by Alane Adams
Sam shrugged. “I told you, I think Ms. Endera turned Platz into a lizard.”
She looked at Howie, who just shrugged, then back at Sam. “How? And how did she make it grow like that?”
“I don’t know,” Sam said.
“Sam, you need to be more careful,” Leo cautioned. “Endera is not who she pretends to be.”
Sam laughed. “Yeah, I kinda figured that out when she zapped that lizard into a monster.”
Leo flushed. “I’m sorry,” he began, but Howie slapped him on the back.
“Thanks for saving our bacon, bro.”
Keely paced along the fence. “We have to tell someone what happened.”
“Tell them what, Keely?” Sam argued. “Our new English teacher turned our old one into a lizard, and it tried to eat us? Who’s going to believe that?”
Keely stopped pacing and glared at him. “Well, we have to do something!”
Leo stepped forward. “My father will know what to do. My people know this Ms. Endera. She has been hunting Sam.”
“Hunting him? Why?” Keely asked.
Leo looked embarrassed. “I don’t know. My father hasn’t trusted me with the whole story.”
They were all silent for a moment, until Howie chimed in: “So . . . anyone up for a Chuggies run?”
Chuggies was Pilot Rock’s local hamburger joint. Howie’s uncle owned it and gave them free fries.
“You want to eat a burger after nearly being eaten alive?” Keely asked in disbelief. “What’s wrong with you?”
Howie looked to Sam for support. “I don’t know. I guess life-and-death situations make me hungry.”
The high-pitched sound of a bird trilling had Leo looking over his shoulder. “My father is close by. I have to find him and tell him what happened. But I should stay with Sam—”
“Don’t worry about me, Leo. I’ll be fine.”
Leo hesitated. Then the trilling sounded again, and he backed away. “Stick with the others, Sam. I’ll see you later.” Then he ran off.
Keely tightened up her backpack. “I have to get dinner ready for my dad, so I’m out.”
“Can’t your mom do it?” Sam asked. “You heard Leo: we should stick together until we figure this out.”
Keely’s face tightened, and something flickered in her eyes. “No. My mom can’t do it. She’s not here. I mean . . . she’s dead.”
Sam flushed. Insert foot in mouth and swallow, he thought.
“Sorry,” he said awkwardly, but she was already walking away. Howie smacked him in the back of the head and hurried to catch up to her.
Howie lived two blocks from school. When they got to his street, he stopped to salute them. “Keep away from man-eating lizards,” he cracked.
“Lock your door,” Sam warned.
Howie laughed, backing away. “Dude, I live with ten people. Have you seen my brothers? They’d eat that lizard for breakfast.”
Sam waited until Howie was safely inside, then hurried after Keely. “Sorry about your mom,” he started, as he fell in step beside her.
“Forget it. It’s not your fault.”
For once, Sam wished he had the right words, but nothing came to mind. They walked in silence for a while. She stopped in front of a red brick house.
“This is me,” she said.
“Okay, well, double-bolt the door, all right? I don’t want a lizard to eat you.”
She didn’t smile, just headed up the cement path, her head down, like she was someplace else.
Sam entered through the front door and caught the familiar smell of a burnt casserole.
“Mom, I’m home!”
“In the kitchen,” she called out.
Sam dropped his bag by the door. His mom was just pulling dinner out of the oven. She looked flustered. Her T-shirt was spattered with tomato sauce, and her long black hair was tied back in a ponytail, but most of it had come loose.
“Here, let me get it.” Sam grabbed an oven mitt and lifted the heavy dish onto the counter. The macaroni casserole had its usual blackened crust over the top.
“I burned it again,” she lamented. “I’ll never understand that oven. How was your day?” she asked, turning to smile at him.
“It was school.” He gave her a quick hug. “Long, boring, and teachers breathing down my neck.”
She held him at arm’s length. “Why are there holes in your shirt?” She frowned, poking at the small tears. “Have you been fighting again?”
Sam hated that look in her eyes, like he had disappointed her. He stepped back. “No. It’s a long story. Let’s eat. I’m starved.”
“Don’t change the subject. I’m off tonight, so I’ve got plenty of time to listen.”
Sam raised his eyebrows. “You got a night off?”
“Yup.” She slid two plates out of the cupboard. “I had this feeling you missed me, so I asked for a break.”
“Great!” he said, and meant it. He wished she had a better life. His mom worked long nights at the lumber mill, dispatching trucks. She was stuck working there because his dad had left them with nothing. Her eyes held a sadness that never went away. It had been there ever since the day two years ago when his father hadn’t come home.
They sat down at the table and began to eat.
“So, if you weren’t fighting, what happened to your shirt?” she asked over a forkful of casserole.
Sam opted for the truth. “A giant bat attacked me,” he said, looking her in the eye. “And then it disappeared like that—poof!”
She grew completely still; then, as he had hoped, she laughed. “Ha, ha, very funny,” she said. “Fine, none of my business. How are things at school?”
“I’ve got a new English teacher. And this girl, Keely, is helping me with math.”
“Is she cute? The girl, not the teacher.”
Sam rolled his eyes. No way was he talking to his mom about girls.
The doorbell rang as they cleared the dishes.
“I’ll get it,” he offered.
Sam opened the door. It was Rego, the dwarf from the garage.
“I need to speak with your mother,” he said.
“She’s not home.” Sam tried to shut the door, but Rego stuck his boot in the way, wedging it open. Before Sam could wrestle it closed, his mom came up behind him.
“Rego, what’s happened? Why are you here?”
And that’s how Sam found out that his mom knew much more about the incredible events of Sam’s day than he ever could have imagined.
Chapter Six
Inside the red brick house, Keely checked her watch for the tenth time. Her dad should have been home by now. She sat at the dining room table, set for two. The candle she had lit sputtered fitfully. She had not eaten, hoping he would show up. It was his favorite. Roast beef and steamed spinach. The meal was cold now.
Her hands shook as she made a mental list of reasons today’s events in the gym could be explained. One, she had been exposed to some kind of tainted food at lunch and was hallucinating. Two, she had contracted a foreign virus and was currently in a feverish coma, having a vivid dream. Three, Sam was right, and Ms. Endera had turned their old teacher into a lizard. None of her choices was comforting in the least. She leaned forward and blew out the candle.
The thought of eating alone curled her stomach. She had tried to fill the gap left by her mom, but it was hard. Even harder for her dad, she remembered, awash with guilt. Her eyes flicked to the picture of the three of them that sat on the hutch. Happier times. Before the tumor. Before the crushing sadness.
Sighing, she picked up the plates and took them to the kitchen, dumping them in the sink. It was tough enough losing one parent, but she felt alone in the world. Her hair needed trimming. She had outgrown most of her clothes. But she was too embarrassed to say anything to her dad. Not when she was to blame. If only she had seen how much pain her mom was in, maybe she could have done something. That’s what Keely kept telling herself.
The doorbell rang, interrupting
her guilty thoughts. Her dad must be home at last, she thought, skipping to the door and opening it.
Ms. Endera stood on the porch, a malicious grin on her face.
“Hello, Keely. How would you like to take a trip?” Ms. Endera opened her hand and blew some black powder into Keely’s face. Keely sneezed, and then all feeling left her body.
Howie’s homecoming was unspectacular. The household was in its usual state of chaos. When you were number eight of ten siblings, you tended to get overlooked. Howie’s parents had named their brood alphabetically, in order to better remember their names: Andrew, Brianna, Cody, Daniel, Ellen, the twins— Frankie and Gemma—then Howie, Isabella, and Jessie. The older ones hogged the TV, the bathroom, and the attention of their parents; the youngest two hogged whatever was left, leaving Howie with zippo.
“Hi, Mom,” he said, trying unsuccessfully to give her a hug as she moved away to prevent one of the twins from grabbing the dish in her hands.
“Howie, be a dear and get the table set.”
Four of his siblings were sprawled on the couch, watching TV. Howie sighed and opened the silverware drawer. “A giant lizard attacked me today,” he said loudly as he set the table. “I think it was my old English teacher.”
“That’s nice, Howie,” his mom said absently.
“Yeah, I thought so, too,” he said softly, carefully placing the silverware in its proper place.
Everyone in Howie’s family ignored his tall tales. They knew he made up stories because nothing exciting ever happened to him. He simply couldn’t compete with his siblings. They all had some kind of special talent. Andrew and Cody were football stars. Brianna and Ellen ruled the soccer field. Daniel and the twins were gifted pianists and flute players. Even Izzie and Jessie were excelling at ballet lessons. Howie had nothing—not a single trophy, award, or prize to show for his childhood, besides a meager collection of participation ribbons.
His mom put her fingers to her mouth and let out a loud whistle, signaling that dinner was ready. There was a stampede to the table. Howie sank into a seat at the end, waiting for the food to be passed. By the time the platter of roast beef reached him, there was only one gristly piece left. He went to stab it with his fork, but his brother Cody grabbed it with two hands, winking at him as he bit into it.
“Sorry, bro; every man for himself.”
Before Howie could complain, Jessie started crying because Izzie had taken her biscuit. The house erupted in yelling, shouting, and screaming. Giving up, Howie slunk away from the table, hoping to find something in the fridge to take to his room. As he studied the containers of leftovers, a scratching noise came at the back door, then the sound of rattling, as if someone were trying to open it.
Half hoping it was the Platz-lizard thing so he could show everyone that his story was true, Howie went to the door and pulled the curtain aside. The porch was empty. Probably the neighbor’s cat digging in the trash again. Great, he thought. I’ll be the one who has to clean it up. But when Howie opened the door to shoo it away, he came face-to-face with Ms. Endera.
“Hello, Howie.” She opened her hand. She had a handful of dirt, or at least that was the last thing Howie remembered. She blew it in his face, and the lights went out in his brain.
While Sam’s mom, Abigail, made a pot of coffee, Sam stared across the table at Rego, who, in turn, watched his iolar, Lagos. The bird was perched on top of the refrigerator, gazing vigilantly out the window. The wheezing hum of the central heating system echoed the tension in the room.
Abigail joined them, gripping her cup like it was a lifeline to sanity.
“What’s the news, Rego?”
“News? Abigail, surely you know the news is sitting right here.” He jabbed a finger at Sam. “The boy’s alive. You led us to believe he was dead.”
She flushed. “It was safer that way. You know why.”
“I’ll have to take him back with me.”
She shook her head firmly. “He’s not going back.”
Sam looked between them, completely confused by the conversation and by the fact that his mom seemed to be on a first-name basis with this dwarf. “Does anybody want to explain where ‘back’ is?”
Rego ignored him. “Abigail, milady, the High Council will want to know he lives.”
She jumped up and started pacing. “If I send him back, the witches will find a way to get to him. I’ll take him away from here, somewhere safe.”
“The witches have already found him,” Rego thundered. “Endera Tarkana is here. And she’s brought her black wolves with her to hunt the boy.”
“How?” She looked at Sam.
He shrugged. “I told you. I have a new English teacher.”
“And?” Her face was white as she waited for him to go on.
Sam flushed, mumbling the rest. “And I think she turned Mr. Platz into a lizard. It sort of tried to eat me today.”
“Sam, you should have told me. And you”—she whirled on Rego—“you left him out there with those black monsters. He could have been killed!”
Rego’s shoulders stiffened. “I was guarding the stonefire, milady, so no more of those infernal spellcasters could cross over. Chief Pate-wa and his tribe were watching over Sam. I made sure of it.”
“I’ve heard enough. I’m taking Sam away. Tonight.” She grabbed her purse, fumbling for the keys.
“The red sun is back.”
At the dwarf’s quiet words, Abigail turned even whiter, as if all the blood had left her body. “No. No, it’s not possible.”
“Tell that to the farmers who have lost their crops this year because of its poisonous rays. The boy must come back. Surely you can see that.”
Sam couldn’t take it any longer. “Stop!” he shouted. “No one’s taking me anywhere.” He looked from his mom to the dwarf. “Not until somebody tells me what’s going on here. I mean, witches and wolves? Man-eating lizards? Tell me this is some kind of bad dream, and that I’m going to wake up soon. Please.”
“Sam.” His mom sat down and took his hand. “I don’t know where to begin—”
“Boy, your mother and father are from another realm called Orkney,” Rego cut in. “Your father’s a descendant of Odin, and your mother—”
“Rego, don’t!” Abigail interrupted.
“He needs to know,” Rego insisted, his eyes fixed on Sam. “Your mother is a witch. Your parents crossed through the stonefire when you were a tiny thing to protect you from the rest of them witches, like Endera Tarkana. The witches killed your father, and now they’re after you. Oops”—he looked at Abigail’s stricken face—“I’ve said too much.”
“Robert’s dead?” she whispered.
Sam barely took in the part where Rego had said his mother was a witch. All he heard was the part about his father being dead. His heart turned into a chunk of ice. He had always imagined his dad living it up somewhere, playing the slots in Vegas or fly-fishing on the California coast. Dead was something different altogether.
Chapter Seven
Rego! Answers. Now,” Abigail demanded.
The dwarf licked his lips before answering. “Two years ago, when Lord Barconian returned to help lead the battle against the witches, it did not go as planned.”
Sam’s mind reeled. “Lord Barconian? Was that his real name?” He looked from Rego to his mom.
Abigail nodded, her hands twisting in her lap. “All this time . . . when he didn’t come back, I hoped he was still alive, still fighting. What happened?”
“The witches tricked him into going to the Ring of Brogar,” Rego said grimly.
Sam gripped the table, feeling dizzy. “What’s the Ring of Brogar?”
“It’s an ancient circle of giant stones. Centuries ago, eight of the most powerful witches were trapped inside them as punishment for their crimes. Endera lured your father there with the promise of peace, a way to end the war between us and the witches. The Council warned him not to trust her, but your father was a stubborn man. Once he entered the ring,
the witches sprang their trap. Lord Barconian’s troops were being slaughtered. He surrendered himself in exchange for the lives of his men.” Rego took a deep breath. “The witches must have incinerated him with their damnable magic.”
“And his men? Did they escape alive?” Abigail’s voice was tinged with faint hope.
“No, milady, the witches laid waste to them without a shred of mercy.” The dwarf gritted his teeth at the bitter memory. “By the time we arrived with reinforcements, there were just the remains. We were burying them when we heard a voice. It was my brother, Amicus, trapped under the bodies of five men. He lost an arm, but he survived to tell us what happened.”
Abigail sagged with despair. “Endera always swore she’d have her revenge. She tried to take Robert from me when we were engaged; then, when he wouldn’t accept her advances, she promised to take my son, driving us from our home to this place. It seems she got her revenge after all.”
“We found this . . .” Rego pulled out a worn leather pouch and untied the string, tipping the contents onto the table. A rock the size of a quail’s egg rolled out. It looked like ordinary granite with rough, uneven edges.
Sam picked up the stone with trembling hands and studied its golden flecks. He remembered it well. His father had worn the pouch around his neck every day. He said Sam’s grandfather had given it to him. Sam let the rock drop on the table.
“Is all this true?” Sam whispered, lifting his eyes to look at his mother.
“Honey . . .” She laid her hand on his arm, but Sam recoiled in disgust, jumping to his feet.
“You’re a witch, like Ms. Endera?”
“Sam, let me explain.”
“No.” He backed away. “You knew. You knew all along why Dad left. And you never said anything. I thought he abandoned us, and you just let me hate him. How could you do that?”
Abigail looked stricken. “I don’t know, Sam. How could I explain I was a witch and we were from another realm?”
“Well, you should have said something!” Sam yelled. “Anything would have been better than letting me believe he didn’t care about us.”
