“I can’t believe it,” Tick said.
His mom folded her arms defiantly. “Well, why not? I know more about science and quantum physics than most people, thank you very much. And now that all of this is out, I can tell you one more thing. I expect you to hit those books Master George sent with a passion, and I’ll be on top of you every step of the way, quizzing and pushing. You’ve got a lot to learn, son. A lot.”
“How did I end up with all these smart people?” Dad asked to no one in particular.
“Hush, Edgar,” Mom whispered, patting him on the knee.
Dad looked at Tick. “I love when she says that.”
Tick stood up, surprised he could do so—everything seemed to spin around him. “You’ve got . . . to be . . . kidding me.”
“Now, look here—” his mom began.
“No, Mom, that’s not what I mean.”
“Then what do you mean?” Her eyebrows shot up when Tick laughed out loud.
“It’s just . . . that’s the coolest thing I’ve ever heard. My mom was a Realitant.” He took a seat again on the couch. “I guess it’s finally official where I got my brains from.” He paused. “Uh, no offense, Dad.”
Later that night, Tick sat in front of the fireplace, staring into the flickering flames. Fall had settled in on Deer Park, making everything cool and crisp. Dad was too stubborn to turn the heater on just yet, so Tick warmed himself before heading up to bed.
As he sat there, almost in a daze, fingering the Barrier Wand pendant through his shirt, his thoughts spun. He’d be fourteen years old in a couple of weeks—hard to believe. How different his life had become in just one year. Not only was he a member of a group that studied and worked to protect alternate realities, he had some freaky power that was completely out of control. He’d been pulled from school to be taught full-time by his mom, with weekly lessons with Mr. Chu, and was monitored constantly for any signs of Chi’karda trouble. It wouldn’t be proper to cause an earthquake and destroy half the town of Deer Park.
And always, always, there was the threat of a call for help from Master George. Who knew what waited on the other side of the horizon?
My mom was a Realitant, he thought. Holy—
A tap on his shoulder interrupted his thoughts. He turned to see Kayla, holding a teddy bear in one hand, a red-and-black scarf in the other. Her curly blonde hair brushed the shoulders of her pink pajamas.
“Well, what are you doing?” he asked, reaching out to ruffle her hair.
“This nasty old scarf was in my closet. Mommy said you lost your other ones.”
Tick looked at the dusty scarf clutched in her hand. He had to admit he’d thought about the missing scarf and his birthmark a few times in the last few weeks. It still made him uncomfortable to think people might be gawking at the ugly red thing on his neck. But for all that, he realized he never cared about it much when it was just Paul and Sofia around.
Kayla held out the scarf. “Want it?”
Tick took the scarf, then ran it through his hands, staring at the oh-so-familiar pattern of red and black. “Kayla, if I let you do something, do you promise not to tell Mom and Dad?”
“Will I get in trouble?”
“No—but I don’t want you to tell them. Don’t worry—this isn’t a bad thing. It’s a really good thing, actually. But we don’t want them to worry, now do we?”
Kayla shook her head.
“I want you to throw this into the fire.”
Her eyes lit up, almost as bright as the flames. She looked for all the world like he’d just offered her a lifetime pass to Disneyland. Burning things had always been the one no-no of which she was notoriously guilty.
“Really?” she asked, licking her lips.
“Really. But just this once, okay? You’d better not burn anything else. Promise?”
She nodded her head. “I promise.”
Tick handed her the scarf and scooted out of the way. “Go for it.”
Kayla wadded up the cloth into a ball, then stepped close to the fireplace. She looked one last time at Tick, as if she thought the opportunity had to be too good to be true. When he just nodded encouragingly, she turned back and threw the scarf into the fire. It took a second to catch, but then smoke billowed up as the flames began to eat away at the material. They both watched as it burned to ashes.
Tick stood up and gave her a hug. “Good job. You’re the best pyro I’ve ever met.”
“What’s a pie-row?”
“Nothing. You better get up to bed or Mom will take that teddy bear away.”
“’Kay. Good night.” She turned and ran out of the room, shuffling along with her tiny footsteps.
Tick watched her go, then thought of the stack of Realitant and science books sitting on his desk upstairs. “I’ve got a lot of work to do,” he said aloud to no one but himself.
He reached down and turned off the fire, then headed for his room.
Epilogue
Yellow and Red
Frazier Gunn hadn’t spoken to Mistress Jane for more than two months.
As he stood in the dark stone corridor outside her room, he suddenly wished he had another two months. This summons had been unexpected, and he felt the uncomfortable sweat of fear slicking his palms. Everyone in the castle knew something horrible had happened to Jane; they’d all heard the screams coming from her chambers, often long into the night.
She’d gone through no less than eleven servants—only half of them surviving to tell about it, though it did Frazier little good, since they all had sworn a vow of silence, on penalty of death.
Frazier steeled himself, wiped his hands on his pants, and knocked on the door.
On the third thunk, the door swung open violently, slamming against the stone wall on the other side.
“Enter, Frazier.”
It was a voice he barely recognized. Raw and scratchy—weak, as if Jane had swallowed a glass of lava, scorching her throat and vocal chords.
“Enter,” she repeated.
Frazier couldn’t see where she was in the room.
He stepped across the threshold, then closed the door. The only light in the room was a fire, burning hotly with several fresh logs, spitting and cracking. With a shudder, he remembered back to Jane’s flying cinder display, and he hoped there’d be no repeat tonight.
“You called for me?” Frazier asked the darkness.
A figure stepped out of the shadows behind a deep wardrobe in the corner between the bed and a large open window, where curtains fluttered in the breeze. Though Frazier could not yet see any details, he knew it was his boss. But she appeared to have something draped over her head.
“It’s good to see you again, Mistress Jane,” he said, fighting to keep his voice steady.
“My dear Frazier,” she said, her voice the sound of rocks rubbing on sandpaper. “You will never know how very good it is to see you.”
For the first time, Frazier realized there was a slight hollowness to her voice, as if it were muffled by something over her mouth. Subtle, but there all the same.
“That means a lot to me,” he finally said. And he meant it.
“I’ve often been . . . cruel to you,” Jane said, taking a step forward. Though she was still mostly in shadow, Frazier could see that she wore a long, flowing robe, its hood pulled up over her head. Something glinted off her face, a flickering reflection from the fire.
Must be her glasses, Frazier thought.
“You’ve only ever done that which needed to be done,” he said. “I know I’ll have my reward some day, when we make the Realities as they were meant to be.”
“Frazier,” she whispered.
“Yes, Mistress Jane?”
“I want you to know that I love you as if you were my own brother. I promise never to be cruel to you again.”
Frazier felt a strange mixture of elation and sick fear. “The feeling is mutual.” His hands were sweating even worse than before. So was his face.
“That makes me happy, Frazier. Very, very happy.”
Mistress Jane stepped out into the full light of the fire, and a puff of sharp air escaped Frazier’s lips before he could stop it. He took a step backward, cursing himself silently as soon as he did.
The floor-length robe that draped over her head and shoulders and body was a brilliant yellow, glowing like molten gold in the flickering light of the flames. Where her face should have been, a red mask floated, bright as fresh blood. Though it sparkled like shiny metal, its surface moved and flowed, creating subtle facial expressions, alternating between anger, sadness, excitement, confusion, joy, pain. Small holes, as dark as the deepest depths of the ocean, made up her eyes, and somehow Frazier knew she was looking at him through the mask.
“Mistress Jane . . .” was all he could get out.
The flowing, red metal mask solidified into a stark expression of rage, eyebrows slanted up from the nose like a big V.
“He did this to me, Frazier,” she said, her raspy voice bitter and tight. “I tried so hard to make him see—to work with him, to help him. But in the end, he looked at me and threw all of his powers against me. He hurt me, Frazier. I will always be in pain now.”
“Who?” Frazier asked. “Who did this to you? What . . .” He almost asked her what was hidden beneath the yellow robe, but he knew better.
She turned her red mask to look at the fire as she continued speaking. “But perhaps it was for the best. I’ve been reminded of my life’s duty. I’ve been reminded how cold and cruel the Realities can be. I’ve been reminded of the goals I set so many years ago. And I’ve been reminded of what kind of person it takes to accomplish . . . what we need to accomplish.”
“Yes, Mistress Jane,” he answered fervently. “I’ll be by your side. Always.”
“If I ever falter again, Frazier—if I ever doubt myself or doubt the things I need to do and the way in which I need to do them, I want you to do me a favor.”
“Anything.”
“I want you to say two words to me. Two words. It’ll be all the reminder I ever need.”
“What words, Mistress?” Frazier asked.
Jane looked back in his direction, the darkness of her eyeholes boring into him out of the shiny red mask of liquid metal. And then she told him.
“Atticus Higginbottom.”