It was easy to tell this was Mothball’s world. Each grave was a good couple of feet longer and wider than he was used to, and the markers had an almost disturbingly humorous edge to them: “Plank, please don’t come back and haunt us—you have stinky feet.” “Toolbelt, you were a wonder in life, despite your gigantic nose.” “Snowdrift, who died with a smile on her face, even after falling off that cliff.”
The strangeness didn’t completely surprise him, knowing Mothball. She had a very unusual sense of humor. But there was just something wrong about giggling out loud like a little kid, over and over, in the middle of a dark graveyard.
He finally found Tick’s marker after almost two hours of searching. Standing before it, he focused his flashlight on the large, rounded tombstone:
Here lies Atticus Higginbottom
Dead at the sad age of seven.
Atticus, you had more gas than
any normal child should,
but we still miss you terribly.
Rest in peace, our sweet, sweet son.
Sato clicked off the flashlight and stood in the dark for several minutes, surprisingly touched by the eulogy. It was impossible to separate these Alterants from the people you knew—hard not to imagine that lying beneath you was the person you’d grown to care for. In many ways, it was the same person. Although he didn’t quite understand how it worked yet, this boy who’d died of who-knew-what was just Tick along a different path. He’d probably been similar in personality, looked the same though much taller, had the same drive to help others—just like Tick had saved Sato’s life twice now.
And even though Sato had been grumpy with George more than once about this mission, in some ways it had helped him appreciate the fact that his friends—who were few in number—were alive and well, not dead like this poor kid. But it also made him sad, imagining another version of Tick dying so young. George said they didn’t quite know why these major Realities still followed the same general pedigrees and lineages despite having such vastly different histories, but there had to be a big reason for it.
It worked geographically, too. Tick’s Alterants had all been born in the same place and buried in the same vicinity. And, as far as Sato knew, Tick’s parents were always named Edgar and Lorena and he always had two sisters, Lisa and Kayla. Strange stuff. Interesting how it all worked. Lately George thought he was on the verge of a breakthrough.
It had something to do with soulikens, a phenomenon the old man was trying desperately to figure out. He rarely talked about it, claiming all his information would get jumbled up and confused if he tried to explain it. Once he could lay it before them piece by piece, in a rational and comprehensible discussion, he’d immediately gather the Realitants to do so—something he’d been promising for months.
Soulikens. All Sato knew was that it had something to do with the electricity that existed within the human body. Actual and real electricity. Words like signals and impulses and imprints were thrown around, but never enough at once to make any sense of it. The Realitants would just have to be patient and wait for George to get it all together inside his thick skull.
But Sato had learned some things on his own, and as he stood in the darkness, enjoying the cool air, the quiet, the peace he always felt in a cemetery, he thought about one of them. Electricity was an essential physical element in making the heart pump. It seemed impossible that the human body could create electricity, but it was true. And the fact that the heart—the most important organ and the symbol of so many things in life—depended so greatly on it meant . . .
Well, he didn’t know what it meant. But it had something to do with soulikens, and something to do with his mission to find dead Alterants of Tick. Except every time Sato tried to put the pieces together, it got jumbled and
confusing. No wonder George was so insistent that he couldn’t talk about it yet.
Sato felt a headache coming on. He reached into his pocket and pushed the little button that signaled he was ready to wink back to HQ.
A nice, long morning nap. That’s exactly what he needed. Folding his arms and shivering at the cold that had seeped through his thick coat and chilled his skin, he waited for Rutger to bring him home.
A minute passed, then two. To his surprise, two people appeared in front of him—one short and fat, the other tall and skinny. He didn’t need to shine the light on them to know who they were, but he did anyway.
Rutger threw up one of his pudgy arms to block the brightness. He held a Barrier Wand in the other. “Point that back at your feet, Sato! I’d like my eyes to last another decade or two!”
Sato didn’t budge, hoping they couldn’t see the big smile that flashed across his face.
Mothball, towering over her best friend and standing like a pile of sticks thrown together at the last minute with glue and draped with loose-fitting clothes, merely squinted. “Master Sato, best be puttin’ down your torch there. ’Less you’re wantin’ to have a nice-sized pair of fists box them sad little ears of yours.”
Sato did as she said, snapping back to the reality of the situation as he did so. Why had they come? Something had to be wrong. A trickle of panic wiped his grin completely away.
“Wait,” he said. “What are you guys doing here? What happened?”
Rutger, temporarily blinded by Sato’s trick with the flashlight, was making his way forward, waddling along on his short legs and reaching out with his free hand to make sure he didn’t bump into anything. “Calm down, you worry-wart. Everything’s fine.”
Mothball’s eyes seemed to have already adjusted. She made it to Sato before Rutger was even halfway there. “The wee man is right, Master Sato. No need for your worries. Just come to give ya a bit of a break, we ’ave. Thought we’d come and visit me mum and dad. Let ya see what real nice folks are like here in the Fifth.”
Sato felt a strong surge of relief, which made him worry that maybe he was worrying too much. Oh shut up, he told himself. “Serious? We’re going to see your parents?” He was surprised at how much the idea lifted him.
“Right ya are,” Mothball replied. “’Long as we can get our guide here to quit stumbling about like an eyeless toad. Come on, Rutger, set your dials and switches and get on with it.”
Rutger grumbled something too quiet to make out, then held the Barrier Wand up, concentrating. “A light, please?”
Sato shined the flashlight on the Wand, then asked, “Where do they live? Around here?”
“No, grumpy cheeks,” Rutger responded as he turned a dial or two, his tongue caught between his lips. “We’re going to wink to another cemetery near them. It’s a good ten thousand miles from here, so hold your hats.”
“I’m not wearin’ a ruddy hat,” Mothball said.
“It’s an expression,” Rutger huffed. “Alright, we’re ready to go, and I’m locked onto all of our nanolocators. Here we go.”
Without another warning, Rutger pushed the button on top of the Wand. Sato heard the metallic click and felt the familiar tingle on his neck, and then everything changed.
It was daytime, the sun above almost blinding. Sato shielded his eyes, and at first he thought that what he saw in front of him was a trick of the light on his mind. But then it came into better focus, and he had no doubt.
Several people were trying to kill each other with swords.
And they were dressed like clowns.
Chapter
10
~
Ribbons of Orange
Tick couldn’t believe how quiet Paul and Sofia had been since coming down the stairs—especially Sofia. The girl could never keep her mouth shut. And Paul—he had to be terrified to stay so silent. And his face showed it. Tick thought about how many weeks he’d been dying to see these guys, and now that they were here, he’d give anything to send them safely away.
“What do you mean?” Master George asked Jane after a long period of silence, Jane seemingly content to let her pronouncement sink in. “What plan are you talking about, and why woul
d you want us to witness it?”
Tick had been trying to look at the floor, avoiding the menacing mask on Jane’s face. But his eyes kept drawing back to it, fascinated at its almost magical ability to change expressions. Upon Master George’s question, it melted into compassion, almost sadness.
“You have always known my wishes,” she said in a flat voice, as if beginning a long lecture. “My ways and means may have changed—certainly my abilities have—but I’ve never wavered from my lifetime mission, George. And that is to see the suffering of countless Alterants end. To create one and only one Reality, where the strongest of each one of us can live, and where we can stop the torturous splitting of worlds.”
“I’ve never heard you put it quite that way before,” Master George said. “I remember your talk of a Utopia, a paradise, a place where all can be happy. The way you describe it now sounds more like the wishes of an evil, insane, power-hungry monster. What’s happened to you, Jane?”
She paused to let him speak, but then acted as if she hadn’t heard a word he said, continuing her lecture without missing a beat. “The first step of my plan is not going to be easy. I hardly expect any of you to understand what I do or to give it your blessing. But I couldn’t possibly care less. For what the lot of you have done to me, I don’t expect to let most of you live long enough to see the end come to pass.”
She paused, turning her head to look at each person in the room. “But you all will see what I plan for tomorrow. You’ll see it, and you’ll know my power once and for all.”
Master George wouldn’t quit pushing. “Jane, this is madness.”
“Madness?” she repeated. “I tried it your way, the Realitants’ way. And look what I got in return.” She motioned to her face and robed body with her hideous hands then held them up for everyone to see. “The irony is, that by ruining me physically, you’ve helped me more than you know. Not only can I channel my abilities more acutely than ever before, but I’ve been reminded of what I knew from the beginning. That the only way to accomplish anything is by taking the hard road, the harsh road. The sometimes cruel and hateful road. Never before has it been so true that the ends will justify the means. I’ll never stray from the path again. Never.”
Tick felt heat simmering inside him as she spoke, growing and intensifying with every word. Though he didn’t really know the specifics of what she was talking about, he could hear the evil in her voice, the horrible intent of her words. He could almost feel it, just like the pulse that had brought him down here in the first place. The pulse. What had that been?
“As you can see,” Jane continued, “I’m learning more each and every day about how to use the gifts that have been given to me. Take the waterkelts, for example. You’d be amazed at how easy it is to manipulate the molecules of our favorite liquid.”
Tick’s anger grew, heat boiling in his chest. And despite his better judgment, this time he didn’t stop it. Jane had obviously noticed.
“Atticus, are we going to have a problem?” she asked coolly. But he thought he heard the slightest trace of concern, and she definitely took a small step backward. She feared him; he knew it.
“Tick,” his dad said next to him, turning toward him and gripping him by the shoulders. “Are you feeling it again? Push it away, hold it back, do something.” The worry creasing his face tore at Tick’s heart, so he looked away, back at Jane.
His mom squeezed his arm, then whispered in his ear. “Atticus, pull it back. Go through the breathing exercises. Son, we’re not going to let her hurt—”
“I won’t listen to another word she says!” Tick screamed. He was losing control and felt his body trembling. He had to do something. “We can’t just let her talk like this to us!” His skin burned. He looked at his arms, half-expecting to see blisters and smoke. But all was normal.
“Atticus—” his mom said.
She stepped away from him, as did his dad. Tick looked over at Sofia and Paul, their eyes wide. They were scared of him. They were all scared of him. He noticed Master George’s hand had slipped into his pocket, fingering something there. Tick knew it had to be another shot of whatever Sofia had used to knock him out in Chu’s mountain office building.
Tick didn’t know what to do. He felt the heat inside him, the power, weaken a little. He looked back at Jane, hoping to reignite it. She hadn’t moved, but her mask was pulled back in fury.
“You can’t stand against me,” Jane said. “Not now, not after what you did to me. Stop now, or you’ll spend the rest of your short life regretting it.”
“What did I do to you?” Tick spat back at her. “You tried to kill me!”
“What did you do? What did you do?” Jane stepped forward, closer than before, regaining her ground. “You took the strongest parts of the most powerful weapon ever created by man and melded them with a woman already equipped with a control over Chi’karda never seen before. That’s what you did, Atticus. Your selfish, cowardly act will end up being the very thing that will allow me to win.”
“It . . . will . . . not,” Tick said, concentrating with every ounce of brain power he could muster, trying to sense, to feel, to grasp the boiling Chi’karda within him. He remembered last year when Jane had pulled it out of him in a cloud of orange sparkles, a mist of tangible power. He tried to visualize it the same way, tried to touch it.
“Stop it,” Jane warned. “Stop it now!”
“Atticus,” his mom pleaded. “She’s right. Now’s not the time!”
“Tick, pull it back before you kill yourself!” Sofia yelled.
The others shouted similar words at him. Master George pulled what looked like an ordinary pen from his pocket. But Tick couldn’t stop. He couldn’t let Jane do anything to harm his friends and family.
He turned his attention back to her, focusing again on the burning power within him, holding onto it in a way he could’ve never described to anyone. Then he threw it at Jane. Screaming, he leaned forward and threw the power at her, pushing it away from him in a rush of energy and invisible flame.
A thunderclap shook the room as Jane stumbled backward, fiery sparks exploding all around her. Boxes tumbled, people fell to the ground. There was shouting and yelling. Somewhere, glass shattered. Another thunderclap, a thump of booming sound, shook the whole house. Streaks of orange mist swirled throughout the basement like ribbons of sunset, slashing this way and that. Tick felt as if lava flowed in his veins and thought his head might explode from the pressure.
Still, he kept pushing, kept aiming every bit of his strength at Jane.
She didn’t fall. She planted her feet against the onslaught. Her red mask raged. Thunder continued to blast the air in repeated bursts, filling the world full of noise. A loud, piercing, terrible noise that only fed Tick’s fire.
But then, somehow, through all that sound, he heard Jane’s voice, as crystal clear as if she’d spoken directly into his ear in a silent room. It took a moment for her words to register, for him to comprehend exactly what she was saying, but when it clicked, when he realized what he was jeopardizing, what he was risking, he immediately pulled it all back, all of it. He had no idea how he did it, but in an instant the power vanished, sucked back into him and quenched like a candle in a rainstorm.
Jane had said four words.
“I have your sisters.”
Chapter
11
~
Latitude and Longitude
Frazier Gunn walked through the thick forest, trying his hardest to ignore the humidity that tried to suck the life out of him and fill his lungs with heavy water. Every breath seemed an effort, and every inch of clothing clung to his skin. He was miserably uncomfortable.
And then there were the insects: almost microscopic gnats that swarmed in small packs around his nose and eyes, tiny dragonflies that appeared to love the darkness and warmth of the human inner ear—at least that’s where they kept trying to get to, wasps and bees. But the mosquitoes were the worst—big as moths and drinking up his
blood like miniature vampires. With his free hand, he swatted the latest one to land on his neck, then looked at the greasy dark smear on his palm. Disgusting.
His other hand was occupied, gripping a makeshift handle on the end of a thick rope, which dangled away behind him to its other end, tied loosely around the neck of a woman. He didn’t want to hurt her, but he couldn’t have her running away, either. Her long, black hair was matted against her face and head, and her clothes were soaked with sweat, but she kept Frazier’s pace, never uttering a word of complaint.
Yes, she was a criminal, but she was also an Alterant of Mistress Jane. She looked just like her except for the long mane of hair. But it was the same face, the same—
Frazier faltered in his steps, almost tripping over a big root. He’d forgotten—just for the barest of moments—that his boss no longer had the beauty and grace that had distinguished her for so many years. She’d yet to show him her face, but he’d seen enough—just her hands were enough—to know that the Higginbottom kid had done something truly horrific to her body. The poor woman Frazier dragged along behind him was a goddess compared to Mistress Jane now.
The thought saddened and angered him in equal parts, and when they rounded a massively thick oak tree, he accidentally jerked on the rope. The Alterant yelped behind him and stumbled to the ground, gurgling out a choke as the noose tightened. Frazier quickly got her back on her feet and apologized, though he knew it was empty and cold. He kept thinking of her as his boss, and he had to stop it.
On they went, hiking their way through the hot, wilted, miserable forest.
Frazier was exhausted. The only other person in the Realities to whom he’d dare entrust this assignment was Mistress Jane herself, and she obviously couldn’t do it. If two Alterants met face to face, bad things happened. Reginald Chu had discovered that little gem of information himself, and now he was stuck in some place Frazier hoped he’d never see. The Nonex. What a stupid name.