“Married?” Mothball roared. “What, and have little monster babies with my ugly face on little balls of fat? Methinks I’d rather marry a horse.”
“Feeling’s mutual!” Rutger countered.
“Would eat a lot less, that’s for sure,” Mothball murmured.
“And wouldn’t complain at your incessant gibbering!”
“Smell better, too.”
“You know what they say—sometimes a husband and wife look like brother and sister. You and a horse—well, perfect!”
Mothball scratched her chin, acting like she couldn’t hear him. “There’d be horse patties lyin’ ’round about me flat. Might get a bit messy.”
“Okay, this is getting creepy,” Sato interjected. “Where’s your house?”
Mothball stopped, then threw her arms up and clapped once as she looked at the large home to their right. “Well, bite me buttons, here we are!”
The house and yard looked a lot like the others, though the front door was pink. Mothball’s proclamation had barely ended when the door swung open and a gigantic woman with a huge mop of curly black hair on her head came rushing out to greet them. Her clothes were the same style as Mothball’s—loose, dull colors, hanging off her skin-and-bones body like drying laundry. Or maybe
dying
laundry.
“Me love!” the lady yelled as she ran down the stone steps, all gangly legs and arms making her look as if she might collapse into a heap of sticks at any second. “Oh, me sweet, sweet love! Been ’specting you, we ’ave!”
She reached Mothball, and they squeezed each other tightly, circling around, both of them crying. Sato looked away, uncomfortable at intruding on something intimate and personal. When they finally let go of each other, Mothball pointed straight at him.
“This here’s Master Sato,” she said proudly. “And, of course you know Rutger, me best friend.”
“Ah, yes, yes,” her tall mom replied, the enormous smile she’d worn since opening the door still there. Sato noticed her teeth were just as crooked as her daughter’s, but much whiter. “So good to see you again, Rutger. And you, Sato, welcome. My name is Windasill, and I’m so happy to say we’ve finally met. I’ve been waiting for months.”
“Really?” Sato said, surprised.
“Of course.” She looked at Mothball, a slight look of confusion on her face. “You didn’t tell him?”
Mothball shrugged, clearly embarrassed.
Sato couldn’t imagine what was going on. “Tell me? What didn’t you tell me?”
Instead of answering, Mothball nodded at her mom.
Windasill grinned again and curtsied—quite the display from someone so big. “You do look just like him, I must say. A wee bit shorter’s all.” Then, inexplicably, she started crying, the stifled sobs accompanied by tears streaming out of her eyes.
Now he was beyond confused. “What are you
talking
about? What’s going on?”
Rutger answered for them. “Sato, you’re the Alterant of Grand Minister Sato Tadashi, who was the supreme ruler of this entire world—in this Reality anyway.”
“
Was?
” Sato repeated, not knowing how to react to the strange revelation.
Mothball’s mom answered, right after spitting on the ground. “Bugaboos killed him last month, they did, just weeks after he took office. Sacrificed hundreds of blokes to break through security and get to him. He was the most respected leader we’ve had in ages, despite being so young. Gone and dead now.”
“Why . . . why’d they kill him?” Sato asked. He had an uncomfortable feeling this was leading somewhere he wouldn’t like. Mothball’s answer confirmed it.
“They thought he was you.”
~
Drip.
Drip.
Drip.
That was all Tick could hear, and it was driving him crazy. The others were asleep, and even though the soft sighs and snores of their slumber floated through the air, all his mind could focus on was that stupid dripping water.
Drip.
Drip.
Drip.
Everything had happened so fast after Jane revealed that she’d kidnapped his sisters, Lisa and Kayla. The news shocked every bit of surging power out of him, and he’d collapsed to the floor in defeat, knowing he couldn’t take the risk she might be lying. He couldn’t risk their lives. Not them.
As soon as he’d given up, Jane had winked them all away. He didn’t know how she did it, or who helped her, but one instant they’d been in his basement, and the next they were here, in some kind of cell made of gray stone, damp and cold and dark, with that maddening drip of water as a constant companion. The only light was faint, coming from somewhere down a long hallway outside the bars of their prison.
They’d been there for hours and hours. Every question in the world had been asked, every nook and cranny of the room examined, and they had shouted and screamed for help until their voices went hoarse. Then exhaustion crept in, and now everyone was asleep.
Except Tick. He huddled with his back against the hard, cold wall, his arms wrapped around his knees, his hands clasped in front of him. He felt empty, like his mind and heart had become a complete void of space, sucking every last bit of strength and will away. Jane had his sisters—but who knew where or how or why. And he was here, with his mom and dad, his two best friends, and the leader of the Realitants, all of them captured and helpless.
He’d tried several times to summon even the smallest trace of the power he’d felt against Jane in the basement of his house, but nothing came. Just emptiness. He floated in a void. A yucky, blecky, hopeless void.
“Tick?”
The voice startled him. He put his hands down to the ground, ready to spring to his feet. But a second later he realized it was Sofia, just a few feet from him, lying down with her head resting on her folded arms. She pushed herself into a sitting position and looked at him. He could barely see the features of her face, but they didn’t look as sad as he would’ve expected.
“Still here,” he replied. “Did you actually fall asleep?”
She yawned in response. “Think so. Had a bad dream.”
“I wish
this
were a bad dream.”
“Yeah.”
“Dude, I finally snooze and you guys wake me up.” Paul was getting to his feet, rubbing his eyes. He made his way over to sit next to Tick and Sofia. “You think the geezer and your mom and dad are actually sleeping?”
“I hope so,” Tick said. “They’re old—they need it.”
“Actually,” Sofia whispered, “the younger you are, the more sleep you need. Just for the record.”
Tick wasn’t in the mood for her smarts. “Whatever.”
“So what do you think she’s up to?” Paul asked. “Jane the Beast, I mean. And what’s the deal with that robe and mask, the scratchy voice? Tick, you’re the only one who’s met her before—did she talk like that? Did she have that mask?”
Tick shook his head and was happy to realize he didn’t feel any guilt at what Paul had just said. In fact, he wished she’d died. “Remember when I broke apart Dark Infinity and attacked her with it? I think it burned her and melted stuff all over her. Kind of like it . . . fused them together.”
“And maybe it made her more powerful, too,” Sofia added. “Maybe she somehow kept the powers of Chu’s weapon. How else could she have winked into your basement
and
winked us all here?”
“Huh?” Tick asked. “How do you know
she
did it? Not someone with a Barrier Wand?”
Sofia pointed in front of her as if Jane were standing there. “Because I was staring at her the whole time. As soon as you quit trying to do whatever you were doing with your orange hocus-pocus stuff, she reached out with her hands and swept them through the air, like she was picking up a big pile of leaves and throwing them. Then I felt the tingle, and next thing I know, we’re here.”
“What
were
you doing to her, anyway?” Paul asked.
The question hit Tick like a thump in his chest. He hesitated, not knowing what to say.
“Hello?” Paul pushed. “Earth calling Atticus Higgin-bottom.”
Tick shifted to get more comfortable. “I don’t know, man. It’s hard enough to understand it in my brain, much less explain it to you guys.”
“Well, try,” Sofia said. “If we can help you figure out these freaky powers of yours, we might get out of here someday.”
Freaky powers,
Tick thought. Did she have to say it that way? After a long pause, he cleared his throat and resolved to tell them everything. “Every time I’ve had an . . . episode, I feel this heat in my chest and gut, something burning inside me. I’ve been able to push it down a couple times recently and make it go away.”
“Hey,” Paul said, “at least that’s progress over what you did at Chu’s shack. Maybe you’re learning to control it.”
Tick nodded. “Maybe. Anyway, in my basement, I kind of panicked when Jane started talking, and when the heat came, I didn’t stop it. I . . . encouraged it, tried to hold onto it, make it grow. It was like I had these mental hands, trying to clasp invisible fingers around an invisible . . . something. I don’t know—I can’t describe it. It took a lot of focus and concentration. Then, I just mentally threw it at her. I guess I attacked her just by thinking it and wanting it.”
Paul and Sofia stared at him, apparently at a loss for words, a minor miracle with those two.
“Anyway,” Tick continued, “it felt really good. I still think I’m a long way from controlling it anytime I want to, but this was about a billion times better than what happened a few months ago. Back then it was like somebody had ripped my spirit out of my body, and I couldn’t do anything about it.”
“What
is
the power?” Paul asked. “I mean, you’re doing some crazy stuff here, dude.”
“It’s Chi’karda, brainiac,” Sofia answered. “We know that much. For some reason Tick has a ton of it.”
Paul shook his head. “I know it’s Chi’karda—at least, that’s what Master Georgie boy over there thinks.” He pointed to the snoozing man, who looked a little ridiculous all dressed up in a prison cell. “But what does that
mean?
”
“What do you mean, what does it mean?” Sofia said.
“I mean, what does it mean?”
Sofia blew out a loud breath. “I don’t know what it means.”
“Man,” Tick said, “we are really making progress here.”
They stayed quiet for awhile, and then Sofia broke the silence. “Well, we can leave the science side of it to Master George and the Realitants. We just need to help you learn how to control it so we can use it. As a weapon.”
“Yeah,” Paul agreed. “How about right now? I don’t think I’m up for hanging around here much longer.”
Weapon.
For some reason that word gave Tick the chills. He didn’t want to think of himself as a potential killing device. “It doesn’t matter right now. I can’t feel anything, not even a flicker.”
“Maybe you need to be ticked off,” Paul said. “Here, let me kick you in the—”
“I’m good, thanks.” Tick scooted away.
“Just start thinking about stuff,” Sofia suggested. “Think about Jane and what she’s done to us and how we’re sitting in this prison. Think about your . . .” She didn’t finish, looking at the ground as if she’d just confessed something horrible.
Tick felt tears glisten his eyes. “You were going to say
sisters.
Think about my sisters.”
Sofia looked up at him, then nodded.
“Maybe that’s why I’m so empty,” Tick said, hearing the gloom in his own voice. “She threatened to hurt them if I try anything, so my subconscious won’t even let me get close to trying.”
“Man,” Paul said, “guess we shouldn’t expect you to, then. Too risky.”
“What
are
we going to do?” Sofia pleaded.
Master George stirred to their right, grunting as he rolled over and pushed himself into a sitting position. He let out a huge yawn while rubbing his eyes. “Goodness gracious me, how long have I been sleeping?”
“Couple hours,” Tick said.
“I had the strangest dream,” the leader of the Realitants said in a groggy voice. “I was in your basement, Master Atticus, and I saw a person in a big rabbit suit. It was a very creepy bunny. Quite disturbing. I woke up just as the person started to take off his head. What I would give to have seen the face beneath the mask.”
“It’s symbolic,” Sofia said. “Jane wears a mask now. I’m sure it’s her you would’ve seen.”
“Uh, what about the whole bunny thing?” Paul asked with a slight snicker.
“Well,” Master George began, clearing his throat, embarrassed. “I was, er, a bit frightened of bunnies as a child.”
Tick shocked himself when he laughed out loud. So did Paul.
“Poke fun if you must,” Master George countered, though he had a smile on his face. “You try falling into a cage filled with a dozen hungry rabbits and see how—”
A loud metal clang cut him off, and they all turned to see the iron-grilled door to their cell swing open. Standing behind it in the hallway was Mistress Jane, still dressed in her yellow robe and her expressionless red mask. There was a cart next to her, loaded with several plates of steaming food.
“My, you all look cozy,” she said. “I’ve brought you something to eat. I can’t have you starving to death before our big plans come to fruition.” She pushed the cart into the cell then swung the heavy door shut again. Its clanking ring echoed like some haunted musical instrument.
She turned to walk away, apparently done with them.
“Where are we?” Master George shouted at her.
Jane stopped, but did not look at them. “You’re in the Thirteenth Reality, George. Though it won’t be called that much longer.”
She started walking again, and soon was out of sight.
~
Questions
without Answers
Mothball’s dad was actually shorter than his wife, and, impossibly, even nicer. His dark hair and the angled features of his face would have looked hard and cold except for the permanent smile breaking it all up. He ushered Sato and the others into the huge living room, where they all sat down with cups of steaming hot tea. His name was Tollaseat, and he wore a bright red sweater with his drab-colored pants. He looked about as unfashionable as a person could possibly get.