Also on the list of things Joey didn’t know was if he would ever make it out of the Imaginary Vortex. There was no guarantee he was going to survive it. The whirlwind had carried Joey and DeMayne so far up they couldn’t see the ground. If it spit them out now, they would surely both fall to their deaths. Joey didn’t want to live without his imagination, but he didn’t want to die, either. Not if he could help it. What he wanted was to get down, but how? No sooner had the question entered Joey’s mind than his sneakers grazed against hard red dirt.
What the—
It turned out Joey wasn’t as high up as he thought. He had just lost all sense of direction. The wind seemed to loosen its grip on him and DeMayne, lowering them to the ground and pushing them along in a straight line. They bounded up and down in high arcs like astronauts on a moonwalk. Each jump was a little smaller than the last as they made a bumpy descent, both of them still holding tight to the sword.
DeMayne tried to pull the blade away from Joey one last time. He was bigger and stronger, but he had no leverage while they were flying through the air. That evened the odds. “Out of your mind,” DeMayne muttered. “You’re out of your mind. Throwing away the wand was one thing, but THIS! Sending us in here! Give me that sword,” he spit, struggling with Joey. “At least I don’t need magic to kill you with it!”
Joey put a foot on DeMayne’s chest and straightened out his leg, kicking him away as he pulled back on the sword. They broke apart and tumbled to the ground. As Joey rolled to a stop, he lost control of the blade. DeMayne landed two feet away. Three at the most. The sword was closer to him, and he was the one who came up with it. He got up fast, filled with rage at what Joey had done to him. Joey watched his arm go back, ready to stab him through the heart with the broken tip of the blade.
“Wait!” Joey blurted out. “Stop!”
“Stop?” DeMayne repeated. “Did you just tell me to stop?” An unhinged, broken laugh leaked out of his mouth. “Joey, the way I feel right now, I might not ever stop.”
“But the sword! It’s still going!”
“What?”
“The sword’s still working!” Joey shouted, pointing up at DeMayne. “Look! See for yourself!” DeMayne paused and studied the blade in his hands. Sure enough, the Sword of Storms was still going strong. All around, bloodred air rushed past them, sparkling with the fairy dust DeMayne had blown into the vortex, but not so much as a speck of glitter touched them. The sword had created a pocket of clean air inside the vortex—a protective whirlwind to counter its magic and keep it at bay. “The vortex didn’t take away our imagination,” Joey exclaimed. “We’ve still got it!” He was delirious with relief, despite the fact that DeMayne was about to hack him into tiny pieces.
Or so Joey thought. DeMayne’s rage cooled instantly once he realized he was safe from the effects of the vortex. He looked at his hands, as if checking for signs of infection. Satisfied with what he found, he turned his attention back to the sword, waving it around to determine the limits of its reach. It was much easier to handle inside the vortex. “Fascinating,” he said. “This sword always did have a mind of its own.”
“It’s protecting us?” Joey asked.
“More likely, it’s protecting itself,” DeMayne corrected. “But I’ll take it. The result is the same either way. Today is your lucky day, Joey.”
“How’s that?”
“First off, I’m not going to kill you.” DeMayne brushed himself off and straightened out his tie. “I’m not going to let anything happen to you in here. I still need you to get me the wand, don’t forget. We’re back where we started, you and I.”
“A little past that, I think.” Joey gestured at the raging storm that surrounded them. The vortex was bigger on the inside. It went on for miles like a Martian landscape in a sandstorm. Joey realized it was another gateway. The red tornado was taking them to another realm, just like the famous twister that had carried Dorothy’s house to Oz.
“How do we get back?” DeMayne wondered aloud. He wasn’t really asking Joey what to do, but Joey had an answer for him anyway.
“We can’t go back,” Joey said. “Only forward. That’s how these things work.” He looked around, his eyes settling on the hazy outline of a castle in the distance. DeMayne saw it too.
“All right, then.” DeMayne motioned with the sword in the direction of the castle. “Lead the way.”
They stalked through the windy landscape together, protected by the magic of the sword. Conflicting emotions warred inside Joey as DeMayne urged him on with the sword at his back. Joey wanted to reach Camelot, of course, but he wanted to go there with his friends, not DeMayne. He knew no good could come out of the Invisible Hand finding the Lost Kingdom. If he had a chance to stop it from happening, he had to act, but he didn’t know what to do. Joey thought about summoning the wand and using it against DeMayne, but something stopped him. Calling the wand back was what DeMayne wanted him to do, which felt like a very bad idea. There was no telling what kind of tricks he had up his sleeve, even here. Especially here, Joey thought. DeMayne probably didn’t even have to kill Joey to take ownership of the wand inside the vortex. All he had to do was push him out into the imagination-stripping storm to remove him from his position as master of the wand. If Joey meant to use the wand against DeMayne, he would get one shot. That was it. He didn’t want to think about what would happen if he missed.
Another thought occurred to Joey. It was less attractive than fighting, but more certain of success, depending on how he chose to look at it. Joey had the power to keep DeMayne from getting the wand just by taking two steps to his right. If he moved beyond the sword’s protective boundaries, he would lose the ability to do magic and the wand would stay wherever it was, lost in space. But DeMayne would still find Camelot—even without the wand—and Joey didn’t have the guts to throw himself into the storm a second time. He had made a split-second decision to push himself and DeMayne into the vortex. It had been a rash impulse; otherwise he wouldn’t have done it. The more time he had to think about the idea, the less likely he was to do it again.
Then he saw Scarlett. After that, the plan was off the table completely. They came across her sitting on the ground by herself, looking traumatized. Joey watched from safety as she tried to use her brushes. Nothing happened. The vortex had permanently disarmed her. “Keep going,” DeMayne said without breaking his stride. Scarlett was only a few feet away, but she couldn’t see them through the cyclone. “Poor thing,” he added, making a heartless tsk-tsk noise as they passed. “She appears to have lost her muse.”
Joey was shocked by DeMayne’s total lack of empathy. “You don’t want to stop?”
“What for?” DeMayne asked. “Don’t tell me you feel sorry for her. I can assure you, if your positions were reversed, she wouldn’t shed a single tear for you.”
“I’m not sorry,” Joey said. “I’m just surprised.” Scarlett had a dead-eyed, defeated stare as she gave up trying to make magic with her art. Joey actually did feel a little sorry for her, in spite of himself. “You’re just going to leave her there by herself?”
“Where we’re going, she can’t follow,” DeMayne said without looking back. “Believe me, I know. She’s not the first person we’ve lost to this place. I’m just glad it’s not me this time.”
“That’s your philosophy, isn’t it? Me, me, me.”
“There’s nothing I can do for her,” DeMayne told Joey as Scarlett broke down behind them. “She’s not one of us anymore, thanks to you. If you want to feel bad about that, go ahead, but don’t expect me to go back and try to help her find her lost magic. I’ve got more important things to do. As far as I’m concerned, the number of people that currently have magic are the only people who should have it. I’m not under any obligation to share with anyone. No one ever shared with me. If you want magic, earn it. If you want to keep it, fight for it. Some people win. Some people lose. Scarlett lost. That’s life.”
“I get the feeling that with you, a lot mo
re people lose than win,” Joey said.
DeMayne shrugged. “That’s the nature of any game. Your generation doesn’t understand that. You want everybody to win, but everybody can’t win. If they do, the game doesn’t matter. If everybody gets a trophy, none of them mean anything.”
“That’s the problem with your generation,” Joey countered. “You think life is some all-or-nothing, winner-takes-all game. Whoever dies with the most toys wins. That’s old. That’s over. You don’t get it. Things like this sword, the wand… they aren’t trophies. Magic is more than that.”
“You’re going to tell me what magic is?” DeMayne said. “Really?”
“Magic is a chance to change the world, but you’re too selfish to take it. The world is falling apart in a million different ways and you won’t lift a finger to help. You’re having too much fun playing your game. I know you think you’re winning, but if we don’t do something soon, it’s gonna be game over—for everybody.”
“I’ve been hearing that kind of talk for longer than you’ve been alive,” DeMayne replied, unconcerned. “The truth is, this world will last much longer without magic than it would with it. The little people out there… the norms? They can’t understand things like this.” DeMayne motioned to the magical windstorm raging around them. “God only knows what they’d try to do with this kind of power. By keeping magic under control, I keep the world turning, even if it’s just for a little while longer. I’m not a villain, Joey. I’m actually the hero of this story. I may not be the hero you want, but I’m the hero you need.”
“Yeah, you’re a real man of the people,” Joey said. “Except you already told me you want to make the world your playground, remember?”
“What’s wrong with that? I’m not allowed to enjoy my work?” DeMayne let out a small laugh. “I’m working my tail off here, Joey. Sure, I’m one of the lucky people who gets out of bed happy every morning. I love what I do for a living, but no one ever gave me anything. I’ve worked hard to get where I am.”
They broke through the vortex and came out the other side. A towering white castle stood before them. DeMayne grinned like a wolf that had just cornered a rabbit.
“I deserve this.”
19 The Lost Kingdom
Camelot was the polar opposite of Dracula’s dark castle in Transylvania. Crafted entirely out of white stone, decorated with gold trimming, and topped with royal-blue spires, it was a grand, inspiring sight that filled Joey with a sense of hope and fascination. King Arthur’s castle looked like something out of a fairy tale—a larger version of Cinderella’s castle from Disney World, only this was a real magic kingdom. Joey and DeMayne approached the gates of the city in awe. The doors were shut tight and looked to be every bit as strong as the day they were first hung on their hinges. All of Camelot looked brand-new, as if the castle had been magically protected against the ravages of time. All was quiet and still. The castle appeared to be deserted.
The Sword of Storms stopped humming in DeMayne’s hand, turning itself off without a fight. DeMayne looked down at the sword, stunned. Joey got the sense that the feisty relic had never gone to sleep on its own before. He wondered if something about Camelot had caused it to shut down. The sword’s magic wasn’t required to protect them anymore; that much was certain. The savage winds of the Imaginary Vortex raged around the castle, but they kept a respectful distance. Something inside Camelot gave it shelter from the storm. Joey had an idea what it was.
A boulder stood between them and the gates of the castle. It was fractured at the base where someone had driven a black iron spike into it. A series of cracks splintered out from the point of impact, and a dark energy glowed inside the stone. Joey and DeMayne looked it over together. Joey, showing greater interest than DeMayne, was the one to find the thin slit on top of the rock. An opening just big enough for a sword.
“Look at this,” he said, feeling the gap with his fingers. “This is the stone. The stone! As in, the sword in the stone.”
“It was,” DeMayne half agreed, crouching down to examine the spike. “Not anymore.” The black iron spike was hard for Joey to look at. It seemed to pulse as if it had a heartbeat. White smoke wafted out of the cracks in the rock like evaporation coming off dry ice. It drifted away from the castle, fading into invisibility. “Now it’s something else. This is what powers the vortex.”
Joey looked back at the vortex and saw a small, hooded figure emerge from within. It was a young woman dressed in black robes. Joey recognized her instantly. “I was wondering if she was going to show up.”
DeMayne stood up, holding the Sword of Storms in a defensive stance as the woman approached. “Who’s this? Another friend of yours?”
“I don’t know if we’re friends exactly. The last time I saw her, she left me for dead in the Himalayas.”
“Don’t be so dramatic,” the young woman told Joey once she reached the stone. “Everything worked out, didn’t it?” As she spoke, her soft, waifish features gave way to that of a more mature, middle-aged woman. She gave Joey a congratulatory pat on the shoulder. “I knew you’d find your way.” She turned to face DeMayne, aging as she moved. DeMayne wrinkled his nose in disgust as she withered into an elderly woman, close to death. “I didn’t expect you to be here with him,” the old woman said, shaking a gnarled, accusatory finger. “You weren’t invited, Ledger DeMayne.”
“How do you know me?” DeMayne asked. “Who are you?”
“This is Fate,” Joey said. “Or the Fates, depending on how you look at it.”
“Really.” DeMayne cocked an eyebrow. He had a suspicious smile on his face. “I don’t believe in fate.”
The old woman met DeMayne’s gaze and held his eyes for a few seconds before she finally gave in and returned his smile, minus several teeth. “Fair enough,” she croaked. “Neither do I.” She pulled down the hood of her cloak, hiding her face for a moment, and threw it back to reveal her most substantial transformation yet. In the blink of an eye, she became someone completely new. A young woman with dark brown skin, hazel eyes, and hair that fell down around her shoulders in thick white braids. Beneath her robes she wore a stylish green and gold outfit with a golden saber on her hip.
“What the—” Joey sputtered, flabbergasted. The old woman was now a very young, dashing, and formidable buccaneer. She looked like a pirate from some kind of fantasy world, and who was to say she wasn’t? “What’s going on here?” Joey asked. “Why do you keep changing the way you look?” He figured she was using a glamour charm, but what for, he had no idea. What was she hiding? Who was she?
“I’m not changing my image,” the woman said. “I’m changing your perception of it. Adjusting your memory. You see me as one thing but remember me as another. This, however… this is my true face.”
“You’re not Fate, then?” Joey asked.
“I never said I was Fate. My name is Hypnova. I’m a Secreteer. At least I was. I’m not with the Order anymore. Not for a long time.”
“What Order? The Order of the Majestic?” Joey asked hopefully.
Hypnova shook her head. “The Clandestine Order of Secreteers.”
Joey waited for Hypnova to elaborate, but she failed to offer up any more details. Am I supposed to know what that is? he wanted to ask.
Joey checked to see if DeMayne knew what Hypnova was talking about, but he had already bailed on the conversation. By the time Joey had turned his head, DeMayne was already at the gates of Camelot. Hypnova paid him no mind.
“The Secreteers are the guardians of all things fantastic and unbelievable,” she explained to Joey. “Sworn protectors of a land created long ago as a refuge for magic—for imaginary forces that were hidden away to ensure their survival.”
“Okay,” Joey said, struggling to take everything in. “That sounds good. But you said you’re not a Secreteer anymore?”
“No.”
“So you’re not doing that job anymore, then? What’s going on? Why are we here? What do you want with me?”
&
nbsp; “I want the same thing you want,” Hypnova told Joey. “I’m here because the world needs to change, and that starts here. Today. With you.”
A few feet away, DeMayne was trying to force the castle doors open. They wouldn’t budge. Undaunted, he aimed the Sword of Storms at the gates, intending to blow them down. Again, the sword refused to obey. Frustrated, DeMayne banged on the doors with the bottom of the hilt, ordering them to open for him. “You can’t get in that way,” Hypnova called out, a taunting edge in her voice. DeMayne turned to look at her with murder in his eyes, but she wasn’t scared. “Think about where you are,” she told him. “The Caliburn Shield is in there, keeping the vortex away. It keeps everything away. The castle is impenetrable. It has been for centuries.”
“So how do we get in?” DeMayne barked at Hypnova. “If you know so much, you must have a plan.”
Hypnova smiled. “I do. And you’re not part of it.” She looked at Joey. “An Arthurian relic blocks our path. It’s going to take another one to remove it.”
Joey understood what she was asking.
“The wand,” Joey said, his heart sinking. “I can’t call it.” He gestured to DeMayne. “He’ll do anything to get his hands on it. He’ll kill me.… He said he’d kill my family if I don’t give it to him.”
“What if he doesn’t remember you?” Hypnova asked.
Joey blinked. “What?”
Hypnova smiled. “What if I made him forget? He can’t hurt you if he doesn’t remember who you are.”
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