Keal believed everything happened for a purpose. He won-dered what God had in mind for these young men. What kind of men was he forging in the fire of this house? In only a few days, Keal had already seen Xander become more compassionate, more outwardly loving and protective of his family, especially his brother.
And David—this kid had changed big-time. He was braver, more decisive. The boy had told him about the way his classmates had teased him about his name: David King . . . King David. Dae hadn’t liked it, but Keal wasn’t so sure the comparison was all that far off. If this house wasn’t David’s Goliath, then maybe Keal didn’t understand the biblical story. The first King David had become a great man, and Keal had good feelings about this one.
He shook his head. He remembered yesterday pondering how and why he had come to care so much for this family. He’d chalked it up to shared experiences and that their good-ness was obvious, but he thought it might go beyond that. He didn’t usually think this way, but being here felt like destiny. He was
meant
to be here. And the character of each of the Kings was what kept him here. If they weren’t who they were, what they were, he wouldn’t have stayed past that first night, when Jesse had brought him here. No way. Life was too short to spend it with bad people.
He managed to make it back to the door without waking the boys up. No easy task considering the obstacle course they had made in their room: boxes everywhere and a pile of stuff— trophies and knickknacks—in the middle of the floor.
He gently closed the door, and something banged over-head— upstairs, on the third floor.
Already
?
He considered opening the boys’ door again, rousting them and getting everybody out of the house. No, not until he knew what they were facing. Xander and David needed rest, and this house made all sorts of noises that didn’t mean anything, like a giant mumbling in its sleep.
He strode to the end of the hallway and turned toward the false walls and the stairs to the third floor. As he passed the stepladder, he grabbed his hammer. He stopped, went to a box of tools and pulled out a big screwdriver. He shoved it into his back pocket. At the base of the stairs he heard another bang. He waited to see if someone appeared on the top landing. When no one did, he went up slowly, silently.
At the top step, he leaned and looked down the hallway. No one. He stepped up to the landing and stood in the entry-way between it and the hall. There were no windows up here, so without the light, it would be dark. Even with the lights, the far end of the hall was cloaked in shadows. That’s how he could see the light coming from one of the last antechambers. It wasn’t filling the hall—the door wasn’t open—but sliding out from under the door. Something stirred shadows through the light, so it appeared to swirl and dance on the floor.
He wasn’t about to march down there and open the door. Who knew what monstrosities he’d encounter? And too close for a smooth getaway. No, he could wait. This way, when he—or they—came out of the antechamber, he’d have some time to assess the danger, to figure out whether to fight or run.
But why would someone come through a portal and hang out in the antechamber? He wondered if that’s the way Phemus met with Taksidian for instructions. Phemus would come over and wait for Taksidian to show up. If so, then maybe Taksidian was coming too.
Keal backed into the corner of the landing, a place where he could see the hallway and the stairs leading to it. He tapped the hammer against his leg, and willed his heart to slow.
Okay
, he thought, watching the antechamber light play against the floor and carpeted runner.
Come on out, you butt-ugly
ogre. Bring it on!
F
RIDAY
, 7:35
P. M
.
Nothing happened. No butt-ugly ogre. No action at all, just the light—broken by moving shadows—slicing out from under the antechamber door. Then, as Keal watched, it went out. The portal door inside must have closed. He walked slowly to the antechamber and listened at the door. More nothing. Raising the hammer over his head, he pulled it open: empty.
The items inside didn’t offer any clues to who had been there or why: a white medical smock, a stethoscope, other doctor- related items. He shut the door and began pacing the hallway.
What if this sort of thing was part of Taksidian’s plan? Psychological warfare. Make your opponents jumpy and para-noid. It caused them to lose sleep and expend energy on false alarms.
This maybe-something’s-coming-maybe-not
incident he had just experienced was not the first of its kind he’d heard about or witnessed: stomping around on the third floor while the kids were trying to sleep . . . someone in the linen closet, rat-tling the handle . . . using Mom’s voice, recorded on Wuzzy, to lure Toria to the third floor. No wonder the family were always exhausted and nervous. They’d been terrorized—both by real threats and fake ones.
Realizing this only reinforced Keal’s admiration for the Kings.
These guys are tough
, he thought.
I can learn at least as much
from them as they can from me
.
He returned to the second floor, listening for any noises coming from the antechambers. Then he roamed the house, checking doors and windows. He ventured into the basement. The little room in which David had been stuck was firmly boarded up, no signs of any attempts to break through.
He was climbing the basement stairs when he heard foot-steps: stomping on the front porch. He stopped to listen. The door’s handle rattled and its hinges squeaked as it opened.
Tension tightened his muscles as Keal prepared to bolt up the remaining stairs.
“Anyone home?” Ed King called. “Keal! Xander! David!”
Keal relaxed.
Toria called, “Guys! We got news!”
“Down here!” Keal said. He ascended to the first floor and stepped into the hallway between the foyer and kitchen. Dad—Keal had heard Ed called that so many times, that was how he was starting to think of the man as well—was exam-ining the broken window. Keal moved toward him.
Toria was halfway up the grand staircase. She smiled at him and opened her mouth to say something, but he held his fingers over his lips.
“Shhh
.” He whispered, “The boys are sleeping.”
Toria’s face reflected her disappointment. “But we have news,” she said.
Keal cast a suspicious eye on her. “
Good
news?”
Grinning, she said, “We know where Phemus comes from.”
“Uh . . . “ Keal said, scrunching his face, “Atlantis?”
Toria’s face dropped. “Huh? How do
you
know?”
“Your brothers,” Keal said. “They went there.”
Dad grabbed his arm. “What? To Atlantis? How? When? Wait, wait.” He closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Just tell me, they’re all right?”
“They’re fine,” Keal said.
“Does that have anything to do with Atlantis?” Dad said, pointing at the window.
“Sort of,” Keal answered. “It’s a long story.”
“Okay,” Dad said. “I want to hear everything.” He stooped to pick up two flat boxes off the floor, next to the satchel he had used to take Wuzzy to UCLA. “Picked up some pizza,” he said. “How about telling us over dinner?” He headed for the dining room.
“We better eat slowly,” Keal said, following the glorious aroma of baked dough, hot cheese, pepperoni, and grease.
•••••••••
Toria remained disappointed that Xander and David had been to Atlantis and had found out firsthand what she and Dad had learned from a computer program.
Hoping to cheer her up, Keal said, “Hey, I got something you can play with.”
She brightened. “What?”
“Hold on.” He went into the kitchen and returned with the phones he’d purchased at Walmart. He handed her one. “It has games,” he said. “I made sure.”
“Does it have a camera?” she said.
“You bet.”
She left her plate of crusts—“pizza bones,” she called them—and sat in the corner to fiddle with the phone.
Keal set another phone on the table and slid it over to Dad on the other side. “Charged and ready to go.”
Dad scowled at it. Keal knew he wasn’t happy about his boys’ putting themselves in more danger.
“What possessed them to follow Phemus?” he asked.
“They love their mom,” Keal said.
“And I love my wife. But I’m not putting my head on a chopping block.” He dropped a pizza bone on his plate and pushed it away.
Keal selected another piece—just one more—and bit off the tip.
“Atlantis,” Dad said, “and the Civil War, the Alps, and some torture chamber?”
Keal nodded. “And that brush with the cannibals, but they didn’t actually
go
there.”
Dad rubbed his eyebrows. “I can’t even keep it all in my head.”
“Imagine how they feel. That’s why I think they’ll sleep till morning, if we let them.”
“Of course,” Dad said. “And how did you wind up with Taksidian’s dagger?”
Keal told him about following the boys through the ante-chamber, but winding up not in Atlantis but a prehistoric cave. Then how he returned by grabbing hold of Taksidian’s feet, and the fight that came afterward. He continued talking until he’d said it all.
Dad shook his head. “It never ends,” he said. “Everything seems to be happening faster, getting more dangerous . . . if that’s even possible.”
Keal grabbed his arm. “It is possible. But you know something? We’re learning, getting smarter. We can do this. We can beat Taksidian—and this house.”
“I hope you’re right,” Dad said, not sounding very sure. He watched Toria play with the phone. “I hope you’re right.”
S
ATURDAY
, 8:47
A. M
.
David rolled over in bed and realized he had to go to the bathroom. He pushed the bedcovers off and blinked against the sunlight.
Sunlight? Still
?
He turned to see the clock on the nightstand. Almost nine. What time did it get dark? It felt like he’d slept longer than that. Xander snorted in air and whistled it out. He had kicked off his covers and sheet, but he didn’t seem to mind.
David closed his eyes again and felt himself drifting back under. He forced himself to sit and swing his legs over the edge of the bed. He didn’t want the call of the bathroom to wake him in the middle of the night. That would be worse.
He stood, got a shot of pain from his leg, and sat down again. He’d forgotten about that. He rose again, careful to make his left leg carry most of his weight. He stretched. Felt pretty good, actually. Refreshed. Amazing what a couple hours of shut-eye could do. He’d feel like a new kid by morning.
He picked Xander’s blanket off the floor and spread it out over him. Xander snorted again, scratched his armpit, and rolled over.
David stumbled for the door. He kicked a soccer trophy and stepped on a Matchbox car. He opened the door to the smell of bacon. Keal must have made bacon, lettuce, and tomato sandwiches for dinner. He rubbed his stomach. He was hungry, but he didn’t want to eat now. Sleep first, eat later.
As he crossed the hall to the bathroom, Toria walked out of her room, heading for the grand staircase. “Hey,” he said.
She stopped, then ran to him, giving him a big hug.
“When’d you get home?” he said.
“Last night, silly.”
“Last night?”
“Want breakfast?” she said, stepping back from him. “I made bacon and eggs.”
“Breakfast? What
time
is it?”
“Eight thirty, something like that.”
“At night? Friday night?”
“Saturday morning.” She laughed. “Boy, you’re out of it. Keal said you went to bed at six yesterday. You slept all eve-ning and right through the night.”
He rubbed his face. “Oh, man . . . “ He felt her little fist strike his stomach. “Ow, hey!”
“Keal told us you and Xander went to Atlantis! I wanted to surprise you that Phemus is from there.”
“What? How do you know?”
“Wuzzy,” she said, obviously proud of her teddy bear. “Dad’s friend listened to Phemus’s voice on Wuzzy’s recorder. He put it in a computer, and the computer said it was last spoken in Atlantis. Bet you don’t know what he said.”
“Who, Dad’s friend?”
“Phemus!”
“What? What he said to you the night he . . . “ He didn’t want to say
the night he took Mom
. It would bring Toria down. “The night he woke you up?”
Trying to make her voice deep, she said, “Have you come to play?”
“That’s what he said? Have you come to
play
?”
“Mr. Peterson said the Atlantians liked war and they played mean games that made the kids ready to fight. He said it wasn’t a place you’d ever want to go to play.”
David thought about the kids beating on each other, going for blood. They were the same kids who’d cornered him and tried to kill him. “Yeah,” he said, “that’s the way it is. I gotta go to the bathroom.”