"Well, if you did, it's gone now."

Sam was starting to get frustrated with her. "It wasn't an it, it was a man!" he said in a bitter voice.

"Don't talk to me that way, Samuel!" she snapped back.

Sam didn't say anything for a moment. He continued to stare out the bedroom window. It wasn't worth it, he thought to himself. The stranger was gone, again.

The whole day had gone horribly wrong, as far as he was concerned, and now he had no patience left to tell his mother the entire story, even if he wanted to. He was mad, frustrated, and too tired to argue.

"I'm sorry," Sam said, defeated. He hadn't meant to take it out on her; she was the only one in the room.

Mrs. Dalcome looked down at Sam. His eyebrows furrowed as he stared solemnly at a star in the distance. There was clearly something bothering him. Something more than whatever he had, or hadn't, seen outside. She reached over to his desk, pushing aside the magazines that covered the switch on the base of the lamp, and turned it on.

The light was dim, but it seemed bright after the two of them had stood in the dark for so long. Mrs. Dalcome grabbed Sam's hand and sat on his bed, pulling him down with her. Sam sat next to her, holding her hand and staring at the floor.

"What is it Sam, what's wrong with you?"

Sam didn't say anything at first. How could he make her understand that there was nothing she could do? He couldn't say anything more about the stranger without sounding like a nut case. As for Sarah, there was no way his mother was going to trade her in for a really cool brother, or even give her a good smack upside the head. Which she deserves, Sam thought. No, today started out bad and had just gotten worse, and it wasn't his mother's fault. He was smart enough to know that.

"I can't help you if you won't talk to me, Sam," she said, patting him on the hand.

"I don't know, Mom. It's everything," Sam said, looking down at the cluttered floor.

She wrapped her arm around him and gave him a gentle squeeze. "What's everything?"

"I don't know ... like everything ... like I hate Sarah ..."

"Saaam," she said in that tone she used when hate came up.

"Okay, I don't hate her, but I really, really, really dislike her!" Mrs. Dalcome tried her best not to smile.

"Sam, she loves you."

Sam couldn't believe she was going to take Sarah's side on this. Sarah was the meanest person he knew, except for Daniel Harris, and he did hate Daniel Harris. "No she doesn't, Mom. She's mean, and it's not just her. It's school, it's here, it's my whole life!"

Mrs. Dalcome removed her hand from his shoulder and gently clutched his chin, forcing him to look into her eyes.

"Sam, look at me. I know it's hard being thirteen. It's not an easy age for anyone; it wasn't for me, your Dad, not even for Sarah. But it will pass, and things will get better. I know that's hard to hear now, but it's true."

It was hard to hear now because it didn't fix anything. Sam was still empty on the inside, ordinary, and well, let's face it, heading nowhere.

"I just feel alone sometimes. It's hard to explain." He could feel himself getting irritated. He didn't want to talk about this anymore.

"Well, you're not alone. I'm here. I have always been here, and I don't think that's going to change, do you?" she said with a soft smile. She released his chin and placed her hand on his back again.

"That's not what I'm talking about, not alone ... alone. I mean like ..." He paused for a moment; he could not find the words. Where were the words? Why were the words not there to explain the emptiness he was feeling? Now he just sounded like a bumbling idiot.

"Oh, never mind ..." he said, discouraged. Why did he even bother to speak? The words never came out right anyway.

"Is it something at school? Did you and Sarah have a fight? Was it—"

"It's all of those things, Mom, and more! I hate school, I hate Sarah, and I hate where we live! It's just all wrong, it just feels all wrong! I just wish Dad was here!"

Sam heard the words come out, but it was too late to stop them. He didn't mean it but there they were, out there where he could never take them back.

He looked in his mother's eyes; he could tell he had hurt her feelings. She let her arm slide down across his back and slowly stood up. She stepped over the piles of clothes, books, and video games until she reached the doorway. Sam's eyes followed her every inch of the way. She opened the door, walked out into the hallway and turned back, reaching back to grab the door knob. Sam saw her eyes were full of tears as she cleared her throat.

"I'm sorry you feel that way Samuel, but I am trying, and for the record, we all love you." She turned away as tears started to roll down her cheek and gently closed the door behind her.

Sam sat on the edge of his bed staring at the back of the door in silence. The rain had stopped, and the storm had passed, but the frustration lingered.

In one day he had managed to hurt his mother's feelings and make Travis mad for not going to the caves with him. Not to mention that Sarah hated him, he was cut from head to toe from the attack of the rosebushes, and there was a vanishing stranger stalking him.

No matter how you looked at it, this was a bad ending to a very bad day.
CHAPTER 8

The sound of rumbling lawn mowers and weed eaters started early Saturday mornings on Giddyup Lane. Most of the neighbors tried to get their lawn work out of the way before the heat and humidity set in, which occurred about mid-day. This Saturday was no different. Sam listened as he lay motionless in his comfortable bed, staring up at his dragon posters. He was tired; he had stayed up until three o'clock in the morning, riddled with guilt for making his mom cry. He had spent the time cleaning his room. He felt that was the least he could do.

His clothes sat in eight neat piles on the floor. His shoes, video games, controllers, books, and magazines were all painstakingly organized in his closet. His computer sat neatly on its desk with the words UPDATES AVAILABLE flashing in the lower right corner. He had removed mugs and drinking glasses from the top of his dresser. Only the family Christmas picture that they had taken when he was five remained. Sarah and his mother had the same short haircut, and Sam was wearing that ridiculous blue and white snowman sweater.

Sam glanced up at his alarm clock. It was ten o'clock, and the smell of bacon was wafting through the air from the vents above. He could hear the sounds of pots and pans banging around down below. If Mom's fixing breakfast maybe she wasn't that upset after all, Sam thought.

He rustled out of bed and grabbed a pair of tan shorts and a blue t-shirt from the organized pile of clothes. He opened his door, turned back, and grabbed the largest pile of laundry he could carry. The robust smell of bacon quickly turned into the smell of something burning as he made his way downstairs. The bottom floor was one big cloud of smoke. Through the smoke Sam could see Sarah running around frantically trying to open the kitchen windows.

"What are you doing?" Sam asked with a puzzled look as he held his large pile of clothes with both arms.

Sarah stopped in her tracks, awestruck by the sight of Sam attempting to do laundry.

"What are you doing?" she asked with a chuckle.

"I'm doing laundry, but I could help you burn the house down instead."

"Funny. I was trying to cook you something," she said through gritted teeth while trying to pry open the stuck kitchen window.

Sam placed the large pile of clothes on the floor in front of the washing machine. He walked over to the stove, turned it off, and moved the pan with the burnt bacon to another burner. Then, without missing a step, he went to the stuck window that Sarah had been working on and gave it a hard yank. The window flew open and Barron jumped inside.

"Out, Barron!" Sarah commanded.

Barron stood there staring at Sarah as if she were crazy, like most cats do when humans talk to them. Sam went back over to the stove and grabbed the pan with the charred bacon. He walked back to the window and threw it out. Barron followed, jumping back out the window to pounce on her crispy treat.

"Hey, that was ours!" Sarah said, looking out the window.

"Really? Were you going to eat that, 'cause I wasn't," Sam replied in a matter-of-fact way.

"See if I ever make you breakfast again!"

"Yeah, what's with that? Where's Mom?" Sam asked, heading back over to the large pile of clothes.

"This was her Saturday to work. She took another double at the diner, I guess."

Sam felt worse now; he had really wanted to tell her he was sorry first thing this morning.

"She looked like she was kind of worried or upset maybe. Did you guys fight?"

Of course Sarah would naturally blame Sam for Mom's mood, even if it was true.

"Um, no. Why does it always have to be my fault?" he snapped back.

"I didn't say it was your fault, big hair! I was simply asking! Wow, grouchy much? By the way, when did you start doing laundry? Do I need to call CNN?"

Sam didn't say a word as he angrily shoved his clothes into the washer. He kept telling himself to calm down and not to say a word.

"By the way, that dork Travis called three times already—once while I was sleeping and two other times to see if you were awake yet. He said you didn't answer your cell phone. Really, Sam, why have a cell phone if you never turn it on? Anyway, in the future, can you tell your boyfriend not to call before twelve o'clock? I would appreciate it! I mean can't that guy take a hint? Oh, I can't get a hold of Sam, so let's blow up every single phone in his house!"

Sam felt his blood starting to boil, and his scratches from the rosebush were starting to itch. He was in a bad mood already. He hadn't gotten much sleep, he had hurt his mother's feelings, and he hadn't gotten a chance to apologize before she left for work. And now, Sarah wanted to chastise him about Travis. She never stops, he thought to himself. She just goes on and on and on.

"I mean, some of us need our beauty sleep," she continued. "Not that either of you would know anything about that. But I need it!"

That was the last straw. Sam couldn't take it anymore. Mom was wrong; this she-devil was incapable of loving anyone other than herself, and he was going to let her know!

"Shut up, will you!" Sam said, turning around to face her. "Why do you always have to go on and on? You're so mean to everyone! Travis has never done a thing to you but like you! But you're horrible to him, you're horrible to me, you're horrible to everyone you come in contact with! So please, just for one day ... just one ... SHUT UP!"

Silence filled the room, snuffing out even the most infinitesimal pocket of sound. You could hear a pin drop from three blocks over. Barron poked his head up from the porch, eyes wide, and then quickly ducked back down to safety. The air became so thick with tension that it would take a chainsaw to cut through it.

But it was worth it, Sam thought. He had carried that around for so long. It felt like a fifty-pound boulder had just rolled off his back.

Sarah stood there in shock. Her mouth was open, and for the first time in her life she was speechless. The first sound Sam heard again was the birds chirping in the background, followed by lawn mowers humming in the distance.

Sam stood there staring at her. He was breathing hard; his ears were red, his nostrils flared, and his crazy bed head hair was standing at attention.

Finally, Sarah gathered her composure. Tears welled in her eyes. She brushed a single strand of hair around her ear and said softly, "I made you breakfast ..." She wiped the tear from her cheek and walked slowly from the kitchen.

Sam didn't say a word as he watched her walk away. She had never walked away before. She had always fought back. Sarah never got her feelings hurt, never. But he couldn't be blamed; he didn't know she had any feelings. Sam could feel something growing in the pit of his stomach. Was that remorse? Did he feel bad for saying what his sister had coming to her? But that wasn't fair; he shouldn't be the one to feel bad. No, it should be Sarah; she had it coming. Didn't she? All of a sudden the lines were blurred. Things were not as clear as they once were.

Sam walked to the table and sat down. He stared at the plate she had set out for him, and the glass of water that had a long crack in it from top to bottom. Sam was bemused; he had never been in this position with Sarah before.

He had single-handedly managed to make another woman cry in the Dalcome household, and he hadn't even been awake for thirty minutes. Surely that must be some kind of record, he thought sadly. Deep down he was starting to think that this day may not turn out any better than yesterday.

By that afternoon Sam had officially finished five loads of laundry, folded, and hung them all. His room was clean and dusted. It didn't smell bad either, because he had doused the room in one of his mother's air fresheners, something called Mountain Mist.

Travis had called four times while Sam was doing laundry, and he had finally convinced Sam to go to the caves with him later that evening.

It was six o'clock when Travis arrived, knocking on the door. You could tell it was him because of his annoying Twentieth Century Fox drum roll knock. It was similar to the one at the beginning of Star Wars.

Sarah answered it before Sam could reach the door. Sam waited behind her, expecting some snide remark to come flying out of her mouth. But what she said instead left him speechless.

"Oh, hi Trav, how are you?" She backed away and opened the door to invite him in.

Travis stood there, dumfounded. He didn't say a word. His mouth hung open like he wanted to say something, but he was evidently in shock.

In the all the years that Sam and Travis had known each other, Sarah had never once spoken to Travis that kindly. Never. It was almost like he mattered to her, almost.

Sarah turned and casually strolled from the doorway, as if nothing extraordinary had just happened. Sam and Travis both watched her walk off around the corner into the living room.

There was no way this was the same girl from this morning, Sam thought. Was she acting hurt? She was up to something; Sam's spider senses were doing more than just tingling. They were screaming RED ALERT!

Sam looked at Travis. His mouth was still open. "Um, so are you coming in?" he asked.

"What? Oh yeah, I uh ... what just happened?" Travis asked with his head tilted a little to the left, like dogs do when they're trying to figure something out. "I mean, you saw that, right? I didn't imagine that, did I?"

Sam turned and looked back into the house, then back at Travis. Did she mean what she had said, or was she simply trying to prove that she could be nice if she wanted to?

She was evil that way. Sarah always had a reason for doing something, and it was usually at Sam's expense. Whatever, it had happened; regardless of what it was, it had happened. Sam waved Travis in, and the two made their way through the living room and into the kitchen.

"So, what did you end up doing last night?" Travis asked, as he sifted through the refrigerator.

"Nothing, really. I cleaned my room and went to bed early," Sam replied, not wanting to relive the whole "I can't find the words, wish dad was here" disaster.

Travis grabbed a water bottle from the fridge, twisted off the cap, and took a large gulping drink. After three more gulps he put the bottle down. With water dripping from his chin he suddenly realized what Sam had said.

"What, you cleaned your room?" he asked. Travis thought for a moment—you could see the wheels turning in his head. "Yeah right, here pull the other one," he said, sticking out his leg.

"I'm serious, I did," Sam said.

"Really, wow, well, that I didn't see coming. Did you get in trouble or something?"

"No, I just felt like cleaning it. What's the big deal?" Sam said defensively.

"Well it's just that I've never seen your room clean since ... well since ... never."

"Well whatever, it's clean now," Sam said sharply.

"Can I see it?"

"Um, no, you said you wanted to go to the caves, so let's go."

"Okay, okay, let's go!"

Travis finished the rest of his water with three giant gulps and slammed the bottle down on the counter top.

Sam, who had already turned to walk off, quickly turned back around, annoyed.

"What are you doing?"

"You got spiders!" Travis said holding the bottle firmly on top of a splattered bug.

Sam walked back to take a look at the spider and saw the same green marks on it that the previous spiders had. He made a mental note to tell his mom about it, not to mention he still owed her a huge apology for last night.

Sam cleaned off the bug guts from the counter and headed for the front door. Before they left he called up the stairs to Sarah.

"Sarah, we're going to the caves. Tell Mom we'll be back later."

Seconds later, Sarah's voice answered back in a surreal, yet oddly friendly voice.

"Okay, have fun! Bye, Travis."

Travis looked at Sam with the same "What is going on?" look from earlier.

Sam shrugged and gave him a look as if to say she was crazy. She's evil and diabolical, he thought. If she thought for a moment that he was dumb enough to believe this bizarre and somewhat childish act, she had another thing coming.

"Let's go," he said gruffly.

"Uh, bye Sarah ... See you later!" Travis hollered back.
CHAPTER 9

The breeze felt good on Sam's face; the rain had cooled things off so it actually felt quite nice now. The sky was clear, and the birds chirped as they flew by. It was a great day to go to the caves.

They talked about several things on their way, first was about a guy named Kane who had joined Travis's online Halo team.

"Sam, this guy lives in the Hamptons and is crazy good with a sniper rifle. He can run, jump, and shoot with that thing. I'm telling you, he gets a bull's-eye every time. He's gonna be a great addition to the team."

Then Travis talked about his grandparents. Travis had lived with his grandparents for about nine years now. His parents had died in a car wreck when he was four, so he had been staying with his grandparents ever since.

"It's like they forget things all the time, Sam. Grandma is worse than Grandpa. I'm constantly reminding her to take her medication. She has one of those little pill boxes with the days of the week on it. But that doesn't help because she can't remember where she put the box."

Sam nodded, not sure what to say exactly. You couldn't tell by the tone of Travis's voice, but the gloom in his eyes betrayed him. He was worried.

"Sometimes it's so bad I have to remind her what day of the week it is. My grandfather, on the other hand—well, his back is getting worse. He barely gets around now."

Sam nodded.

Sam and Travis had an unspoken, common bond between them. They had both lost parents that they missed dearly. But at least Travis could vaguely remember his. Sam never knew his father; he didn't even have a picture. He didn't know which was worse—knowing your parents and losing them or never knowing them at all.

Since they had both lost their parents at such a young age, Sam and Travis had not suffered through the normal stages of grief. There was no period of accepting the loss or working through the physical and emotional pain associated with grief. There was no adjusting to living in a world without their parents. They just simply moved on with their lives.

But it was that very notion of "moving on" that bothered Sam the most. He felt cheated, deprived of what could have been. Sam didn't want to just move on. He wanted his father. He wanted all the memories children are supposed to have growing up. He wanted to share a peanut butter sandwich with his dad and to hear stories at bedtime. He wanted to build the perfect snowman and take summer trips into town for a snow cone. He wanted that life, not the one he had now.

Sam and Travis crossed the main street from Giddyup Lane onto Roundtree Drive, which was a much newer subdivision. The street had a nice slope to it, perfect for skateboarding. Roundtree Drive ended in a huge cul-de-sac where many kickball tournaments had been played when the boys were younger. Even though they were always picked last—Sam because he couldn't kick the ball that far, and Travis, well, because he was Travis—they always had fun. The cross street in front of the cul-de-sac was Quail Creek Drive, which dead-ended into a large field and the Saginaw Quarry, better known as The Caves.

Sam and Travis made their way beyond the beautiful, manicured lawns and overgrown gardens to the open fields behind the development to the quarry.

The mounds of rock looked like pyramids from a distance. Most of the caves were formed by dynamite years ago. Explosives had been used to loosen the ground and harvest rocks. The caves were off-limits to everyone due to cave-ins, but that did not bother Travis or Sam. They had been coming here for years now and had never seen any kind of cave-in. They figured it was just something the city said to warn off curious and unsupervised adolescents.

They maneuvered around the organized heaps of rock until they reached the back of the quarry. The cave entrance was nestled behind nine large oak trees and camouflaged by overgrown weeds and wild juniper.

Sam and Travis loved the caves. It was their sanctuary, their Fortress of Solitude. Travis called it his Yavin, which was a planet from Star Wars, of course. Sam liked it because it was a place of refuge, a retreat from the daily stressful surroundings, like the stranger in black, Sarah, and Daniel Harris. There were no rules in the cave. It was a place where other people's standards of cleanliness were not observed. Sam could spill a coke in the cave or leave a sandwich overnight, and no one cared. It was their way of creating some space and freedom that they so badly needed. Sam often thought it must be similar to living in a frat house or a college dorm room, where they could come and go as if they owned the place. Where you didn't have to be on your best behavior, and there were no evil older sisters to make fun of you or make you feel like pond scum. It was a place where you could just be yourself, and it was perfectly acceptable.

The opening to the caves was located at the back end of the quarry. It was surrounded by large trees with fluted trunks that leaned to one side. Sam followed Travis around the attractive, miniature shrubs that were gathered at the base of the trees. Clusters of colorful, berry-like drupes clung to the bushes. The entrance to the cave was nothing more than a hole in the ground that stretched at least five feet across. There were flat pieces of tan limestone placed in a circle around the hole. The opening resembled a large sunflower with faded petals.

Travis was the first to hop down into the cave and disappear from sight; Sam quickly followed. They were standing on the first ledge. Together they looked down into the ominous void; it was a vast sea of darkness. The canopy of tree branches let in very little light. Sam thought this would scare most people who had never been here before. It had scared him at first. Years ago, when they had discovered the opening, they debated and dared one another for hours as to who would go down first. Finally, Sam had agreed to go. Travis had followed shortly after, and they had been coming back every month since then.

Inside the cave the light was dim; they could barely see one another now. Travis sat down on the ground next to Sam, who was still standing, and shuffled himself to the edge of the next drop-off which was about four feet down. He dangled his feet into the darkness, then rolled down on his side and stomach, sliding his body over the edge.

Sam watched and then did the same. By the time Sam had reached the ground, Travis had grabbed an old candle lantern and opened the top to light the three candles inside. Travis had borrowed the lantern from his grandfather long ago, and it had stayed in the caves ever since.

Travis removed a box of matches from his pocket, took out a match and struck it on the cave wall. The match burst into flame, casting shadows that danced around the cave. He lit each candle, shut the lid, and handed the lantern to Sam. Sam breathed in the familiar smell of dank cave air. It was rich with earthy sediments from the rock and dirt around them. The temperature was much cooler, and the air was more damp than outside.

He held up the lantern to survey their surroundings. The narrow vein serving as the main pathway stretched on in front of the two boys before it curved off to the right and gradually disappeared into the darkness. The cave walls were made of jagged, gray and tan stone with thick limestone layers that traveled vertically the length of the tunnel. With the candlelight flickering, causing numerous shadows to move around the cave walls, Sam almost missed it. To his surprise there was an additional passageway on the right—one he had never seen before.

"I don't remember that before, do you?" Sam whispered.

"No, that was never here before," Travis replied in hushed tones.

Sam walked toward the entrance of the new tunnel and lifted the lantern into the opening. The light stretched down the dark tunnel; the jagged rocks cast their own shadows making it difficult to see anything.

"What do you think?" Travis whispered as he surveyed the entrance.

"Well, we're here. Might as well see what's in there," Sam said.

Travis looked at Sam with a childish grin. "That's the spirit, Dalcome!" he said and took the lantern from Sam.

Sam smiled back at Travis. Travis stepped forward with the lantern dangling in front of him, and Sam stayed close behind him. Their footsteps echoed, and the gravel beneath them crackled as they made their way down the long corridor.

It was becoming colder and more and more damp the farther they descended. The tunnel twisted and curved until it finally opened into a large cavern.

Travis held the lantern high and moved it slowly from side to side. Sam's mouth fell open, and Travis's breath caught in his throat. They stood in astonishment; it was simply magnificent. It was as if they had stepped into another world. The cavern walls sparkled like diamonds when the light struck them. Enormous stalactites covered the slanted ceiling, suspended like huge stone daggers ready to fall. The cavern was vast, with a large emerald pool in the center surrounded by massive stalagmites protruding from the ground.

"Wow, what is this place?" Travis whispered, his voice echoing through large chamber.

"A cavern. A really old one from the size of the stalactites," Sam said with bated breath. "The water from the lake must feed into here somehow." They were amazed by the sheer size of the cavern and by the beauty of its stone landscape. Tans, pinks, and greens were fused together in the rock, coloring the cavern walls.

"It's fantastic. I mean, really beautiful, don't you think?" Travis marveled.

"I'll say. Hey, what's that?" Sam grabbed Travis's arm, guiding the lantern toward the center of the cavern.

There was something shining in the middle of the pool, something large and round.

"I'm not sure what that is," Travis said, leaning over to whisper more quietly than before.

"Me either. Let's have a look."

"You think that's a good idea?" Travis asked with hesitation.

Sam looked over to Travis with a devious smirk. "Come on, where's your spirit?"

The rocks weere jagged and extremely uneven; each step was carefully planned so they didn't fall on one of the many stalagmites that surrounded them. The lantern swayed back and forth as they pushed forward. The light shimmered on the walls of the cavern and reflected off the calm body of water in front of them.

It took them several minutes to get to the body of water, but at last the ground finally smoothed out near the water's edge. It was a murky, luminescent green and still, like a solid sheet of glass.

Both Sam and Travis stood at the edge, staring at the object in the center of the pool.

From a distance it looked like a very large mirror perched on something they could not see. The lantern light was clearly visible in its reflection.

"How in the world did that get down here?" Travis asked, his voice crackling just a bit.

There was no sound; it was deathly quiet. Travis realized that Sam hadn't replied and turned to look at him.

Sam stood frozen, his gaze fixed and full of fear. Whatever Sam was staring at had rendered him momentarily speechless.

"Sam ... what's wrong?" Travis asked. There was no hiding the fear in his voice now.

Sam swallowed hard, then slowly lifted his hand and pointed.

"The mirror ... it's floating ..."
CHAPTER 10

Travis turned toward the mirror. Sam was right; the mirror was floating above the water.

"You have got to be kidding me," Travis said, his voice barely audible.

Sam stood, taking in every detail. This was the most extraordinary moment of his entire life. It was unbelievable, incredible, and frightening all at the same time. His mind was racing; I'm no longer crazy, he thought. This proved it. Travis was here; he was a witness now. Did this have something to do with the dark stranger outside his home, he wondered. Sam didn't know whether to stay or flee, but he had to find out. He had to know if there was a connection between the two.

He stepped forward into the cold water, inching his way little by little toward the ornate mirror.

"Ummm, Sam, where you going ...?" Travis asked. His eyes widened as he watched Sam move past him as if he were in some kind of trance.

Sam didn't utter a word as he anxiously inched his way forward through the emerald water.

The water was freezing. It felt like a thousand needles were stabbing his feet as it seeped into his shoes and socks. But that didn't matter to Sam. He had to know what was going on.

Travis stood resolute near the edge of the pool, reluctant to follow his friend.

"Sam, what are you doing? Come back here!" he said through gritted teeth.

But Sam continued to move forward, wading through the water that was up to his knees now.

Disinclined, Travis put his foot in the water, then quickly snatched it back out.

"Crap, that's cold!" he said, his voice ringing out.

A small squeal echoed above them from something they could not see. Travis whirled around, swinging the lantern in all directions. Sam, who was several feet ahead of him now, stopped, turned back, and glared at Travis. "What in the world are you doing?"

"Sorry," Travis sighed, looking at Sam remorsefully. He placed his foot back into the water followed by the other and waded through the water quickly trying to catch up to Sam.

"This is not a good idea, Sam. I have very bad feeling about this!"

Sam turned back toward the mirror.

"I mean, I am not sure if you are seeing what I'm seeing, but that's a mirror, and it's floating in mid-air!" Travis said.

Sam didn't respond; he kept walking toward the unbelievable sight.

"Mirrors don't do that, ever! Not to mention we're a few hundred feet down in a cavern. That's not a good sign in any movie! Oh, and we are standing in freezing cold water up to our knees. Now, I don't mean to dampen your spirit buddy, but we need to get out of here!"

Sam finally stopped. He stood quietly, analyzing the mirror, deep in thought.

"Sam, are you listening to me?" Travis asked, his voice quivering from the cold water.

"Hold the lantern still," Sam finally said.

"Fine!" Travis replied hastily. "But if my grandmother wants to know how their only grandson died you can tell them—Noo, wait, you can't tell them anything! Want to know why, Sam? BECAUSE YOU WILL BE DEAD WITH ME!"

As Travis approached, Sam turned and grabbed the lantern and held it closer to the mirror.

The mirror was gigantic, at least eight feet tall and trimmed in gold. It hovered about a foot above the water, as if it were hanging by invisible strings. The top was pointed and cambered down on each side to the base, much like a teardrop. The gold trim was heavily etched with the same twelve symbols on either side. An elaborate pattern of scrollwork and vines had been scored in silver between the ciphers.

"I've seen these symbols before," Sam said and lifted the candle lantern high into the air.

"What? Where?" Travis asked, scrutinizing the bizarre mirror.

"Here along the edges." Sam pointed to one of the symbols that looked like the letters M and P written together in cursive. "I've seen this one for sure."

"Hey, that's the sign of Cancer," Travis exclaimed, pointing to a symbol that looked like the numbers six and nine turned sideways.

"That's it!" Sam said, his eyes wide with enthusiasm. "They're Zodiac signs!"

"But what about this?" Travis asked, pointing to a different set of symbols. These symbols were a bit larger than the Zodiac signs. There were four in all, set in a silver inlay near the outer edge of the mirror, just beyond the gold and silver trim of the Zodiac signs. The positioning of these larger symbols reminded Sam of the four cardinal points on a map, one at the top, one at the bottom, and one to each side.

They stared at the strange design. Travis was still shivering, but Sam stood entranced. He was cold too, but it was like white noise to him now, just something in the background. His mind was focused on the bizarre floating mirror.

The first symbol looked like a pyramid with the top of a question mark inside it. The second resembled waves or water. The third looked like three separate coils in the shape of the number nine, and the last was most definitely fire.

"Wait, water, fire ... ELEMENTS!"

"Yes!" Travis bellowed, "The pyramid is Earth and the other must be Air!"

Suddenly, without warning, a mechanical grinding noise reverberated from the mirror, as if large gears were turning somewhere inside of it. Each Zodiac sign began to glow a brilliant gold. The grinding sound picked up speed. The two boys stepped back in alarm. Travis gasped, and Sam's mouth fell open.

"Sam! What ... what's happening?" Travis asked, but his voice was drowned out by the grinding sound that echoed through the chamber.

The Fire sign at the top of the tear was the first element to illuminate. The scarlet glow was blinding. Each symbol radiated its own individual color; Earth with a brilliant jade; Air, a stunning amethyst; and Water, a spectacular sapphire.

Both Sam and Travis covered their eyes. Sam almost dropped the lantern.

"Sam, what's happening?" Travis repeated.

Sam removed his hands from his eyes just in time to see his reflection disappear from the surface of the mirror. Next to go were the glimmering cavern walls, followed by the emerald water. It was all vanishing, like a portrait being torn away piece by piece.

"Travis, our reflections—they're gone!" Sam shouted, trying to speak loud enough so Travis could hear him over the grinding noise.

The mirror was blank for a moment, but then quickly revealed an unfamiliar image. Moonlight appeared, then tall trees, and all the makings of a forest from somewhere else beyond the cavern. The sound resonating from the mirror was getting louder, like that of a car engine being revved to top speed.

Squeals and shrieks rang out from above, as thousands of bats flew from the ceiling, flooding the cavern with a swarm of black fluttering wings.

Sam and Travis looked up in shock, stumbled backward, and fell into the icy water. Two of the small votives in the candle lantern went out from the sudden movement as they struggled to reach their feet. A barrage of colors bursting from the mirror streaked across the cavern in every direction. Shards of light reflected off the water in rapid flashing succession. It was like they were trapped in the center of a rainbow. Every corner of the cavern was illuminated now.

"Sam, the mirror!" Travis cried.

The glass on the mirror was quivering and rippling like water. Suddenly, hundreds of small black and green spiders fell from the mirror, splashing into the shallow water.

With their bodies soaked and freezing, the two boys scrambled backward, their feet sliding on the smooth rock beneath them. Sam and Travis watched in horror as the splashing wave of spiders moved toward them.

"Run, Travis. RUN!"
CHAPTER 11

Sam slipped again, falling back into the water with one arm raised, suspending the candle lantern only inches away from being snuffed out.

Travis stopped and circled back, grabbing Sam by the arm. His foot slipped, and he fell back into the freezing water again.

The enormous wave of splashing spiders moved closer, like a school of piranhas advancing on its prey. Bats screamed and shrieked around their heads, colliding with the two boys. Sam and Travis frantically waved them off and scrambled to their feet. Hurriedly, they sloshed through the water, moving as fast as they could. Their feet felt ten pounds heavier wading through the pond. As they drew close to the water's edge, they grabbed the nearby stalagmites to better balance themselves.

Travis had taken the lantern and was doing his best to keep the last candle from going out completely.

They moved as quickly as they could back over the rocks and around the stalagmites, but the trekking was slower and more cumbersome this time around. There were bats to deal with now and wet shoes that continued to slip on the rocky terrain. Sam was the first to reach the tunnel they had come through. He looked back at Travis and saw a large black and green mass on the ground behind him, gaining on him. The spiders were only a few feet away from them now.

Their speed was impressive, jumping into the air and squealing as they swarmed over the rocky landscape. They moved as a unit, a combined arachnid force chasing their prey.

Sam ran as fast as his legs could go. Travis was not far behind. Their gangly shadows stretched across the tunnel walls, disappearing and reappearing as the candle lantern bounced in Travis's hand.

"Come on, Travis, we're almost there!" Sam yelled.

The first ledge was right in front of them. Sam leaped up onto it as darkness engulfed the tunnel. A loud crash of breaking glass rang out, followed by an ominous thud. Travis had run straight into the wall of the first ledge and had broken the lantern.

"Travis, are you okay?" Sam yelled.

He stood on the ledge and looked back down into the sea of darkness, frantically searching. All Sam could hear were crunching sounds as Travis's shoes moved back and forth over the glass and gravel.

"Ugh ... I'm okay!" Travis yelled as he stood up, reaching for the first ledge.

Sam felt Travis's hand brush his own, and he quickly moved to the right, giving Travis room to get up. The bats had fallen back now and were only flying past them every now and again, but the eerie insect sound of the spiders was growing closer.

"Faster, Travis, they're almost on us!"

Travis's body was still hanging halfway off the ledge. He swung his knee as high as he could, trying desperately to reach the edge. Sam grabbed the back of Travis's shirt and pulled him up next to him.

Sam could hear the loud hissing and squealing of the spiders below, and it sent cold chills up his spine. Every hair on his neck was standing at attention; his body quivered in disgust at the thought of a hundred hairy spider legs climbing over his body.

Sam looked up through the round hole of the entrance to the caves just as the moonlight broke through the silver clouds. It cast a faint silhouette of oak trees on the preceding level. Hundreds of bats burst from the tunnel behind them and flew out of the cave. They scattered into the night, causing the moonlight to flicker.

Both Sam and Travis reached for the top of the entrance, but Travis looked back down. The spiders were quickly scaling over the edge behind them.

Illuminated by the moonlight, Travis could now see the group of spiders making their way forward and gathering around Sam's feet. In seconds they had swarmed his ankles and were moving up his legs.

"Sam, they're on you!" Travis cried out.

Sam felt them moving up his calves. The light pads of the spiders' feet tapped sporadically as they made their way toward his knees. He jumped as high as he could, hurling himself upward toward the entrance of the cave, but he fell short, hitting the edge of the rock with his ribs. He dangled there for a brief moment with his body halfway out of the entrance. The impact had left him breathless, as if all the air in his lungs had been sucked out by a giant vacuum cleaner. A sharp pain was shooting across his rib cage. With nothing to hold on to, he slowly began to slide back into the hole. He reached for the tall tufts of weeds in front of him, grabbed two large fistfuls and pulled with all his might, slowing his descent. Gasping, he hoisted his right leg over the edge and heaved his body onto the soft ground. He rolled through the grass as fast as he could, sending spiders flying in every direction.

Travis followed close behind him, but he also got stuck halfway out and could not get his leg over the edge of the opening. His hands began to slip; he reached for the surrounding weeds, but they tore from the ground as he grasped them. Spiders were crawling up his legs and up the back of his shirt now. Stuck in the same spot as Sam had been, Travis slipped back into cave entrance.

"Sam! Help me!" he cried out.

Sam shot his hand over the edge and grabbed the back of Travis's shirt, pulling him upward and sending spiders flying into the air. The two boys both fell back on the ground. Travis's legs were covered with spiders. He landed on the ground with a loud thud and began to shake himself frantically.

Sam and Travis rolled on the ground for what seemed like forever, until every spider was either gone or smashed to death by the violent thrashing.

They lay on their backs, breathing hard and staring up into the dense canopy of tree branches.

They could smell the familiar mixture of bark and weeds in the moist air around them. The blackbirds nesting above them crowed erratically, and the moonlight that had once seeped through the treetops had vanished behind the clouds. The screeching sound from the spiders and bats had stopped, and nothing seemed to be following them out of the cave entrance.

"You alright?" Sam asked, trying to straighten himself out.

"Yeah, I'm okay. You?" Travis replied between deep gulps of air.

"I'm okay, but let's get out of here before the rest of them make it up here," Sam said.

"I'm right with you!"

Sam stood quickly, holding his ribs. His arms and elbows were scraped and cut. Travis didn't look much better. Both boys were still soaking wet and covered in grass, dirt, spider guts, and bat droppings. Sam helped Travis to his feet, and they both turned and ran as fast as they could past the oak trees and tall weeds into the open area of the quarry, all the while constantly checking behind them for spiders and bats.
CHAPTER 12

The night sky was filled with silver clouds and a radiant cream-colored moon that seemed to follow the boys as they walked briskly back through their development.

Sam's ribs were throbbing now; the cuts and scrapes were starting to sting. His mind kept flashing back to the mirror. Had the stranger come through a mirror like the spiders did, he wondered.

Travis was walking very stiffly, trying not to cause any additional pain. Trickles of blood from small scrapes cascaded down his arms like road maps to nowhere. His muscles were taut, and his legs ached, as if he had run a small marathon.

"Sam, I've never seen anything like that in my life! The mirror was floating above the water! Just freaking floating!"

Sam looked over at Travis. He had no idea just how bizarre things really were.

"I mean, how in the world did it do that? Where did it come from?" he continued. "And who, or what, made the new tunnel?"

Sam thought for a moment before he spoke. What would be the best way to tell Travis that yes, he had seen something just as crazy before, and it happened just the other night? What if he went on to tell Travis about the stranger that might be stalking him and that he can vanish into thin air? Surely he would believe him now! Surely after tonight he would know it was in the realm of possibility, surely.

Sam knew if he told Travis the truth it would place him on the same path as Sam. But what was that path? Where was it headed? Perhaps Travis had been on the same road all along without knowing it. After all, it was Travis's idea to come to the caves. Didn't he owe it to Travis to tell him the truth? What if the stranger came after Travis? That was a chance Sam couldn't take, Sam concluded. Travis had to know.

"Well, to tell you the truth, Trav, there have been some very strange things happening around the Dalcome house lately."

Travis looked over at Sam with his dark brown eyes squinted and eyebrows flexed, preparing himself for more of the bizarre.

Sam began to explain in detail the events of the last several days. He told Travis about the dreams he had and the mysterious stranger outside his house. He told him about the chocolate wrappers and how the stranger had disappeared into thin air.

Travis listened intently, never interrupting to ask questions. By the time Sam had finished Travis's face had gone sallow. The realization of what Sam had said was slowly sinking in. The moment had come and gone, the words had escaped Sam's mouth and seeped into the air, changing everything they knew around them. Things were different now, more real and more alive. Magic had fused unimaginable possibilities together with imminent danger, bringing forth a world they never knew existed but that had always been there. Magic had slumbered in the shadows until now. Now it was awake,and nothing would ever be the same. Sam shivered at the thought.

They rounded the corner to Giddyup Lane. Their neighborhood in the past had felt like an old friend—familiar and comfortable, but most of all safe. But tonight it felt foreign and eerie. Things they took for granted, such as next door neighbors, stray animals, and insects, for that matter, could no longer be looked at in the same way. Not anymore, not with magic out there. Not with the stranger out there.

Sam and Travis continued to walk in silence. The soft breeze grazed against treetops of maples, elms, and oaks that perfectly lined both sides of the street, rooted in small, overpriced lots. Sam's house was the fifth from the end on the left.

As the boys approached his house, Sam could see that the light in his mother's bedroom was still on. His heart sank just a little, remembering that he still owed her an apology. With all that had happened he had simply forgotten about it. It was just one more thing that would have to be done before the night was through.

As they stopped in front of his house, Sam turned to Travis with a sardonic grin.

"Well, we made it."

"Yeah, I'm not sure that's a good thing," Travis said.

He quickly surveyed Sam's appearance and shook his head as a smile crept to the corners of his mouth.

"You look like crap," Travis said.

Sam could not help but laugh; it was the first time he'd laughed in days, as far as he could remember, and it felt good.

"We smell like it, too!" he added.

They both continued to laugh as they tried half-heartedly to straighten and dust themselves off. But it was no use. Their shirts and shorts were stained and torn, their hair matted to their faces, and Travis was even missing a shoe.

"Hey, what are you going to tell your mother?" Travis asked.

"Nothing, I mean, do you really think she, or anyone else, would believe me?"

"No, probably not. Heck, I wouldn't believe you if I hadn't been there."

But Travis had been there and he had seen the magic with his own eyes. Sam was glad Travis had gone to the cave, because now he was no longer alone.

"Okay then, well, I'll talk to you tomorrow, right?" Travis asked.

"Yeah, I'll talk to you tomorrow. You okay walking home?"

"I'm okay. The stranger's after you, not me, right?" Travis said smiling.

"Well, for now." Sam grinned back.

Travis's smile faded. "Yeah, not funny Sam."

"I'm kidding."

Travis turned, and with only one shoe on he headed home.

Sam opened the front door to his house. It was dark inside except for the dim light coming from the kitchen. He had been out much later than he expected, so late that he had missed dinner, and both Sarah and his mother were either in bed or asleep by now.

The smell of homemade meatloaf from dinner lingered in the air, which made his stomach growl. For a brief moment his body wasn't hurting, he wasn't scared, he was just hungry. Really hungry. It felt good to be home.

Sam slowly closed the front door and quietly walked into the living room. His mother's self-help book, Stretching a Dollar by Reginald Blum, was lying on the couch, and a mug of decaffeinated green tea sat atop a silver coaster on the wooden coffee table.

His mother had finished her nightly routine, which consisted of light reading followed by a hot cup of tea and bed. Sam looked up to the top of the stairs; her light was turned off now. He had missed her once again, and his apology would have to wait till tomorrow.

Sam sighed and walked into the kitchen. On the counter top in all its edible glory was his favorite meal in the entire world—his mother's meatloaf.

The meatloaf was piled high and surrounded by fresh green beans and homemade mashed potatoes. A rich, yummy tomato sauce covered the succulent meat. Sam thought it was almost too beautiful to eat.

He opened the counter drawer, pulled out a fork, and began to eat. The meatloaf was still warm and moist. He shoveled his food in so fast that for a brief moment he forgot to breathe.

Before Sam knew it, he had eaten the entire meal, and his belly was full. He washed his plate and placed it in the dishwasher. Normally he would just leave it in the sink because dishes were Sarah's chore, but for some reason he didn't. Why was he feeling especially nice? Maybe it was the fact that he had triumphantly escaped the spiders in the cave, and now he was home, and had just eaten the best meal of his entire life. Despite all this comfort, Sam still felt uneasy about the events of the past few days. Then he remembered the spiders.

"Spiders, oh no!" he said to himself.

The spiders that were in the rosebushes were the same kind of spiders that had attacked him tonight. Were they still out there? Were there more of them?

He quickly rounded the kitchen counter and headed to the front door. He turned on the front porch light and made his way down the steps to the rosebushes.

His eyes scanned every leaf, stem, and thorn on the twisted clump of bush, but he found nothing. There was not a single spider or trace of a web. Part of the bush was still mangled from where he had fallen in the day before. It was a sad-looking bush; there wasn't even a single rose on it.

After closely scanning the surrounding area he finally felt satisfied that the spiders were gone. He made his way back into the house, locked up, and went upstairs. Sarah's light was off too. Apparently they both had gone to bed early.

Sam was tired; the only thing he had on his mind now was a hot shower and a comfortable bed. His body was sore, and it was getting worse. The smell of bat crap from his clothes was really starting to get to him now.

He quietly walked into his room where the Mountain Mist air freshener scent still lingered. His room was so clean that it felt odd, almost like he was in someone else's bedroom.

Sam carefully took off his shirt and shorts, trying not to move any muscle faster than needed. He walked into his bathroom with his hand on his lower back, feeling as if he were a hundred years old. Gradually, Sam leaned over, turned on the shower, and waited a few minutes before stepping in. Hot water stung his cuts and scrapes, making his muscles twitch as if they were being electrocuted. The water at the bottom of the tub drained steadily with a constant flow of dirt, blood, and bat feces. Warm jets of water streamed down from the shower head and massaged Sam's body into a slow, peaceful trance. He felt himself sway just a bit as he began to doze off.

The shower lasted a full thirty minutes, if not more. Still drained, Sam brushed his teeth, turned off the light, and crawled into his bed. The bed seemed to wrap around him in a gentle embrace. It was extremely soft and felt good on his aching muscles.

The ceiling fan whirled above him, casting down a gentle breeze. His thin sheets smelled of fabric softener as he pulled them tight. He rolled onto his side and slid his arm under his pillow. His eyelids were heavy as he gazed up at the moonlight that shined through his bedroom window. There was no flashing street light tonight; it was the perfect atmosphere for sleep. The adrenaline he'd felt earlier was gone, leaving Sam completely fatigued.

He lay there, knowing the stranger was still out there somewhere. He knew there was magic in the world now and that the stranger could use it. But how the stranger, the mirror, and the spiders all fit together he didn't know. Not yet, anyway, but he promised himself he would find out, and soon.

Sam took in a deep breath and sighed. He felt every muscle in his body relax before closing his eyes and drifting off to sleep.
CHAPTER 13

Xavier Ward stood in the shadows behind the tall maple tree, as he had for the past several nights, his intense gaze fixed on a single window of the Dalcome home. The window that belonged to the boy they called Samuel Dalcome.

Xavier had been able to remain unseen by the Dalcome family by hiding in the shadows and staying out of sight. From all except for the Dalcome boy, that is. Samuel had seen Xavier the night before last; they had stared into one another's eyes before Xavier had evaporated, which, in hindsight, had been a mistake. It was a mistake because the boy was unaware of his parents' true past and was therefore unaware of magic. Evaporating in front of the boy's eyes would not be something Sam would soon forget.

Xavier was on a stealth mission. His orders were to observe and not interfere, unless it was absolutely necessary. If the Viper was truly here on Earth then there would be no choice but to intervene.

The Dalcomes are not even supposed to be alive, Xavier mused. They were all supposed to have died in the Great War thirteen years ago. But they hadn't; somehow Alisa had escaped with her children. The Majesty had covered up their disappearance by sending them to Earth through one of the three portals known to exist on Haven. Portals that were said to have been destroyed ages ago.

Xavier removed a small chocolate from a white wrapper and popped it into his mouth. He let the wrapper fall to the ground and placed his hand back on the glass pommel of his staff. His staff, Ian, which he had named after his only son, began to vibrate beneath his palm, warning Xavier that he was not alone.

"Sneaking up on a Keeper, young lady, is never wise," he said, still chewing the piece of chocolate. Xavier's voice was gruff with a thick Irish accent. He was a tall man with sweeping broad shoulders and thin legs. He held firmly on to Ian, his hand remaining on the pommel. The staff was twisted like an old tree branch with a glass sphere at its hilt.

"Can you still call yourself a Keeper dressed like that, Xavier?" a woman said. He could tell by the tone of her voice she found this amusing. Xavier, on the other hand, did not. Wearing the long, ridiculous coat was uncomfortable and hot. But he needed it to blend in if he was going to move around in the daytime, although people seemed to stare at him regardless. Probably it was because he was wearing a coat in this god-awful heat. At first he thought it was expectable attire, since the man he stole it from had been wearing it. But that person had also been going through discarded items on the side of the road. Looking back now, it was obvious that this human had not been the best example for Earthling attire. It had been too long since Xavier studied the history and habits of Earth.

"I call this blending in," he replied.

"Really, that's what you're calling it, huh?"

"It was last minute," he replied sharply.

"You know, you might just be getting too old, Xavier. There is no harm in admitting that," she said teasingly.

"Really, and why is that, may I ask?" The frustration in his voice was starting to show now.

"I've been standing here for some time, watching you as you watched him. You know, you have a serious sweet tooth."

Xavier turned around for the first time since arriving at the Dalcomes to see Holly standing several feet away, camouflaged amongst the trees and shrubs of the yard.

"I'm not old, dear, just experienced. I don't go wetting my pants every time I hear something go bump in the night. But it's nice of you to finally join us," Xavier said.

Holly emerged from the darkness. She was wearing the standard Keeper scout attire. It was a plum-colored cloak with a hood that masked her face in shadow. Under it was a black bodysuit beneath her gunmetal gray armor that was fitted in sections covering her chest, shoulders, forearms, and thighs. Tall black boots ran up her slender calves to her knees. Her staff was made of dragon bone, reddish-purple in color, with a pommel made from a silver talon grasping a purple octagon-shaped gem.

Holly smiled as she approached; it was the only facial feature visible beneath the hood.

"So, any sign?" she asked stopping next to Xavier.

"No, not of the Viper."

"What of Alisa and the children?"

"Home, safe, at least for now," he said. Holly noticed the concern in his voice.

Xavier continued, "I followed Alisa for most of the day, and she was in no danger. Gordon followed the young girl. She too, is safe. He had some difficulty staying with her on the way to school because he, too, is dressed in a coat. Evaporating is difficult, since we are unfamiliar with the terrain. The truth of the matter is we're spread too thin. We don't blend in well so we have to keep our distance. We are not prepared for this; things are getting missed. The boy wandered off on his own today, but thankfully he made it back unharmed."

"Well, that's why I'm here, Xavier, and I'm sure there are more reinforcements on the way," Holly said, trying her best to reassure him, but she didn't think it was working. Xavier was no fool. He knew the odds of survival should a Viper actually show up, and they weren't good. They would need at least five Keepers, maybe four if they were all really experienced, to survive. It had probably been too long since Alisa had held a staff or Called an element for her to be of much help.

"Well, it looks like we're all here for the same reason—to protect our friends we thought were dead and to settle an old score," Xavier said.

Old score, Holly thought. He got that right. Vipers were said to have been responsible for killing one of Haven's greatest leaders and one of Holly's dearest friends, Rylan Dalcome. All Holly knew now was that she was overjoyed that Alisa and her children had survived and that they had not been hunted down by Vipers all those years ago. Her best friend was alive. She was really alive!

"Where is Gordon now?" Holly asked.

"I sent him back to the Portal when you arrived to keep an eye on things there until we need him come sunrise."

"So, you really did know I was here," she said with a smirk.

"I'm old, Miss Holly, not blind."

Holly looked over at Xavier. She could just make out the fine gray whiskers on his cheeks and chin in the moonlight. His long, unruly gray hair hung in his eyes. The muscles in his strong jaw flexed as he chewed on his chocolate. The man never went anywhere without a piece of Becker's Famous Chocolates in his mouth. She looked on in admiration. He was a good Keeper. He was a little rough around the edges, but he was trustworthy and good in a fight. He reminded her of her mentor, Demetrius.

"Aw, you're not that old, Xavier," she said, nudging him in the side.

"And you're a bad liar. Some things never change. If I recall correctly, you and Alisa got into a bit of trouble for lying at the Academy," Xavier continued.

"That's because she was a bad liar."

"I see," he said, now smiling.

"I still can't believe they're alive after all these years," she said, her voice somber now.

"Well, no one really knows what happened that day in the Great War—the day Rylan died. Even if the Majesty lied to us for all these years about his family, they did it for the right reason."

"Did they?" Holly wasn't so sure about that.

"Yes. If they hadn't lied Alisa and the two children would be dead as well. Knowing what we know now there was no other choice. They would have been hunted like animals. The children are their legacy, and Alisa was just as much of a hero and a leader as Rylan was. Back then they were a threat to several factions, not just to the enemies we fought in the Great War. The Dalcomes were destined for greatness—a king and queen of a new era that would never come to pass. Their enemies were vast, and some were within our own ranks."

That much was true, Holly thought. But still, they had been her best friends. If Alisa was going to leave, leave forever, how could she not have told her? Holly had lived with the horror that her best friend and her best friend's children had been killed by Vipers, the most unnatural, malevolent creatures alive.

"She has been hiding for so long, Xavier, she may not even know who she is anymore. Everything Alisa was she left behind on Haven."

"Yes, and she did it all for her children, to keep them safe. But now things have changed. They are no longer safe here."

"Alisa should know. She should know the danger she and the children are in."

"No. We have our orders," he said, looking over at Holly. "We are to secure the perimeter and wait for reinforcements. The objective is to not alarm the children or interfere with their lives if we can help it. The children would not understand the complexity of the situation. They know nothing of the world we come from."

"They should. It's their world too!" She exclaimed.

"Not any more, Holly," he said calmly.

Holly turned away and looked at the Dalcomes' home. So much had changed, yet here they were after all these years, still fighting a war that had never really ended. Alisa had run to protect her children, to save them from death's door, but death had found them anyway.

"Look, until the Majesty sends reinforcements, we keep them safe. No harm will come to them on my watch," Xavier, said, trying to reassure her.

"They'd better hurry. Three Keepers are no match for a Viper."

Xavier gripped his staff. "For now I need you to guard the back of the home. The Dalcome boy is quite inquisitive."

"Inquisitive?" she asked, looking back over at Xavier.

"Don't ask," he said, rolling his eyes.

Holly turned to stare at the old two-story structure the Dalcomes now called home. It was nothing like the home Rylan and Alisa had shared back on Haven. Their home had been beautiful, a tranquil oasis filled with lush gardens and an enchanting waterfall. But this place, this so-called home, seemed empty, more like a shelter or hideaway for someone who wanted to blend in and stay out of sight.

It made Holly feel empty and angry all at once. It was not right, it just felt wrong. This was not the way it was supposed to have been. This is not where they belong, she thought. The longing to see her childhood friend with her own two eyes was almost unbearable for Holly. She wanted to see Alisa smile and laugh as they used to. She wanted to see Alisa's children, Sarah and Samuel, again. She wanted them to come back to Haven, their true home, so they could be in each other's lives again. They were supposed to be friends forever. They had promised one another that, before the war that had taken it all away.

Holly gripped her staff and turned toward Xavier. She gave him one final look. But before she could say anything his cold gaze met hers.

"Not on my watch," he said, his tone strong and confident.

It was all Holly needed to hear. She turned and faced the Dalcome house. She raised her staff, tapped it once on the ground, and evaporated.

Xavier stared into the purple haze left in Holly's wake. They had a day at best, he thought, before the Viper found the Dalcomes. Then there would be no stopping it. If reinforcements did not come soon all would be lost, and death would not be cheated a second time.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

D.C. Akers was born in Texas and attended Crowley High School. After spending several years working in accounting, Akers began to pursue his childhood dream of becoming a writer.

Like many who enjoy the fantasy genre, Akers started reading it as an adolescent. He was fascinated with Tolkien's Lord of the Rings and Bram Stoker's Dracula. He currently enjoys reading works by Dean Koontz, Heather Brewer, J.K. Rowling, and Rick Riordan.
BOOK THREE

ELIXIR OF LIFE

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