

A STRANGE TALE

by

James Somers

www.jamessomers.blogspot.com

Smashwords Edition

2014© James Somers

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STRANGE WITNESS

The gas gauge empty light came on. "FIN! You idiot!" Archie Winebottle had felt a little sorry about his partner, Fin, getting shot in his hindquarters during the bank robbery and having to leave him behind—no longer.

His getaway car barely managed to creep to the top of the next steep hill as police cruisers came up fast. Archie knew it was over. He hit the brakes, but with the engine dead, they didn't respond now. The steering wheel locked into place. Archie and the Oldsmobile sailed down the incline like a runaway freight train.

The road turned near the bottom of the decline, but Archie and his car did not. The Oldsmobile's heavy steel body plowed through a thicket near the road and was swallowed up. Small trees blasted to splinters as they impacted the square grill. Archie held tight to the wheel, despite his inability to guide the vehicle. His knuckles strained white as he and the car plowed through wooded terrain on a continuing downhill grade.

A larger tree stood immovable in his path. Everything exploded on impact. Archie's head smacked the windshield, but he didn't go through. The blow to his head numbed his entire body.

After a few minutes, Archie gradually started to move. He tried the door. A tree was pushing in on the car's driver's side. Every window in the Oldsmobile had shattered, including the windshield, so Archie decided to climb out that way. He pulled his legs out and noticed blood on his shirt. A steady stream of crimson trickled down from a torn knot on his brow. He reached back into the car, removing the blue canvas money bag from the floorboard where it had landed.

Archie looked around, but didn't see or hear any cops coming for him. The woods had swallowed him up, and the police had passed him by. Perhaps good fortune might smile on him yet.

He hadn't had time to notice before, but the money bag was bulging with loot. He smiled. He'd lost his accomplice—the person he'd have had to split the take with. He caressed the bag. "At least, I've still got you."

Archie unzipped the money bag. Compressed gas hissed, and blue dye exploded out at him, splattering his hands, his clothes and his face. He stood there for a moment, blinking. He wiped the dye from his eyes as much as possible and stared at his prize. The azure dye had stained all the money. Archie cursed the teller who had given him the dye pack then threw the tainted bag into the trees as hard as he could. He felt like crying.

Archie decided to continue through the woods. No use coming out to find a bunch of cops waiting for me, he thought. Leaves of every size and shape fell down around him—orange and brown—autumn's version of snow. The wind filtered through the trees, stirring it all into a crackling frenzy. Archie thought about how well it would hide the sound of his steps as he made his getaway. As he started off, away from the road, he took notice of his wrecked car, now held securely by two trees with leaves already beginning to cover it. "Piece of junk!"

The same noisy mix of sights and sounds in the woods had masked the steps of someone watching Archie from not far away. Percival Strange peered over a hill around the side of a large oak tree. He had been collecting some insect specimens for his collection, as he often did, when he heard the police sirens screaming in the distance.

When Percival saw a brown blur smash through the undergrowth, he had immediately set out after it, hoping to see exactly what it was. Grizzly Bear on the rampage, perhaps? No such luck. He found a wrecked car and its injured driver not far from where he'd been exploring. The police sirens passed and faded. He suspected this person, crashing through the woods, must be the reason the cops were about at all.

Percival watched as a canvas bag exploded in the man's hands, showering him in blue dye. I've seen that on television. Something to mark stolen money and bank robbers—bank robber!

He had wondered about offering the man assistance. Now he knew this must be a dangerous criminal. Percival padded his pockets, looking for his cell phone. He'd left it at home. He hardly ever carried it out with him when he was collecting—the ringing usually disturbed his peaceful walks.

The man angrily threw the bag in Percival's direction. For a brief moment, he thought he'd been spotted. Then the man began cursing to himself and walked deeper into the woods. Percival thought of going for help. His bicycle wasn't far from here. But even though he might tell the police where the car had crashed, he wouldn't be able to tell them what had happened to the bank robber. I'll follow him and then tell the police where he goes.

Percival dropped his equipment and the specimens he'd already collected, taking note of where the spot was. No use giving up good specimens.

The wind whipped the fall leaves around rather noisily. It wouldn't be difficult to stay hidden if he kept a good distance from the man. He smiled as he set off after his quarry. "Boy, Violet is never going to believe this."

THE LONELY MANOR

Archie kept a brisk pace for nearly an hour. The trickle of blood coming from the wound on his forehead eventually coagulated. A dull ache replaced the earlier numbness. He wished for a bottle of pain pills. "I should've robbed a pharmacy instead!"

In the waning sun, Archie spotted a small clearing up ahead. A ring of trees formed nearly a perfect circle around an old, rundown house beyond. Archie came to those trees and stopped to catch his breath. The house fascinated him. How had it gotten here? Who did it belong to and did anyone actually live in it now?

He couldn't place the style of architecture. Archie had never been accused of being a worldly fellow, but somehow it seemed foreign to him. The house stood three stories tall with a dark color scheme so faded he couldn't tell what it had originally been. Shutters hung loose in places. The windows were hazy brown and broken.

A wrought iron fence surrounded the house in a rectangle. The gate hung askew. A Stone path emerged near the gate, as though the stones had pushed through the earth just for this house. The path led through the fence and came right up to a large front porch holding several old dilapidated rocking chairs and a pair of chipped marble gargoyles guarding the front door.

Archie looked around the clearing then back behind him. He saw no sign of anyone living in the house, or of the police following him. "This looks like as good a place as any to hold up for a while. At least until the heat blows over." As dusk approached, Archie noticed the angry orange sun through the trees suspended over the mountains.

As soon as Archie Winebottle took his first step beyond the tree-line boundary, the light faded, casting everything in deep slate gray. The distant sun had disappeared. Dark foreboding clouds roiled in the sky, and wind blew harshly through the trees, as though he had angered the forest somehow. A chill crept into the air, so that his breath vaporized then pulled away on the wind, looking as though his soul were being sucked from his body with every exhale.

The wrought iron hinge squealed as the gate banged against the fence. Leaves swirled around him in tornadic fits. Archie heard the wind moan through the empty house, and for a moment he thought he heard a voice telling him, "leave at once!" His conscience? He couldn't be sure.

Archie saw a faint yellow glow rise in the two prominent first floor windows located on either side of the front door—two eyes staring at him. A shiver of fear exploded up his spine, but Archie wasn't about to be spooked by any sudden wind storm. He quickly dismissed his superstitions. "So someone does live here." His dye-stained teeth chattered. "That means I can get some food and a hostage, if need be."

Archie stormed toward the house, trying his best to ignore the freakish weather around him. Rags swayed from craggy old branches on the one prominent tree in the yard. At least, Archie had supposed this, until he reached the main gate. When he pushed the iron gate aside, he saw bodies hanging from frayed ropes, swinging in the stiff breeze.

The gate slammed shut behind him as Archie stumbled up the path toward the house. He felt the large bloody gash on his forehead, wondering if he'd contracted some kind of brain damage from his car crash. Surely, this wasn't real.

Archie tripped as he lumbered toward the house. He pulled his leg, but found it held fast in the grip of a partially decomposed hand. White bone gleamed through patchy, gangrenous flesh. He screamed for help, but the howling wind drowned out his cries.

The ground around him exploded with flailing arms reaching up, taking hold of the ground, pulling forth gruesome figures—bodies in various phases of decomposition. Milky eyes glared at him, and hideous dirt encrusted teeth smiled liplessly as arms surged after him. Archie's mind reeled, his breath escaped. He tried to scream, but no sound came.

Archie scrambled away from the zombies clamoring after him. He got his feet under him again and raced up the stone path to the porch and the front door beyond. He pounded on it, seizing the knob, shaking it furiously. "Let me in!"

Archie looked back at the yard filling with grotesque bodies clothed in shredded suits and dresses stained with dirt and blood. He pounded harder, screaming frantically as the mob of corpses lurched up the path and onto the porch. He pulled his revolver and fired. Still, they came for him.

The door opened. Archie fell into the house, hitting the bare floorboards with a crash that swept a plume of dust up around him. The door slammed shut behind him. Archie watched muddy hands smear across the windows next to the door. Dead faces peered into the house, but they came no further.

Archie realized he was now shrouded in warm, yellow light. He turned his head upward, finding an oil lamp burning on each of two small tables near the windows on either side of the door.

Archie stood up, looking around. He heard a voice speak to him from the thick darkness beyond the foyer where he stood. "You've come too far, Archie Winebottle."

Archie turned round and round, but still saw no face to the voice.

The voice spoke again behind him. "You should not have come here."

He whirled around. A squat old man stood there holding a lantern up before Archie's face. He had a wrinkled, pale complexion and bloodshot eyes piercing through any pretense. He stood nearly a foot shorter than Archie, wearing frayed suspenders, a dingy white button up shirt, dark dress pants and soiled boots.

Archie sputtered. "Who are you?"

The old man grinned in the yellow lantern light. His jagged smile revealed many cavities. "I'm Mister Lonely, thief."

Archie pointed back toward the door. "Who are they? What is this place?"

"You've come to the Lonely Manor, Mr. Winebottle. Those, outside, guard the Manor from intruders, like you. You should have turned back when you could."

This caught Archie's attention. He drew his revolver. "What do you mean, when I could?"

Mr. Lonely turned, walking further into the house—the lantern's glow casting eerie shadows around the room. "You'll soon find out."

Archie looked back toward the door. Hands and faces still pressed against the house windows. He couldn't leave that way. He turned and caught up with the old man.

"Archie, I'd like you to meet my wife." Mr. Lonely stopped at a door in the hallway. He turned the black doorknob. "Mr. Winebottle, this is Mrs. Lonely, the lady of the house." He opened the door, revealing a tall thin closet then gestured for Archie to look inside.

An old woman hung by the neck from a rope tied to the high coat rod. Archie gasped. Mrs. Lonely opened her eyes—completely black eyes—smiling. "Hello, Mr. Winebottle," she said. "Welcome to Lonely Manor."

She stretched her arms toward him invitingly. Archie stumbled back, but Mr. Lonely shoved him into the closet, slamming the door behind him. Only his muffled fading scream remained to attest of his presence in the house.

The lantern light faded and with it the figures clamoring about outside the manor. The yard returned to its former unkempt state. The wind died. The leaves fell to the earth. The clouds dissipated, and the darkness lifted.

Dusk returned with its angry orange sun slipping through the partially bare trees toward the mountains in the distant west. Inside the ring of trees, all returned to what it had been before Archie Winebottle's trespassing. Percival gasped from his hiding place just beyond the boundary of the clearing around the old house.

He shook with excitement and terror. The sudden storm, the zombies springing from the yard, chasing the bank robber into the house and his final muffled scream—he had witnessed things beyond his comprehension.

Percival knew the police would think him a lunatic if he charged in, telling them of zombies and old haunted houses deep in the woods. It had returned to a rotting old house. "Sure, kid, whatever." That's what they would say.

He looked at the boundary of trees. All these things had happened when the man stepped into the clearing beyond these trees. Percival lifted his foot. Did he dare? He looked at the house. Not alone. First, I've got to tell Violet about this.

LUCKY CHARMS

Violet Charms had never been an especially pretty girl, at least not the sort who became a prom princess or cheerleading captain. Percival had always liked her nonetheless. He'd never had a better friend.

From first grade on up, they had lived next door to one another and managed to have all sorts of adventures together. Violet would lead them into trouble and always manage to scrape out of the situation. Percival had dubbed her Lucky Charms, and the name stuck.

Percival watched her through the storefront window of Mr. Iito's Mixed Martial Arts Academy. Today, Violet faced the Randori—an Aikido exercise where one person defends against several attackers. Three young boys stood opposite Violet on the mats—all wearing protective pads. One held a rubber knife, another a rubber club. The last simply used his bare hands.

They charged Violet as Mr. Iito gave the word. She dodged to the left, forcing disorganization as the boy in the middle and another to the right tried to get past the boy on the left in order to attack. Violet deflected a rubber club strike, caught the arm, disarmed the boy then hip tossed Flick Williams to the mat.

Lug Nutberry flew at her with his rubber knife as the first boy went down. Violet pulled back her torso, catching his wrist. She twisted the knife away from his hand, kicking him just above the knee. Lug's charge ended with him flat on his face.

Violet charged the last boy, blocked a punch then thrust her palm under his chin unbalancing him. Hugh Chesterton fell back as Flick Williams got up, intending to come at Violet again. She rounded on him, flying into a tornado kick that caught him across the face pads.

Mr. Iito called time. Violet stopped short of another blow to Lug Nutberry who had just gotten up off the floor. Mr. Iito mussed Violets sandy brown hair. "Very good, Violet."

Percival watched with pride and smiled. Violet spotted him through the glass, giving a little smile and wave as she got back in line on the mat. Mr. Iito critiqued the performance of several kids in the class then dismissed them. The other kids gathered their backpacks and belongings, starting out the door to find waiting parents in the cars outside. Violet remained longer, so Mr. Iito could speak with her.

Percival hadn't noticed three shadowy reflections rise up behind his own on the glass. "Here to watch your boyfriend, Strange?"

Percival turned to find Flick, Lug and Hugh sweating behind him. "I'd think you would know Violet from a boy by now, Lug. After all, that was her in there slamming your face into the mat, wasn't it?"

Lug grabbed Percival's shirt as the other two boys crowded in. The bell on the door chimed as Violet walked through. "Do you punks have a problem I can help you with?" she asked.

They looked at Violet apprehensively. Lug let go of Percival's shirt. "I guess your momma showed up just in time, eh, squirt?"

The others joined in mocking. "Momma's boy, Momma's boy!"

A horn blew in the parking lot. "Lug! Lug Nutberry, you better get into this car right now! Do you here me?"

"Coming, Momma!" Lug and the other boys gathered their gear and ran out to the car. They got into the lime green Chevy Nova, with its missing fender, then drove out of the parking lot, trailing white smoke behind them.

Violet laughed. "Goodbye, Momma's boy!" She offered Percival a high-five which he gladly returned. "You don't always have to come to my rescue, Violet."

"Hey, I'm just looking out for my best bud in the whole world, right?" She slung her backpack onto her shoulders. "What are you doing down here today, anyway?"

Percival picked up Violet's bike, offering it to her before getting his own. "You won't believe it, Lucky. I've got something awesome to show you."

BEWARE

It took them a half hour to pedal back through the woods on their dirt bikes from their neighborhood. Violet had changed into jeans and a sweater jacket while Percival secured two flashlights and a few other items just in case. The moon had already become visible against the fading blue of dusk. "Maybe I should have waited. I didn't realize it would take us this long to get back out here," Percival said.

Violet pedaled around a tree on the well worn path. "Nah. Besides, tomorrow is Sunday. We wouldn't have time to get out here in between church services."

Percival looked behind him then back to the path. "Yeah, but I don't want to get you all creeped out or anything."

"Are you kidding me? When have you ever known me to get creeped out?" Violet protested.

Percival thought about it, grinning. "There was that rat."

"Enough of the rat story, okay? I hate rats...a lot of people hate rats, Percival."

Percival laughed, and Violet laughed with him. "I forgot to tell you that we'll have to get off the path over the next hill."

Violet sped up. "No problem. How far back do we have to go?"

"I think, if we really move, we can get there in about fifteen minutes," Percival said.

They rode over the final hill and found the path curving back toward civilization. Percival locked up his foot brake, skidding to a halt. Violet did the same. "Is this it?"

Percival pointed into the woods. "About fifteen minutes that way."

Violet dropped her bike and retied one of her shoes for comfort. "All right, let's do it." She raised her hand. Percival dropped his bike sideways on the ground and gave her the high-five. He adjusted his knapsack and started off through the trees. Violet eagerly followed.

By the time Percival and Violet came near to the clearing of trees, the sun had almost dipped below the mountains. Violet pointed through the woods. "Is that the house?"

Percival followed her finger. There, beyond the ring of trees, sat the dilapidated old house with its woefully faded paint, rotted wood, broken windows, rusty gate and overgrown yard—a yard with zombies lying beneath the surface. "Yeah, that's it," he said.

Percival noticed sweat beading up on his face. His hands trembled. He wasn't sure if it was fear, or excitement. Either way, Violet trekked on ahead. "Come on, big guy!" He couldn't turn back now.

They came to the ring of trees. Violet started to break the boundary and go on through into the yard. Percival grabbed her arm before she made it. "Hold on, Violet."

"What? I thought you wanted to check this place out."

Percival wiped sweat from his upper lip. "I do, but—"

Violet looked at the house in the fading light. "So what's the big deal, Percival. It's just an old run down house way out in the woods. There probably used to be a town out here a long time ago."

Percival was still holding her arm. "No, there wasn't a town...I checked that last night on the web." He looked back at the house. Adrenaline coursed through Percival's veins. "I haven't told you how I found this place, yet, or what I saw yesterday."

"So, spill it," she demanded.

Percival recounted his intrepid jaunt through the woods, following a bank robber who had been pursued by the police, until his car crashed in the woods. "Where's the car?" Violet asked.

Percival hadn't actually thought about bringing Violet to see the car first. That might have made his story a bit more credible. "I'll show you on the way back, if you like. Now, do you want to hear this, or not?"

Violet rolled her eyes, waving him on. Percival told her how he had watched from this line of trees as the bank robber walked on toward the house. He told her about the freak weather, the zombies and the robber's disappearance inside the house while the zombies remained outside pressed against the windows. "A few moments later, I heard the guy scream bloody murder then everything went back to the way it is now."

Violet looked at him like he had a third eye stuck in the middle of his forehead. She blew a bubble and popped it. "Yeah, right. You know the Bible says, Thou shalt not bear false witness," Percival. I know who's gonna be on the altar in the morning."

Percival stared into her eyes, grabbing her shoulders—a move that usually got boys kicked into soprano choirs. "I'm not lying, Violet...and I'm not crazy either."

Violet glanced at his hands on her shoulders then studied his face. "Are you trying to kiss me, Percival? Cause if you are—" she giggled at him.

Percival dropped his gaze and his hands, exasperated. "All right, I'm just going to have to prove it to you." Percival stepped into the clearing, taking cautious steps. He watched the house. Violet watched him, rolling her eyes. "Well? Is that it?"

Violet ran past him into the clearing toward the house. She leaped about, laughing. "Woo! The monsters are gonna get me! Help me, Percival! Save me!"

"Violet, stop! What are you doing?" He ran after her. She twirled around, laughing the entire time. Percival caught her, grabbing her arm. "Stop it, Violet!"

She stopped, standing still next to the old wrought iron fence. "What? I'm just looking at your house, Percival. You don't have to get all freaked out. I was just playing around with you." She tried to catch her breath after dancing around. "So where are your monsters, huh?"

Percival looked everywhere for some evidence of what he had witnessed before. The house and clearing remained undisturbed. "I don't understand it."

Violet patted him on the shoulder. "Look, Percival, this has been great and all, but it's getting dark. If there's nothing else to see—"

The house exploded behind her. Pieces of boards, old shingles and dirty glass shot upward and outward in every direction. Violet screamed. Percival watched in stunned amazement as a huge reptilian head erupted through the roof near the front door of the manor house.

Percival tried to scream, but no sound would come out. The beast howled. Front and hind legs shot out the sides of the house. A massive tail, like a cedar tree, blasted out the back. Percival grabbed Violet's hand. "Run!"

The lizard shook itself violently, and the rest of the manor house crumbled away into a pile of smoldering debris. Percival looked back, seeing the huge tail swing through the air toward them. He grabbed Violet around the shoulders, shoving her to the ground. "Look out!"

The tail raked across the boundary line of trees, over their heads. Some splintered and fell, while others bent over then sprang back in the other direction, crashing into one another in a cacophony of destruction. Percival jerked Violet up again then broke into a sprint for the forest.

The great lizard hissed at them then sprang toward them. Percival and Violet clamored over broken trees, through splintered branches and hit the ground running again. The beast smashed into the trees behind them with its slender head. It shot through the standing trees, but got hung by its shoulders.

Percival looked back as they ran. The lizard's mouth opened, revealing pink flesh inside. A great whip of a tongue lashed out toward them. Percival grabbed Violet's arm, pulling her out of the way as the tongue snatched undergrowth from where she'd been standing, pulling it back to its mouth.

The beast raged against the trees that were still holding it back, but it managed to come no further. Percival looked back one last time as they gained a safer distance. He saw the house begin to reassemble itself. Splintered boards, broken glass and bricks from the chimney all rose again, like a video in reverse, erecting the old manor house again.
MISSING

Percival and Violet arrived back in their own neighborhood nearly an hour later. They were dirty, sweaty and panting like Olympic track runners, but they had made it in one piece. Percival said goodnight to Violet, but she gave him a big hug instead. "Thanks for saving my life back there," she said.

She ran down to her house, up into the driveway, giving him a quick wave before going inside. Percival just stood there for a moment, taking in the hug, her smell, thinking wow. More and more, he thought of Violet as an actual girl and not just his best friend in the whole world. This unnerved him a bit—in a good way, he thought.

When Percival went inside, he found his mother and father waiting up for him. They questioned where he'd been and scolded him for getting Violet home late. They even discussed a possible grounding. Percival remained lost in the hug Violet had given him. Even the giant lizard couldn't hold a candle to that moment.

Percival went upstairs, after a good talking to, and put his bed clothes on. He brushed his teeth with a grin on his face then went to bed. When he turned out the light, he stared at the ceiling, praying for a little while. The mysterious house remained...and a new mysterious something with his friend had just begun.

Eventually, he dozed off and had a peaceful sleep.

The next day at school, Percival looked for Violet at the bus stop. She didn't ride that morning. Percival knew that she sometimes had her mother drive her to school, especially if she wasn't feeling well. He surmised that must be the case after last nights incredible drama.

When Violet didn't arrive in their third period class, Percival became a little concerned. Lunch also failed to produce his friend, and none of her other friends had a clue why she wasn't in school. Percival shrugged it off.

When Percival stepped off the bus that evening, he had every intention of going to Violet's house to see if she had been feeling sick. He found several police cruisers already sitting in the driveway of her home. Mrs. Charms stood in the front yard giving detailed information to one of the officers.

Percival ran toward the house, fearing something had happened to his friend. When Mrs. Charms noticed him, she waved him over. Percival shot through the yard, all the while looking around for any sign of Violet. "Is Violet at home, Mrs. Charms?"

Mrs. Charms was on the verge of tears. She had obviously been crying for some time already. "Oh, Percival, she's missing. When I went in to get her up for school, she wasn't there. My husband has gone out looking for her, but there's no sign of her yet. Has she called you, or told you anything at all? If she's run away, don't you dare cover for her. We've got to find her."

Percival tried to swallow the lump in his throat. "I haven't seen her, Mrs. Charms. I figured she must have gotten sick or something when she didn't show up for school." Percival felt like panicking, but Mrs. Charms broke down first, and he tried to console her. "We'll find her, Mrs. Charms. I'll get on my bike and search everywhere I can for her."

Percival ran back to his house, passing his mother on her way down to the Charms' home. "Did she tell you what's happened to Violet?"

"Yes," Percival called back. "I'm going out to look for her right now." Percival didn't stop. He ran through his yard and got his bike. He jumped on the seat and tore off down the street. Percival had no idea where to even look. He only knew he had to find her.

Percival spent the next three hours pedaling all over their small town, looking for his best friend, but couldn't find a trace of her. He talked to mutual friends. They knew nothing. He went to all of their secret hang-out spots—nothing.

When he finally arrived back home, the police cruisers were gone, but Violet had still not come home or been located. Percival and his parents ate their meal with very little conversation that evening. His father had included a special prayer for Violet's safe return when they asked for the Lord's blessing on their meal.

Percival worried as he brushed his teeth and put on his pajamas. He worried when he got into bed. Percival's mother talked on the phone with one of the neighbors about Violet's disappearance for a good hour before finally hanging up and going to bed.

Percival laid in his bed, staring at the ceiling. He prayed for his friend. Where could she have gone? He only hoped that wherever she was tonight, she was safe. Foreboding lay in bed with him until he finally fell asleep in its embrace.

That night Percival dreamed in such vivid detail he truly had no idea if he was actually awake, or not.

He flew through the trees of the forest in the dusky light. His body soared on a predetermined course, over which he had no control. After a few moments, he arrived at the edge of the tree-line boundary surrounding the old manor house.

Percival stared at the house. It stood perfectly reconstructed, despite all of the calamity during their previous day's visit. Not a board seemed out of place, nor a window broken that had not been broken before the great lizard smashed through, nearly killing him and Violet.

While Percival watched, the front door of the manor opened slowly. The door squeaked and squealed, in need of lubrication. It revealed a blue light emanating from within a fine mist. Violet stood within the doorway, the mist rolling around her. She wore a white cotton dress and her hair was up in bouncy curls—all of which was very out of character for Violet. She looked positively...feminine.

Percival couldn't take his eyes off her. He called out to Violet and tried to run toward her, but every step seemed mired in quicksand. As Violet noticed him, she waved, calling to him. She seemed happy to see him.

Then something drew her back within the glowing blue mist, away from the doorway. Violet tried to resist, but it took her anyway. She cried out to Percival, reaching out to him for help, but he couldn't seem to get to her. She disappeared within the bluish fog, and the front door of the manor house slammed shut with a bang, waking him.

Percival jerked upright in his bed with Violet's name on his lips. He looked around, trying to locate the surroundings in his dream. He mumbled to himself. "Only a dream." It simply wasn't possible. The dream had been only that—a dream and nothing more. Still, it nagged at him. What if—"

Percival dismissed his crazy notions and laid back down. He pulled his warm covers up to his chin, waiting for sleep to come again. He didn't dream about the house after that. He didn't dream about anything.

The next day, Violet remained missing. The Police had no definite leads to go on. An Amber Alert went out online and on the local news stations. Percival's time in school went by much too slowly. He had to get back out there, looking for Violet.

When Percival arrived at home again that afternoon, he got his bike and went out. Once again, he found no trace of the girl. But a thought nagged Percival all day. He refused to entertain it or even think about it.

Again, his family ate in morbid silence. And again, Percival worried his way through his nightly routine. When he got in bed and prayed, he asked that Violet's location be revealed to him in the name of Jesus. He settled in to sleep, hoping for dreams that might give him insight into the situation.

As he had the night before, Percival dreamed of flying through the woods toward the old manor house. When he arrived at the clearing, the front door opened. The same blue mist billowed out over the threshold. Violet, once again, stood within the house's wispy glowing breath.

As before, she reached out to him—this time making contact. Percival tried to keep his grip on her as the house pulled her back inside. Violet's fingernails bit into the flesh of his forearms. He winced as she was pulled away, the door slamming shut in his face.

Percival jerked upright in his bed. Sweat stood on his brow and upper lip in fine beads. His heart raced. His breathing came in gulps. He thought about what he'd seen. Could it be possible? Could Violet actually be confined within the old manor house in the woods?

Percival rubbed the skin on his arms absentmindedly. The flesh burned. He noticed stains on his fingertips. Percival turned on his bedside lamp, looking down at his forearms. The flesh had been clawed. Tiny droplets of blood oozed to the surface along the gouges.

His eyes grew as wide as saucers. Somehow, in some way, Violet had made contact with him. The house was holding her captive. Percival knew now what he had to do.

RESCUE

Percival waited until the next morning to put his plan into action. His school backpack had been prepared for a rescue effort rather than academia. Percival took his bike that morning instead of riding the bus. He rode off at the appropriate time for school, but headed straight for the old manor house in the woods.

It was nearly nine o'clock, by the time Percival found himself standing at the edge of the trees encircling the house. As he had expected, any evidence of the giant lizard, which had attacked him and Violet a few nights ago, had vanished. The house now appeared as it had every other time he had come to view it.

The sun had not yet burned away the early morning dew, and hazy moisture still hung in the air. Percival noticed that the sounds of nature, which he had only observed in passing on his way, had now retreated. No other living creature stirred.

Percival began to wonder if this was a very good idea. After all, it had only been a dream. Surely, Violet had not been kidnapped by an old house in the woods. Still, unbelievable things had already happened by the bucket-load in connection with this place.

Percival remembered how many times Violet had come to his aid when he had needed her. His guilt prodded him until he mustered his courage. For Violet.

Percival pulled his flashlight, with its heavy metal casing, from his backpack along with one of his dad's old hunting knives—found sitting upon an old shelf in their garage. The blade looked like something Rambo might carry with its serrated top edge and compass seated in the end of the pommel.

He took a single step into the clearing and stopped. Leaves rustled above him. Percival only had time to look up before something swatted him hard from behind, on his behind. He tumbled head over heels into the clearing, trying not to clobber himself with the heavy flashlight or stab himself with the hunting knife.

Percival landed nearly fifty feet away from where he had been. He tried to stand, but staggered instead, coming up with both flashlight and knife in hand. He spit grass, dirt and leaves out of his mouth, searching for the edge of the clearing and his attacker.

The tree, he had been standing next to, waved its branches furiously like arms. The bark ten feet up the trunk split open in a pumpkin's smile, laughing maniacally at him. Within seconds, one tree after another around the entire boundary took up the same mocking—some pointing branches at him as though he was the most laughable thing they'd ever seen.

Percival almost expected the trees to uproot themselves and come after him, but they remained where they had been planted, giggling and forbidding him to leave the clearing. This was it. He'd been herded into the trap. All that remained was for it to snap shut upon him.

He turned around to see if anything had changed with the house. He surveyed the tree in the yard. Old rags swayed from the bare branches, but nothing more. The weather was calm, and the sunlight remained.

Percival stared at the yard, wondering how long it would take for the zombies to erupt from the ground and drag him down into their graves. But nothing stirred at all...until his eyes moved to the house itself.

The front door caught his attention. It had begun to open—slowly. An unnaturally loud squeaking of the hinges accompanied the eerie sight. Percival tried to gulp down the gathering lump in his throat with little success.

The door opened all the way, then stopped. There was no wind and no one visible in the doorway to account for it having opened. It just had. Percival stood there staring into the house, hoping to see Violet come to the door; or better, run out of the house. However, she did not appear, and Percival found he could not see into the house at all from where he stood.

He stepped closer, edging toward the gate. Just before Percival could lay his fingers upon the wrought iron, the gate opened of its own accord. Percival recoiled from it as though a snake had struck at him. He gripped his knife tighter and his flashlight with the other hand.

The stone path lay before him and, to each side, the yard. Percival recalled the partially decomposed bodies which had burst out of the ground when the bank robber had made his way down this same path. The trees barred his escape, and the door stood open before him. Clearly, he was meant to go inside.

Percival took cautious steps through the gate. Nothing jumped out at him from the ground. Everything remained as it was. He continued down the path toward the house. Every footfall felt a new shiver of fear run up and down his spine.

Percival reached the end of the path, and still nothing more out of the ordinary had happened. He turned to look back at the trees. They had all, seemingly, returned to normal—straight and tall, reaching for the sun.

At this point though, vines began to curl out of the ground around the fence. The chutes wound around the wrought iron, continuing up, becoming thick at the bases. Thorns sprang from the vines as thick and long as nails. When the thorny vines had reached a height of nearly ten feet, they stopped growing.

Percival found himself sealed within the yard by this sudden prison of briars. He thought about testing them, but it looked insurmountable. He wouldn't be leaving that way.

He turned back to the porch and the open front door before him. The chipped stone gargoyles sitting to either side of the steps seemed to be wearing smiles upon their weathered faces. This house was mocking him, letting him know it was in control of the situation.

Percival pressed on. Better to be done with it and do what could be done for his best friend. He stepped up onto the porch with fixed resolve. He paused at the door, taking a cursory look inside, but he still couldn't see anything clearly.

He breathed a final deep breath and stepped over the threshold.

INNER SANCTUM

Once he had gone inside the house the door creaked and moaned, slowly closing behind him. Percival did not bother to fight its closure. He had come inside to get Violet, and he had no intention of leaving without her—no matter what that meant.

The door shut with a heart-wrenching clack. Now, he was definitely trapped—no going back. Percival tried to calm his speeding heart, breathing deeply. He flicked the flashlight a couple of times before realizing he must of busted the bulb when the maniacal tree had swatted him into the clearing. "Great, just great," he complained.

He began praying under his breath, hoping it wasn't the Lord's will to end him in this crazy place. From a biblical standpoint, he wondered how this house even existed. Zombies just didn't exist in the real world. Neither did everything else he had experienced in connection with this house.

Several candelabras lit themselves in succession around the main room where he stood. Flames rose slowly and steadily from four candles upon each, as though someone were operating their fire on a dimmer switch. The candelabras added a sheen of yellow-orange to the musty room as well as many shadows.

Wisps of cottony cobweb hung everywhere, and the whole house sat covered in a thick coating of dust. Upon the walls, flower-pattern wallpaper peeled in tattered strips. In some places, dark splatters and smears stained the walls, forcing Percival to wonder if it might be blood.

He decided not to dwell upon it. He had to find Violet. "Is anyone here?" he called, almost hoping no one would answer him. Percival sighed. "Of course someone is here...someone is controlling all these things."

Percival heard only the creaking of an old house—at first. "Violet! Where are you?" he called again.

Clanking came from somewhere on the floor above him, like chains dragged down a hallway. Insane laughter suddenly resounded throughout the house. It seemed to come from every direction at once. Percival spun around, searching for the source.

"Violet, where are you?" the squealing voice of the house mocked him. "I'm afraid, Violet. Please help me!"

"Stop it!" Percival screamed. He was terrified, but his anger was quickly catching up to his fear. "Show me where Violet is!" He picked up one of the candelabras. "Show me where she is, or I'll burn this house down!"

The candles on the candelabra erupted into jets of flame reaching nearly to the ceiling. Percival dropped it on the floor immediately. The flames receded, and more laughter filtered throughout the house. "Ah, ah, ah. Mustn't play with fire, little boy," the house scolded.

Percival picked the candelabra back up. He needed light and was getting tired of these obvious games. "Where's Violet?!"

"Percival! I'm here!"

Percival turned to find Violet standing on the dilapidated staircase behind him. Violet looked beautiful in a white summer dress, sporting little flowers throughout her hair. Was that a touch of makeup she was wearing? Percival stood there stunned as she smiled at him.

"Thank goodness you came for me, Percival!" She ran down the last few steps in her bare feet, crossing the room to embrace him. Percival could only return her affection, remembering the wonderful hug she had given him two nights before—the first time he'd saved her.

He closed his eyes, sighing with relief.

"Percival?"

He opened his eyes and turned toward the voice. It was Violet again, but now on the other side of the main room, looking at him from an open doorway.

Percival looked back at the Violet hugging him and found her dissolving in his arms. "Ah!" Her body had become thousands upon thousands of creepy crawling insects. The bugs heaved up and over him like a putrid wave.

He jumped back, shaking himself like mad to get them off. It wasn't that Percival was afraid of bugs—not at all—but he hated anything in connection with this house!

He shook himself, swatting until most of them had hit the floor and scattered into dark crevasses all around the room. Percival looked up at the other Violet in time to see her give him a mean look and slam the door.

Percival crossed the room with the candelabra in one hand and his hunting knife in the other. "Violet, wait!" He grabbed the door, opened it then followed her through.

Percival didn't see her now. She had vanished. What's more, this room looked exactly like the main room he had just come from. He turned around, finding only a blank wall with peeling flower-design wallpaper. The house is toying with me.

He had walked back into the main room. His flashlight sat on the table where he had picked up the candelabra. The stairs where Violet had appeared stood on the far side of the room. Laughter erupted again from everywhere and nowhere. The whole house shuddered, causing Percival to nearly lose his balance.

Percival heard a wet slapping on the windows and pounding at the door. He looked and saw horrid faces pressed against the glass, peering inside, searching for him. Their muddy hands smeared the windows. But none of the zombies came through the door.

He decided he'd had enough. Clearly, whomever or whatever was in control here could have killed him already had they really wanted to. Percival set the candelabra down upon an end table next to the moldy couch, with its shredded cushions, and waited. "What do you want from me?" he shouted.

The noise continued unabated—now all of them occurring at once. He heard Violet calling from several different directions, chains dragging upstairs, zombies clawing at the door and the omnipresent laughter. Objects began to fly around the room—tables, lamps, lit candles and more. But Percival simply waited. "You're wasting my time and yours! Either give me Violet, or tell me what you want from me!" It seemed the logical thing to do...getting straight to the point of the matter.

Then, just as quickly as the cacophony had begun, it all stopped. The laughter ceased, the visions of Violet flitting about the dark corners of the house faded, and the zombies even stood up, shrugging their shoulders at one another, confused. After all, the boy was supposed to be terrified. So, why wasn't he?

Percival watched the change, curiously. It seemed he had turned the tables on his tormentors, if only for a moment. The manor house grew strangely quiet. And then...tap, tap.

Percival turned on the hand tapping his shoulder. He wasn't sure what would be standing there, but what he found surprised him. An old man wearing a dingy white button-up shirt and stained dark trousers held up by suspenders stood there with a morbid look on his face. "Hello, Percival. We've been expecting you."

Percival stood there looking queerly at the little man, who actually matched his own height almost perfectly. "You're not a zombie?"

The little old man shot Percival a wounded look. "Me? A zombie? Just how low on the totem pole do you think I am, boy?"

"Hey, we heard that!" came a shout from the porch where the zombies were still peering inside.

The old man waved them off before turning back to Percival. "You shouldn't have come here, boy."

Percival, perturbed, tapped the man's chest with the tip of his knife blade. "You and this house brought me here."

"I mean you shouldn't have come spying in these woods in the first place." He looked down at Percival's knife. "You really shouldn't play with snakes, either."

Percival looked down at the knife, only to find it had become a python coiling up his arm. The old man looked into Percival's eyes, perhaps expecting him to scream, but he didn't "I happen to like snakes, mister—?"

Frowning, the old man said, "Mr. Lonely...and this is the Lonely Manor."

Percival tossed the snake on the couch. "This is your house?"

"In a way, I suppose you could say that," Mr. Lonely said.

"Well, if you didn't want me to come snooping around then why did you take Violet?" Percival asked.

Mr. Lonely seemed to be sizing him up. "I suppose we wanted to see if you would actually come after her, but you needn't worry about the girl for the moment. She's safe enough."

Now Percival's curiosity piqued. "So this was a test of some kind?"

Mr. Lonely grinned. "Oh, the test is still to come. And if you pass then you will get the girl back unharmed."

Percival felt sweat beading on his upper lip and around his neck. "And if I don't?"

Mr. Lonely looked toward the door and the peering hungry zombies. He grinned at Percival. "We really don't want to think about that, now do we?"

A PROPOSAL

Mr. Lonely carried one of the candelabras, leading Percival up the large partially dilapidated staircase toward the second floor. Percival followed after, feeling more confident there was no immediate danger, but wondering if something far worse didn't lie ahead.

Percival brushed the dense cobwebs aside, following Mr. Lonely onto the second floor landing. An extremely long hallway stretched out before them with many doors intersecting along the way. It looked like it might extend as far as half a football field in length—much too far to be sitting inside this house.

Mr. Lonely noticed his bewilderment. "Perceptions cannot always be trusted, Percival. You must learn that if you're ever to face what lies ahead."

"What lies ahead?" Percival asked.

"Danger, the likes of which you've never known," Mr. Lonely said bluntly.

Percival looked at Mr. Lonely as though he was crazy if he thought to send him into dangers untold and unnumbered.

Mr. Lonely frowned. "Surely, your friend, Violet, is worth that much. Hmm?"

Percival considered it. She certainly is. He motioned down the hallway. "Lead on, Mr. Lonely."

Mr. Lonely grinned and continued down the corridor. A finely crafted rug ran the length, though it was soiled with dust and mildew. In fact, the entire Lonely Manor was furnished eloquently, but everything was very old and decayed. Oil paintings hung at regular intervals along the wall. The eyes of the painted figures seemed to glare at Percival as he passed. He thought he noticed movement, but saw nothing upon closer inspection.

A great mirror hung on the wall at the end of the corridor. Its tarnished gilded frame played host to many cobwebs drifting across its surface. As they drew nearer, Percival noticed Mr. Lonely casting no reflection in the mirror. Only Percival walked the hallway reflected in the looking glass.

Percival expected Mr. Lonely to open one of the last two doors and go through. Instead, the old man looked back at Percival and said, "Follow me." He then stepped directly into the mirror. Its surface shimmered like stagnant water disturbed. Ripples traveled across the glass, disappearing into the gilded frame.

Mr. Lonely dissolved into the glass. There was nothing left of him at all. Percival looked around. "This is the craziest house I've ever seen." He mustered his courage. "For Violet." Apprehensively, Percival stepped through the glass. It allowed him to pass through, and immediately he found Mr. Lonely waiting on the other side in a high domed room.

Candles shone from wall mounts all around the chamber. It was excessively bright in comparison with the rest of the house. Percival also noticed that the room, with its fine Victorian era decorations, was impeccably clean. It could have hosted a ball at that very moment. The wooden floor gleamed under their feet, casting his reflection back from its mirror finish. He and Mr. Lonely seemed terribly out of place in this setting.

Percival noticed no other way out of the room except for the way they had come by. In fact, when he looked back to the looking glass, he noticed others all around the room just like it in appearance—eight in all. "Do all of these mirrors go places?" Percival asked.

"As a matter of fact, they do," Mr. Lonely said. "These looking glasses lead to seven Imaginative Worlds. You must face a dangerous trial in one of them. Once you have completed the test, we will return your friend to you."

Percival looked at the mirrors. Nothing about their appearance betrayed other worlds hidden behind them. "That's all there is to it?"

Mr. Lonely chuckled to himself. "That and the fact that the inhabitants of these worlds will certainly try to destroy you."

"Don't you think the deck is a bit stacked against me?" Percival asked. "I'm just a teenager."

"I never said it would be easy. In fact, you're not the first sent to try," Mr. Lonely said.

"What happened to the others?" Percival asked. "Did they fail?"

"They never returned," Mr. Lonely said.

Percival looked puzzled. "This room doesn't look like any other part of the house. Why?"

Mr. Lonely looked around wistfully. "This is a special place, but none of that matters right now. Do you accept my offer, or not?"

Percival's face grew hard. "It doesn't sound like much of an offer to me. Why don't I just tell the police about your little house in the woods and how you kidnap kids to hold them for ransom. How would you like to have every cop in the state crawling all over this place?" Percival threatened. He knew his ploy was probably foolish, but he had grown tired of the old man pushing him around and his threats to keep Violet a prisoner in this house.

Mr. Lonely turned on him, anger and frustration written on his gaunt face. "I should have known you'd be stubborn about this. I suppose you'll just need time to think it over."

Percival began to protest, but Mr. Lonely cut him off. He waved a boney hand as though dismissing the help. Instantly, the finely laid floorboards split under Percival's feet—the long boards raising up so that he stumbled backward. The boards popped up after him, following his regression across the floor until the last two under his feet sent him flying backward through one of the ornate mirrors.

Percival fell through the shimmering portal, passed through a wall of clothing and landed upon the floor. Wire hangers spilled around him. When Percival sat up, he realized he had passed through his closet and was now back inside his own bedroom.

BIZARRO TOWN

Mrs. Lonely appeared inside the Looking Glass Chamber beside Mr. Lonely. "Oh, dear, do you suppose you were too rough on him?"

Mr. Lonely turned to his wife. "Ah, he'll be all right. What about the girl?"

"Oh, she's tucked away safely. I don't think she'll give us any problems now." She looked wistfully toward the looking glass where Percival had just passed through. "I do hope he comes back."

Mr. Lonely smiled at his wife—her once black eyes now blue. "My dear, where else can he possibly go?"

Percival stood in his room. The smell of ten-year-old gym socks hung heavy in the air. Percival happened to be fairly OCD about hygiene and neatness, so it wasn't the usual smell. He looked back toward the closet where he had evidently come through. Only his scattered clothing and several science project awards remained. There was no sign of Mr. Lonely, the manor house, or the looking glass he had just passed through.

Mr. Lonely had told him to think about his proposal, but Percival decided to go through with his own threat. His and Violet's families needed to know what was going on. After that, he would tell the police then lead them all to the house in the woods. Once they cleared the border of trees, they would see for themselves.

Percival walked past the mirror mounted on his dresser. Something odd struck him. For a moment, he thought he saw another Percival staring back—actually staring and not walking as he had been. But when he looked a second time, paying closer attention, the image appeared normal. He moved on, opened his bedroom door then called out to his parents.

"Mom! Dad! I need to tell you something!" he shouted.

"We're down here in the kitchen, honey," he heard his mother say. Just then, Percival realized that it was almost dark outside. Surely he hadn't been gone that long. It should have only been about noon. He paused, thinking, then went downstairs into the kitchen.

He found his father sitting at the kitchen table and his mother cooking at the stove. Several pots bubbled, spitting columns of steam into the hood vent. "You're late getting home, Percival," his mother scolded gently. "I hope you haven't been out looking for Violet again."

"As a matter of fact, Mom, I know where she is. There's this old house out in the woods. I first found it when I followed a bank robber—"

"Bank robber?" his father interrupted. "Whoa, wait a minute. What bank robber?" His father folded down the newspaper in order to scrutinize his son.

"Well, the other day while I was out collecting some specimens, I heard police sirens out on the highway," Percival explained. "Next thing I know, this car comes barreling through the woods nearby and crashes into a tree."

Percival's parents looked at one another suspiciously. Percival carried on with his story despite their obvious skepticism. "Anyway, this guy got out of the car with a bag of money that had a dye pack inside. It exploded on him. Then he headed off into the woods. I decided to follow him and see what he was up to and where he was going, so I could tell the police later."

"Wait a minute," his father said. "You never said anything about this before."

"That's because the bank robber went to this old manor house in the woods and he never came out. But that's not the only thing. When this guy passed into the clearing around the house, the weather changed and these zombies came out of the ground. They chased him inside then I heard him scream. He never came out. Then the house went back to the way it was before."

Percival's father chuckled. "Zombies, Percival? Have you been sniffing glue or something?"

This was it—the hard sell. Percival knew his story sounded too fantastic to be true, but they just had to believe him. He decided to bypass the incredible events and get to the real meat of it. "Dad, the people living in that house kidnapped Violet."

Percival's mother came away from the stove and caressed his arm. "Honey, we know how hard this has been on you, with Violet being your best friend, but you've really got to calm down. I suppose it's not unusual for a boy to make up wild stories to explain the disappearance of a good friend, but—"

Percival felt wounded. "Mom, I'm not making this up. I know some of it sounds incredible, but they really do have Violet inside that house. If you would just come with me, we could take the police out there, and you'd all see for yourself."

Percival's father rolled his eyes and went back to reading his paper. His mother pulled out a chair for him at the table. "Before we do anything, honey, I think you need to have some dinner. Then we can discuss this some more."

Percival sat in the chair feeling very discouraged. What could he possibly do or say that would make them believe his story? His mother placed a bowl on the table before him, then went back to the stove. "Dinner's ready."

Percival's father folded down his newspaper eagerly. "Good, I'm starving."

His mother came around the table, carrying a pan with a potholder and began to serve his dad. Percival looked outside again. In only a few minutes, the sun had gone down. It was already pitch black outside with a full moon. "What the?"

Percival's mother served his father then moved around the table to his bowl. "I saved the best part for you, honey." She ladled out a grayish stew into his bowl. When the pungent vapor hit his nostrils, Percival's nose curled. He looked down into his bowl.

A soggy rat head sat inside, staring up at him. "Ah!" Percival jumped away from the table, nearly overturning it in the process.

"Hey! Watch it, Percival," his father complained. "You almost spilled my dinner." He smiled hungrily then returned to his bowl. His father picked out what appeared to be a thick noodle. "You can have the head. I like the tail the best."

Percival watched in horror as his father slurped down the rat's tail like a spaghetti noodle. "Oh boy, that's good," he said, smacking his lips. He looked up at Percival. "Aren't you going to eat your food?"

Percival stared, bewildered by his parents' behavior. They laughed gently to themselves. His mother had gotten a portion for herself by now and was eagerly picking out the best pieces of rat-meat.

Percival backed out of the kitchen, keeping an eye on them both. They remained seated at the kitchen table completely engrossed in their dinner. When Percival reached the living room, he turned and burst through the screen door, practically leaping off the porch into the front yard. The sun was already coming up, again. "What's going on?" Percival wondered. Nothing about this was right.

Just then, Percival noticed Violet's father leaving his own porch, heading for his rolled newspaper lying on his sidewalk. Her father wore his blue bathrobe over a pair of red flannel pajamas while sporting a pair of furry black slippers. He shuffled out onto the walkway, yawning and scratching himself on the backside through his robe.

Percival ran across the lawn toward him. "Mr. Charms! Mr. Charms! I need to speak to you about Violet, sir!" Percival crossed through the dew-wet grass into Violet's yard, puffing on the chilly air. His breath escaped in a vapor as though it were the middle of January, despite the fact that July had just begun two days ago.

"Weird," Mr. Charms commented.

"Sir?" Percival inquired.

He looked away from the street toward Percival. "No, not you, dear boy...I mean the strange weather we're having. Freezing cold in the middle of July. What in the devil is the world coming to? You don't suppose those loony tree-huggers are right do you?"

Percival looked at him, still perplexed. "Sir?"

"Oh, you know, global warming and all that stuff."

Percival tried to shake Mr. Charms' ranting out of his head. "Sir, I must speak to you about Violet...she's in great danger."

Now it was Mr. Charms' turn to give queer looks. "Danger? What on earth are you talking about, Percival? My daughter is up in her room, still in bed. Her mother and I just looked in on her."

"In her room?" He wanted to ask if Mr. Charms was quite sure Violet was in her room, but it seemed foolish given his assertion that he and his wife had just seen her.

Mr. Charms laid his thick hand on Percival's shoulder, smiling. "I know this has been a traumatic experience for you as well. After all, you and Violet have grown up together—the best of friends—and you were so good to run all over town on your bicycle trying to find her. But it's all over now. You can relax. As I told your parents yesterday, Violet was only hiding in her closet those days. It's a wonder we didn't find her before yesterday."

Percival blinked, confused. He knew she couldn't have only been lying around hiding in a closet. It wasn't Violet's style at all. Besides, his gut told him that she really was being held captive inside the Lonely Manor in the woods. He couldn't have imagined it all.

"Well, I suppose you'd like to see her for yourself, eh?" Mr. Charms started to climb the steps to his front porch then looked back. "Aren't you coming, Percival?"

He looked back toward his own house. No sign of his parents. He trotted up the steps behind Mr. Charms. "Yes, sir, I'd feel much better seeing her for myself."

Mr. Charms led the way inside the house. He paused at the base of the stairs to inquire of his wife. "Linda, are you up there?"

The muffled reply came from upstairs. "Yes, I'm up here with Violet."

"Well, Percival has come over and wants to see Violet. Are you two decent?" Mr. Charms turned to wink at Percival, awaiting the answer.

"Yes, of course," Mrs. Charms said. "Bring him on up."

Mr. Charms started up the stairs. "Let's not keep the women waiting."

Percival followed him up then down the short hall to Violet's bedroom. Mr. Charms pushed the door open and stepped inside. When Percival stepped inside Violet's bedroom, he found everything awash in pink hues—the dresser, the carpet and the drapes. Even the clothes, seen hanging inside Violet's open closet, were all pink.

Immediately, Percival realized this didn't look a thing like Violet's bedroom. She had always been a tomboy. He had often thought that her room might seem more masculine than his own. Then he looked at the bed.

Where Violet's old bed had once been, there stood a white canopy bed draped in swathes of translucent pink silk. Mrs. Charms sat on the side of the bed, as though she'd been tending Violet during a time of illness. She smiled and looked inside the drapery. "Look who's come to see you, honey."

Mrs. Charms opened the silk curtain. Percival smiled, looking down at Violet, only it wasn't Violet in the bed at all. A life sized doll lay in Violet's bed. It had black button eyes and dark yarn for hair. Percival gasped, looking to Violet's parents for an answer.

"What's wrong, Percival?" Mr. Charms asked.

"That's not Violet...can't you see?" Percival said.

They looked down at the doll, then at Percival. "Are you sure you're all right, son? Maybe you're coming down with something," her mother said.

"They say the flu is going around," Mr. Charms added.

Percival looked back at the doll lying on the bed. The doll's head turned to look at Percival. A smile, wrought in black thread, spread across its face, laughing at him.

Percival passed very few people while riding his bicycle into town. There were more pedestrians than cars, though he wasn't sure why. He had tried to speak to several people along the way, but they acted just as weird as his and Violet's parents had.

Mrs. Waddell had been walking her dog, or so it had seemed at first. Percival had stopped to ask her a question, only to realize that Fifi carried the controlling end of the leash in her small poodle mouth while the collar and cord were fastened around Mrs. Waddell's neck. The elderly woman, whom Percival often passed on his way to school in the mornings, flitted nervously from a mailbox to a bush, then to the back tire of Percival's bike, saying, "Oh, I do like taking walks. So much fun. Do you have a treat for me, hmm?"

Mrs. Waddell only vaguely remained aware that Percival was there, quickly finding other objects of interest to sniff at. Percival decided he didn't want to see the conclusion of this bizarre behavior and quickly pedaled away. Fifi pulled the leash, and they both continued on their walk down Princeton Street.

Others he passed along the way stood on their sidewalks, staring off into space, as though not even a direct meteor strike would have fazed them in the least. The entire town had seemingly gone mad. At least, that's what Percival would have supposed had he not known the Lonely Manor's involvement. That Mister Lonely has done his somehow, he thought.

Percival was both disturbed by it and impressed. What sort of power must he be dealing with that they could accomplish all of these things? To have affected the entire town this way was beyond Percival's comprehension. It had even occurred to him that this all might simply be some illusion or dream. Still, he continued on into the center of town until he found what he was looking for.

Percival left his bicycle parked outside, practically bursting into the police station, swinging both glass doors open as he ran in, hoping to find a sympathetic ear to his plight. The glass on the door, immediately to his right, exploded. Percival jumped nearly out of his skin, looking toward the main desk where the police chief, Arthur Kittridge, stood pointing his revolver in Percival's general direction.

He froze in place, not knowing if Kittridge had meant to shoot him and missed, or if the shot had been misfired. "What are you doing out of school, Percival?" Kittridge asked. He waved the barrel of the revolver around, but didn't put it away, or even apologize for scaring the wits out of him.

Percival kept his eyes on the gun. Mr. Lonely's strange influence, or not, this had just turned into a life or death situation. "I wanted to find out—" Percival began.

Kittridge suddenly squinted his left eye and fired the gun again. This time at a picture frame sitting atop one of his detective's desks. Percival jumped again. The detective in question, who had been typing on his computer, picked up his mug of coffee, sipped on it then returned it to the desktop without even looking away from the screen. Kittridge fired again, shattering the coffee mug just as it was set down. The detective didn't take notice, staring straight ahead at his blue computer screen as though it were the most interesting thing in the world.

Kittridge watched Percival, pointing the revolver at him. "Didn't I ask you a question, boy? Why are you not in school?"

Percival stammered for an answer, his mouth gaping like a fish out of water. "I just came in about Violet Charms, Captain Kittridge."

Kittridge smiled wistfully. "Oh yeah, well, all's well that ends well...glad her old man found her."

Percival tried to ignore the gun still pointed toward him. He wanted to approach the Captain's desk, but couldn't get his legs to agree. "But they haven't found her, sir. That's not Violet...I mean they think it is, but it's not."

Kittridge looked confused. He scratched his right temple with the barrel of the gun, frowning. "Is this some kind of joke, Percival? Of course it's her. I saw her myself," he said.

"But, Captain, if—"

Kittridge stopped him cold, pointing the gun back at Percival, punctuating his words with shakes of the barrel. "Look, kid, I know you've had a rough couple of days worrying about your friend, but I've got better things to do than listen to wild stories all day long. I have to get back to my target practicing. The Qualifying is next week, Percival. Now, if you don't mind."

"But, Captain Kittridge—"

Kittridge sighed heavily, then pointed the gun directly at Percival's face. He pulled the trigger as Percival gasped, terrified. The hammer fell, clicking loudly. Kittridge looked at the weapon, disappointed, then squeezed the trigger several more times while looking down the barrel. Percival waited for his own heart to start beating again.

"Darn thing...I've ran out of bullets already," Kittridge said. Percival let out the breath he'd been holding with a great sigh of relief. Then Kittridge opened up his desk drawer, pulled out a box of shells and began to reload his revolver.

Percival wiped a thick layer of sweat from his upper lip and started backing away, crunching on shattered glass as he reached the doors. "Well, I had better get back to school now, Captain. Sorry to have bothered you."

Kittridge stopped loading his gun for a moment as he comprehended Percival's statement. "Oh hello, Percival...what are you doing here at this time of day?" He seemed to have completely forgotten what had just happened.

Percival pushed the door open and started through. "Oh, nothing," he answered. "Just on my way back to school." He tried to smile, like the police captain hadn't just tried to shoot him. "See you later." Percival dashed out of the building, got on his bike then rode down the street. He only had one option. He had to go back to the Lonely Manor and accept Mr. Lonely's terms for the real Violet's release.

PREPARATIONS

Percival hurried back to the old manor house in the woods. He didn't have any time to lose in securing Violet's release. When he had gone as far as he could go on his bicycle, Percival left it behind and ran the rest of the way.

He ran past the barrier of trees, only half concerned of anything unusual happening at this point. When the gloom and wind stirred up around him, and a few zombies came up from the ground, Percival delayed his sprint to the front door only long enough to shout back, "Just can it!" To which, the zombies took on bewildered expressions, shrugging boney shoulders and murmuring to themselves about "kids these days," before slinking back beneath the sod.

The front door of the house opened before Percival could reach it. He ran through, stopping inside the parlor where many drippy candles already lit the room. Percival took a moment to slow his labored breathing, but his anger urged him to get this over with. "Mr. Lonely? Mr. Lonely!"

"No need to shout, my boy, no need to shout," Mr. Lonely said.

Percival found the old man standing in front of the staircase—a pleasant smile spread across his pale lips. "You don't have to be so smug about it," Percival said, disgusted.

Mr. Lonely walked toward him—a puzzled expression on his face. "Why, whatever do you mean, Percival? Is something troubling you, dear boy?"

Percival walked to the musty couch and plopped down upon it. He ignored the cloud of dust that sprang up around him. "I know you did something to the people in my town. They're all acting crazy...you did it, didn't you?"

Mr. Lonely put his hand to his chin then hunched his shoulders innocently. "You never know."

"Well, I came back to say, you win," Percival confessed. "What do I have to do to get Violet back?"

Mr. Lonely smiled. "Very sensible of you, my boy. As a matter of fact, the first thing is as simple as coming to dinner."

Percival looked confused. "Dinner?"

Mr. Lonely led Percival through the parlor beneath the dilapidated old staircase into a room that seemed as out of place as could be. An old woman, dressed in a fine dining gown, conducted a menagerie of dining room chairs, fine china and silverware, all sailing around the room. As the old woman pointed out each piece to their place, they flew immediately to position and stayed there.

The old woman suddenly noticed them. "Oh! Charles, you've brought the boy! I hoped he would come back."

Percival stood watching as the remaining place settings came together on the large table dominating the entire room. Like the Looking Glass Chamber before, Percival noticed how impeccably clean the dining room was. He couldn't find a speck of dust anywhere. The table was made of polished white marble. Columns of the same stood at intervals along the wall, which presently changed color to match, right before Percival's eyes. "Just a bit more and I'll have everything ready, Charles."

Percival looked at Mr. Lonely curiously. "Charles?"

Mr. Lonely glared back at him. "Yes, Charles. Is there a problem with that...Percival?" Mr. Lonely surveyed his wife's handiwork. "Dear, the settings look very nice, but the room...we're going to need much more room. The delegates will no doubt have their servants with them, you know."

"Quite right, Charles." She turned to the opposite wall and waved her hands, as though shooing chickens off the front porch. "Go on, back, back, back, back...give us a little room." The wall responded like a scolded pup, receding away from them, stretching the entire room in the process. Indeed, not only the room stretched, but the table elongated in order to match. Place settings multiplied themselves, and so on, until the dining room had become a dining hall nearly twenty yards long. Reason said there was no way for it to fit inside the manor house's dimensions, and yet, there it was.

In the midst of all the fantastic things taking place, Mrs. Lonely had paid little attention, suddenly focusing on her own hand. "Oh dear, I believe I've chipped a nail."

Percival smiled a little. He wanted to laugh, but didn't. After all, this was still a serious situation. These people, or ghouls, or whatever they were, still held Violet prisoner against her wishes.

"Percival! How are you?"

He turned to find Violet coming into the room, wearing an elegant dress. He'd never seen her in anything like it. Jeans, yes. Tee-shirts, yes. Evening gowns? Never.

For a moment, Percival didn't know what to say. His mouth hung open as he stared at her, not believing she was real, not believing the same Violet he knew, who drop kicked older boys in her martial arts class like it was nothing, would ever be caught dead in such an outfit, and not believing how wonderful she looked in it. He felt a teensy bit conflicted.

Violet stopped before she reached him, frowning. "Is there something the matter, Percival?" She looked down at her dress, turning to see if something about her was amiss. Percival snapped out of his shock. "No...I mean nothing is wrong. I just, uh...I've never seen you wear..."

"Don't you like it? I look awful don't I?" Violet pouted.

Percival stammered. "No, not at all. I mean I think you look great—really—pretty." He wasn't sure if that word might get him slugged in the arm. But looking at her, he honestly couldn't think of anything else at the moment. "I just wasn't expecting to see you."

Violet walked over to him and Mr. Lonely. Mrs. Lonely had stopped arranging the room in order to admire Violet in her dress. "You look just lovely dear...I knew you would."

Violet smiled sheepishly at Percival. "Mrs. Lonely thought I should wear this for the big dinner. She thought you might like it." The statement seemed more question than anything, searching for a hoped-for response.

"Oh yes, well, I definitely agree. You look really...beautiful, Violet." Percival began to sense that instead of belting him for such compliments, Violet was hoping for them. After all their years of close friendship, this may have been even weirder than all he'd faced up to this moment since finding the Lonely Manor.

Violet stepped closer to him, speaking low now. "I heard you went looking everywhere for me when I disappeared from my room and that you even came back here, not knowing what dangers you'd face in order to find me."

Percival felt heat gathering in his cheeks, even a little dizziness, but Violet's grin anchored him. Finding no words, Percival simply nodded.

"I think that's really sweet, Percival," she said.

Percival smiled, nodding, then wondered why he was smiling...and why was he nodding. Had everyone suddenly gone bonkers? "Wait a minute. I don't get any of this. Are we all suddenly friends or something? Violet, they're holding you against your will. They've kidnapped you, and they're blackmailing me to get you back!"

He looked at Mrs. Lonely, who studied him while scratching her wrinkled chin. "I'm afraid you're very underdressed, Percival. You'll never do in that—not with Violet so beautifully dressed. What would people say?" She strode toward him and started to pull his tee-shirt over his head as though he were three years old, and his mother was drawing a bath for him, complete with a yellow rubber ducky and G.I. Joe action figures.

Percival protested, but Mrs. Lonely ignored him. By the time his shirt sailed over his head and off, Percival was horrified—especially with Violet watching. But he quickly realized a tuxedo remained in its place. His pants had apparently changed on their own as well.

Violet giggled at the expression of shock on his face. "I just love it when they do that," she informed him.

For his part, Percival remained quite perplexed. "Okay, okay. I have no idea what's going on around here, but I sure wish someone would explain it to me."

A thunderclap boomed throughout the house. Mr. and Mrs. Lonely both looked at one another, then at Percival. "I'm afraid we don't have time right now, dear," Mrs. Lonely said. "The delegates are already arriving."

"Come with me, you two," Mr. Lonely said. "I have to get you to Marlon."

They looked at one another. "Who's Marlon?" Percival asked.

Mr. Lonely hurried out of the reformed dining hall, back through the dingy part of the house, toward the staircase. "He's one of the delegates." Mr. Lonely waved them on. "Come, come, we must hurry."

Percival looked back to Mrs. Lonely, who was now speaking with one of the zombies from the yard—only he was now dressed in a porter's uniform, standing next to a great arch midway down the dining hall. A set of ornate doors sat within the arch. Percival was certain it hadn't been there before.

Violet grabbed his hand, leading him around the staircase, following Mr. Lonely. "Come, we must hurry," Mr. Lonely called down to them as he climbed the stairs.

Percival allowed Violet to pull him along, enjoying the fact that she was holding his hand in the process.

"But I thought we were going to be at the dinner, Mr. Lonely," Violet said as they joined him at the top of the stair case.

"You are, you are, but things must be done a certain way." He walked down the dusty cobweb-strewn hallway. "Marlon, one of my very good friends and the honorable delegate from Fantastique, will bring you and Percival to the dinner with him."

They reached the same mirror at the far end where Percival had previously entered the Looking Glass Chamber. "Wait. I don't understand any of this. Why are we going to a dinner? And why are you going along with all of this, Violet?"

She gripped his hand tighter. "Percival, do I look like I'm in any real danger here? Give them a chance to explain."

"But why don't we just leave?" Percival pleaded. By the way she looked at him, he already knew he would give in, but he hoped she might still listen to reason.

"Percival, just trust me. It's important that we don't leave." She looked into his eyes. The battle was over. He'd lost before he started. Truth be told, he didn't mind the losing so much. Part of him had grown more curious about the house and what was going on here. But another part kept him planted, because Violet had asked him to stay.

Percival drew himself up, nodding to Violet. She smiled, and they continued down the hall to where Mr. Lonely waited impatiently at the gilded mirror. "Come along. We haven't much time," Mr. Lonely pleaded. "Marlon will be expected soon."

Percival stopped short of going through the looking glass. "All right, but I'm warning you. When you explain this whole thing to me, it had better be good," Percival persisted.

Mr. Lonely nodded. "Fair enough."

Inside the Looking Glass Chamber, everything remained as Percival had seen it before. Like the dining hall, it seemed as though it belonged anywhere but here in this dilapidated old house in the middle of the woods. Mr. Lonely crossed to a particular mirror, preparing to enter. Percival looked around the chamber curiously, but had no idea which mirror had deposited him back in his own closet before.

"Come, come! We're late already." Mr. Lonely passed through the looking glass as though going through a pane of water.

Violet's eyes lit up. "Wow, that's so cool."

"Go ahead," Percival offered. "I've already tried it before.

Violet grinned, stepping toward the mirror. She tried to touch her own reflection with a cautious finger, first. "Whoa, it's cold."

Percival hadn't thought about it earlier, having been so surprised to have come through a mirror. Violet inched her hand then her arm all the way up to her shoulder. She looked back at Percival. "Coming?"

He nodded as she turned, allowing the rippling surface of the looking glass to swallow her completely. Percival paused only a moment, wondering what exactly they'd gotten themselves into. He whispered a prayer for protection then stepped through the mirror, noticing for the first time that Violet had been right. It was cold.

FANTASTIQUE

Emerging on the other side of the looking glass, Percival quickly found both Violet and Mr. Lonely standing upon a grassy hill ahead of him. Contrary to the manor house, here they were bathed in bright sunshine. Puffy white clouds—entirely too white and puffy, perhaps—floated gently through the brilliant blue sky above. "Where are we?" Percival called, making his way toward them.

A bugle sounded in the valley below. Percival watched as a troop of knights in shining armor upon horseback rallied to the call. Some carried swords aloft while others rode along with red standards flying high in the breeze upon tall staves. "What's going on?" Percival asked again.

"We are in the Imaginative World of Fantastique, my boy," Mr. Lonely said. "Those are some of the king's knights going to fight some beast or other. They're always flitting about on a quest for this, or that—pay them no mind."

Percival and Violet both looked at him strangely. "Imaginative World? You said that before, but what does it mean?" Percival asked.

Mr. Lonely sighed. "You are no longer in your world, but in one of ours."

"Ours?"

"I'll make this brief, Percival, because I don't have time for more at the moment. You are a being of the real world while I, Mrs. Lonely and all you see are imagined beings. This is one of seven imagined worlds or realms."

"Are you kidding me, or—" Percival started, but Mr. Lonely quickly silenced him with an upheld palm. "Please, we don't have time for this now, Percival. Believe me, I'll explain everything after the delegates have come and gone from the manor house, but now is not the time. We have to meet Marlon the Wizard."

"Marlon the Wizard?" Percival asked.

"Really, Percival, if you're going to repeat everything I say then we're never going to get anywhere." Mr. Lonely pointed to an ancient castle standing behind them on the hill. Lichen climbed the gray stone walls. A wooden drawbridge descended before them.

Percival was sure he had not noticed the castle, before when they arrived. He looked at Violet. She only shrugged her shoulders and started following Mr. Lonely up the hill toward the drawbridge. Percival sighed, following after.

The end of the drawbridge came to rest upon a hewn pad of rock with a loud crack. Up ahead, a cobblestone road led through a darkened archway into the castle itself. Crows cawed above, circling around the tallest parapet. Percival looked up at them. "Why do I have a bad feeling about this?"

"I thought castles usually had guards," Violet said, looking around, but finding no one.

"The castle is well guarded by magic—don't you worry about that," Mr. Lonely said. "If we weren't expected, we would have a terrible time ever getting inside—and there's no telling what you'd find when you did."

Percival scanned the moat below them as they passed over the drawbridge to the other side. Crocodiles snapped at him from twenty feet below in the murky green water. "I didn't think there was any such thing as magic."

"You'll get over it, I'm sure," Mr. Lonely said dismissively. "You need to realize where you are, Percival. This is an imagined world. Nearly anything is possible within the confines of each particular realm, though it does depend on what realm you're in. This is Fantastique. Wizards and magic are commonplace here, where they might not be in other places. Marlon is one of the most powerful of all."

"What else do they have in Fantastique, Mr. Lonely?" Violet asked, interested.

They reached the other side of the bridge and passed on to the cobblestone road. Mr. Lonely pondered the question. "There are dragons, knights, trolls, elves, all sorts of imagined beings like that."

Percival thought about it—Fantastique—fantastic—fantasy. "This is a world of pure fantasy, Violet."

Mr. Lonely paused for a moment, turning with a grin on his pale face. "Now you are beginning to understand!" Mr. Lonely wagged a knowing finger. "Man creates with his mind, and creatures are born of it...whole worlds in fact."

"You say there are seven, altogether?" Violet asked.

"Seven for the moment, but growing faster than when they first came into being," Mr. Lonely said, continuing toward the castle entrance. "In the past fifty years, in your world, the imagined worlds have multiplied and expanded...and grown hot with jealousy."

Percival caught up to the old man as they passed through the entrance. "Jealousy?"

"Yes, of one another, and even more of mankind." Mr. Lonely stopped short, pointing his finger in Percival's face. "Be sure of this, young man. Given its leave, a creation will usually come to despise its creator. It happened with mankind and that's what has happened among the inhabitants of the imagined worlds. They want to overthrow humanity—their creators."

Percival looked at Violet. "The creation will hate its creator...spooky. The second Psalm says mankind imagines a vain thing...cutting ties with our Creator."

Violet looked at Mr. Lonely earnestly. "But can it be stopped—the rebellion, I mean?"

Anything begun can be stopped. It only requires the right methods."

Violet looked at Percival. "And that's why you need Percival?"

"Precisely," Mr. Lonely said. "Who better to manage the Lonely Manor and safeguard your world than someone from your world?"

Percival's brow furrowed. "But why me?" He hoped to hear something good, maybe how brave he was, or that he had a pure heart, but the actual answer was far less satisfying.

"You were the one who came to the house," Mr. Lonely said then he continued walking into the bowels of Marlon's Castle.

The corridors were lit at intervals by torches mounted upon walls. A cool dry breeze filtered through the castle, bringing with it the scent of incense of some kind. Mr. Lonely led them up a flight of stairs, and then another, until they came to a central chamber.

A bluish glow, emanating from a large crystal ball, lit the entire dome-shaped room. Behind the ball of light, two boney arms gesticulated wildly in the air. Books, papers, writing instruments and furniture flew through the air around the chamber as though held in the grip of a tornado.

A deep voice intoned above the howling wind stirring within the chamber—a spell of some kind, if Percival perceived it rightly. Then, quite suddenly, the light died away from the crystal ball. Everything caught up in the maelstrom flew back to its rightful place in the room as the wind died away completely.

A tall lanky sort of fellow stood behind the pedestal which held the clear orb. He wore dark robes and an excessively tall and pointy, brimmed hat. His white beard trailed away from his face to rest upon his chest where an amulet of some variety lay barely visible on its gold chain beneath the snowy hair.

Percival leaned over, whispering in Violet's ear. "He looks just like someone from a Tolkien fantasy." Violet nodded in agreement, but kept her eyes on the wizard. Mr. Lonely approached the man with a gentle, almost grateful smile upon his face. "Marlon, my dear friend, how are you?"

"Very well, Charles, but I dare say, you are late meeting me," Marlon said. "I thought I was going to have to go on to the dinner without your young friends to accompany me."

The wizard came out from behind his pedestal of stone, giving Percival and Violet a cursory examination. "What in the devil are they wearing, Charles? They can't go to the dinner dressed like that."

Percival and Violet could see nothing amiss about the attire Mrs. Lonely had personally conjured for them. Mr. Lonely, on the other hand, nodded. "Oh yes. You're quite right, Marlon. I hadn't thought about it...Mrs. Lonely got a bit eager, I'm afraid."

"Never mind," the wizard said. He quickly muttered a spell under his breath, dashing two fingers through the air in their general direction. Instantly the evening gown and tuxedo ruffled themselves, transforming into more appropriate attire.

Violet's clothing became a period gown—finely woven silk with lace embroidered upon the cuffs and neckline. Percival was captivated, watching her transformation, while his own clothing became a far less elegant version of Marlon's robes. He looked at himself in comparison to Violet. "Hey, how come she stayed so beautiful compared to me?"

Marlon gave Mr. Lonely a quick grin then focused a rather stern look at Percival. "Because, young man, you are going to be posing as my apprentice—lowly, barely worth my while teaching, since you'll never come near to my greatness. This charming young lady, on the other hand, will pose as my niece."

"Should they have different names?" Mr. Lonely asked.

"Hmm," Marlon said, looking at Percival's attire. "No, no. I wouldn't want to make this too difficult for the boy."

Violet stifled a little laugh. Percival fumed privately.

"Just pulling your leg, boy," Marlon said cheerfully. "Don't take it to heart. Still, there is something you'll need to know before we go to the banquet, if anyone is ever to believe a great wizard, like myself, would nominate you for the office of our next caretaker."

"What's that?" Percival asked cautiously.

"Manipulating reality around you, of course," Marlon said. "I assume you've not done it before."

Percival, perplexed, said, "Not done it? I don't even know what you're talking about."

Marlon turned to Mr. Lonely, who looked a bit nervous. "Good grief, Charles, haven't you explained anything to the boy? He doesn't even understand what's going on, does he?"

"We've been pressed for time, Marlon," Mr. Lonely explained. "We're already running behind and honestly very lucky the boy came back at all."

Marlon looked at them all gravely. "I see....Well, at any rate, we'll have to show you a little something in order to make a proper impression on the other delegates. How's your imagination, young man?"

Violet spoke up this time. "He's got a great imagination. Percival writes stories all the time...about places like Fantastique and many others...all sorts of weird creatures with strange powers and stuff."

Marlon nodded, poking his finger at Percival's chest. "That's very promising. But here's the thing, Percival. In order to change reality, you must not think so broadly as story, or world, but character—a particular thing that you want to change or make happen. That's the key. Focus!"

Percival pondered the idea. "Do you mean like thinking up a fire breathing dragon, or something?"

Both Marlon and Mr. Lonely nearly knocked him down in their rush to stop him. "No, no! Don't do that...don't even think it, boy!" Marlon said. "We don't need to deal with some monstrosity. Control your mind, Percival. You are dealing with imagined reality which mankind is responsible for creating. You are a mortal, created in the image of The Creator, and therefore able to do beyond what imagined beings can in this reality. But you must be careful. Remember this and never forget it. What you create cannot be uncreated."

"But that doesn't make any sense," Percival protested. "Why can't something be unmade?" Percival was still confused by the explanation.

Marlon sighed impatiently. "Simply understand that if you create something, you will have to deal with it and the consequences arising from its creation. So keep your imagination under control, focusing upon the task at hand."

I don't know if I like this," Violet said warily. "How can you stop yourself from thinking? A hundred different things go through my head every minute."

Marlon smiled. "Well now, it's not as bad as all that. It takes some exertion to create in the imagined worlds. His mind isn't going to just pop off every second making dragons appear."

Percival and Violet looked at one another, clearly relieved. Mr. Lonely patted Percival on the shoulder, a gentle friendly gesture considering how they were basically blackmailing him for his help. "Percival, your imagination isn't like a gun with a hair trigger," Mr. Lonely explained. "More like a bow. You must exert effort to draw the bow and aim the arrow."

Marlon took up the analogy eagerly. "Yes, and with careful aim, once you release the tension, the arrow takes flight. Whether you hit your mark or not something is going to happen." He looked at Mr. Lonely, clearly pleased. "That was very good, Charles. Quite right. Now, Percival, you must try something before we go, so that you will be ready when I present you as my apprentice and the new candidate for Master Caretaker of the Manor."

Percival looked at Violet then at the others. "Well, I'm not sure. What should I try to do?"

Marlon scratched his beard, looking around. "First we need a more appropriate setting. This is, after all, still my home, and I should like it to remain in one piece."

Marlon raised his boney arms, producing a slight flash. The four of them now stood outside, some distance from Marlon's castle. Percival looked around. They were standing in a meadow with the castle far away on the distant hill behind them.

"Now," Marlon said, "we need an appropriate test—not to difficult mind you—but enough to at least impress. "Ah, there we are." Marlon thrust his boney fingers toward a large willow tree about twenty yards away. He muttered quickly in some ancient tongue then white lightning burst away from his fingers tips. The charge smashed into the ancient tree, engulfing it instantly in orange flame.

Percival and Violet nearly shot out of their skins, seeing the old wizard's power suddenly unleashed. The ferocious attack quickly consumed the tree, so that only the trunk and thicker branches remained. The flames died rapidly, leaving ash scattered in a loose corona around the base of the burnt-black tree.

"Now, Percival, it is your turn," Marlon announced triumphantly.

Percival looked at the wizard, astonished, then at the tree and back to the wizard. "Do you expect me to do that?" he asked.

Marlon laughed. "Of course not, Percival. I expect you to do something much harder."

"What?"

"I want you to make it grow again," Marlon said, as though it were the most natural thing in the world to request.

"I can't make it grow," Percival protested. "You've burned it to a crisp." As if to punctuate the futility of any such attempt, the boiling sap popped from the branches with an after-fizzle amid the cloud of white smoke rising from the blackened tree.

Marlon gave Percival a severe stare. "You can do it if you are willing. The ability is already there. You've been fashioned in the image of the Creator. Just remember where you are—this is not the reality you are used to." The tension eased from Marlon's expression a bit. "Now, you saw what the tree looked like before...so make it bloom again."

Percival considered it, nodding. "All right, I believe you. After all of the things I've already seen in the last few days, I have every reason to believe you."

"Good, now make the tree as it was," Marlon said.

Percival concentrated on the burnt tree before him. He tried to think about what he had seen of it before. A picture formed in his mind, perhaps not an exact replica of the tree, but that probably didn't matter. In his mind, he knew he had what he wanted. He only had to make it a reality.

Percival pushed the image from his mind out onto the burnt tree smoldering before them...and something began to happen. The tree started to change, gradually at first, but then more rapidly. The smoldering gray and black char became light brown bark, rising up from the roots at ground level all the way to the tips of the blackened limbs. As the last wisps of smoke trailed away on the breeze, the limbs filled out more and began to sprout new greenery. New whip-like limbs appeared, growing thick like the hair of a woman. They stretched up, then downward, budding with small green leaves all the way to their tips. The willow tree was not exactly as it had been before Marlon's flames, but it was still a willow and very much alive again.

"Bravo, my boy, bravo," Marlon clapped. "An excellent first attempt—I knew you had it in you."

Violet studied Percival, amazed. "I can't believe it. You actually made it grow again."

"Of course he did," Mr. Lonely proclaimed. "That's why we chose him to help us."

THE DELEGATES

Percival stared at the newborn willow tree. He still had trouble with the fact that he had caused it to happen simply by pushing his desire out into this imaginative world around him. Marlon spoke privately with Mr. Lonely while Violet stood with Percival, surveying his handiwork. "It really is amazing, Percival," she said.

"Not so much...you could probably do it too."

"Maybe, but I'm not the one they want for their new caretaker," Violet said. Percival felt that she must be proud of him for being chosen. "Violet, I don't know why in the world they would want me. If they saw you in martial arts class they'd choose you over me."

She smiled. "Maybe kicking tail isn't what they need." She looked at the blooming tree again. "Anyway, I'd say they made the right choice."

"Come, come," Marlon interrupted. "We must get on to the banquet. The delegates will arrive, and I must be among them. Charles, we could do with a gateway, if you don't mind."

Mr. Lonely straightened. "Quite right. Now everyone jump into the air on the count of three...one, two, three." They all hopped off the ground as the count ended. Beneath them the ground became a black hole in the earth. They fell through. Violet screamed while Percival gasped, unable to speak. What in the world was Mr. Lonely doing? In that instant, Percival felt his stomach jump into his throat.

Then they were standing again. Solid ground had simply materialized beneath their feet, and an archway with a set of ornate doors stood before them. Violet's scream had petered out pitifully into a low croaking noise as she realized they were not about to fall into utter nothingness.

"What happened?" she asked.

"We came through a portal created by Mr. Lonely," Marlon explained. "As the present Caretaker of the Manor House, he has the power to create a portal to any place he chooses. Are you all right, Violet?"

She examined herself, seeming a little embarrassed for screaming. "Yes, I think so."

Percival had seen the archway and doors before, when they had been watching Mrs. Lonely reorganize and reshape the dining room into an elegant dining hall. He supposed the doorway before them now must be the same one and that it would lead them into the banquet. He also noticed for the first time since falling that Mr. Lonely was no longer among their group. "What happened to—?"

"Charles? Oh, Don't worry," Marlon said. "He probably passed through his own portal back into the house. He wouldn't want to be seen coming to the banquet with us. It might arouse suspicion that he had chosen you as his successor, and that wouldn't go over well with the delegates of the imagined worlds, or those whom they represent."

"Then why do it?" Percival asked.

"Because the times are far too dangerous," Marlon explained. "Rebellion is brewing hot in the minds of imagined creatures. They long to throw off the constraints of our existence and enter your world. I fear that would be a catastrophe. With Mister and Mrs. Lonely's term as caretakers almost expired, someone new must step up to take their place. Otherwise the office might be left void, which many hope will happen, and the gateway from the imagined worlds into yours might be shattered."

Blackness surrounded them. A small amount of light illuminated only the gateway. "I suppose we should go inside," Violet suggested.

Marlon walked ahead of them toward the door. "Indeed. Now remember who you are supposed to be...my lowly apprentice and my beautiful niece."

Percival grinned at Violet. She blushed and followed Marlon. He had known this girl nearly all of his life. They had been best friends for years. Still, Percival had never quite seen her in the light he now saw her. He knew without a doubt that he wouldn't fail to see the beautiful part ever again.

When Marlon stepped upon the concrete pad the set of doors opened up before them. The mansion itself was still not visible. As far as appearance was concerned, nothing but the arch and its doors could be distinguished from the unending darkness around them.

When the doors parted light spilled into the void. The noise of many people, assembled and chatting amongst themselves, assailed the Great Wizard Marlon and his company as they stepped into the dining hall within the Lonely Manor. At the door, two zombies stood dressed in servant's attire. Oddly enough, Percival actually recognized them from the group who had been groping about after him earlier.

One of the zombies turned to the room in order to herald their arrival properly. "The Great Wizard Marlon accompanied by the Lady Violet and his lowly apprentice." Apparently, these zombies were in on Mr. Lonely's plan as well. Percival wondered grudgingly if they'd been given a script to follow and where his copy had been misplaced.

All eyes found them as they entered what had already become a rather crowded gathering. Percival's eyes nearly popped out of his head as he surveyed the spectacular scene before him. Each of the representatives from the imagined worlds had brought others with them. Some, like Marlon, only had a couple of people joining them from their world. Others had brought entire entourages to the banquet. The dining hall managed to fit them all and still seem spacious.

Percival followed Marlon and Violet with all eyes following them. The din picked up again when everyone realized there was actually nothing remarkable to be seen. No one seemed particularly anxious to see Marlon, except for Mr. Lonely, who appeared almost at once, showing Marlon to his place at the vast table, acting as though he hadn't seen the wizard in ages. Percival noticed that Mrs. Lonely had changed the dimensions of the room again, so that now it was square with a giant round table in the center.

Marlon sat in one of the grandly carved high-back chairs while Percival and Violet were seated in plainer seats to either side of him. Percival looked around the table taking in all of the delegates and their guests. A woman of radiant beauty sat to his left. She wore a toga like the ancient Greeks. To her left, and beyond, sat similarly dressed women.

They appeared to be part of the large entourage of the only man sitting between them. His chiseled physique rippled as he moved. He looked like some sort of Greek god straight out of popular mythology. A wreath crown adorned his curly locks. His single toga strap ran across one of his pecs, leaving the other exposed and bulging for all to admire. His olive skin accentuated his brilliant blue eyes.

Percival stole a glance at Violet still sitting on the other side of Marlon. She had seen the man also. When she noticed Percival looking at her, she turned away as though she'd only been scanning the room in general and not staring at Mister Buff-bod. Percival looked back at the mythological figure, with his female entourage fawning over him, suddenly feeling quite inadequate. He couldn't have rippled if his life depended upon it.

Beyond this group sat three identically dressed individuals, all wearing brown robes. Percival did not recognize their attire. The one closest was a human female, the next apparently an orangutan and the last some form of alien with blue skin, black bug-like eyes and many fleshy tendrils cascading down onto its shoulders like dreadlocks. As a bonafide Trekkie, Percival knew they must be from some science fiction realm.

Another group, across the huge round table, appeared to be some sort of mer-people with slick bodies and webbed features. A pirate captain also stood with them, though he didn't appear particularly friendly to his fellow delegates. Another group sat near them but appeared somewhat stranger than any Percival had noticed so far.

One fellow, at the heart of the group, wore a rather over-large hat with the size-tag sticking out of the band like a feather. His clothing was completely mismatched, and his shaggy strawberry blonde hair jutted out from under his hat wildly.

There came a commotion near the door. Percival turned to see another procession making its way through the archway. Two rows of zombies, followed by skeletal warriors, vampires, werewolves and various unrecognized monsters, filed into the dining hall. The noise of conversation had immediately died upon their entry.

It seemed to Percival more like an invading army than a delegation and he tensed with the expectation of something bad about to happen. Violet gave him a concerned look, to which Percival could only shrug. He noticed the intensity of Marlon's expression as the wizard surveyed the company. Still, the old man said nothing. Whether he expected trouble from these creatures was difficult to guess.

Then, in the middle of the line up, there appeared two individuals of varying type, carrying a very small throne upon staves which ceremoniously rested upon their shoulders, though it couldn't have weighed even a pound. The throne consisted of small bones—certainly those of a chicken would have sufficed—and a crimson velvet pillow for a seat. A small white mouse sat royally upon the velvet pillow. Percival had to blink to be sure of what he was seeing.

The mouse reclined luxuriantly upon his little throne, hardly regarding the room of delegates watching him. The line of monster types continued around the room until the throne was parked upon a special pedestal, so that the mouse could be viewed by all among the delegations. Apparently no one else, besides Percival and Violet, were the least surprised by this minute guest. Yet, no one seemed at ease by his arrival either.

Dangerous looking henchmen flanked the white mouse. Percival supposed they must be personal bodyguards to the little delegate. The first could only be described as a walking porcupine, for he seemed to have the basic shape of a man, but he was covered dorsally in very fine stiff quills, even down the backs of his arms. The man's skin was very pale, almost translucent, matching the quills, and seemed to shimmer, changing in color every now and then—perhaps according to his mood.

The other bodyguard was no less strange, though a bit more startling. The living skeleton stood nearly seven feet tall, wearing ragged clothing, as though he'd crawled out of the ground in his blue jeans and torn leather trench coat. In the eye sockets, two small flames burned menacingly.

Mr. Lonely stood at his place on the other side of Marlon several chairs beyond Violet. He held up his hands, to silence the room so he could speak, even though it had become moot with the white mouse's entry. "Ladies and gentlemen, now that the honorable delegate from Horrif-I has arrived, we may begin."

THE DINNER

Mr. Lonely rang a small bell sitting on the table next to him. Trays of food began to spill from another door on the other side of the room. Platters and plates, along with glasses of wine and other concoctions, all floated toward the great round table with not a single body to bear them. It appeared as though an invisible troop of kitchen staff had emerged to serve and pour for them—either that, or the platters and trays had taken on thought and motion all on their own.

Percival and Violet watched the parade, astonished, although no one else in the room seemed particularly puzzled or awed by the display. Each silver serving tray settled in place before one of the delegates, or one of their companions seated at the table with them. The domed lids waited until all had found their respective diner then rose in unison and vanished into thin air.

Hot vapor rose from Percival's platter, the aroma of spicy baked chicken hitting him full in the face. He closed his eyes, sniffing with pleasure. This happened to be Percival's favorite meal, and he immediately wondered how they had known. He looked past Marlon's platter of steaming roast beef to find Violet smiling down at her own deluxe sized bacon cheeseburger with sides of barbecue sauce and French fries. They smiled at one another then happily began to eat.

Percival picked up his fork from beside his plate, intending to dig right in, when he happened to glance at some of the other platters sitting before the delegates. Some appeared quite normal, even if he didn't happen to recognize exactly what they were. Others he spotted made him feel ill.

The mer-people were having fish—so fresh that it still flopped wetly upon their plates. They sank their needle-like teeth deep into the wriggling flesh, tearing away hunks of meat with pleasure written on their glistening faces. Those among the company of the white mouse from Horrif-I ate things Percival certainly thought he recognized, but couldn't stomach seeing eaten. He didn't want to think brains, so he tried not to watch. The mouse ate from a small platter with a tiny bowl of pellets sitting upon it. The mouse stuffed them into pouches in his cheeks, drawing them back to its front incisors for real chewing.

Everyone finished their meals quickly then it was time for the business portion of the evening. As Master Caretaker, Mr. Lonely was the sole moderator. He stood once more, waiting while he was lifted up on a podium growing beneath him. He now stood almost ten feet in the air, above all heads, so he could address them properly.

"As you all know, I and my good wife have served in the office of caretakers for one hundred years, according to the agreed upon terms set in place by the Council. The time has come for nominations to the office. Do I hear any nominations?"

Before anyone else could speak, the white mouse stood up on his tiny throne. Everyone grew quiet. "If I may be so bold, Mr. Lonely, I believe we should withhold nominations until concluding our debate as to whether we should even have another caretaker in the office."

"I don't believe withholding the application of candidates wishing to apply is actually necessary, Lord Pipsqueak," Mr. Lonely said.

Percival had just taken a sip of the cola from his goblet when he heard the mouse's name spoken by Mr. Lonely. He spewed a bit of it across the table, trying to stifle a quick laugh. Every eye immediately fell on him.

Mr. Lonely looked aghast, as though he were about to have a heart attack, while Lord Pipsqueak glared at Percival menacingly. Percival looked around, wiping away his smile. The color blanched from his face. No one else had found the name funny—not at all.

Silence reigned for only a moment before Lord Pipsqueak spoke. Percival wasn't quite sure if the mouse said, Quill or Kill, but the effect would no doubt have been the same. The bodyguard, who happened to resemble a large porcupine man, stood forward thrusting an arm toward Percival. Three of his razor sharp spines flew across the table toward Percival's chest.

With no time to react, Percival tensed in anticipation of his own death. His fleeting thought was of Violet. Would she be safe in this place after he was dead? A streak of pale green light swept across his vision. He only vaguely realized that the orangutan, dressed in his brown robe, had somersaulted out of his seat onto the table in order to intercept the spines just before they struck Percival dead.

A gentle whispering thrum filled the silence as the orangutan stood en guard with a magical sword in his hand—the half melted remainder of three long porcupine quills smoldered at his simian feet upon the white table cloth. No one moved. Percival could only stare at the ape in disbelief.

The light around the sword, almost a vapor, extinguished with a hiss like steam escaping. The warrior did not speak, but climbed down into his chair again.

"Perhaps, Lord Pipsqueak, it would not be prudent to kill the guests of fellow delegates," Marlon said.

The white mouse still glared at Percival. "He laughed at me...no one laughs at me and lives." Lord Pipsqueak's voice was surprisingly baritone for his miniscule stature.

"Marlon is right," Mr. Lonely said quickly. "You know the rules of the Lonely Manor, Lord Pipsqueak. There is no fighting among the worlds allowed here." Mr. Lonely adopted a more stern countenance. "I trust I won't have to enforce the rules of the Council at this time."

Lord Pipsqueak waved his bodyguard back, taking his seat again. Lord Pipsqueak continued staring at Percival, fire dwelling behind his small pink eyes. Percival could already sense that someday the little mouse would try to kill him again.

The whole room remained quiet, waiting to see who would speak up next. Marlon took the opportunity to address those present while they were ready to listen. "Mr. Lonely?"

Mr. Lonely turned to Marlon with a quiet smile. "The Council recognizes Marlon, the Honorable Delegate from Fantastique."

"I would like to nominate young Percival Strange here as Fantastique's representative candidate to the office of Apprentice Caretaker."

A hushed murmur erupted all over the room. Every eye fell on Percival again, only this time in utter astonishment. Percival looked at Violet then at Marlon standing next to him. "Maybe this isn't such a good idea," he whispered.

Marlon patted his shoulder and whispered back, "Don't worry."

Lord Pipsqueak clapped his tiny pink paws in a slow mocking salute. "Very funny, Marlon. I didn't realize you had a sense of humor."

"I don't," Marlon retorted dryly.

Lord Pipsqueak glared at the wizard. "You honestly mean to foist this pitiful excuse for a candidate upon the Council?"

"The boy is capable enough," Marlon said.

The whisperers in the room seemed doubtful.

"Just how capable? I'd like to know," the mouse pushed.

Marlon turned to Percival. "Young man, I think the Council would like a demonstration of your abilities."

Percival gulped. He looked around the room. Everyone was staring at him. Some were laughing to themselves. All of them looked highly skeptical, but they waited nonetheless for whatever Percival would do.

Marlon pointed at a large ice sculpture adorning the very center of the huge round table. "Percival, I want you to melt that sculpture then reshape it into anything you like."

Percival stared into the wizard's eyes. He didn't feel very confident about this. "Just remember the tree," Marlon said, reassuring him.

Percival glanced at Violet. She nodded, whispering to him. "You can do it. I know you can."

He found his courage then gazed at the ice sculpture. It currently held the frozen form of a great bird of some kind. Percival envisioned the ice melting then pushed his desire outward to the sculpture. Instantly, the ice melted, all at once with water crashing down to the table and out onto the Council Delegates in their seats.

Everyone gasped as the sculpture obeyed, and the cold water hit them. Even Percival had been startled by how quickly it had happened. Before anyone could complain, he collected the water again with his mind, pushing it into a new form through imagination. The water obeyed his will, drawing up onto the silver platter where the original sculpture had been sitting, taking the form of a dragon. The new sculpture began to beat its wings, flicking its watery tongue at the Council Members before solidifying into ice once again.

The room became as still as the ice dragon. Nobody moved until Lord Pipsqueak could stand it no longer. "This is outrageous! Only the Master Caretaker can use such power within the House! What sort of trickery is this, Marlon?"

"It is no trick," Marlon said, grinning. "I have simply found a remarkable apprentice. He shall be the new Master Caretaker of the House."

Lord Pipsqueak pounded his tiny pink fist upon his throne. "He has to survive the Trial first," Pipsqueak said, "which he will not."

"The boy will do well enough," Marlon protested.

"Master Caretaker," Lord Pipsqueak said to Mr. Lonely, "I believe I am within my rights to propose where and what the Trial will be?"

Mr. Lonely sighed heavily. "You are within your rights."

Lord Pipsqueak smiled fiendishly. "Then I propose we reconvene at my castle in Horrif-I, where the boy will begin. There, I will announce the exact nature of the Trial he must face."

Mr. Lonely looked around the room. "Does anyone second Lord Pipsqueak's motion?"

Several hands went up around the table. "All those in favor, let it be known by uplifted hands," Mr. Lonely said. The majority of hands went up. Very few remained against. "So be it. We will reconvene at Bloodmare Castle in three days time where Percival Strange will face the Trial in order to test his worth as a candidate for the office of Apprentice Caretaker."

HORRIF-I

Three days had shot by like nothing at all. Percival and Violet had gone home to find their families never better. No one remembered anything about Violet's disappearance. None of their neighbors remembered any of the crazy things they'd been doing. It was as though time had stopped while they were at the Lonely Manor.

But for Violet and Percival nothing would ever be the same. Three days back in school, three days to live normally again. That was all that had been given to them. The time had arrived to be transported back to the House—the gateway between their world and all of the imagined worlds they had never known existed.

Percival looked out his window as the sun set in the west. He had been promised a full briefing from Mr. Lonely and his wife before they traveled through the Looking Glass Chamber into the imaginative world of Horrif-I. That much he looked forward to. After all, Percival had always been a very inquisitive fellow, always had his nose stuck in a book, or on the computer, trying to learn more about almost anything that caught his interest. Now, he would have answers to questions he had never even dreamed of asking. Already, he and Violet had seen beings and places that perhaps no other human being had ever witnessed before.

However, this was no game. Having agreed to stand as the next candidate for Master Caretaker of the Manor House, Percival had consented to dangers as yet unrealized—dangers which had destroyed many who had tried before him. He shuddered, realizing this might be the last time he saw his parents.

Percival walked out of his bedroom and into his parent's room. They were both lying in bed with the television on in front of them. "What's up, sport?" his father asked.

"I just wanted to tell you good-night," Percival said.

"Good-night, son," his father returned. "Don't let the bedbugs bite."

"Sweet dreams, honey," his mother said.

He stopped at their doorway. "I love you both."

His parents looked at one another, puzzled, then smiled. "We love you too, Percival," his mother said.

Percival went back to his room and shut the door. This was it then. Time to go. Only, he didn't know how he would get there. Mr. Lonely had told them not to bother traveling through the woods anymore. He would open a portal for each of them in their rooms.

Percival sat on his bed. He was still wearing his jeans and a tee-shirt. No use changing into bed clothes when sleep was the last thing he would be doing. He whispered a prayer, hoping for the Lord's protection.

His bedroom light flickered then went dark. Power outage? The closet door began to open by itself. Percival stood up expectantly. He could not see inside—not his clothes, nothing. Only pitch black space. Percival stepped into the closet slowly, testing the floor, hoping there was a floor. The door closed softly behind him.

Immediately, a door opened in front of him. Light pierced the darkness from the room beyond. Percival stepped into the brightly lit Looking Glass Chamber. Violet stood with Mister and Mrs. Lonely in the center of the elegant room. Violet had worn her usual jeans and long sleeve shirt with a pair of running shoes. She looked like his best friend again. Percival wasn't disappointed exactly. Only, he knew he would never look at her again as just his best friend.

"Hey, Percival," she said.

"Hey, Lucky," he replied. "Are you ready to do this?"

She nodded, turning to Mister and Mrs. Lonely.

"I'm going to make this quick," Mr. Lonely began. "We don't have time to delay. The Council Delegates will expect our arrival in Horrif-I very soon.

"What exactly do I have to do?" Percival asked.

"We won't know exactly until we arrive," Mr. Lonely said. "Horrif-I is our only choice of where the Trial will be held, since Lord Pipsqueak has invoked his rights as a delegate."

"But that little rat hopes to kill me!" Percival said.

"Lord Pipsqueak is evil," Mrs. Lonely said, "but it's not you, dear. He just hates everybody."

"Still, you can't underestimate him, Percival," Mr. Lonely interjected. "He may look insignificant, but Lord Pipsqueak is one of the most dangerous imaginative creatures there is. His mind is sharp and his magical power is great. He rules all of Horrif-I."

"He took control from the vampires in a coup years ago," Mrs. Lonely said in hushed tones, more to Violet. "Very bloody, as you might expect."

Mr. Lonely nodded. "That's right and the most dangerous denizens of Horrif-I work for him. You may have noticed his two bodyguards?"

"Yes."

"The walking pin cushion is called Quill. You've already seen some of what he can do," Mr. Lonely said.

"What about the other one—that skeleton with the flaming eyes?" Violet asked.

"Dim Bones is his name," Mr. Lonely said. "He's virtually indestructible. If he gets a good hold on you, he'll rip out your soul."

"How do I get past them?" Percival asked.

"Get past them? They're not the Trial you'll have to face, Percival."

"Really?" Percival felt a sigh of relief coming on.

Mr. Lonely grimaced. "Lord Pipsqueak will surely have you face something worse."

Percival gulped. "Oh."

Violet put her hand on Percival's shoulder. "I'm scared for you."

He tried to laugh it off, but it just wouldn't come. There wasn't anything funny about it. He was facing death. He wasn't sure about imaginative creatures, but he knew humans were certainly capable of dying.

The Lonelys looked at one another. She prodded her husband on the shoulder. "Go on, tell him."

Mr. Lonely faced Percival and Violet. "Look, Percival, I'm very glad you've consented to face the Trial...and I know you were only doing it for the sake of your friend, but I've got to tell you something before you go any further."

"What is it, something worse?"

"We're not going to force you into this, Percival," Mr. Lonely said. "Violet is free to go, and so are you."

Percival smiled at Violet. They both smiled at the Lonelys. But the Lonelys didn't smile back.

"Wait a minute," Percival said. "You said without a new Master Caretaker the boundary between the imaginative worlds and reality would be destroyed."

"I said, it could be destroyed," Mr. Lonely corrected.

"But Marlon said that many of the imaginative creatures were just waiting for that," Percival countered.

"True," Mr. Lonely admitted. "I didn't say we don't want you to face the Trial, Percival, only that we weren't going to blackmail you into it. This decision must be your own."

Percival didn't know how to respond. He was glad that Violet was free, and he really didn't want to face death. But what would happen if he didn't? Which was worse—facing this trial in the imaginative worlds with great power at his disposal, or having these creatures invade reality, forcing him to face them later as a regular person?

He looked to Violet for reassurance. "You're my best friend, Violet. What do you think?"

"Please don't ask me to decide this for you, Percival. I would never want to lose you, but who knows what will happen if they don't find a replacement for the Lonelys." Of the Lonelys she asked, "Do you believe Percival can beat the Trial?"

"Violet, I honestly would not have asked him, if I didn't believe he could," Mr. Lonely said. "I'm not knocking you, Violet, or any other mortal, but when I saw Percival revive the tree and remake the ice sculpture, I didn't say what was on my mind."

"What was on your mind?" Percival asked.

Mr. Lonely looked at him with new admiration. "Lord Pipsqueak was upset for a reason, Percival. No imaginative creature other than the Master Caretaker can wield that kind of power within the Manor—yet you did."

"But Marlon told me to do it," Percival said.

Mr. Lonely smiled at his wife, then to Percival he said, "That's just my point, dear boy. Marlon suspected something about you that I did not, until he asked you to remake the sculpture. As a mortal, you have greater power locked away within you than any imaginative creature. You're creatures made in the image of the one Creator. Not only that, you particularly possess the natural ability to harness it and make it obey your will. Most of humanity would never get so far as you've come in your first try."

"Percival is special?" Violet asked.

Mrs. Lonely looked at her, grinning. "Oh, don't act like you didn't think so already."

Violet blushed, turning away from Percival.

"He is special," Mr. Lonely confirmed, "and he can beat the Trial."

Percival considered the entire situation, pacing the room for a moment. In his mind he prayed for guidance, but the answer was already there—immediate—he couldn't escape the path he'd been led down. He had never considered himself a brave person—more cautious than courageous, any day—but he'd come this far already.

He turned back to Violet. Hope and concern shone on her face. She had seen his decision in his eyes already. He looked at Mr. Lonely and nodded.

The passage through one of the chamber's looking glass portals brought them into what first appeared to be complete darkness. Soon their eyes adjusted and Percival took in more details about their surroundings in the imaginative world of Horrif-I.

Once he saw the world they had arrived in, Percival couldn't believe he had actually said yes to the Lonelys. The sky boiled above them, an angry red glow swirling in black clouds. Lightning, in shades of white, yellow, blue, even purple assaulted the ground at regular intervals around the castle in the distance.

All sorts of odors assailed them from the humid air—rotting flesh, brimstone and ozone. The oppressive heat made breathing a chore for Percival. He'd been borderline asthmatic all his life. Violet came to him as he began to gasp. "Percival, are you all right?"

"I can hardly breathe," he said between labored breaths.

Mr. Lonely grabbed him by the shoulders. "Percival, you can breathe—just imagine it to be so. Create the atmosphere you want around yourself, just like the ice and the tree."

Percival stared into his eyes. Yes, it made sense. He closed his eyes and breathed in deeply, coughed then tried again. All the while, he imagined the air the way his parents kept it in their house—heppa filters in use, dehumidifier humming in his room on nights he had encountered problems, cool and clean.

His breathing became easier. Percival straightened and opened his eyes. He felt much better and smiled at Mr. Lonely. "Thanks, that's great. I think I'm all right now."

"Just remember the power you have, Percival," Mrs. Lonely said. "Oh, and those clothes, they'll never do." She passed her hand over them, and their clothing reverted to a medieval style—Percival wearing something a page might have worn, and Violet in tan leather breeches with a brown tunic over the top and her hair braided. "A warrior-ess for the journey," Mrs. Lonely giggled.

Mr. Lonely nodded. "Good. Now, the Trial will depend upon your ingenuity and how well you wield your imagination."

Percival nodded, watching Violet.

"We had better be on our way," Mr. Lonely said.

The road before them wound like a snake through the surrounding wasteland, spreading away on every side. Barren trees littered the rocky terrain, jutting from the dry earth like skeletons. Long, black centipedes, as big as Percival's forearm, skittered across the ground in search of mice and small lizards.

The road traveled away from their destination into the endless wilderness all the way to the horizon. Before them, it led to an imposing gothic edifice.

"Is that where we have to go?" Violet asked.

"Bloodmare Castle," Mr. Lonely said.

Percival was immediately struck by the lack of a defensive wall, like most castles he had seen, and said so.

"A wall?" Mr. Lonely chortled. "Who would ever try to get into the place? Maybe a wall to keep poor souls inside would be more appropriate."

They began their trek along the dusty, earthen road toward the castle. The entire stretch of it had been lined on either side with long staves. Upon the staves, hung the skeletons of those unlucky enough to have incurred Lord Pipsqueak's wrath. They had been impaled and left for the vultures to pick clean.

Violet grabbed hold of Percival's arm as they walked. She didn't say anything, but the way she peered at the skeletons let Percival know she was scared. Strangely, Percival was not. He couldn't have explained it if anyone had asked, but he had sort of expected something terrible. He hadn't been disappointed. However, after facing the zombies, the giant lizard and the whole experience of the Lonely Manor, Percival found this rather tame. Still, he wasn't about to discourage Violet's hold on him. But he tried not to act as happy as he felt by it.

"Why didn't we just come through a portal, or something, straight into the castle?" Percival asked.

Mr. Lonely grumbled. "Because Lord Pipsqueak assures me that his magical barriers, traps and defenses are much too complex to undo on the spur of the moment to allow a portal."

"Oh," Percival said.

"Of course, I don't believe that tripe," Mr. Lonely said, disgusted. "He just wants to make this as inconvenient as possible. He's always been standoffish with the office of Master Caretaker."

"You'd think our being from Horrif-I would have made some difference, but no," said Mrs. Lonely.

"You come from this place?" Violet asked.

"Yes, of course, dear," Mrs. Lonely said. "Where on earth did you think?"

"Uhm, Earth," Percival said. "We thought you guys were human, too. Aren't all of the Master Caretakers human?"

"No," Mr. Lonely said, "and you mustn't let on that you are either. It isn't forbidden, but that's exactly the kind of thing that Lord Pipsqueak would use to destroy the fragile peace we have with Urbane."

"Urbane?"

"Your world," Mrs. Lonely said. "It's what the denizens of the imaginative worlds call reality."

"Why?" Violet asked.

Mister and Mrs. Lonely glanced at one another. "I don't know," he said. "We just always have. Anyway, if Pipsqueak found out you're human, he would almost certainly stir up the other delegates and possibly storm the gates leading to your world."

"That's why we chose you, dear," Mrs. Lonely said. "As a human, you are descended from the first man, wrought by the hand of the Master Creator. You are created in his image and bear creative abilities that set you far above the ranks of creatures such as us."

"That's right," Mr. Lonely added. "You might be green now, but you have potential unlike any Master Caretaker to hold the office before." He smiled proudly at his wife. "Who better to take over when we're sitting on the brink of war?"

Percival considered the possibility of a war between the imaginative worlds and his own. What would that look like? How could humanity fight against such creatures?

They kept up their pace along the winding path until the castle towered over them. Soon Percival would find out what his Trial consisted of and many other things. He only hoped he was ready.

BLOODMARE CASTLE

As Percival and his companions approached Bloodmare Castle, he noticed a dense fog surrounding it that extended nearly fifty feet up its walls. "That doesn't look very inviting," Percival said.

"Don't worry," Mr. Lonely said. "We'll have safe passage. I doubt anyone would dare to attack the Master Caretaker of the Manor, even in Horrif-I."

"Doubt?" Percival muttered under his breath.

Tendrils of fog, similar to dry ice vapor, bubbled out along the ground before them. The fog swept over their feet, obscuring the ground completely. "I feel cold," Violet said. She began to tremble, so much that she let go of Percival's arm in order to wrap her arms around her body for warmth.

"What's happening?" Percival asked.

"Bloodmare's fog," Mr. Lonely replied. "It can have different effects on different people.

"I'm freezing," Violet said through chattering teeth. "Aren't you cold, Percival?"

"No," he said. "I feel fine."

"Try to ignore it as best you can," Mr. Lonely said. "It's actually in your mind that you feel cold. If you can suppress the thought then it will fade."

Violet shivered again, trying to put the cold out of her mind. "I guess it isn't as easy as it sounds," she said.

They continued walking across the barren space between the end of the road and the castle. The mass of fog had come out to meet them now. As soon as it surrounded them, Percival reached for Violet. He caught hold of her hand, just as Mister and Mrs. Lonely called out to them. Percival could not make out what they had said. The fog had stolen it away, making them sound very distant despite the fact they had all approached Bloodmare Castle together.

"What happened to them," Violet whispered. "Percival?"

He held her tightly, fearing she would be taken from him in the fog. "I don't know, but stay close and don't let go."

Violet's grip tightened on his arm. "I'm not going anywhere," she said. "How do we find the castle? I can't see a thing."

Percival stood there in a white-out, wondering exactly the same thing. The castle had been in front of them when the fog consumed their party, but he wasn't sure it would still be there. His experience, so far, had been not to trust perceptions. He could easily be misled, perhaps even into some horrible trap. This world certainly wasn't called Horrif-I for nothing.

"Let's just try shuffling our feet forward," Percival said. "I'm not sure we should move too fast, just in case something is waiting for us."

Violet agreed, holding tight as they shuffled forward together. Voices, whispers really, began to filter in from the fog, indistinct. "What was that?" she asked.

They stopped. Percival listened. "I don't hear it."

No sooner had he spoken than a rumbling growl drifted in around them. They froze in place. "Where is it coming from?" Violet hissed.

"Everywhere, nowhere, I'm not sure," Percival said. The hair on the back of his neck was standing up. Chills ran races up and down his spine. The growling continued between deep, heaving breaths. Percival still could not see anything around them, but the fog.

"We need a weapon," Violet suggested. "Can you imagine a gun, or something?"

"I'm not sure this world would allow me a gun," he said. "Mr. Lonely told me that you had to be careful what you created because the worlds have rules. It would have to fit the setting."

"A sword maybe?" she suggested.

Percival nodded. "Good idea." He held out his hand, for lack of any other visible place to create it. He imagined and said, "A sword in my hand."

Within his grasp, a swirl of silver light coalesced into a short sword. "Are you kidding me," Violet scolded. "That thing wouldn't hurt a fly, Percival."

He looked at the sword, which resembled something he'd seen in a medieval catalog one time. "Yeah, I guess you're right." He concentrated on the weapon in his hand, commanding again, "A much deadlier sword." He imagined another sword he had seen on the internet—one he had thought was very cool at the time. The blade grew, reshaping itself into a longer weapon with a serrated blade and spiked hilt-guard. Jewels encrusted the handle near the dragon head cross-guard.

"Oh well, much better," Violet said.

The growling moved around them now, as though whatever creature was out there was preparing to strike. Percival gripped the hilt of the sword tightly with both hands. "If only I could see." He pushed out with that thought.

The fog blew away from them like an invisible bubble, growing to push it back on every side. As the fog swept away, a tall beast was revealed behind them. Huge and hairy with saliva frothing from its open jaws, the beast leaped at Percival. Violet screamed as Percival turned, raising the sword before him.

The wolf-like creature slammed into them. It screamed in agony as the sword impaled it through the heart. Its weight and momentum battered both Percival and Violet. Percival hit the ground next to the mortally wounded beast, but Violet fell backwards over the side of a pit only just uncovered by the retreating fog.

She screamed as she toppled over the side. Percival lunged after her, catching her wrist before she got away completely. He pulled as hard as he could, wishing he'd done some weight lifting like his dad had often encouraged him to do.

"Don't let go!" Violet screamed. She managed to get her other hand around Percival's wrist as he did the same for her. They pulled together until Violet had cleared the edge of the pit. They stood there laboring to breathe, frightened to death, but glad to both be alive.

The werewolf leaped up from the ground, blood slobbering from its jagged teeth. Violet reacted with her training, kicking the beast in the chest, sending it over the side of the pit. It howled its fury all the way down. They watched as it landed among the writhing bodies of millions of man-sized insects inhabiting the bottom of the chasm.

A swarm covered the creature, tearing it apart before its scream died away. Violet turned to Percival, burying her face in his chest in horror. "I think I'm going to puke," she gasped.

Percival patted her back, trying to console her, but the truth was he was terrified too. Violet had been only a hand-slip away from that same fate. Why had he gotten her involved in this in the first place? He wanted to slap himself a hundred times over for ever following the bank robber through the woods. Even with a potential war looming, wasn't ignorance still bliss?

As the fog continued to push away around them, Bloodmare Castle appeared beyond the chasm—a virtual mountain of doom and gloom. The chasm lay situated like a moat right in front of it. Anyone walking through the fog would be torn limb from limb before they even realized they'd fallen.

"Well, there's the castle again," Percival said. He looked at the chasm. "No wonder they don't need a defensive wall."

Violet got herself together and let go of Percival. She turned, but still tried to avoid looking at the chasm that had nearly claimed her. "How do we get over there?" she asked.

"I'm not sure," Percival said. "I can't see any bridge."

"Then make one," she replied.

"Exactly!" Mr. Lonely said. He and his wife rushed over as the fog revealed them nearly thirty yards away. "Make a bridge, Percival."

"What happened to you two?"

"We got separated in the fog—couldn't hear or see either of you," Mr. Lonely said. "Still, it looks like you've made out all right. Don't be shy about using the power you have, my boy. That's what this is all about. As Master Caretaker of the house that bridges our worlds it will be essential."

"Maybe you should do it," Percival suggested.

Mister and Mrs. Lonely glanced at one another knowingly before he replied. "Actually, I've already given you all but the least of my power."

"I don't understand," Percival said.

"Well, it's not like a mortal can just come in and start doing amazing things," Mr. Lonely explained. "It's just that you have such potential to use the power of this office. So, in order for you to face the Trial, I had to endow you with the power. Appearing to the delegates as Marlon's apprentice is just a cover for why you have any power at all. Only Marlon knows what I've done, and you must not let that secret out. If warmongers, like Pipsqueak, knew that you had my power they would attack us all, immediately."

"When did you do it? I don't remember anything," Percival said.

"Just because you didn't see it doesn't mean it didn't happen," Mr. Lonely said. "When you were born again, did you see anything happen then?"

"Well, no," Percival admitted.

"You see? You passed from death unto life, were remade, reborn and given eternal life and yet you saw nothing. Still, the effects of that birth are clearly seen. You didn't see this power given unto you, but it happened nonetheless."

"That's why you didn't stop the fog from overtaking us?" Violet asked. "No power?"

"Quite right, my dear," Mr. Lonely said. "So, you had better make the bridge, Percival, or we'll have none. Then we can be on our way."

Percival concentrated on the chasm and a bridge he could make that would be suitable here in Horrif-I. The ground nearby erupted—rock, earth and the bones of some long dead monster all shooting out of the side of the chasm toward the other side. The material swirled around, coalescing into a twisting double helix that arched over the expanse of the chasm, attaching itself to the opposite wall.

Percival and Mr. Lonely walked over to it with Violet and Mrs. Lonely following. "Hmm," Mr. Lonely said, surveying Percival's handiwork. "It's original, I'll give you that."

"Yeah, but will it hold when we try to cross it?" Percival asked skeptically.

"There's only one way to find out," Mr. Lonely said. He started to take a first step then quickly pushed Percival out onto the bridge first.

"Hey!" he protested, but it was too late. He was already there. The bridge seemed quite sturdy, never making the slightest squeak or groan as Percival walked across. When he reached the other side, he turned back to the others. "No problem," he said.

The others followed him across, although he could tell Violet seemed reluctant about walking over the pit of giant insects which had nearly devoured her earlier. Still, she did her best, keeping her eyes on Percival standing on the other side. When everyone had crossed, they regrouped, heading for the massive iron gates of Bloodmare Castle.

A tiny pink paw scratched at a tiny pink ear in a high window of the castle. Lord Pipsqueak watched the progress of the Lonelys and their new candidate crossing the bridge the boy had just created. Anger burned within his albino's eyes as they traversed the chasm, coming safely to the other side. The fog had failed. His Lycan had failed. The Chasm of Woe had failed. Unacceptable, he thought. Still, the Trial remained, and very few had ever survived the Trial.

As the white mouse turned on the stone window sill, a bone, twice the size of his body, fell at his feet. A large black dog barked at him, wagging its tail as Lord Pipsqueak picked up the bone and tossed it across the room. The dog followed playfully after it.

"Thurston!" Lord Pipsqueak shouted.

The ghostly apparition of a butler with thinning black hair and a beak-ish nose materialized in the air nearby. "You bellowed, sir?"

Lord Pipsqueak marched down a set of miniature stairs appearing beneath his feet as he descended from the high window sill to the floor. Each step faded away as he passed until all of them had disappeared completely. "Why did you let Rot in here, again?"

"Begging your pardon, sir, but your poochy has ways of getting to where he wants to go," Thurston replied dryly.

Lord Pipsqueak looked up at the butler's smoky figure hovering near the wall. "Thurston, remind me again why it is that I put up with your incompetence?"

"No doubt your desire to make my existence complete as I attend to your every whim," he replied, yawning.

Lord Pipsqueak leered at his servant. "Thurston, if you weren't already dead, I'd kill you."

"Of course, sir," Thurston said. "Shall I show the Master Caretaker and the boy to your throne room?"

Lord Pipsqueak waved him away as he crossed the floor. Thurston snorted then vanished with a puff of luminescent blue smoke. Rot, Pipsqueak's dog, sat near the door drooling on the floor with his bone, waiting to play fetch. Lord Pipsqueak walked past him, grumbling to himself without noticing and entered a tiny gilded mouse hole in the wall. Rot moaned his disappointment.

LORD PIPSQUEAK

Percival watched cautiously as the great iron gates of Bloodmare Castle parted before his company. The gates were at least twenty feet tall—big enough for a giant to enter. He wondered if any ever had. Razors the size of axe blades decorated the fronts of the bars. "So much for that welcome feeling I was just beginning to get," Percival said.

"Just remember where you are," Mr. Lonely said. "Lord Pipsqueak certainly means to destroy you, but he won't do it openly before the Council."

"Okay, so what's the deal with the mouse, anyway?" Violet said. "I just don't understand why all of you are afraid of a little white mouse. Just squish him and be done with it."

"That, my girl, is the voice of inexperience talking," Mr. Lonely said. "I might look like just a little old man, but do you think you could destroy me so easily, Violet Charms?"

Violet's eyes drifted to the ground. "Well no, but you're the Master Caretaker."

"And Lord Pipsqueak, despite his appearance, is an extremely powerful sorcerer. And sorcerer trumps a black belt any day, my dear."

Percival wanted to come to her defense, but Mr. Lonely was right. Appearances could be very deceiving. He thought about how he must look—wielding this incredible power inside while on the outside he remained the nerdy guy who won science fair competitions and collected bugs for fun.

"I'm just worried about Percival," Violet confessed. "Someone has already tried to kill us, and the Trial hasn't even begun."

"Well, at least you won't be completely alone," Mrs. Lonely said.

"What do you mean?" Violet asked.

Mr. Lonely grabbed a torch from a wall mount nearby as the great iron gates swung closed behind them. "Percival may take companions with him during the Trial," he said, leading them down the expansive hallway ahead.

"So, you'll be going with me?" Percival asked, feeling hopeful.

"Not I," Mr. Lonely said. "I'm the Master Caretaker—the Council would never allow that. However, you can choose from among the denizens of our worlds—at least, anyone who volunteers to go with you."

"That doesn't sound very promising," Percival said.

"What about me?" Violet asked. "Am I allowed to go with Percival?"

Mr. Lonely considered her request. "Yes, I don't suppose they could find any reason not to allow you to go. As far as anyone is concerned, you are both denizens of Fantastique anyway. However, I would be wary of accepting help from anyone here in Horrif-I. Very few of the denizens of this world desire to have a new Master Caretaker. They'll kill you, given the chance."

"Then I guess I had better not give them that chance," Percival said.

A luminescent smoke puffed into existence in the corridor before them. The smoke then coalesced into the figure of a ghostly man. "Greetings, Master Caretaker and company from the Grand Master of Mayhem, the Duke of Destruction, the Marshal of Malevolence, the Commodore of Chaos, yada, yada, yada—Lord Pipsqueak," the man said.

"Thurston, never a pleasure to see you, as always," Mr. Lonely grumbled. "Where is he, and where are the other delegates?"

The ghostly butler gestured toward a set of large, wooden doors intersecting the corridor ahead. "Right this way." He floated ahead of them, passing through the doors. Percival and the others paused while the doors opened before them.

A chamber of immense proportion spread out before them. Instruments of torture lined the walls, and cages of iron hung suspended from the ceiling by chains. Various creatures resided in the cages—their gaunt expressions pleading for relief from their misery. At the far end of the chamber, about fifty yards away, gold coins and jewels of every imaginable sort sat heaped into a great mound around a single marble pedestal rising up through the middle. A tiny throne sat perched atop the pedestal, and upon that sat Lord Pipsqueak.

"Welcome, Master Caretaker," Lord Pipsqueak said. "I trust your journey was uneventful."

"A bit much with the fog and Lycan guard, but we managed," Mr. Lonely said.

"A pity."

"Excuse me?"

"Oh, I mean the fog and the werewolf," Lord Pipsqueak said. "The fog is so difficult to control. And the Lycan, well, good help is so hard to find these days."

"Where are the other delegates?" Mr. Lonely asked, suspiciously. "Were they told to create their own portals, as well?"

"Funny thing that," Lord Pipsqueak said. "My servants managed to clear up that earlier problem we discussed. The other delegates are already here. At least, everyone except Marlon. I do hope something terrible hasn't befallen him." Lord Pipsqueak smiled fiendishly. "Horrif-I is so unlike Fantastique."

"I'm sure Marlon will have no trouble," Mr. Lonely said. "He'll be here. He wouldn't dare miss Percival's Trial."

Lord Pipsqueak feigned a smile. "Yes, the boy. I'm looking forward to seeing how you fare during the Trial, boy. Your mentor seems to place a great deal of confidence in your abilities."

Percival wasn't sure if he should say anything, but did anyway. "I'm grateful for the opportunity to prove myself," he said.

Lord Pipsqueak stood up from his throne, holding his tiny pink paws behind his back. "Yes, well, let's not be overly dramatic shall we? He climbed onto a wire, which Percival could barely make out in the dim light, and skittered down it on all fours toward a mantle on the far wall. He paused before a hole in the wall saying, "Thurston will show you to the Great Hall where the delegates have assembled." Then Lord Pipsqueak disappeared through the mouse hole.

The spectral butler floated by them. "Come with me," he said.

Percival and his company followed Thurston out of the mouse's throne room, down another long, torch-lit corridor. Besides being a ghost, Percival wondered why the butler would be in the company of Lord Pipsqueak.

"Thurston, I was wondering," Percival started. Mr. Lonely gave him a sidelong glance. "Why do you work for Lord Pipsqueak. I mean it seems sort of beneath you to work for a little white mouse."

Mr. Lonely rolled his eyes, shaking his head.

Thurston, on the other hand, stopped turned then looked down his long nose at Percival. He gave a little snort and said, "I suppose it must be because the position for wet-behind-the-ears-whelp had already been filled." He turned, continuing to float down the hall.

Percival stood there stunned, while Violet suppressed her laughter. He glared at her. Violet almost choked, but managed finally to compose herself. "Come on, killer, let's not get left behind in this place. Percival broke into a smile, and they caught up with the Lonelys and their snobbish escort.

The next set of large doors opening before them revealed a massive space beyond. The floor consisted of cold gray concrete stained in ways that made Percival wonder about the gruesome circumstances causing its appearance. Thurston had diverted Mr. Lonely and his wife to a side stairway before leading Percival out onto the floor of what passed for a great arena.

As Percival and Violet walked out onto the floor he saw that a kind of coliseum surrounded them on all sides, roughly oval in shape, with many tiered levels rising beyond. Several thousand beings had been accommodated among the tiers of every sort Percival could imagine and many he never would have. They were all staring at him.

A wave of murmuring erupted as they surveyed the new candidate for the office of Master Caretaker. Most of what Percival could discern didn't sound very encouraging. Clearly he wasn't a favorite to complete this Trial, and many of these strange beings looked as though they might enjoy eliminating him personally.

The entire coliseum bore motifs inspired, possibly, by some Dark Ages torture chamber. It had rusted chains dangling from its ceiling, many tall blackened columns and gore encrusted weapons of destruction lining the walls, along with the occasional skeleton. Every room in Bloodmare Castle appeared to share darkness not only present in the wall coloring, but the kind that could be felt. The very air was thick with it almost to the point of inducing nausea.

Percival surveyed those seated around him and found Mister Lonely and his wife seated with the other delegates of the Council. Lord Pipsqueak managed to have the most prominent seat in the very middle of the delegates—really a throne more than a seat. Percival supposed it must be house rules for the hosting delegate to be the center of attention. Still, he was certain Lord Pipsqueak would have been the focus no matter where his Trial had been held. The mouse's bodyguards, Dim Bones and Quill, stood on either side, as menacing as ever.

Percival's hand began to ache. It was only at that moment that he realized Violet had been holding it and was now squeezing it absentmindedly. "Nervous?" he asked, looking at her with a pained smile.

Violet looked at him, puzzled, until she realized what she had been doing and let go—red rushing to her cheeks in the same instant. "Sorry," she said, wiping her sweaty palms on her medieval warrior's clothing.

Now that he thought about it, Percival was sorry he had made mention of Violet's nervousness. What better excuse for her to hold his hand, and he'd bungled it. He frowned, sore at himself, and looked toward the white mouse now beginning to speak from his jagged throne. "Denizens of the imaginative worlds, I welcome you to Bloodmare Castle where we will begin the Trial of..."

"Percival Strange," Thurston said, too loud for only Pipsqueak to hear.

"...Percival Strange, in order to find whether he is worthy of the office of Master Caretaker."

A general murmur rose among the tiers again, until Lord Pipsqueak continued. "In times past, many have tried and died. Nevertheless, if this boy wishes to face the horrors of the Trial, who are we to prevent him?" Lord Pipsqueak smiled directly at Percival as he spoke. "Therefore, as is my right as part of the Council of Imaginative Worlds, I have graciously volunteered to host the event here in the realm of Horrif-I and determine the nature of his testing."

Applause bloomed in the coliseum among the denizens of Horrif-I and its attendant allies, while it remained half-hearted at best from everyone else. Pipsqueak reveled in it for a moment, staring at Percival until the cheering died altogether. "The perilous path I have chosen begins in this arena and ends when you retrieve the crown of Queen Lilith.

A hush instantly fell over the entire coliseum. Even the beings from Horrif-I were stunned by what Lord Pipsqueak had said. Finally, Mr. Lonely spoke up, outrage clear in his voice. "No, you can't—"

Lord Pipsqueak shut him down quickly. "I can! It is my right, old man." He spoke to the entire assembly. "Anyone who wishes to join the boy on his quest is certainly welcome to do so. Nevertheless, Percival's Trial has begun!"

In that moment, before Percival and Violet could even find out who Queen Lilith was or what else might be involved, six gates located around the arena opened. Six ferocious beasts came from the darkness beyond the gates, entering the arena with bloodlust in their eyes for the boy and girl caught between them.

One of the beasts was a troll with pale gray skin—a giant man-like figure with tusks protruding from its bottom lip almost to the point of touching its yellow eyes. Two others bore resemblance to crabs or spiders. Percival couldn't tell exactly which. Two more looked like giant iguanas, while the last was a large wolf, possibly another of Lord Pipsqueak's Lycans.

Percival and Violet backed toward the middle of the arena. He could hear Mr. Lonely hurling fervent protests toward Lord Pipsqueak, but beyond that there seemed to be nothing the Master Caretaker could do. After all, he had divested himself of power in order to equip Percival for this Trial.

"Percival, think of something quick!" Violet shouted. She wasn't clinging to him now, but appeared to be spying out the various weapons located around the perimeter of the arena.

He got an idea. They at least needed a diversion—something to take the focus off of him and Violet. Percival conjured the idea in his mind then forced it out into the arena. A dozen Percivals, and many more Violets, materialized within the coliseum. The Percival clones ran around screaming, once they saw the monsters arrayed against them. The Violet clones did exactly the opposite, rushing to the attack, several assailing each beast at once so that the creatures had no idea who their real targets were.

Percival had kept an eye on the real Violet the whole time, which wasn't difficult seeing she had stopped short of a sword on one of the walls, bewildered by a clone of herself appearing before her. Percival ran across the arena floor and snatched her away by the arm. "Hey!" She started to struggle against him.

"It's the real me, Violet," Percival said, whisking her out of the fray toward the edge of the arena. Behind them, Percival and Violet clones were being destroyed left and right. Soon there were only half as many as Percival had conjured left to divert the monsters' attention.

They reached one of the six gates, but found a guard keeping it. Percival imagined a carnivorous vine into existence, springing from the ground, coiling around the guard, squeezing the orc-like creature until his eyes bugged. "The gate, how do we get it open?" Violet asked.

Both of their feet were knocked out from under them in an instant. One of the giant iguanas had whipped its tail at them to prevent their escape. The scaly green monster loomed over Percival and Violet—a dark forked tongue sampling the air around its next meal.

Percival rolled over, covering Violet. "When it takes me, you run!" No sooner had he said this than the lizard's jaw snapped him up by his clothing, yanking him away from Violet. But instead of running away, she leaped to her feet and ran after Percival. As the beast tried to position him better for a bite, she wailed against its leathery head with all her might, screaming for it to let him go.

Seeing Violet doing exactly what he had hoped she wouldn't do frustrated Percival's hopes for her safety. But instead of shouting at her uselessly, he imagined a sword in her hand like the one he'd summoned when the Lycan had attacked them in the fog. Violet looked surprised when it suddenly materialized in her hands, but not for long. She slashed the lizard across the throat repeatedly until Percival fell free from its jaws.

The creature turned, smashing Violet with its tail. The blade fell from her hands, landing a few yards away. Violet hit the ground dazed from the blow. Percival scrambled across the ground toward her, trying to protect her from the giant lizard. The creature came at them again, hissing fiercely as blood poured from its wounds.

A bar of fluorescent green caught Percival's eye right before it dissected the lizard's head from its body. As the body crumpled to the ground, he saw that the orangutan with the mystical sword had joined the battle, helping them. "Thanks!" Percival yelled, but the orangutan had leaped away, unbelievably high, and come down on top of one of the trolls charging toward them. He dispatched the troll within moments then moved on.

Percival looked around the arena to find that almost all of his imagined clones had perished already. They lay strewn around the concrete floor of the coliseum like discarded rag dolls, cotton and straw innards hanging from their torn bodies. The Lycan leaped toward them as Percival tried to reach Violet. He dropped and rolled as the werewolf sailed over him. Percival called on more of his thorny carnivorous vines which erupted through the concrete, ensnaring the Lycan like a fly in a flytrap. Its furious howls were silenced quickly as the vines squeezed the life out of the beast like a massive tangle of boa constrictors.

Percival took a deep breath, realizing how close the Lycan's teeth and claws had been to him. He reached Violet where she sat dazed on the ground. "Are you all right?" he asked, trying to discern whether she had actually been injured, or just knocked senseless.

Violet shook her head. "I'm fine, thanks." She got to her feet with Percival's assistance, picking up the sword he had imagined for her.

"We've got some help," Percival informed her. Indeed, the orangutan had already destroyed three of the creatures that had emerged from the gates.

They started off together, into the battle rather than away from it. As they passed the strangled Lycan's body, being consumed by the carnivorous vines, she gave Percival a startled look. "You must be getting good at this."

Percival shrugged his shoulders. "Desperate measures for a desperate time," he muttered. They stopped a short distance from the two creatures that remained. The last of the Percival clones ran too close to the giant crab creature and was snapped up in its largest claw, deposited near its mouth parts and devoured.

"I think I'm gonna hurl," Violet said as she watched the Percival look-a-like's kicking feet disappear into the crab's clicking jaws.

"Don't worry, they're not really alive, Violet," Percival said as the orangutan somersaulted toward them, landing with his mystic sword flaring. The weapon's energies dissipated. The strange warrior said nothing, but gave Percival a wide orangutan grin like he'd seen in movie comedies. Then the ape pointed a long fur-covered arm toward two approaching monsters.

"I think he wants you to take care of those things yourself," Violet said.

The lizard hissed as it approached, while the crab tried to flank them with its delicate sidestepping walk. The orangutan clapped his big hands, pointing again. "Me?" Percival asked.

The orangutan nodded his head, flapping his flabby chin skin.

Ideas formed in Percival's mind then he pushed them out into existence. The lizard found itself sinking into a miry quicksand where the concrete floor had been a moment before. The leathery green monster thrashed against gravity and the vacuum pull of the muck drawing it in. Within moments, it had succumbed, its head sinking at last beneath the mush. The floor returned to concrete again.

The orangutan pointed toward the crab-like creature sauntering to their left, hoping to avoid notice until it could spring. Percival threw his hands up as though scooping something into his arms. Spikes of jagged rock sprang from the arena floor, pulled up by his will into existence. They shattered the crab's shell, impaling its body, suspending it in the air several feet from the ground—its spidery legs still walking a few moments as life lingered.

Percival and Violet beamed happily at one another. "You did it," she said. The orangutan warrior flashed his toothy smile, nodding vigorously.

"That's the second time you've saved my life," Percival said to the orangutan.

"Mrs. Lonely told me his name is Master Baanna," Violet offered. The orangutan nodded once.

"Thank you, Master Baanna," Percival said. "I really do appreciate it."

The arena had grown silent after the last of Lord Pipsqueak's monsters had been destroyed. But it didn't stay that way. Lord Pipsqueak erupted from his throne. "ATTACK!" he bellowed, so that the entire coliseum heard him.

Percival, Violet and Baanna turned at his voice. The gates had opened again. Out of every recess of the coliseum came forth hundreds of orcs and goblins armed with rusted swords and other jagged implements fashioned to rend flesh in the most unpleasant ways possible. These surged into the arena from the shadows and bore down upon the trio standing in their midst. Baanna's weapon hissed, becoming a pulsating blade enveloped in killing energy. Violet raised her sword ready to strike while Percival focused his thoughts on the best way to defend against so many attackers at once.

As the orcs and goblins shouted their war cries, coming within fifty feet of striking, an explosion rocked the entire coliseum. Bright white smoke mushroomed from the middle of the arena floor. The shock wave bypassed Percival and his companions but knocked the entire army of orcs and goblins to the ground.

As the smoke dissipated, it left Marlon the Wizard standing in its wake. "Enough!" he cried.

ALLIES & ADVERSARIES

Lord Pipsqueak leered at the Wizard from atop his miniature throne among the other delegates of the Council. "Marlon, oh goody," he said sarcastically, "I was wondering when you would arrive."

"Right on time," Marlon countered. "Certainly in time to spoil your usual nefarious plans." He looked around the arena where orcs and goblins were just beginning to get back to their feet. "A bit on the overkill side, wouldn't you say?"

Lord Pipsqueak grinned. "The boy is simply beginning his Trial..."

"That being a quest to fetch the crown of Queen Lilith, not fighting your army of miscreants in this arena for everyone's amusement."

"His quest began here with six monsters," Lord Pipsqueak argued.

"And they have been slain," Marlon countered again. "The boy has passed this first part. Now it is time he be on his way to Queen Lilith's, else why bother with naming such a quest if you never intended he get on with it?"

The delegates, by now, had taken up murmuring against the uncalled-for attack by the orcs and goblins, much to Lord Pipqueak's chagrin.

Mr. Lonely eyed him suspiciously. "I believe Marlon is quite correct," Mr. Lonely said. "The Council seems to be in agreement that the first part of the Trial is over. It is time for the boy to move on with his quest, Lord Pipsqueak."

The white mouse glared at Mr. Lonely, then observed the expressions of his fellow delegates seated to either side. He wouldn't be able to destroy the boy so easily. Queen Lilith it would be. "Very well," Lord Pipsqueak said.

Mr. Lonely took over from there. "Now, who will join our candidate on his journey?"

Violet became the first to volunteer, raising her sword high in the air. "I'll go with Percival," she said confidently.

The orangutan quickly followed, mimicking Violet's bravado with a raised sword of his own. "Ah, very good," Mr. Lonely said. "We have Master Baanna from Neo joining the quest. Who else is brave enough to join this courageous band."

Marlon began to speak, but Lord Pipsqueak interrupted him. "As the boy's sponsor, you cannot go!"

Marlon smiled sheepishly. "I just wanted to see if you were paying attention, Pipsqueak."

"We will join the boy on his quest!" The strong baritone voice bellowed from among the crowd. A knight in shining silver armor stood with his sword drawn, sparkling despite the lack of available light in Bloodmare Castle.

The knight moved through the crowd of imagined beings with a band of knights similarly outfitted until they reached a stair coming down behind the coliseum seating. The knight led his band through one of the six gates, parading proudly across the gore filled arena toward Percival.

"I am Sir Bane," the knight said, "and these are my Knights of the Griffin Order." Indeed, Percival now noticed that each of the knights had a crimson colored griffin emblazoned upon the breastplate of their polished silver armor. "We humbly offer our services to you, Percival, as you quest for the crown of Queen Lilith."

The knight, who was nearly two feet taller than Percival, kneeled before him—his hands leaning upon the pommel of his sword hilt with the tip planted straight down upon the concrete floor. Each of Sir Bane's eleven knights followed his example, kneeling with their heads bowed before Percival.

For his part, Percival wasn't quite sure how to respond. He looked at Violet, who seemed as befuddled as he was then to Marlon. The Wizard gave him a rising gesture with his hand, which Percival took as his cue. "Arise, Sir Bane...and noble Knights of the Griffin Order. I gratefully accept your pledge of assistance."

Violet rolled her eyes at this formality, but Percival let it pass. They were in the imagined worlds, and this was apparently proper for the denizens of a fantasy realm like Fantastique. Besides, he found it sort of fun. Percival had always enjoyed fantasy stories and now he was living one. Despite the danger and the fear hanging over him like a cloud, he also felt excitement welling up within him. No matter what happened, they were going on an adventure.

Sir Bane and his knights rose to stand with Percival and his other companions. Percival could see that Mr. Lonely was smiling—no doubt happy to see that someone, besides Master Baanna, had decided to join the quest. "Is there anyone else with the courage to join Percival Strange?" he asked the crowd.

No one else appeared to be so eager as Sir Bane and the Knights of the Griffin Order, though much looking about and murmuring had followed. Then someone else finally spoke up from the crowd. "I will join Percival Strange on his quest!"

Percival searched the crowd, as did everyone else, for the female voice which had spoken. All eyes eventually fell upon the voluptuous frame of a woman dressed in black, standing a quarter of the way around the coliseum from where the delegates were seated. Percival's eyes nearly bugged. Not only had a woman joined him, but a very beautiful one at that.

Violet punched him in the arm. "Ow! What was that for?" Percival asked.

"Just keep your eyes in your head," she warned.

He wasn't quite sure what to make of Violet's tone, but Percival knew enough not to argue with a black belt.

Lord Pipsqueak erupted from his throne. "Widow Black, how dare you join this whelp! You're a denizen of Horrif-I!"

The woman, though dressed in black, didn't remind Percival of anything he'd encountered in Horrif-I, so far. However, she did not back down from Lord Pipsqueak either. "For too long you have held power over the denizens of Horrif-I!" she shouted. "I, for one, welcome the possibility of a new young Master Caretaker who will do a better job of keeping you in your place!"

Lord Pipsqueak threw his pink paws out toward Widow Black, releasing bolts of red lightning from his tiny claws. Electricity danced across the crowd, sending many imagined creatures tumbling spastically to the ground on its way toward Widow Black.

However, she caught the fiery lightning with the elegant fingers of one hand and redirected the current through the fingers of her other hand. The charge surged into the ranks of goblins and orcs which had retreated to the edge of the arena, knocking most of them senseless.

"Enough!" Mr. Lonely shouted over the din. "As Master Caretaker, I forbid anymore of this nonsense!"

Pipsqueak ceased his attack. Widow Black stood still, a quiet smile of satisfaction on her blood red lips. Percival stared, awestruck, as much by the display of Lord Pipsqueak's power as Widow Black's ability to nullify it. Mr. Lonely stood firm. "If Widow Black, or anyone else, desires to join the candidate's quest then it cannot be forbidden by you, or anyone, Lord Pipsqueak."

Lord Pipsqueak gnashed his mousy teeth, but stood down. "Very well. Take her. And good riddance!"

Widow Black glided out of the crowd, down the dark stairs to the balustrade bordering the arena below. But instead of finding one of the stairs to take her down to the gates, she leaped over the balustrade like a cat, landing nimbly on the arena floor in her black stiletto boots.

"Whoa," some of the knights whispered.

Violet's head whipped around to see if Percival had been one of them. Her glare made him glad he hadn't. He tried a weak smile, but dropped it as Violet turned back to watch the woman in black slinking toward them.

Widow Black's outfit seemed to be made of darkness itself, as though shadows had been knit together to bind her curvaceous frame. Her hair seemed to move of its own accord like she was underwater, defying gravity. Percival noticed a mesmerizing quality to her eyes—pools of golden fire that beckoned one to leap in and be burned. He tried to look away from her—his desire to keep Violet from punching his lights out still greater than the strange attraction surrounding this dazzling new ally.

She walked past Sir Bane and the Knights of the Griffin Order right up to Percival. "Thank you for joining us, Widow Black," Percival said. He was trying not to look directly into those hypnotic eyes. They actually seemed to glow with their own inner light. A thought—something Mr. Lonely had mentioned about not accepting help from anyone in Horrif-I—nagged at the back of his mind. But when she spoke, he couldn't recall the advice.

"You're very welcome, Percival," she said.

Percival tried unsuccessfully to suppress his smile. Her voice sounded like music—foreign, almost ringing with a hint of Russian accent. She offered her hand to Percival in a way that summoned him to kiss the fingertips—the same which had caught lightning only moments before. In the back of his mind, he couldn't help but wonder if they still held some of the charge.

Violet came between them. "Yeah, thanks a lot, Blacky. That'll be all for now."

Widow Black smiled insincerely, giving her a little humph.

Mr. Lonely took a moment to call for any other volunteers, but the well had run dry. No one else had any interest in losing their lives on what almost certainly was considered a suicide mission. Mr. Lonely turned to the white mouse, still fuming atop his throne, and smiled. Then he looked back at Percival. "The first portal will bring you to the beginning of your quest. You must journey into the forest and find the Renders' Lair. Believe me the smell will make it easy for you to find it. Inside the lair, you must find the Queen Render and take a sample of her blood. It is poisonous. The second portal will appear, once you have the poison blood.

"The second portal will deposit you within the Necropolis. At the heart of this city, you will find the Asylum. Go to the basement level, where you will find the Well of Souls leading to the Netherworld. Only Percival, as the Caretaker Candidate, may retrieve the Mortal Dagger contained there. Remember the three Hebrew children and you will do fine. The well is the third portal, but you, Percival, must command the destination before you enter. You must command the Well of Souls to deliver you to Hallow Hill. Here you will find the home of Lilith, Queen of the Netherworld.

"In order to take the crown from her, you must fill the Mortal Dagger with the poisonous blood of the Render. The Mortal Dagger will dispel her power, but only the poison blood can kill her. Percival is the only one who can perform each specific task. The rest of you may help him stay alive, but that is all. Once you have the crown, it will transport you back to the Lonely Manor. Do you understand, Percival?"

Percival nodded. "Yes, I understand." He said the words, but in his heart he felt as though he'd just signed his death warrant.

"Lord Pipsqueak," Mr. Lonely said, "You must establish the portal transporting them to the Lycan's Forest."

The mouse snapped his tiny fingers—a sound that rang with astonishing clarity coming from so small a paw. Then in the middle of the arena floor a swirling vortex of marble green energy burst into existence. Percival marveled, but remained leery of entering anything Lord Pipsqueak had created. He leaned toward Marlon. "Is it safe?"

Marlon gave him a slight nod. "Yes, the portal is true, as well as the danger beyond." He grabbed Percival by the shoulders, looking deeply into his eyes. Remember this realm determines how your imagination may manifest. You can create food and water, but be sure you concentrate on its purity here in Horrif-I. Other than that, simply follow Mr. Lonely's directions."

Percival looked at Violet then the others. They made a strange band of travelers, but at least he had some allies to help him fulfill the quest. "Let's go then," he said. Percival took a deep breath then stepped through the portal. The others followed his lead.

AXIS OF EVEEL!

By the time Lord Pipsqueak arrived within the secret chamber, for the secret meeting, with the secretly divisive delegates, the mood had turned to a bubbling cauldron of malice. "It's about time you got here," bellowed Neptune, the honorable delegate of Wet. His tunic of scales shimmered between shades of sea green and violet while his crimson mane curled around his head like fire. "We expected the boy to be dead by now!"

Lord Pipsqueak narrowed his tiny albino eyes at the god of the sea. "Watch your temper, Neptune," he warned. "You're in my little pond, right now."

"Nevertheless," he started, although noticeably calmer, "you made promises to us—yet the boy lives. He's shown himself courageous in your arena and by all accounts is gaining favor among the other delegates."

Lord Pipsqueak sat upon his small throne, for he had one in nearly every room within Bloodmare Castle, waving away Neptune's concerns. "All of that matters very little," he began. "The boy has fallen into my trap. I have chosen the quest for him, and no one has ever undertaken such a task successfully. There is nothing to worry about. Queen Lilith will not surrender her crown so easily."

Fayd Ra, a bounty hunter and one of the delegates from Neo, spoke up. "Still, he is powerful. We've all witnessed it. How can you be so confident that he will fail? After all, Master Baanna and the others are skilled as well. Baanna alone is worth his weight in gold during a fight."

"Yes, and that woman, Widow Black," Neptune said. "She certainly didn't seem to have any problems holding off your attack."

Lord Pipsqueak, rather than growing angry, reflected on the incident. A smile spread across his mousey face. Don't worry about Widow Black, gentlemen. I've got her right where I want her."

A static charge clung to Percival as he passed through the portal. Tiny pops of electricity danced across his clothing and through his hair as his feet stepped out onto soft green grass in a waning twilight. His company followed him through the portal one at a time until they were all assembled on a grassy plain just as the sun passed below unknown mountains in the distance. The portal's marble green energy snapped into nothingness behind them.

"Well, here we are I guess," Percival said. He surveyed the area, finding a thickly planted forest rising up before them nearly a mile away. "Is that...?"

"The home of the Lycans," Sir Bane said. "From here on things will get progressively more dangerous."

"Like that fight in the arena wasn't?" Violet interjected.

"I think that's the way it's supposed to be, Violet," Percival said. "Tougher as we get closer to Queen Lilith."

"She will be the most deadly of all," Widow Black said with a delighted grin.

Violet leered at the woman. "You don't have to sound so happy about it."

Widow Black continued to smile. Then she nudged closer to Percival, whispering in his ear, keeping her unnaturally bright eyes fixed upon Violet. "I'm not worried, Percival. As powerful as you are, we'll have no problem killing her and taking her crown."

Percival couldn't help but notice the woman's scent as she sidled up to him. The aroma of apples and cinnamon rolled off her, only to change a moment later to vanilla then to gingerbread. Percival suddenly felt warmer, but he wasn't sure if it was Widow Black or the daggers flying from Violet's eyes toward him. He tried not to breathe through his nose. Any distractions might get them all killed. Certain danger still loomed ahead.

Percival could tell Violet was gritting her teeth. Part of him hated this feminine rivalry taking place. Another part of him couldn't help but enjoy the fact that Violet seemed had been seething with jealousy ever since Widow Black joined their group. Percival stepped away from the woman toward Violet. "I think we should pray before we go in there, don't you?" he asked.

Violet relaxed then smiled, nodding.

Percival turned to the others. "Before we go another step, I'm going to ask the Lord for help."

Master Baanna smiled brightly in his simian way. The others appeared to be confused. Sir Bane even voiced as much. "I'm afraid I don't understand."

Percival looked at Violet. He could read it in her eyes—don't tell them. They might then guess at their humanity which Marlon and the Lonelys had stressed not to make known. "Just wait for a moment," he said, then he and Violet bowed their heads together, praying quietly.

When they had finished, Percival opened his eyes to find Violet still smiling at him. "I'm sure things will go well if this is the Lord's will," she said. "I feel better now."

"Me too." Percival turned to the others. "Sir Bane, what can we expect from the Lycans?"

"Devils, the lot of them," he began. "They may appear either as men or beasts—very wolf-like—though walking on their hind legs. They are incredibly strong and fast and they usually roam in packs. Beyond that, they die the same as men, but silver is especially effective in dispatching their kind." He drew his gleaming silver broadsword to punctuate his statement.

Master Baanna nodded vigorously, like a bobble head, grinning the whole time. Percival smiled at the ape then nodded, surveying all of his companions. "Let's go."

THE LYCAN WOOD

The Lycan Wood had seemed to drift farther away from them as they journeyed toward its boundary, making a relatively short walk take hours. It had seemed no further than a mile when they first arrived. There was some sort of magic at work, something that muddled their perceptions.

Gradually, as fatigue settled upon their group, the Wood came to embrace them. The massive girth of the trees was unlike anything Percival had ever seen. Only the Redwood Forests of his world could hold a candle to them. If their entire troop had linked arms, they still could not have encircled the half of one of them.

Mist crawled along the ground like a herd of gray snakes, weaving through the short grass and ferns which owned almost every inch of earth the trees did not inhabit. Above them, multiple layers of mist hung in the sky, never descending or ascending, confined to one plane only. "There's plenty of places for them to hide, isn't there?" Percival asked. Everyone knew whom he was referring to. Still, they had not heard so much as a growl, since entering the Wood.

"If they decide to attack—and they will—the Lycan's won't need any place to hide," Sir Bane said. "We will."

"I thought you weren't afraid of them," Violet said, following the knight over a particularly large root breaking through the earth like a breaching whale.

"Afraid?" Sir Bane asked. "No, I'm not afraid. Only cautious. Fear has its uses, young lady. It keeps you from doing stupid things that can get you killed."

Percival was only partially paying attention to their conversation. He was busy trying to take in their surroundings, analyzing the Wood, hoping something of use might present itself. They expected an attack. The only question was what to do once it happened? "I'm surprised it hasn't gotten dark yet," Percival remarked.

Sir Bane followed closely. "It never gets completely dark here," he said.

"That's a good thing, right?" Violet asked.

"Actually, it only causes confusion," Sir Bane said. "The Wood can play tricks on the eyes."

"What kind of tricks?" Percival asked.

"Shadows. Shapes. Sometimes, people hallucinate, seeing monsters that aren't really there," Sir Bane said. "I've even heard of parties passing through this wood only to slaughter one another. They saw apparitions, and attacked, but when the blows had been delivered, their fellow companions had been standing before them instead."

Percival considered this information. Everything about this world was set against them. Even a forest became a monster in Horrif-I. "How long before you think we'll see some of them?" Percival asked.

"They've surely been watching us since before we entered the Wood," he said. Percival noticed Sir Bane and all of his knights carried their swords unsheathed in their hands. He looked back at Violet. They both paused while she did the same. "Better to be prepared," Percival said to her. She didn't smile as they fell back into the line. Percival wasn't smiling either. His eyes darted to every perceptible movement among the trees, both high and low.

Percival tried to come up with ideas for using his imagination here. He needed some way to fight back against the Lycans beyond mere sword play, which he wasn't particularly skilled at in the first place. If these creatures were as fast as Sir Bane suggested, then many techniques he might employ would be too slow. "I've not had enough time to practice," Percival whispered to himself.

Violet picked up on his concern. She tugged on his shoulder as they rounded another large tree trunk, following Sir Bane. "What's wrong...I mean besides the obvious?"

"I'm not prepared for this, Violet," he said. He felt suddenly on the verge of panic, surveying their company following behind. "These people are depending on me to get us through. But I've not used these new abilities enough to really know what I'm doing. I feel like I'm about to get everyone killed."

Violet listened. She had heard this sort of thing before from Percival. As lifelong best friends, they had shared secrets and secret misgivings before. Percival had never been the most confident person in the world. Not many people gave him a reason to be.

"Look, I saw someone pretty on-top-of-his-game back in that arena," she said. "You saved my life, Percival." Violet gestured back to the others following them. "They all saw it too. They believed in you enough to volunteer to come with us." She smiled. "You've always told me that God will give you what you need in order to accomplish his will. Well, this is where the Lord has led you. Don't you believe he'll make the way, now?"

Percival smiled at her, nodding his head. "You're right...I just wasn't thinking clearly. Thanks."

"Good," Violet said. "Now, get back up there in front where you belong. I'll be right behind you."

Percival increased his pace with Violet following, her hand gripping the hilt of her sword tightly. In a moment, he had caught up with Sir Bane. "Do you really think they're already watching us?" he asked the knight.

Bane searched what was visible of the treetops and forest around them, then nodded. "I do."

"Then why haven't they attacked yet?" Violet asked.

"Maybe they want to assess our strengths before attacking," Sir Bane said. "It's hard to say. I do know they are intelligent enough to organize their assaults."

Percival considered this information. "Perhaps we should take the fight to them," he suggested.

"What?" Sir Bane was clearly startled by such a suggestion. "No one has ever done something so foolish. It's madness, insanity, suicide!"

"Exactly," Percival conceded. "They won't be expecting it. If these things crave fear, we'll give them just the opposite of what they're hoping for."

Sir Bane regarded the young man before him for a moment, considering what Percival was saying. "You know, in a maniacal sort of way, it actually makes sense." He stopped. "Call me crazy, young Master, but I think I like it." The rest of their company gathered around to see what plan they had come up with.

Percival surveyed the rest of the group. "We need to go into intimidation mode, people...really show the Lycans what we're made of. If we just walk through their territory all passive, they'll take us down for sure. So, let's show them what they're up against before they decide to attack."

Percival took the lead from Sir Bane. As he walked on through the forest, he conjured gouts of flame, erupting ahead of him, as though he were breathing fire like a dragon. Percival shot them out into the spaces between the great trees hoping to frighten the Lycan away. But he still never saw any of them, so it was difficult to know if his display of power was having any effect.

Behind him, Violet walked nearby with her sword raised high, as if she expected werewolves to erupt from the trees at any moment. Sir Bane and his knights did likewise, having no particular power with which to make a show like Percival. Widow Black, however, was blasting the tree trunks around them with the same crimson lightning Percival had seen her redirect from Lord Pipsqueak.

About fifteen minutes after they had started showing off, Percival began to wonder if there really was anyone watching them. So far, they had seen no one hunting or observing them. The birds and mammals had fled already and the Lycan Wood had become nearly silent. If these things were any indication, then the Lycan Wood seemed to have everything but Lycans.

Percival stopped on the path. The others stopped with him, looking puzzled by his relent. "Are you sure we're in the right place?" Percival asked.

Master Baanna nodded his furry head vigorously, his orangutan jowls flapping as he did so. Sir Bane simply nodded. "Absolutely, Percival."

As if to reinforce Sir Bane's statement, a howl pierced the silence of the forest. Several answering calls erupted among the trees around them. Everyone stopped what they had been doing in order to listen more carefully. "They sound far off," Percival observed.

"Not as far as I would like," Sir Bane countered. "We should hurry, Percival."

"But our show of strength," Percival started. "We have to stand and fight!"

At that moment, the first wave of Lycans appeared. They moved like blurs coming in from around the trees through the fog. By the time Percival had conjured more flame, they had already overcome two of Sir Bane's knights. The beasts didn't bother staying with one victim, but quickly moved on once they had a kill.

Widow Black struck three of the creatures at once with her crimson lightning. Two went down, the third rolled around scorched, but got back up. She hit it again until it stayed down.

Master Baanna and Violet stood back to back with their weapons trained on several Lycan hoping to rip their throats out. One leaped high, but Baanna was already there, dividing the beast in two. Violet slashed with her sword. She wounded one, but it would not retreat fully. It gnashed its wolf-like teeth at her, saliva foaming and dripping onto the misty ground.

Percival and Sir Bane fought more of the beasts near one another. "I told you we should have run!" Bane said. He slashed with his sword then impaled one of the Lycans through its chest. He kicked it off his blade as another moved in.

Percival had tried fire, but it was too slow. The Lycans bypassed it too easily. He imagined deadly vines springing from the ground around him, with razors for thorns. As the Lycan lunged at him, the vines lashed out like whips, catching the beasts. They curled around their victims then spun them like tops, slicing them to ribbons with their thorns in the process.

Sir Bane's knights fought valiantly, staving off many of the Lycan, but they lost half of their numbers doing so. Percival watched as the situation dissolved into pure chaos. So much for scare tactics, he thought. These creatures did not know the meaning of fear. No matter how many they cut down, more attacked.

More howls came from the distance. Percival realized another wave of Lycans had come to join the slaughter. "Sir Bane, lead the others away while I hold them off!"

Bane turned toward Percival, having just dispatched another Lycan. "We can't leave you alone, young Master!"

"Baanna will stay with me," Percival pleaded. "Take them now and get to the Render's Lair!" They stared one another down, until Sir Bane gave in with a slight nod. Most of this wave of Lycans had been killed, but the next might do them in. Sir Bane called for the others. "Run!"

The knights retreated with only a few wounded Lycan plodding after them. They kept their weapons trained on the beasts until they reached Percival and his vines. The Lycans hesitated just out of reach of the writhing green tentacles. Baanna stood next to Percival. His robe had been torn a little, but otherwise none of the werewolves had managed to do him harm. The same could hardly be said for the rest of the group. Everyone, except Widow Black, had come through with scrapes, bruises and claw marks.

Violet grabbed Percival's arm, "I'm not leaving you!"

"You have to go, Violet," Percival pleaded. "I'll be all right." He tried to smile and reassure her, but it was forced.

Tears filled her eyes, spilling down her cheeks. Percival wondered at the sight. He could not remember ever seeing Violet cry. Oh, she may have had that look a few times in anger, but that was the time to run in the other direction. This was totally different. In her eyes, he saw fear welling up in her—a fear that she would never see him again if she turned loose now.

Percival did smile then. "Violet, if God be for me, then who can be against me?"

Something changed in her expression. She knew he was right. He could see it there, plain on her face. "Go with Sir Bane and the others," he said. "I'll be there as soon as I can."

Violet's grip loosened. Sir Bane appeared behind her, taking her shoulders. She didn't say anything more as he pulled her away. Her gaze remained on Percival, until they broke into a run to catch up to the others.

Percival turned back to Master Baanna still standing with his sword ready. The blood from the Lycans had been burned clean away by the power generated in the blade. It flashed, green fire burning on its surface, ready for more. "I guess it's just you and me now," Percival said.

The orangutan placed his large hand on Percival's shoulder, patting it. Percival reached over and patted the simian's hand in return. It was good to have someone standing with him, and who better than this mysterious master swordsman?

Percival prepared his mind to fight off the werewolves closing on them. His razor vines waved over them, waiting for their next victims. Howls echoed through the trees around them just as the next wave of Lycan charged in.

TOOTH & CLAW

Percival and Baanna stood ready, swords in hand, waiting for the approaching Lycans to attack. The others had been allowed several minutes of running time to escape. Hopefully they had found a suitable place to hide or gone on to the Render's Lair. "Baanna, do you think you can track the others, if we make it out of this alive?" Percival asked.

Baanna gave him a quick, confident nod, still watching for the werewolves. The sound of pounding paws was closing through the trees now. "They're almost here," Percival declared, although it was quite unnecessary. Baanna probably had better hearing than Percival did. Still, it made him feel better to talk even if Baanna couldn't return the favor.

Percival looked at the sword in his hand. It seemed so inadequate for the attack that was coming. Maybe, it was the fact that it was held in his own hands. He was no swordsman. What better weapon could he use against these werewolves? What would this realm allow him? Then an idea struck him. Percival smiled, hopeful for the first time since encountering the Lycan Wood.

"Baanna, maybe I've got something better," Percival said. The ape looked at him, a puzzling expression on his simian face. The orangutan probably wondered what could be better than a good sword in your hands.

Percival focused on his thoughts, trying to push out the howling gnashing fury headed straight for them. The first Lycan appeared through the massive trees ahead of them, erupting from the fog with several others dogging its heels—hellhounds unleashed. His hands started to shake with fear, but Percival concentrated even harder on the sword in his hands.

The metal dissolved, split its mass between his two hands and reformed as two large chrome plated semiautomatic pistols—the same he had seen in a recent horror flick involving a war between Vampires and Lycans. A grin stretched across his face. He hadn't thought it would happen—that this realm would allow such a conjuring. Still, he had supposed if man had imagined werewolves and using silver bullets to kill them then surely it had to be a possibility.

Baanna tensed next to Percival, ready to assail their attackers with a vicious counterattack of his own. Percival heard the gnashing of teeth closing in fast—saw the snarling jaws, slobber dripping from jagged teeth. Fear shot up his spine—the thought of having his throat torn out by one of these beasts foremost in his mind.

Then Percival's training kicked in. He'd always been an avid gamer—Xbox, Playstation—you name it. He was good. He raised both pistols, remembering many a time playing arcade-style first-person shooters with big plastic guns, one in each hand. Percival fired as the Lycans leaped toward him. Two shots killing two beasts.

He landed direct hits. The Lycans screeched in agony beyond mere pain. The silver bullets, by whatever means, scoured their bodies instantly in flame, turning them to ash. They exploded like a thousand scattered dandelion puffs upon hitting the ground.

Percival wasted no time, firing into the approaching pack. Lycans fell like wheat before him while Baanna stood beside him, amazed. Still they came. Their numbers were growing. Percival burned through ammunition clips as fast as he could pull the triggers. The guns grew hot in his hands, but he kept filling them with fresh clips of silver bullets with his mind.

Growling werewolves closed in from the sides now, and Baanna went to work striking furiously at them. There were just too many coming and from too many directions. "They're aren't stopping," Percival yelled above the din. "They must have called every Lycan living in this forest!"

Percival started to retreat. He couldn't fire fast enough to stave off the attack. Werewolves hurled themselves at him. Bodies flashed into ash with each hit, colliding with Percival and exploding on impact. He had gray ash in his eyes, nose and mouth. Just trying to breath had grown nearly impossible, at this point, not to mention trying to shoot their attackers with any accuracy.

Percival's razor vines took their turn as living Lycans came within their reach. They seized the beasts in a deadly grip, slicing their lithe bodies to ribbons. Still, they kept coming, and now the werewolves had taken to attacking the base of the razor vines themselves. A difficult chore, but many together had managed to take down two of the dozen or so vines already.

"We have to retreat!" Percival called to Baanna. The Orangutan leaped back to his side, fighting with all of his strength to keep the Lycans at bay, but they were losing ground fast as a seemingly never ending supply sped into the fray from the forest around them. We need a diversion, Percival thought.

He pushed that thought out into this imagined reality. Two brown and white spotted cows appeared between them and the voracious pack of werewolves closing in for the kill. Immediately, the attention shifted from the tough weathered ape and the scrawny youth to the plump delicious bovine before them.

The cows had little time for fear, sputtering simultaneous Moos just before the hungry pack descended upon them like starved piranhas. Percival turned, running away from the ghastly scene with Baanna at his side. He imagined a black stallion saddled before them then climbed onto the horse like a pro, despite never having ridden one of the animals in his life.

Instincts born of life-long movie addiction took over. "Hiya!" Percival cried, snapping the reins and goading the animal with the heels of his boots. Baanna scrambled up onto the horse with ease as Percival and the stallion launched away, leaving the feeding frenzy behind them.

It was Sir Bane that Percival spotted first. The knight stood just outside a cave set within a large hill, waving to him as he and Baanna charged through the Wood on the black stallion Percival had created. They had ridden at as furious a pace as the horse could muster, but still, after five minutes, they began to hear the cries from the Lycan pack. The cows had been a mere appetizer to the real feast still to come. The Lycans were closing in again.

When Percival pulled the reins up hard before the cave where Sir Bane stood waiting, he realized he had misjudged the size of the opening. "Come on, Percival, we must hurry inside before the werewolves get here," Bane said. The knight had shed much of his armor before Percival arrived and was down on his knees crawling through the entrance. "The Lycan won't be able to get inside this burrow."

So that was it—not a cave at all, but the burrow of some kind of animal. "A fox hole?" Percival asked. They were certainly smaller than the Lycan, but in Horrif-I who knew how ferocious a fox might be.

"Big rabbits, I think, but we haven't actually seen anything yet." Sir Bane said from inside the waist high, inner tunnel. "It's probably been long abandoned."

Percival dismounted the horse with Baanna close behind, sword at the ready. He knelt down, beginning a crawling trek back into the hill. The stallion Percival had created would hopefully have enough sense to escape the approaching pack and fend for itself.

Once they had crawled about twenty yards in, the tunnel opened up much wider. Percival stood up, only having to hunch over to clear the roof of the tunnel now. Bane, as the tallest of their group, had the most difficulty, but still managed.

"Not a bad place to hide, at least until we've rested and come up with a plan for reaching the Render's Lair," Sir Bane said.

"I just hope we don't get trapped inside," Percival said. "How far is it to the Render's Lair?"

"I've only seen it once—I'll never forget it," Sir Bane said. "If I'm not mistaken, we should be within a mile of the Lair, by now."

Percival turned as Baanna came through the smaller portion of the tunnel. "This place seems built just for you," he said. Baanna's head easily cleared the roof at his full height. Percival had meant it jokingly, but the orangutan looked troubled. He passed Sir Bane, heading down the tunnel, presumably toward the others.

"I guess he's leading the way," Bane said, following the ape into another section of tunnel.

Percival lingered only long enough to bend down at the entrance tunnel, listening. He heard snarling and digging. Percival had noticed a fair amount of rock in the tunnel wall coming in. The huge Lycans could dig all they wanted. Unless they could claw through rock, they wouldn't get inside the burrow.

Baanna had no trouble sniffing out the others of their group. Percival was glad to see Violet safely out of harms way. She almost immediately seized him in a tight hug, clearly happy to see the Lycans hadn't torn him to pieces. She fought back tears, trying to smile instead. She had no words.

Percival imagined a glowing sphere of yellow light above them in the central chamber and surveyed their team. Five of Sir Bane's Griffin Order Knights had survived apart from himself. Widow Black may have chipped a nail, but had suffered little else throughout the ordeal. "Sir Bane, I'm sorry for the loss of your men back there," Percival said. It seemed like the appropriate thing to say as a leader. He really hated that they had sacrificed their lives. "It all seems so pointless—a waste."

"Not a waste," Bane said. "They died honorably in battle, fighting for the hope of a new Master Caretaker who might bring lasting peace between the imagined worlds and Urbane. The rest of us are willing to die for the same."

Brave words, Percival thought. He knew Bane meant what he had said. The Griffin Order Knight had the kind of courage that inspired him. Percival only hoped he wouldn't disappoint his new friends or the grand dream they longed to bring to fruition.

Violet stood, waiting on her emotions to die down enough to actually say something. Percival smiled at her...it was weird seeing her so distraught over him. Deep down, he liked it. Violet started to smile then her expression broke into sheer terror. Master Baanna, standing next to Violet, drew his blade faster than Percival could follow.

He turned, looking for the source of their alarm as Violet screamed. A huge rat sat hunched in one of the tunnel entrances leading into the chamber. When Violet screamed bloody murder, the rat screeched then turned back down the tunnel, running away.

Percival, still startled, tried to calm Violet down. He knew her one overriding fear was rats, and this man-sized specimen had sent her into complete panic. "We've got to leave this place, immediately!" Sir Bane said, grabbing Percival's arm.

"Just give her a minute," Percival said. "She hates rats, but she'll get it together."

"No!" Bane insisted. "We must leave now! That rat didn't run away, it went to get reinforcements!"

Percival tried to swallow, his throat suddenly very dry. He envisioned an entire horde of vermin descending upon them from every dark orifice in this burrow. "All right, let's get moving."

"Which way do we go?" Widow Black insisted. She appeared alert, but not particularly frightened. Percival noticed little sparks of power arcing randomly from points on her body to other locations as though her power were barely contained.

"I'm not sure," Percival said, looking to Sir Bane for some reassurance, some direction from a man who seemed to know about this realm first hand. "If we go back the way we came, we'll run into the Lycans again."

Sir Bane tried to pick a direction, becoming confused. "I don't know, either," he said. "There isn't any light coming from the tunnels, no way of knowing if we're just walking deeper into their nest."

As it turned out, they didn't have any more time to worry about their direction. The rats had found their group. Violet screamed again as human-sized rodents flooded into the central chamber from every tunnel opening available. The feeding frenzy had begun.

FEEDING FRENZY

The rats did not wait for everyone to compose themselves. There would be no negotiating with them. Huge rat incisors, the kind that could gnaw through concrete and steel in Percival's world, descended upon them en masse. Swords sang through fur and flesh. Lightning from Widow Black cracked through the bodies of vermin, knocking them across the chamber two and three at a time. Percival worked his twin large caliber werewolf killers, silver bullets ripping through flesh and bone. The dank air of the burrow grew humid with body heat and spilled blood. Still they came, endlessly it seemed.

Percival had lost sight of almost everything except brown rat fur, snapping jaws, claws and rat blood. Already, he was covered in gore, longing to be anywhere but here. Violet had somehow managed to will herself from panic to fury. He heard, more than saw, her tearing into their enemies as fast as they could find her in the melee.

Then, Percival was grabbed by his clothing and yanked backward into a tunnel as the screeching rats pursued them. He had the vague understanding that Sir Bane was the one pulling him along, and he could hear several familiar voices from their group echoing from the tunnel ahead. Behind them, the rats filled the central chamber, many wounded quite badly, others feeding upon their fallen. The rest took up pursuit quickly.

Percival kept firing his pistols, imagining new ammunition into the extended clips every five to ten seconds. Relentlessly, the vermin pursued after them, though they were forced to get past the bodies building up in the tunnel. Percival's powder flashes acted like strobes, creating a horrifying effect. Light, dark, then light again—every other second illuminated the encroaching horde of filth on their heels—bloody jaws gnashing furiously—their endless screeching a cacophony of terror. These creatures knew no fear or remorse, only incessant hunger.

Percival stumbled on a root winding through the tunnel wall and down into the dirt floor. It gave him an idea. He noticed other roots dangling half chewed through the ceiling. It would do. Percival called for the roots to grow, and grow they did, coming down fast, filling the tunnel like many layers of prison bars.

The rats, pushing past their dead, hit the roots full force, but came no further. Immediately they set their mighty incisors to gnawing at the obstruction. Percival turned, running after the others, hoping they would gain a moments peace in order to find a way out.

When Percival emerged into a broader space, he found Violet, Baanna, Widow Black, Sir Bane, and only two of his knights. The rest, he assumed, had perished somewhere among the horde of rats. Widow Black had conjured a swirling red energy, like a mist hanging above their heads, illuminating the new chamber they were in.

Percival walked forward, searching, and stepped into ankle deep water.

"Most of this chamber is flooded," Widow Black said. "I can see more intersecting tunnels, but they are on the far side across the water."

"How deep does it get?" Percival asked. He could hear the rats gnawing their way through his root barrier in the tunnel behind him.

"Deep enough to make swimming necessary," Widow Black said. "The other tunnels are underwater as well."

"Isn't there any other way out?" Violet asked. She looked nervous again. Percival noticed her clothing and hair caked with blood. At least it wasn't hers.

He surveyed the chamber for himself. It seemed Widow Black might be right in her assessment. Percival couldn't find any other tunnels leading away except for the one they had come by. They were trapped here with not much ground to fight upon.

Sir Bane stepped forward. His sword dangled from his hand. Its gleam had been swallowed up by crimson filth caked upon the blade, much like Sir Bane himself. "We will make our final stand here then," he declared.

Bane and his knights looked as ragged as the rest of them. Everyone was tired, pushed beyond their limits. Even Percival wondered what hope they had left, but he pushed the thought from him. He couldn't give up. He had been put through all of this for a reason. There had to be a way.

The rats would not wait for philosophy. They were ravenous, and their next meal awaited them in the flooded chamber where they only came to drink or leave excrement. The roots didn't last long against the wall of rats chewing their way through.

The leaders burst through the last of the thick roots Percival had placed in their path, heading for the chamber beyond. When they reached the tunnel's end, the rats issued forth, barely waiting to attack when they saw their prey waiting near the water's edge with their weapons ready to strike.

Percival readied his werewolf killers, filled with silver bullets, which did little for rats in comparison, but was certainly better than he could manage with a sword. Violet turned her fear to anger again. She had no intention of going down without a fight. Sir Bane and his last two knights readied swords, with Baanna doing the same. The orangutan had been sitting cross-legged with his blade upon his lap a moment ago—perhaps in a meditative trance of some kind. Widow Black stood stoically, as though nothing in this place could possibly touch her. Her beauty had not been marred, hair still flowing as though underwater, her power hanging like a static charge in the air around them.

For their part, the rats appeared to contemplate none of these things. They did what they did despite cowardice or resolve, beauty or ugliness, fleeing or standing to fight. However, as they descended upon Percival's group, a piercing screech resounded above the din.

All of the rats halted their advance, turning toward the tunnel, even now overflowing with vermin. From within, the shrieking of rats under attack grew to deafening levels. Those upon the small shore, with Percival and the others, ignored their prey, shooting past them into the dark water flooding the chamber.

From the tunnel, huge insects—a cross between ants and roaches—surged into the chamber, attacking the rats. Their pincher-type mandibles sliced easily through flesh and bone, literally rending one from the other. Sir Bane was the first to react to the changing tide of the battle. "Renders!" he cried. "Everyone into the water!"

Percival backed away quickly toward the water. He almost turned away, but saw a Render scuttling after him. He turned, firing both pistols in staccato fashion, expending both clips. The ordinance sparked on the creature's keratin exoskeleton, ricocheting away into the mud walls beyond.

The Render reared up, ready to launch toward him, its razor sharp mandibles clicking and slicing the air, antennae reaching to grope Percival's blood soaked garments. Violet thrust forward with her sword, jamming the long blade deep within its churning mouthparts. The huge bug flopped backward onto its back, six legs kicking madly. Sir Bane grabbed Percival up, one arm around his waist, then hurled him out over the dark water.

He splashed into the deep, sinking beneath the surface, wondering what nasty things might be in the water with him. Percival groped for the surface, finding it with a frenzy of kicking and paddling, his heavy pistols doing everything to hinder his efforts. When he breached the surface, taking in a deep gasping breath, Percival found a huge rat head treading through the water beside him. In fact, there were many rats swimming through the water around him, but none of them paid him any mind. They were too busy escaping the Renders that had descended upon their nest.

Percival tried to calm down. He had nowhere to go, so he floated until they had passed then he made his way toward the others treading out into the deeper water themselves. The Renders had decimated the rats within the flooded chamber in seconds, at least those on the shore. Shrieks issuing from the tunnel testified to further slaughter in the catacombs beyond. However, none of the insects had gone into the water.

"What happened?" Percival asked, reaching Sir Bane. "Why haven't the Renders followed us into the water?"

Baanna had perched on the burly knight's back, not particularly caring for the water himself. Violet came swimming up to them, her sword dragging through the water behind her. Widow Black hovered over the water, nearby, watching the insects tear flesh from bone and discard the picked-clean rat skeletons before moving on.

Sir Bane stood dripping, watching the Renders, his broad sword held near the water's surface, ready. "Renders shun water," he said. "They pull moisture from the air, but will not drink it or wander into pools of water."

"Why did they attack the rats?" Violet asked. "Is this their nest instead of the rats'?

"Blood."

Everyone turned to Widow Black's floating form. She looked at them, a slight smirk on her face, most likely due to the fact they had all been forced into submersion in the putrid water while she remained spotless. "Blood," she said again. "Renders can smell it from miles away, like sharks."

"She's right," Sir Bane confirmed. "That's why I threw you into the water, Percival. We were all soaked in blood from fighting off the vermin. But even that scent won't get them into water."

The Renders standing upon the shore waved their antennae in unison—a hundred hairy whips lashing the air around them, scenting for more prey. Finding nothing more of interest within the flooded chamber, they began to retreat.

Percival watched them go, relieved that the ordeal seemed to be over. Then epiphany struck him. "We have to follow them back to their lair," he proffered.

The entire group looked at him like he had just suggested leaping from a cliff.

"He's right," Violet agreed, though clearly she didn't enjoy the idea. "The Render's Lair is our objective. What better way to find it than follow them home?"

One of Sir Bane's knights spoke up then. "But we'll be attacked," he said. "Did you not see what happened to those rats? Picked clean before they could—"

Sir Bane's smoldering glare shut the man's mouth quickly. Clearly he had spoken without permission from his superior, not to mention voicing fear rather than courage. Sir Bane kept his icy stare on his subordinate a moment longer for good measure before addressing the others. "Percival and Violet are correct," he said. "And I think we might be safe, if we can get the smell of blood out of our clothing."

"I'm sure," Widow Black began, "Percival, with his powerful magic, can transform your clothing."

Violet glared at the woman, but she was still correct. "That's a good idea," Percival said. "Let's get out of this water, and I'll see what I can do."

RENDER'S LAIR

By the time they emerged from the rats' underground nest, Percival had their group imagined grime-free in new armor and clothing. There would be no scent of blood to attract the deadly insects to them now, and according to both Sir Bane and Widow Black's testimony, the Renders would ignore everything else.

Following the creatures had turned out to be much easier than supposed. They trod down the undergrowth beneath their marching throng in a swathe nearly ten feet wide and half a mile long. All Percival and the others had to do was follow the very obvious path. When they reached the end of their short jaunt, they found a mound much like a huge anthill rising nearly fifteen feet above ground.

"I don't see any of them around," Violet said. "Should we just go in?"

Percival looked to Sir Bane and Widow Black. So far they both appeared to have the most knowledge of Horrif-I's different attractions. "What else should we know about these Renders before we go in?"

Sir Bane waited for Widow Black to offer something. When she didn't, he interrupted the awkward silence. "Renders usually won't bother anything that doesn't have the scent of blood on it," he said. "They are purely opportunists, taking prey from other predators once blood has been shed. They come in force and move fast."

"So, they're just going to let us waltz inside their nest and take blood from their queen?" Violet asked. "Somehow I doubt it could be that easy."

Percival looked at Violet then Sir Bane. "I have to agree with her, Sir Bane. I just don't think Lord Pipsqueak would give us that kind of break."

"And you're wise to think so, Percival," Widow Black interrupted. She approached Percival, passing her palm across his cheek, tracing down his neck with a long fingernail precariously close to his pulsing carotid then down his chest and away. She watched Violet for a reaction the whole time.

Percival also glanced Violet's way, but she apparently wasn't going to give Widow Black the satisfaction this time. He was glad to see that. "What do you mean?" Percival asked as she turned her back to them and the imposing mound.

"I mean the Queen Render will command her army of drones to annihilate anyone who approaches her chamber," Widow Black said. "Her eggs are produced inside that chamber. She will not risk their harm. As soon as she notices an intruder, she will release a chemical signal, causing the Renders to kill anything foreign within the nest."

"I knew it," Violet said, exasperated.

Percival looked to Sir Bane for confirmation. He still wasn't sure about Widow Black's loyalties, despite her coming on this quest with them. The warning he had received about not asking for help from any denizen of Horrif-I still resounded in his mind. Nevertheless, Sir Bane nodded. "I'm not as well versed on these creatures as Widow Black," Sir Bane said. "However, it does sound like normal insect behavior. I've only known one man to survive an encounter with Renders. He happened to enter their nest unknowingly. They investigated, but did not attack him. I suppose they must not have perceived him as a threat."

Percival considered the information he'd been given. When he looked at their group, swords on display and electrical discharge flying about, he knew they had a problem. "If we don't want to be perceived as a threat, we had better put away all of our weapons," he said. Sir Bane and his remaining knights sheathed their swords, as did Baanna and Violet.

Widow Black was examining them all curiously. "I'm afraid that means you too, Widow Black," Percival said. He was trying to be firm without being insulting.

"Me?" she said.

"The lightning thing," Percival indicated. "It would probably be better for us all if you didn't spark like that." Right now, he was hoping Violet wouldn't take up the subject with any jokes at Widow Black's expense. Although, he realized he may have just opened up the door for it. When the moment passed without comment, he breathed a sigh of relief.

For her part, Widow Black reined in her energies completely, if not happily. Percival looked them over, housing his own werewolf killers in their thigh-mounted holsters, concluding they were now ready to enter the Render's Lair. Percival took another survey of their surroundings. Fortunately, there were no signs of any werewolves. He wondered if, perhaps, one part of the Trial finished where the next began. At least that might be some relief, but he wasn't about to hold his breath.

Sir Bane started forward toward the Render's Lair, but Percival stepped ahead of him. "I appreciate the sentiment, Sir Bane, but perhaps it's time I led this quest, as I'm meant to." He hoped he hadn't insulted the brave knight. He also hoped he hadn't just stepped into a position he wasn't ready to actually handle when things got rough. And they most certainly would.

Sir Bane halted, smiling, then bowed at the waist. "It would be my honor, Sir Percival, to follow your leadership from here on out."

The rest of the group, except Widow Black who seemed bored by such a mushy display, lined up behind Percival. Master Baanna even gave him a simian smile and head bobble. Percival took a deep breath then started toward the mound towering before him.

The earth comprising the mound had been packed together and covered with some sort of shiny resin, making the entire cone appear glazed over. There were plenty of crevices to be found and climbing it was surprisingly easy. Percival only hoped this leg of their journey might be completed without incident. However, the Queen Render's chamber loomed before them—the one thing they had to accomplish while they were inside the nest. If any of their party became injured, even the slightest scrape, they would all be killed trying to flee, and the Trial would be over. That thought made him turn to the others immediately with last minute advice.

"Watch yourselves," Percival said in a high pitched whisper. "If you fall, or cut yourselves...." The sudden recognition on their faces told him they understood completely. As they began climbing again, Percival sensed that everyone had just grown ultra cautious with every move they made. They had essentially become a terrified group of hemophiliacs, trying desperately not to loose one drop of blood, or else.

When they finally reached the top of the mound, Percival surveyed the area. The forest stood around them, but most of the trees had died near the mound. He supposed the Renders must be responsible for killing off the underground root systems of the trees. He looked down into the large hole leading into the heart of the Render's domain.

The entrance was about six feet across, and the darkness revealed nothing of what awaited them within. Percival took a chance and imagined a ball of light into being—a soft yellow wisp of photons swirling upon themselves, waiting to be loosed. He sent the ball down the hole where it dispersed into a multitude of smaller orbs, running along the network of Render tunnels to take up stations and provide light for their master. The soft glow returned to him at the entrance, revealing rough notches dug into the side of the tunnel as it descended. Percival turned to the others waiting behind him then started to climb down into the mound.

The tunnel went straight down for some time before diverting into several intersecting branches. The conjured light had the desired effect, allowing Percival's group to see their way, if only dimly at times. When Percival reached the base where the tunnels branched away, a Render heaved its large body toward him from an alcove. The huge bug slammed Percival against the wall, pressing upon him with its front legs.

Violet screamed. Sir Bane looked down at Percival his hand flying to his sword instinctively. "A sentry!" he shouted.

Percival had been shocked by the sudden attack, but tried to wave the knight back. "Wait!" Percival said. The insect's mouthparts churned inches from his chest while the creature's long antennae swept over his head, down along his face, his shoulders, then back again. What would it do now? Had he seemed a threat? Would the Render smell the blood coursing through his veins, or hear the pulse pounding rhythm of the heart pumping it and tear him limb from limb in a feeding frenzy?

All these thoughts assaulted Percival as the Render held him securely against the wall. Still, he sensed that this was only an inspection of some kind. Surely the beast could have killed him before he ever saw it coming. Sir Bane held fast to the descending tunnel wall, watching—intent on driving his sword through the Render if it tried to harm Percival. The others could only watch helplessly.

Though it seemed like an eternity, it must have only been a minute before the Render sentry climbed down and returned to its recess in the tunnel wall. Everyone watched the insect saunter away seemingly without a care. Percival realized he had been holding his breath the entire time. He exhaled cautiously, not wanting to do anything that might arouse the sentry's attention again.

He looked up at Sir Bane and the others still clinging to the tunnel wall. Percival carefully pushed away from the wall to stand upright in the tunnel. "I guess we're not a threat?" he offered, feeling very relieved to still be alive.

Sir Bane let himself down the last few footholds to the tunnel floor, allowing the others behind him to do the same. Even after they had assembled with Percival, the sentry showed no signs of displeasure, though its antennae continually swept the air near them. "All right then," Percival said, satisfied. "Hurdle number one is behind us. Now, how do we find the Queen Render?"

To his dismay, none of his group seemed to have any solution to this problem. Percival knew, for their size, that such nesting insects might have tunnels spanning nearly a kilometer or more around them. Still, the Queen would likely be centralized, easily accessible to her drone workers.

Percival started down one of the tunnel branches, passing one of the small swirling orbs of light he had sent before them into the nest. He had no way of knowing if this was the correct path. But going somewhere seemed better than waiting around the entrance until trouble found them. Percival observed the floating light orb and got an idea.

The others watched, puzzled, as Percival called all of the smaller orbs back to him. Like fairies headed for supper, they zoomed back through the tunnels, heeding their creator's call, leaving darkness in their wake. Wisps of yellow light dissolved into the greater whole, floating gently over Percival's palm. He smiled at Violet, but revealed nothing of his plan. She looked like she would ask him, but didn't.

Percival inclined his head to the ball of photons swirling about like fireflies in a fishbowl and whispered his new command. "Lay out the way to the Queen Render's Egg Chamber." He imagined that these particles of light had some small measure of consciousness to them, enough intelligence to heed these simple instructions anyway.

The photons buzzed even faster upon receiving his command. The greater orb swelled then burst—a hundred smaller wisps of light shooting before and behind them. The light in the tunnel receded until only darkness remained. Percival was still trying to figure out what he had done wrong when light grew in the passage before them.

They watched as photon wisps backtracked up the tunnel toward their master, leaving a particle trail for Percival to follow. He smiled back at the others. "I guess it worked."

Violet was smiling, clearly proud that he had come up with such a cool idea and executed it so well. Everyone else looked dumbfounded but willing to follow. Percival started down the trail laid out for him. Down it took them, deeper into the ground, deeper into Render's Lair.

BETRAYAL

Through bisecting tunnels, passing singularly minded drones marching to their tasks, Percival and his band followed the pulsing trail of his photon wisps. The way always seemed to carry them farther into the earth, and after at least a half hour of briskly paced walking they had no idea how far from the surface they had come. Still, once they had the blood of the Render Queen, a portal was supposed to carry them to their next destination.

At least, Percival hoped there would be a portal. It certainly had occurred to all of them that any attempt to get anything from the Queen's body would identify them as a huge threat. Beyond that, Percival had no idea how much time they would have before the entire nest, thousands of giant insects, would descend upon them. He and his friends had barely managed to stave off the rats—the same rats who had fled, or perished before the Renders.

For there part, the Renders remained essentially oblivious to the enemies within their midst. They were aware of Percival and the others. They just didn't seem to care. Drones marched in lines through the tunnels, sometimes along the floor, at other times along the side walls, even the ceiling. Their flat bodies easily made the best use of their limited commuting space.

Renders who passed them going in the same direction usually carried food—balls of flesh and fur mashed together for easy consumption. When the insects passed going the opposite direction, some carried what appeared to be larval Renders. Either way, Percival and the others had to move out of their way as best they could. None of them wanted to find out if the big bugs would knock them out of the way to get by. No one wanted to be the first to bleed down in this hole.

As they traveled deeper into the nest, Percival marveled at his little photon wisps. They had behaved like intelligent fireflies, traveling throughout the nest then tracking back to him at the entrance, leaving an easy to follow trail to the Queen Render. As they neared the central chamber, Percival realized his tiny creations had done their duty well. This had to be the Queen's chamber.

Percival looked back to his company. "Well, here goes nothing, I suppose."

Sir Bane quickly caught him by the shoulder. "Wait," he said. "How will you get the blood from the Queen?"

He considered it for a moment then held out his hand, imagining a large syringe with a heavy gauge needle there. Percival examined the device, concluding it would do the trick nicely if he could just get close enough to her.

"I know these workers don't care about us being here," Violet said, "but I'm not so sure the Queen will be as understanding. Doesn't the Queen act as the brains around here?"

Percival surveyed their group. "She's got a point," he concluded. Percival closed his eyes, concentrating on an idea he'd just had. When he opened them, he declared, "We're invisible. Let's go."

Each of their team looked at the others—perplexed by what they considered must be a failed effort. "Begging your pardon, Percival," Sir Bane said. "I can still see all of you."

Percival grinned. "Sure, you can, but they can't," he said. "Trust me, Sir Bane. I'm starting to get a good handle on this power."

Sir Bane looked at himself again then at Percival, who showed no sign of wavering confidence. "All right, Percival," he said. "I trust you."

The drone Renders had shown hardly any interest in Percival's group since the first sentry, so it would be difficult to judge his invisibility by their reaction. The Queen would be the real test. Only, by then it would be too late to fix his blunder.

Percival surveyed the entrance to the chamber. Render drones came and went at a steady pace, some taking larva with them to some other chamber. He made his way over, away from the others. He knew how he would draw the blood from the Queen Render as soon as he saw her lying within the chamber. Great engorged veins, filled with the stuff, ran along the outer membrane of a huge egg sack attached to the end of her body.

The queen was nearly ten times larger than any other Renders he had seen. Almost certainly, the others had been forced to construct the rest of the nest around her great bulk. When Percival entered the chamber, she barely reacted. She may have sensed a change in temperature or scent, but did not look in his direction.

He scooted along the wall trying to remain out of the flow of traffic. Eggs were received by drones at the far end and arranged along the vast floor where they could mature to their larval stage. From that point, it appeared they were taken to a place where their ravenous appetites wouldn't bring harm to the eggs.

Percival watched the process with fascination. However, the imminent danger they were in soon snapped him out of his wonder. Time to get the job done and get out of here, he thought. He brought out the syringe and needle combination in his hand—the kind kids had nightmares about before going to the doctor.

Percival gathered his courage and started toward the egg sack. Everything changed in an instant. The queen bucked from her squat position, now alert. The Render drones surged toward Percival. It all happened so fast he didn't have time to react. This was it. He was going to die. Then the Render drones passed him, headed for the chamber entrance he had come by.

His companions were trying to get inside, battling furiously with Renders attacking them from the tunnels beyond. Something's happened, Percival thought. Sir Bane and his two remaining knights were fighting off Renders, while Violet and Baanna came through into the Queen's Egg Chamber. Percival saw blood dripping from a wound on Violet's hand. She had been injured. Almost certainly her blood was the cause of this sudden frenzy. The Renders were after Violet.

Baanna saw the Renders coming for him and Violet. He flew from her side with his blade energized then came down on top of the first Render, driving the blade through its armor plate. Immediately, Baanna lunged for the second in line while the third carried on toward Violet and her bleeding hand. She saw the beast and went for her sword. It wouldn't be enough.

Percival rocketed after the huge insect, unleashing the full fury of his werewolf killers. Silver bullets blazed fiery trails across the chamber, at first ricocheting off the tough exoskeleton, then smashing through as Percival imagined higher caliber shells in his ammunition clips. The bloodthirsty Render drove into the dirt, dead at Violet's feet just in time.

"Get the Queen's blood, Percival!" Sir Bane shouted above the hissing clicking din of frenzied Renders. "We must get out of here quickly!"

Percival wanted to assist Violet, to make her safe, but he knew Sir Bane was right. All of this would be for nothing without the blood they needed to destroy Queen Lilith. He turned, running toward the Queen Render still anchored to her massive egg sack. The veins pulsed upon its surface, full of her milky blood. The huge bug hissed at him and tried to ensnare him with her long forelegs. Percival called more vines, springing up around the Queen to lash her to the ground. Immediately, Render drones came to her aid, chewing at the vines, but Percival paid them little attention. He was focused on one goal, getting that Render blood from the Queen.

He reached the egg sack, picked a pulsating vein quickly, then jammed the needle in. It pierced the egg sack's leathery translucent hide easily. Percival sensed a Render closing fast at his back. He turned just as Sir Bane beheaded the beast with his broadsword. "Hurry, Percival," he said.

Percival returned to his work with Bane guarding his back. He pulled the syringe plunger, and the milky fluid filled the syringe. He hoped he had enough. Removing the needle, he twisted it off the syringe and discarded it. He shoved the syringe into an inside pocket of his coat and called for the others.

To Percival's surprise, the next portal sprang into view at the far end of the chamber. He'd been wondering how they might call for it. But to his dismay, Renders were filling the chamber at an ever increasing rate. Soon they would all be overwhelmed. The others gathered to him, fighting off the bugs as best they could.

One of Sir Bane's knights was taken from behind and pulled into the mass of writhing insects. Sir Bane and the remaining knight leaped into the fray after him. The second knight managed to grab the foot of the first, but was hauled into the mass of monsters before he could regain his balance. Sir Bane was seized next, but Baanna dashed his blade down upon the Render before he could be overwhelmed. Sir Bane came free, but they quickly realized the two knights were already gone.

Despair flooded Percival's mind at that moment. How many precious moments before they were all dragged into the gesticulating jaws of hundreds of bloodthirsty Renders to be torn limb from limb and consumed? Then he remembered something. Renders don't like water.

Immediately, Percival called forth water, gushing from the rocky ground all around them. Waterspouts issued into the Queen Render's lair. Renders began to flee from the flood, but it quickly overwhelmed them. Percival and his friends tried to anchor themselves to anything they could get a hold on. The water filled the chamber, covering the Queen, lifting her buoyant egg sack off the chamber floor. Her screeching cries were soon drowned out as her drones scuttled helplessly adrift in the rising tide.

Percival, in his distress, had called for a torrent—a flood that was threatening to take them away with the deadly mass of Renders. The water lifted Percival, Violet, Sir Bane and Baanna toward the roof of the egg chamber. The Render drones flailed helplessly, swirling around them on the surface of the rising water. The portal had already been swallowed up, but still glowed bright neon green beneath the water, casting the entire chamber in horrid, water-swirled hues.

"We have to get through that portal," Sir Bane insisted.

Violet was trying to stay close to Percival, having never been the best swimmer. Percival treaded water, keeping a firm grip on Violet's sleeve. "We're going to have to dive down to it!" Percival yelled. The sound of water gushing from the walls was swallowed up, though the water kept rising.

"What?" Violet protested. "I can't do that!"

Renders bodies bounced around them, beginning to pile as the water drew nearer to the ceiling. "The longer we wait, the further down we'll have to go," Percival reasoned. "No matter what, we're going to have to go."

Violet leered at him. She knew she would have to do this, but she clearly didn't like it. Percival nodded, smiling at her with the hope of being reassuring. "Trust me," he said. "You can do this."

Having understood the plan, Sir Bane and Baanna dipped below the water's surface—the bugs having begun to crowd them out. Hundreds of Render legs kicked the air furiously, floating helplessly on their armored backs like overturned tortoises. Percival pushed several away as he prepared to go under with Violet. "Take a huge deep breath and hold it like your life depended on it," he instructed.

Violet spluttered, spitting water out of her mouth as she tried to keep her head above water. "It does depend on it!"

Percival winked at her and drew in a deep breath, puffing out his cheeks like a startled blowfish. She followed his example, and they plunged beneath the surface together. Percival opened his eyes in the brackish water, eerily illuminated by the neon green of the portal below.

In the ghostly light, Percival saw Renders tumbling about like wayward asteroids beneath the carpet of bodies on the surface. There was no more room on top for them. The current swirled around them and Percival noticed he was having a very difficult time swimming toward the portal ahead. He kicked furiously, wishing for and receiving a pair of diving fins in place of his shoes. Instantly, he felt them propel him and Violet forward, despite the current issuing out through the Render tunnels.

Ahead, Percival saw the portal swallow the form of Sir Bane. It hummed continuously with power—a vibration Percival felt churning over his skin as they approached. Baanna passed safely through after Sir Bane. Percival took a moment to pass his hand over his coat where the syringe had been tucked away. He was relieved to find it still there. He gave several more hard kicks with his fins and surged through the portal with Violet in tow.

DEAD CITY

Through their ordeal with the Renders—Violet's bleeding hand, the swarm and their tenuous escape—Percival had wondered at the back of his mind where one of their group had gone missing. He had assumed that perhaps she had been killed in the first moments of the Render's attack, but it seemed unlikely. "What happened to Widow Black?" he finally asked.

The others, all of them standing there soaking wet, looked at him apprehensively. Violet spoke up. "She betrayed us," she said. "I knew all along that she couldn't be trusted."

"What are you talking about?" Percival asked. "I assumed she must have been killed or something.

"While we were waiting in the tunnel for you to get the Queen Render's blood, she grabbed my hand and laid it open with one of her fingernails," Violet explained. "Then she disappeared."

Percival wanted to kick himself. "I should have known," he said, more to himself than anyone else. "I was told not to accept anyone from Horrif-I on our team. I just wasn't thinking."

"A woman could see through her in a second," Violet said, sounding vindicated. Sir Bane and Percival looked at one another, feeling slightly guilty because Violet was probably right. They glanced at Baanna who grinned widely, shaking his head.

The portal had deposited them upon a desolate hillside overlooking a broken-down wall with an iron gate. The title "Necropolis" had been fashioned within the wrought iron over the dilapidated gate. Dense fog hovered around the top of the wall that stood several feet taller than a man. The stone was gray like nearly everything else in view. Even the sky was gray—a starless cover of cloud with only a giant full moon peeking through in places. They could see nothing of the city beyond except for a few crumbling tombstones just beyond the gate.

Around them, a desolate landscape of gnarled dead trees, sandy barren soil and scrub stretched out as far as they could see. The city beyond the wall, apparently, was the center of everything here in this realm. As far as Percival could tell, this place would be the least inviting that they'd experienced—which was saying a lot.

"Do you smell that?" Violet asked, wrinkling her nose. "It smells like...like..."

"The Dead," Sir Bane said. "This is the Necropolis, the City of the Dead."

Percival watched the knight as he stared at the gate of the city. He seemed to be in a trance—horror inscribed upon his face. "Are you all right, Sir Bane?"

The knight blinked twice then looked at Percival as if only now realizing anyone else was standing with him. He swallowed hard, seeming parched. "I've heard tales of this place," he tried to explain. "Horrible things have happened...horrible things dwell here."

Percival couldn't believe how unglued this brave knight had become. After all, the man had just faced werewolves, rats, and Renders, not to mention losing all of his men in the process. Why was he so afraid now, just standing outside the gate?

Guessing at Percival's thoughts, Sir Bane grabbed his shoulder. "Can't you feel it, boy?" His eyes had become bloodshot—wide-pupils—crazy looking. He sniffed at the dank air. "We're breathing terror itself!"

Violet knocked Bane's hand away from Percival's shoulder. "What's wrong with you? You're talking crazy. None of us wants to be here, but you've got to hold it together!"

Percival stepped away from them, a shiver coming over him. Violet turned from Sir Bane, noticing as Percival rubbed his hands over his arms like he was cold. His eyes were drawn back to the gate of the Necropolis as its rusted hinges began to squeal and squeak ever so lightly. It might have been the wind, but he couldn't feel the slightest breeze. In fact, the air was so stale and rotten that Percival wondered if the wind ever blew here.

The gate slowly opened toward them. It swung out, stopping perpendicular with the wall. They all stared, waiting tensely for some horror to issue forth from the fog toward them, but nothing did. Instead, the disturbance came from behind them. A fierce growling drew their attention to the wasteland. Percival thought, for a moment, that the werewolves had returned—followed them to this realm somehow. He was wrong.

Hyenas prowled through the scrub—hundreds of them. Low giggling calls resounded throughout their steadily advancing line. Percival had read about these calls before.

"Are they laughing?" Violet asked, inching closer to Percival.

"No," he said. "It's a sign of aggression. They're organizing their attack."

The hyenas closed the distance—now only one hundred yards away. Suddenly composed, Sir Bane drew his broadsword. "We'll rout these mangy curs then!" he announced.

"No, there are too many," Percival said. His eyes fell on the open gate behind them. "We're meant to go into the Necropolis. That's why we're here."

"I'd rather take my chances with the hyenas," Sir Bane said, seeming shaky again. "Flesh and blood can be killed. What lies within that wall cannot." Without waiting for Percival's reply, Sir Bane charged the leading Hyena. The beast was taken aback, leaping away, its mane bristling. The second was slower to back away. Sir Bane smote it across the bridge of its snout, smashing its powerful jaws. The wounded creature fled immediately, whooping mournfully for its injury.

But though Sir Bane's surprise offense had caught them off guard, the pack soon reorganized and began to flank Percival's entire group. "We've got to go now!" Percival commanded. Violet and Baanna followed as Percival retreated to the open gate of the Necropolis. Sir Bane, seeing that he was about to be hemmed in, began a grudging retreat as well. He backed away, holding his broadsword before him, daring any of the other hyenas to approach him. The wounded creature had been swallowed up by the ever increasing reinforcements, the pack building to nearly a thousand and approaching behind the front line from every direction.

"Hurry!" Percival demanded as he ran through the gate. Violet and Baanna entered on his heels. Percival waited impatiently, holding the wrought iron gate with both hands, ready to slam it shut. Sir Bane turned, running the last twenty yards as the pack of hyenas surged forward after him. He stopped at the gate, grabbing hold to help Percival shut it, but it wouldn't budge.

"Pull!" Sir Bane shouted.

"I'm trying!" Percival protested.

Master Baanna leaped after them, getting his own handful of iron and pulling with all of his simian might. Still, the gate would not move even a centimeter for all their grunting and straining. The hyenas charged toward them, a line of gnashing teeth, wild eyes and frenzied bloodthirstiness. Percival screamed, feeling as though he'd torn the muscles in his arms completely away from the bones, but to no avail.

Then, five feet away, the entire pack came to a grinding halt. Hundreds and hundreds of the foul beasts stood there, heads lowered and panting, but they did not advance. Percival, Sir Bane and Baanna stood dumbfounded, sweating bullets and wondering why in the world they had not been torn limb from limb.

Slowly, Percival released his white-knuckle grip on the wrought iron gate and began to step back. "Why aren't they eating us?" he whispered.

Sir Bane also let go of the gate, stepping back next to Percival. "Nothing living ventures here—neither young nor old and worn—all who come through wrought iron gate—will join the dead so they have sworn." He recited the rhyme mechanically, as though it had been ingrained into his mind from earliest childhood.

Percival and Violet stared at Sir Bane until he blinked, coming out of his trance again to look at them. "What was that?" Violet asked.

Sir Bane flushed. "Nothing but a children's rhyme, I thought. Nevertheless, it appears to hold true."

Indeed, the hyenas made no further move toward them. Instead, they stood watching Percival and the others on the other side of the wall. The hinges squealed again, and the wrought iron gate slammed shut of its own volition. Percival jumped, although he'd already been expecting something to happen. The pack of spotted hyenas took up their giggling again and began to disperse, their interest apparently sated.

Percival squinted at them. "Did they—?"

"—Herd us through the gate of the Necropolis like cattle to the slaughter?" Sir Bane finished. "Of course they did. That is probably the only reason they wander this plain."

Percival shut his eyes, sighing through growing guilt. "I'm sorry," he began.

"Don't fret, Percival," Sir Bane said. "There was nothing else we could have done. The hyenas present a gruesome prospect. Not even someone who fears the Necropolis, as I do, would remain outside the gate to face the numbers we saw."

It made Percival feel a little better for him to say so, but he didn't like the idea that what lay on this side of the wall was probably far worse.

They found themselves standing at the beginning of a far reaching graveyard, its headstones cracked, slanting and covered with lichen. Trees were sparsely scattered through the cemetery with much the same appearance of those seen in the wasteland beyond the wall. For a few moments no one spoke. Listening, they heard the distant rustle of footsteps through dried leaves. Yet, when they looked for the source, nothing presented itself.

On this side of the wall, the fog was patchy at best. It seemed to hang near the buildings and scattered lighting of the small city beyond the distant border of the graveyard. "It's strange," Sir Bane said. "For some reason I expected the city to be totally dark."

Percival had noticed it too. There were even electric lights, some of them flickering as though perpetually on the verge of going out. In fact, the entire city seemed to have been based upon some war torn city like World War II era London or Berlin. Many of the buildings appeared to be nothing more than dilapidated shells—their windows busted and walls falling in. "I've seen places like this in video games," Percival said. "If this realm is culled from mankind's imaginings then we're meant to be scared. The flickering lights, fog, and everything else was designed to promote fear."

"Well, it's working," Violet affirmed. "A video game or comic book is one thing, but we're all standing in the middle of this."

Percival nodded. "You're right. That does make a big difference."

Baanna pointed toward the middle of the city with a long, hairy finger. He started edging forward, beckoning with his hand. "I think he wants us to follow him," Violet said.

"Yeah, I guess we'd better get moving," Percival said. "We'll never get the Mortal Dagger standing around out here." He started to follow Baanna with Violet.

Sir Bane stood rigid, looking back at the closed gate and beyond. The hyenas had dispersed, for the most part, but they were still visible. He looked back at the others and the city beyond. Defeated, he started after them.

They had only walked fifty yards into the graveyard, when a moaning cry echoed off the wall behind them. They froze and turned, searching for the source of the noise. A shadow clawed its way up the wall, gradually—first the upper torso, then it folded and unfolded as legs gathered beneath it. The moaning became grunting at times in the process.

"What is that?" Violet asked—her voice trembling noticeably.

Sir Bane didn't even blink. "The Dead."

As though on cue, hands popped through the moist earth among the tombstones around them. They clawed upward, bringing gangrenous sallow faces after them, then torsos, and finally whole creatures, as if this lifeless earth was birthing all of its damnable children at once. "When the living are present, the Dead will rise," Sir Bane recited.

Violet stammered. "Stop doing that!"

"RUN!" Percival bellowed. And they all did without any need for negotiation.

Row after row of gravestones passed in a blur. But the dead were rising all along the way. The scent of the living had summoned them to feed. Percival's leg caught on something, and he went flying through the air for a moment, landing hard in a tumble across the moist ground. Still, he scrabbled to get up, taking just a moment to glance back at the bony hand which had popped up in his path and tripped him.

Another hand erupted from the earth, latching onto his left forearm. Violet and Baanna were well ahead him, running and not looking back. Percival tried to free himself from the iron grip of the crusty skeletal claw. The head came up covered in a mass of writhing maggots. Wide gray eyes found him as the jaw opened to feast.

Sir Bane's broadsword cut the air with a swish, dividing the creature's head from its body. The knight grabbed Percival, hauling him to his feet, madly kicking the rest of the dead thing away. "Don't stop for anything," he said as they started running again.

It seemed like an eternity before they reached the edge of the graveyard. But when they did, Percival found Violet and Baanna waiting anxiously, trying to get their breath before continuing. Sir Bane heaved in great labored breaths, bending to place his hands on his knees. Percival was just as tired. "Where is the Asylum?" he asked, gulping at the air.

Sir Bane managed to raise an arm, pointing toward a hill rising a little above the rest of the city. "It's up there," he said. "At the center of all this madness."

Percival turned back toward the graveyard, surveying the scene. A mass exodus of the Dead had taken place—possibly every grave emptied. However, the Dead were in no hurry, lumbering like drunks through the tombstones, some faster than others, but none very quick. Percival's resolve returned. "This isn't as bad as I would have thought," he said, still trying to catch his breath. "We can outrun them easily."

"That kind of overconfidence will be your end, Percival," Sir Bane said. "Look toward the city!"

When he did, Percival found more of the Dead emerging from ruined buildings. Everywhere he laid his eyes corpses in various stages of decomposition dragged their grotesque forms toward him and his friends. His stomach felt queasy, like the ground had fallen away, allowing him to plummet suddenly.

"We can't outrun what is closing in on every side," Sir Bane said, hopelessly. "And we can't fight numbers that will quickly overrun us."

Master Baanna's sword came to life in his hand, a brilliant ghostly green light enveloping the silver blade.

"Baanna is right," Violet said, holding up her own sword ready to fight. "We can't give up!"

Percival drew his werewolf killers from their dual shoulder holsters and fired at the nearest zombies. "I've seen this in movies," he said. He struck them each in the head, but to his surprise they didn't fall, despite blasting away much of their skulls. "I don't understand," he said. "That always works!"

Sir Bane raised his sword as the Dead continued toward them. Soon they would be totally surrounded and unable to run in any direction to escape. "They are already dead," he scolded. "What can a bullet do against that?"

"Fire!" Violet said. "That would destroy them."

Percival had already considered fire, but the Dead were perilously close already. How would they fight off zombies engulfed in flame?

As if reading his thoughts, Sir Bane said, "They are too close. They would burn us to cinders before they fell."

Percival tried frantically to think. What could he conjure that would stand any chance against a bunch of walking carrion? Several thoughts ran through his mind at once—an old Alfred Hitchcock movie, a passage from the Book of Ezekiel, and another almost identical passage from the Book of Revelation about creatures called by God to a great feast. "That's it!" Percival declared.

"What?" Violet asked. But Percival was already deep in concentration, his head tilted to the gray, moonlit sky, his eyes closed.

The Dead closed in, arms reaching for the living—sweet, delicious. There was no way out, no gap where they might slip through to safety. The Dead encircled their living prey completely—an ever shrinking circle—a noose cinched around its victim's neck. And then a great noise of flapping descended to them all.

Despite there grunting and moaning, even the Dead noticed the unusual noise, turning their crusty heads skyward to find the source. Percival had never seen a frightened zombie before now. He had clearly made the right choice.

Thousands of black-winged birds descended upon the Necropolis, like World War II bombers on a midnight run. A screeching cawing cacophony fell to Percival's ears as crows and vultures of every sort flew upon their carrion prey. A feast had been called and these scavengers now enjoyed the role of predator, hunting down as much gangrenous flesh as they liked.

The zombies, for their part, had become nearly hysterical at the turning of tables. Percival almost laughed at the hilarity of the scene. The grim, gruesome, and grizzly situation had transformed into pure chaos as the Dead ran aimlessly about, trying their best to swat away the ravenous birds pecking feverishly at their decomposing bodies. Zombies collided with one another—tripping, stumbling, falling into heaps—upon which hundreds of birds descended to feed, reducing them to bones and tattered scraps of clothing in minutes.

"Let's get out of here!" Percival commanded. The others tore themselves away from the astonishing scene, following Percival through the streets, up the hill, toward the creepy abandoned asylum looming in the moonlight before them.

THE ASYLUM

Passing through the carrion carnage Percival had created proved to be less than difficult. Only occasionally had a particularly courageous zombie managed to free himself from the birds long enough to attack Percival and his friends. In each case, Sir Bane or Violet had quickly dispatched the creature with their swords, leaving the headless fiend scrabbling about on the ground while vultures and crows lit upon it to have their fill.

Once they had ascended the hill in the middle of the Necropolis, they found the dingy white walls of the Asylum waiting for them. The building seemed solid enough, despite some busted windows. It appeared to be only one level with the basement somewhere below. "Only one floor," Percival said with some obvious relief.

"Don't be deceived by it, Percival," Sir Bane warned. What we've seen already in the Necropolis probably won't compare with the danger we'll find here."

They hurried to the door, lining up behind Percival. "No matter what," he said, "stick together."

When Percival pulled open the fractured glass door and stepped inside, he found himself standing inside the living room of his own house. His head throbbed with a migraine headache. He pushed his fingers against his temples, blinking his eyes until the feeling subsided. He turned toward the seventies-styled mirror hanging above the television and caught his own reflection.

Percival saw himself in jeans and a striped blue shirt. His hair was uncombed—an unruly mop. It seemed funny to him for only a moment. He remembered this—when he was six years old. Seeing his reflection now, he found that he looked exactly the same as he had then. Percival turned, looking for...he couldn't remember what he was looking for. For a moment, Percival had thought he had friends with him, but he was alone in the living room.

Voices called to him from the kitchen. His mother said, "All right, Percival, you can come in now!"

He walked to the swinging kitchen door and peeked inside. His parents stood behind the dining room table, wearing brightly colored cone-shaped birthday hats. "Surprise!" they yelled when he came into the kitchen. "Happy number six," his father said, patting him on the back.

His mother came to him with a birthday hat of his own, placing it on his head with a snap of the thin elastic band under his chin. She blew a party horn at his face, the coiled paper tickling his cheek playfully. "Happy Birthday!" she said, blowing the horn again.

Percival's father stepped aside, revealing a shiny red bicycle—his first—a present he had never forgotten, despite receiving better ones afterward. "A Mongoose," Percival said. He had learned how to ride on this bike. There had been a few scrapes and bruises along the way, but he and his father had never been closer.

On the table sat a chocolate birthday cake adorned with six candles and multicolored sprinkles. Percival had always preferred his mother's homemade cakes to the store-bought kind. They might not have been as pretty to look at, but they sure tasted better. He sighed, smiling at his parents. This had been one of those perfect days in his life—a time when everything seemed just right.

Percival's father pulled out one of the chairs for him. Percival took a seat before the birthday cake with its six lit candles. His parents stood before him, singing Happy Birthday, blowing their party horns again. Percival made a wish and blew out the candles. The light smoke coming from the extinguished candles wrinkled his nose—the smell of rotten eggs. Sulfur, Percival thought.

His mother was standing next to him now. She had sliced off a huge piece of cake for him and was preparing to feed it to him. "Open up, Percy," she said sweetly. "Here comes the airplane." Percival opened his mouth, eager for the delicious cake his mother used to make. But when he closed his mouth around it, the texture seemed wrong—slimy. The chocolate taste was off too. It seemed too sweet.

Percival caught a glimpse of his mother in his peripheral vision—only it wasn't his mother. A grotesque caricature of the women—frazzled, dirty hair, streaked eyeliner, horrid broken teeth and leathery skin—stood there instead. Startled, Percival looked at her directly. His sweet young mother was there again, smiling broadly with another bite of cake hanging on a plastic fork in front of his mouth. "Eat it up, Percy," she said. "This is your special day."

Percival took another bite without really looking at it. The slimy texture was there again, and it was even sweeter this time. He spit the cake back onto his plate—only it wasn't cake at all. A slug, the size of a man's thumb, writhed on the plate before him. Percival grimaced when he recognized what he'd been eating. "What's wrong, dear?" his mother asked.

Once again, Percival glanced at her and saw the snaggle-toothed creep he had seen before. But when he looked straight at her, his mother reappeared. "Something's not right," Percival whispered to himself.

"What's wrong, dear?" his creepy mother asked. "Don't you like your cake? I made it especially for you." She was grinning maniacally now.

Percival blinked several times, rubbing his eyes. The woman's appearance gradually faded from looking like his mother to the creep. The plate of birthday cake faded also until Percival saw a writhing mass of slugs heaped on the plate covered in chocolate sauce and sprinkled with maggots. He shoved his seat away from the table, wiping his mouth on his sleeve furiously.

The entire room had changed by now—no longer his parent's kitchen, but a dirty padded cell with broken, dripping water pipes jutting through the ceiling. It smelled musty and sour. Percival stood, backing away as his creepish mother and father figures approached him, wearing loose undone straight jackets. The father figure was bald with a huge lobotomy scar running across his scalp. "What's wrong, son?" he said, stifling laughter. "Don't you like your birthday party?"

Percival looked down and found his recent attire had returned along with his werewolf killers. He drew both massive pistols and aimed. The creeps kept advancing. "Don't make me do it!" Percival warned. The creeps looked at one another, giggling, then rushed toward him. Percival fired, but the bullets had no effect. He brought the pistols together, mashing them like a big ball of silver Silly Putty. The wad of silver reshaped, growing in length to become a broadsword.

Percival swung at the creeps, but the blade merely sliced through them like smoke. They hissed at him and then faded. "Phantoms," he whispered. The Asylum must trap people with illusions, he thought. I've got to find the others.

Percival imagined a hole in the wall of his padded cell then walked through. Stepping into the hallway beyond, he found a ramshackle hospital ward. Stained broken-down gurneys lined the hallway. Mud, or something that looked like mud, had been smeared on the walls. Percival kept the sword ready and began walking down the corridor. Fluorescent lights flickered here and there, making the scene seem even creepier.

Percival heard a terrible banging coming from an intersecting hallway. He raced toward the noise, hearing Sir Bane's deep voice booming from behind a door midway down the corridor. Baanna came hopping down the hallway from the other direction. They reached the door together and heard Sir Bane crashing against the door, trying to get out.

"Sir Bane?" Percival asked.

"Yes!" he shouted. "Percival, is that you? I somehow ended up in this cell with several ghosts!"

Percival imagined the door gone, revealing a disheveled Sir Bane on the other side. The knight paused, looking for the door he'd just been hammering with his shoulder. "A handy trick," he said. "Thank you."

"Where's Violet?" Percival asked.

"I didn't see anyone else," Sir Bane said. "As soon as I stepped through the front door after you, I found myself back in the King's Court in Fantastique. I was reliving the ceremony where I became a knight of the Griffin Order."

"I had a similar experience," Percival said.

Baanna nodded enthusiastically. "I guess Baanna must have done the same," Percival said. He could only guess what sort of perfect day a mystical orangutan warrior might experience.

Violet's scream erupted through the Asylum hallways. Percival instantly began to shake with anger. "Where did it come from?" he asked frantically. He had to save her. Neither Sir Bane nor Baanna seemed to be able to discern the direction.

"I can't tell," Sir Bane said helplessly.

Violet screamed again. This time, Percival took off in the direction he thought then turned back as the sound seemed to come from everywhere at once. "I can't believe this place," he said. "I'd like to meet the guy who thought this one up." Another scream—louder and longer.

Percival closed his eyes trying to focus on his hearing to lead the way. He could search endlessly in this madhouse and never find her. He imagined himself riding the sound of Violet's voice all the way to the source. And when she screamed again, something unexpected happened.

The sound of Violet's voice seemed to pierce directly through Percival's chest, snaring him and pulling him off his feet, flying through the air like a fish on a hook. He had no control whatsoever, bouncing off the walls, dragged by the sound of Violet's cry to wherever she might be inside the Asylum. Sir Bane and Baanna ran after him frantically, probably thinking some specter had seized him and made away with him.

Percival quickly lost sight of their pursuit as he tore through hallways around several corners, flailing wildly through the air, helpless. He managed to turn his body around enough to see down the long corridor toward a set of swinging hospital style doors with little round windows near the tops. The doors were closed, and he wasn't slowing down—her scream seeming to go on forever.

Realizing the worst, Percival braced for impact. As Violet's screamed came to an end, Percival smashed headlong into the doors. He tumbled through, seeing stars in his vision as he landed inside what appeared to be a gruesome version of an operating room.

Percival stood up, holding his head—a plump knot forming already. He was startled to find Violet strapped to a stainless steel table with two more creeps standing over her, wearing filthy surgical gowns, masks and gloves. One of the creeps was holding a pitcher of water, while the other held a pair of sparking jumper cables attached to a corroded car battery. Apparently, the Asylum's version of shock therapy had elicited Violet's agonizing screams. On a table nearby lay an entire assortment of grisly tools and torture devices, including a chainsaw.

When Percival burst into the room, the creeps turned on him, looking entirely startled by the interruption. The one with the jumper cables made ready to touch Violet's skin again if Percival made any move toward them. The other creep dropped his pitcher of water, reaching for the chainsaw instead. He cranked it up with a loud buzz, grinning, mad as a hatter.

Sir Bane crashed through the swinging doors with Baanna on his heels. The orangutan leaped through the air, his mystical sword shrouded in deadly green light. Baanna sliced through the creep with the battery cables before it even realized what was happening. Its phantom form vaporized like the other creeps Percival had seen. The other creep dropped his chainsaw immediately, running from Baanna's sword. The phantom passed right through the wall and out of sight.

Percival rushed to Violet's side, trying to undo the leather straps she had been fastened to the table with. "Violet, are you all right?" he asked. "Speak to me!" Violet seemed to be catatonic, unresponsive to Percival's pleas. With the straps undone, he shook her shoulders lightly and patted her cheeks. She blinked several times then peered into Percival's eyes as though trying to fasten on to reality again. "Are you all right?" Percival asked again.

Violet nodded then grabbed Percival, hugging him hard. She began sobbing on his shoulder. Not knowing what else to do, he returned the hug, patting her back to reassure her. "It's okay," he said. "It's over now." Percival closed his eyes, trying to relieve his anger with the knowledge that Violet was safe. Within moments, she had collected herself, wiping her tears away and replacing them with a burning intensity.

"Let's find the well and get the dagger," she said.

That small breakdown was all Violet was going to allow this insane place. Percival watched as his friend rebuilt the dogged stoicism she often displayed in very difficult situations. She wouldn't give these creeps the satisfaction anymore. "Do you know what happened to my sword?" she asked.

Percival had no idea, but he imagined another like it in her hand. She held it up, making the weight and balance sure. "Let's find the basement," she said, walking out through the double doors, leaving the others to follow.

WELL OF SOULS

As it turned out, the Asylum's basement was relatively easy to find. However, it was actually a boiler room full of sweating pipes issuing steam from defective joints and wrought iron catwalks, slippery from all the humidity. The entire maze of machinery was lit in crimson light with no particular place of origin. Percival was sure he had seen something similar in a horror movie, years ago.

Down at the very lowest level, the chamber opened up around what Percival could only surmise as their destination. "The Well of Souls," he whispered. They were standing upon metal grating that made up the entire floor around the Well. Water flowed beneath the grates as though a river were rushing beneath their feet. The Well was deeply set in the floor, more like a hole in the ground than any sort of wishing well, and fluorescent green light emanated from it—very similar to the portals they had been using to go from one realm to the next.

The Mortal Dagger hung suspended in mid-air within the shaft of light emanating from the well. "That must be it," Percival said. He looked at Sir Bane. "Should I just take it?" he asked.

Sir Bane examined the room for any sort of trap or enemy they might have missed.

"Surely it can't be that easy," Violet said. "Nothing in this place ever is."

Percival felt the same way, but nothing had presented itself yet. "Here goes," he said. Percival walked cautiously across the metal grates toward the ancient looking dagger hovering before him. Nothing sprang out to kill him. But as soon as Percival reached for the weapon, green flames erupted from the grates beneath his feet.

Violet screamed. Sir Bane and Baanna rushed forward, trying to save Percival from the flames, but the fire spread outward along the floor, coming to meet their advance. Feeling the intense heat, they were both forced to retreat.

"Percival!" Violet screamed. Tears were rushing down her cheeks. Her best friend in the world had been completely swallowed by the furnace of fire churning before them. Baanna held Violet's arms, trying to restrain her for fear she would ignore the peril to fling herself headlong into the flames, though there was no way to save Percival now. The three of them stood, watching as the flames ascended nearly to the high chamber ceiling, despair burning their hearts like the fire before them.

Suddenly Percival was walking through the flames toward them, a bright smile upon his face and the Mortal Dagger held securely in hand. None of them moved. Their astonished faces only made his smile grow wider. When he reached them, the fire died away as suddenly as it had come, retreating below the red hot floor grates. Speechless, they examined him completely, inspecting his flesh and clothing. They found his flesh pink and healthy, his clothing unmarked and not a hair on his head singed. Despite the intensity of the heat all around his body, Percival didn't even smell of smoke.

Sir Bane finally managed to speak. "I don't understand...how can you be alive?"

"It was something Mr. Lonely said to me before we left," Percival said. "He told me to remember the three Hebrews."

Violet's face lit up. "Meshach, Shadrach, and Abed-nego?" Violet asked, almost laughing.

Percival bit playfully at his bottom lip, nodding. "Apparently," he said. "He said that was the key to obtaining the Mortal Dagger. I thought about their faith as I reached for it."

"But how did you know?" Sir Bane asked, still seeming skeptical. "You didn't know before you walked in there."

"You're right, I didn't," Percival confirmed. "As a matter of fact, it wasn't until the flames swallowed me. I couldn't believe I was still alive, that I couldn't even feel the heat. I remembered what he said. Then I knew."

"But we felt the heat and could not approach," Sir Bane said.

"That's just it," Violet tried to explain. "Only Percival could retrieve the dagger. The fire would have killed anyone else."

Sir Bane laughed, shaking his head. "Simply amazing," he said.

Violet grew suddenly serious. "But now we have to go through the Well of Souls," Violet said.

"The Queen," Percival added. "We have to face her."

"We must kill her," Sir Bane corrected. "And for that you must use the dagger coated in the Render's blood."

Percival retrieved the syringe of Render blood from his inside pocket. He held the Mortal Dagger out from him, pouring the contents of the syringe over the blade. The blood did not drip even a single drop onto the ground. Instead, it clung to the dagger's ornate blade like iron filings to a magnet. "I guess we're ready," Percival said.

"You have to command the Well of Souls, Percival," Violet said.

Percival nodded, walking toward the fluorescent green energy swirling in the Well before them. "Well of Souls," he said, looking doubtful. "I command you to take me and my friends to Hallowed Hill." Nothing happened.

He looked back at the others. "Here goes nothing," he said, stepping forward until he dropped down through Well's maelstrom of energy. Green flame shot upward, enveloping him. When the fire dissipated, Percival was gone.

HALLOWED HILL

Percival saw the flame take him through the Well of Souls. His vision flashed as though someone were waving a bright light in his eyes. When he materialized again, Percival found that the Well had deposited him within a massive cavern. It was mind-boggling how vast this single chamber was. He could clearly see he was underground, but the ceiling of the cavern appeared to be close to a mile above him.

Green flame erupted behind Percival, like a geyser going off. It lasted only a moment, leaving Violet's startled form in its wake. When she spotted Percival, she ran to him. A rock the size of her skull smashed into the earthen floor between them. Both Violet and Percival stumbled backwards, looking up toward the cavern ceiling. Percival could see bits of dust still trailing downward. When he looked around at the surrounding terrain, he realized what he had supposed was rocky ground to actually be the result of falling rock from the roof of the cavern. "We'd better be careful to watch out for those," Percival said.

"No kidding," Violet said.

Behind them, two more puffs of green flame left Sir Bane and Baanna with them in the cavern. "So this is Hallowed Hill?" Sir Bane asked, patting the residual smoke from his clothing.

"Actually," Percival said, "I believe that must be it." He pointed down toward the far end of the cavern where a great mansion sat upon a huge mound of earth. Thick clouds gathered above it, swirling angrily, filtering what appeared to be scant moonlight coming from somewhere unknown. Bolts of lightning struck the ground around the mansion while sheets of rain swept back and forth, partially obscuring their view. Further out and closer to them, Hallowed Hill was littered with craters, boulder-sized hunks of rock thrown down from the ceiling and the remnants of an ancient graveyard. A viscous river flowed around the hill then away, carrying what appeared to be ghostly people beneath its surface.

"Are those souls?" Violet asked.

Percival lingered on the sight, his flesh beginning to crawl at the thought. "Can't be," he managed. "True souls don't come to an imaginary place. The wicked don't come to so kind an end."

"That may be," Sir Bane said, "but that constant moaning is still unnerving."

The others nodded.

"We'd better get moving," Percival said, starting out toward Hallowed Hill.

Violet pointed toward the ceiling. "Watch out for falling rock," she informed Sir Bane and Baanna. "I nearly got my skull crushed just before you arrived."

They looked up apprehensively, spotting several chunks falling some distance away into the slowly churning river. Nodding, they followed after Percival who held the Mortal Dagger before him, stained with the blood of the Queen Render. He supposed Queen Lilith would be found inside her mansion somewhere, but it always paid to be ready just in case.

The trek across the vast cavern floor covered less than a half-mile. A little better than halfway to Hallowed Hill, torrential rain swept down over them—a not so subtle gift from Queen Lilith to make their trip more enjoyable. No doubt Queen Lilith was already aware of her visitors. Percival wondered what terrors she would have waiting for them in her mansion once they reached Hallowed Hill.

They came to a place where the river cut them off from the hill. No bridge had been built. Apparently, you either flew over somehow or crossed the river itself. Neither option was very appealing, so Percival constructed a bridge in much the same way he had to cross the Chasm at Bloodmare Castle. The bridge was an easy affair, both in its construction and crossing, much to everyone's surprise.

"Does anyone else feel like this should have been more difficult?" Violet asked, once they had come to the other side of the river.

Percival was about to agree when a massive stalactite smashed into the ground between them, driving into the earth like a great stake. He dodged away, as did the others, looking to the ceiling for more falling debris. A storm of rock cascaded toward them. "Run!" several said to the others as chaos ensued.

Violet started up Hallowed Hill, trying to evade man-sized chunks of rock pounding the ground all around her. Baanna flipped and twirled out of harms way with more grace, seeming like a kung fu master, deftly maneuvering through the rain of debris, occasionally striking through smaller stones with his mystical sword. Sir Bane, the largest target, was grazed several times, but managed to gain ground up Hallowed Hill toward the ominous mansion.

As the falling stones pursued them, Percival realized they were quickly becoming separated from one another. Rock had been falling for mere seconds, yet the entire surface of Hallowed Hill had quickly become a forest of rock spires. Percival navigated through them even as more stones fell from the sky around him.

As the rocky rain began to abate, Percival emerged unscathed, standing directly before Queen Lilith's mansion. The finely crafted house looked like something out of the Victorian era, yet in a spooky Addam's Family sort of way. Da-da-da-dum, snap-snap, he thought. He pushed childish memories aside, realizing none of the others had emerged from the spires of rock towering around the mansion. He called out to them individually and waited. No reply.

Frantic, Percival started back toward the stones, trying to decide in what direction the others may have tried to ascend the hill and where they might be found, possibly injured or worse. Feminine laughter traveled over the weedy lawn to Percival before he could take up his search. He turned, werewolf killers cocked and ready in both hands, to find Queen Lilith standing before the open glass doors of her mansion. Only, it wasn't the queen Percival had expected.

"Welcome, Percival Strange," Widow Black said.

She wore a finely made gown, royal apparel of supernatural design and quality, with a long crimson train trailing behind her back into the house. A crown, like a kindling flame in appearance, hovered just above her dark, curled locks. "I see you made it past the Renders," she said coyly. "I suppose I should have expected it. Surely, the Master Caretaker of the House wouldn't put so much faith in you if you were incompetent."

Percival was too stunned to reply. He had never suspected that Widow Black, though a traitor, would turn out to be the very enemy he had to destroy in order to complete his Trial. Whatever sway she may have held on him initially was gone now. Listening to her, he vaguely recognized her veiled compliment. Still, she clearly held him in contempt, remaining superior in her demeanor. And why not? Percival wondered if he actually could destroy her. He had witnessed her power, in part, but clearly she would not have let the half be known while walking among the very people sent to assassinate her.

"What's your game, Lilith?" he asked finally.

She smiled, intrigued. "I could have killed you before now, if I'd wanted to."

Percival didn't even feel insulted by her statement. He knew it was true. "I know you could have," he admitted. "So, why didn't you?"

Her eyes flashed bright red with power as she smiled again, this time showing a vampire's smile—something Percival hadn't noticed before while she called herself Widow Black. "Maybe I'm interested in you," she said.

Percival's first thought and reaction must have been written all over his face. Queen Lilith rolled her eyes, waving her hand at him dismissively. "Foolish child, I mean interested in your power."

Percival blushed, embarrassed. Still, the idea that he might be powerful enough to earn her interest intrigued him. "I don't understand," he admitted.

"Of course not," she said. "I would not expect you to understand the inner political workings of the imaginative worlds, its council, or my place in either. You are, after all, only human."

How did she know? Mr. Lonely and Marlon had been careful not to reveal him for fear of what might happen among the Council Delegates. Immediately, Percival tried to remember some misstep that had given him away.

"Of course, I knew, you ridiculous boy. I'm not as blind and stupid as that rat, Pipsqueak," Lilith offered. "You are human and gifted, even for them. How else would you possess such power in this realm?"

Despite his shock at Queen Lilith's perception, Percival remained aware of his missing friends. He hoped they would all emerge from among the spires at any moment, but worried that so far none had. "Why didn't you tell your boss about me?" Percival asked.

"Boss?" she spat. "I am beholden to none—the Sovereign Queen of the Underworld." Lilith sauntered across the length of the front steps. "Pipsqueak may wield control over Horrif-I for the time being, but things can change quickly. If you were to join me, Percival, that time might come very quickly."

There it was. At the end of the day, it all boiled down to a power struggle. The cliché, "why would I ever join you," came to mind, but he held his tongue. Villains always enjoyed a good monologue, so he let her continue while trying to push aside the thought that Violet, Baanna and Sir Bane might be lying nearby half crushed beneath these huge stones, slowly slipping away into death.

"Think about it. You could be a prince in my empire," she proposed. "All of Horrif-I's denizens would be yours to command. With our combined power, we could easily go on to conquer the other imagined worlds as well."

"I don't care anything about having power," Percival declared. "I'm fine just the way I am."

"Really?" she said, genuinely surprised. "I supposed a boy like you would have grown up picked on, with little respect or hope of gaining it." She grinned. "Tell me, Percival, do the bigger boys respect you? Do the girls swoon for you?" She laughed, seeing the obvious answer written all over his flushing face. "No?"

Percival set his jaw, determining not to let her get the better of him. "None of that matters," he said, though perhaps with less conviction than before.

"To a boy your age, I would have thought it meant a great deal," she said. "Perhaps, I was wrong about you. Still, I would be willing to give Violet to you as your very own."

"What did you say?"

"You heard me," Lilith said. "I could make her love you, Percival. Don't tell me that doesn't appeal to you...even though she is rather boyish and plain. I've seen the way you look at her and her you. I could make her infatuated with you, if you liked. Join me in overthrowing Pipsqueak and that miserable council of buffoons, and she'll be yours."

"Violet isn't yours to give," Percival said, glancing sidelong, hoping she would emerge from among the stones.

Queen Lilith laughed again, this time with more vigor. "Dear boy, have you not realized yet? They are all mine to give. I have your friends, so you can stop looking for them to come running to your aid. If you refuse me, they will die painfully before your eyes—especially that ragamuffin girl."

QUEEN LILITH

Queen Lilith had already captured his friends somehow. Percival hated to think under what conditions she might be keeping them, or what torture they might experience at her command. What could he do? Give up? Allow the entire realm of imagined worlds to fall under the control of this vile queen? Everything in his mind told him to fight. But Violet might be killed for it. Percival wondered what his friend would do. Probably the right thing, he thought.

Percival gritted his teeth against the consequences of what he was about to do. No matter how it turned out, he knew he'd never forgive himself for losing his friends. Percival opened his eyes, beholding Queen Lilith, knowing she held all the cards in her favor.

"Well?" she cooed. "What is your decision?" She had him and she knew it. Percival could see it written all over her too-smug face. He would lose those dearest to him if he didn't submit to her will. He would lose Violet.

Immediately, Percival attacked, unleashing a barrage of imagined forces against Queen Lilith unlike any he had executed before. Clouds boiling overhead in the cavern were seized by his mind, striking furiously with lightning at the steps of Queen Lilith's mansion. At that same moment, many of the rocky spires driven into the earth behind Percival leaped into the air, somersaulting like gymnasts to crash down upon the mansion's front façade.

Queen Lilith, clearly shocked by the attack, shot through the open doors backward into her mansion—as though she'd been seized by some invisible hand just as the first strikes of lightning ignited her dress. In flames, with smoke trailing after, she retreated only a fraction of a second before five jagged boulders crashed down upon the steps and through the front of her mansion.

Percival wasted no time following her, running up toward the ruined front of the house, looking for a way past the boulders and shattered glass. He knew allowing Queen Lilith an opportunity to mobilize would give her time to kill the others. Right now, she was caught off guard, and Percival intended to keep her that way.

He barely paused at the front of the house—only long enough to command the inanimate rock to reform into boulder-sized stone juggernauts at his bidding. "After Queen Lilith!" he commanded. The juggernauts ground their stone joints and obeyed their master, crashing through what was left of the front of the mansion, taking up pursuit of the fleeing queen.

However, Lilith would not retreat so easily. She was waiting at the juncture between two descending staircases merging into one on their way to the first floor. As soon as Percival and his juggernauts came into the huge foyer, Lilith blasted one of the rock soldiers apart with streaking bolts of crimson lightning.

The blast sent Percival skidding across the polished marble floor. Lilith sent more of her lightning after him, scorching the floor, but rebounding off the large mounted mirror upon the wall. Even dazed, Percival had noticed what had happened. Her lightning isn't electrical, but magical in nature. "Destroy her!" he shouted to the remaining stone juggernaut.

Lilith managed, magically, to knock the beast backward off the stairs, just as it was about to take hold of her. Percival got to his feet as Lilith redirected her energies toward him, then leaped into the mirror behind him. The mirror reflected the magical lightning out upon various artifacts in the room, causing several furniture explosions and fires in the process.

Percival burst back through the mirror, shattering its glass as he did so. He landed on his feet with his hands palms down, commanding the reformation of the glass shards. They instantly sprang up, reforming in his hands as a mirrored shield and mirrored glass sword. Crimson lightning arced away from Lilith's splayed fingers, reaching like a ferocious beast to consume Percival. His mirrored shield and sword reflected the attack, even sending some of it back toward Lilith. She screamed furiously as her own magic knocked her back into a wall decorated with grisly renditions of famous paintings.

At Percival's quick imagining, a gruesome portrayal of the Mona Lisa reached out, grabbing Lilith by her hair, yanking her back in order to get a choke-hold around her neck. Several well known Greek statues adorning the landing leaped from their pedestals to further restrain Queen Lilith. She struggled terribly, practically foaming at the mouth in her fury.

Percival arrived on the landing within seconds, his shield and sword cast aside. He placed the Mortal Dagger at Queen Lilith's throat. "Relinquish your crown and my friends, and you may survive this day," he demanded. "Otherwise, you die, Queen Lilith."

Percival saw it in her eyes—genuine fear. She was wondering if she could get away, strike at him somehow and escape. Percival pressed the blade against her skin a little harder. "It would be a shame for this dagger to bring blood," he said. "I'm not really sure how much Render blood it takes to kill you."

He had expected to see her resign herself to defeat. Instead, Queen Lilith smirked. Percival didn't have a chance to wonder about it. He saw something moving in the reflection of her dazzling eyes.

Percival whirled around, finding Lord Pipsqueak's bodyguard, Dim Bones, creeping toward him with a huge double-bladed axe raised over his head. His skull-socket eyes flared with rage—the candle flames within intensifying so that his entire skull lit up like some crazed jack-o-lantern. Percival reached down, taking hold of the long carpet leading up the middle of the stairs, yanking it up with all his might.

Dim Bones was thrown backwards, down the stairs, smashing into a pile of bones and leather clothing on the floor. Almost immediately, the bones reconnected, building the skeletal warrior from the ground up until his skull blazed again. He picked up his axe and started up the stairs again.

Percival saw his mirrored sword and shield lying on the ground beneath the skeleton. He imagined the weapons shattering, and the shards reforming the mirrored pane they had once been. The full length mirror coalesced flat on the floor, then tumbled up and over, swallowing Dim Bones through the mirrored side. Percival waved his hand, commanding the mirror back to its mounted frame upon the far wall. It landed there, revealing a struggling Dim Bones, unable to free himself from the looking glass prison.

Percival turned back to Queen Lilith. Her smug expression was gone. Moreover, her intense beauty was fading rapidly. Percival saw that the Mortal Dagger he had been holding to her throat must have drawn blood when he reacted to Dim Bones. The poison was working through her body, erasing the power and beauty, leaving a ragged frail woman behind. Lilith sagged in the grip of the painted figure behind her and the statues still holding her limbs. Her flaming crown extinguished and fell to the floor, rolling to stop at Percival's feet.

In that moment, the three Greek statues cracked like eggshells, revealing Violet, Baanna and Sir Bane beneath the marble skins. Violet, who had been the statue holding Lilith's legs, rushed Percival, hugging him as tight as she could. Stronger than many boys Percival's age, she nearly squeezed the breath out of him. But he was so happy to find her safe, he didn't care one bit.

UNCEREMONIOUS

Percival wasn't exactly sure what he had been expecting when he and the others returned. After defeating Queen Lilith and taking her crown, they had been returned almost instantly to the Lonely Manor. Within a marble chamber, looking to Percival very much like a courtroom, the Council Delegates representing the imagined worlds had unanimously declared his Trial a success. He had noticed that some of the Council Delegates did so bitterly, but did so nonetheless. Mr. Lonely had informed the Council of his intent to begin Percival's training quickly, and the motion had carried without open dissent.

Even Lord Pipsqueak had been in attendance. Percival had barely been able to take his eyes off the white mouse throughout the meeting. He was surprised, however, when Lord Pipsqueak added his vote to those in favor of Percival becoming the new Master Caretaker of the House. It just didn't make sense that Pipsqueak should try so vehemently to destroy him through the Trial only to turn around and vote him in without any bluster whatsoever.

Following the very unceremonious ceremony, Percival and Violet had bid farewell to Sir Bane and Baanna. Both courageous friends had felt the need to return to their own worlds, though their parting came with much hugging and even a few joyous tears. Violet had wanted to remain with Percival, but Mr. Lonely had insisted that she return to her parent's home. Apparently some sort of suspension of time had been in effect, and it was time to release their town from the Manor's control. She resigned herself to their will on the matter and was soon led by a chatty Mrs. Lonely through a portal which looked very much like a dusty old broom closet.

That left Percival with Mr. Lonely and the wizard, Marlon. "That went off about as well as could be expected, I think," Mr. Lonely said.

"What do you mean?" Percival asked.

"Isn't it obvious, Percival?" Marlon said. "Many of the Council Delegates are fine with having you as the Master Caretaker in training, but others don't like you...I'm not sure why, exactly, but they don't."

"I was wondering," Percival said, "why Pipsqueak voted me in? That doesn't make any sense. He made it very clear how much he hates me before any of this ever began."

"We've been wondering the same thing," Mr. Lonely said. "And you're right to be concerned. Lord Pipsqueak would never give up his positions so easily."

"And many of the other Council Delegates follow his lead when they vote," Marlon added. "They even did so today. You could see it on their faces. They only voted for Percival's acceptance because the Trial's conditions stipulate it and because Lord Pipsqueak voted that way rather than stir up another stink."

"So, he's up to something?" Percival asked.

"Almost certainly," Mr. Lonely said. "However, we can't afford to bother over it at the moment. We must begin your real training for the role of Master Caretaker. That's the most important thing."

"Agreed," Marlon said. "Even if Lord Pipsqueak is plotting something against you, the surest offense we can have is a good defense—having you fully trained in the politics and power of the Master Caretaker's role among the imagined worlds."

Percival nodded. He wasn't sure, but he had the feeling that what he had faced in the Trial had only been the beginning of his troubles. He would rejoin his family, outwardly, but secretly he would administrate between the constantly bickering denizens of the imagined worlds, commanding powers he had only the barest understanding of at the moment. "Lord," he whispered, "what have I gotten myself into?"

Lord Pipsqueak sat upon his tiny throne within the main hall at Bloodmare Castle. Quill, Pipsqueak's porcupine-esque bodyguard stood at his left. Dim Bones was noticeably absent, still imprisoned somewhere within the strange realm beyond the looking glass. Rot, Pipsqueak's partially decomposed canine, slobbered and growled in the corner, chewing upon the femur bone of some unfortunate lackey who had earned the white mouse's easy displeasure.

An impatient god of the sea stood smoldering before Pipsqueak's throne. An entourage of Neptune's mer-people trailed behind him, all of them glistening, their natural oils making their scales reflect the available crimson light oddly. Fayd Ra, the Delegate for Neo, stood at his side, trying to avoid the nearly constant splashes of water falling away from Neptune's ever-wetted body.

"You can save your complaints," Lord Pipsqueak said. "I already know what you have come to say. You don't like or understand why I passed the boy during the vote?"

"Precisely," Fayd Ra said, his tone as icy and calculating as ever.

"Complete idiocy!" Neptune thundered. "Your own denizen, Lilith, told you he was a human boy from Urbane! How could you possibly vote him through?"

"Indeed," Fayd Ra said. "It would seem you gave away a perfect opportunity to rid ourselves of the boy, before he becomes a problem."

"Or perhaps," Lord Pipsqueak suggested, "I've only allowed a weaker enemy to take the place of a stronger one?"

"I don't follow," Neptune said skeptically.

Lord Pipsqueak rolled his tiny pink eyes. "Someone, please inform the news media," he said. "Neptune doesn't understand."

Neptune fumed, but waited.

Lord Pipsqueak stood up from his throne, pacing back and forth across the dark stone pedestal upon which it sat. "If we had opposed the boy's inauguration after he successfully completed the Trial then we would become whining fools before the public," he explained. "However, if we allow the boy to train, even take the position, then show him for what he is—or at least what we want everyone to think he is—we will both rid ourselves of the incumbent Master Caretaker and set up the newbie for an easy public debacle—two birds taken down with one seemingly agreeable vote on our part now."

Fayd Ra paused, considering the possibilities.

Neptune, however, remained unconvinced. "And just how do you intend to pull it off?" he demanded.

Lord Pipsqueak rubbed his tiny pink paws together, looking off toward the future realization of his unfolding schemes. "Don't worry," he said, grinning. "I have everything under control."
