Kids on Fire: A Free Excerpt From Adam Jory and the Tablets of Destiny

Adam Jory and the Tablets of Destiny (The Elementals)

by Allen Stone

The day a tree attacks the school bully, thirteen-year-old Adam Jory’s life is turned upside down. Already reeling from the death of his father, Adam finds himself thrown into a fantastic world of demons, druids, shapeshifting housemaids, and monsters. With the help of Dmitri, a dwarf suffering from an inner ear problem, and George the raccoon, Adam finds his way to Haven, a hidden refuge for mages and mythological creatures alike. There, Adam learns that the tragedy in his past is inextricably bound with a myth as old as the written word, the fabled Tablets of Destiny, said to be a source of ultimate power. Now, with the help of his new friends, student mages James and Pavati, Adam must overcome hungry trolls, giant chickens, and magical elvish wedgie traps on his quest to find the Tablets and avenge his father.

And here, for your reading pleasure, is our free excerpt:

Chapter One

 

I guess I should start with the day a tree attacked the school bully. I’ve thought long and hard about where to begin since Pavati convinced me to write this down. That’s definitely the day when my life became truly abnormal. Not that it was entirely normal to begin with, but you get the picture. It’s always like that for people like us. We think we’re just ordinary kids leading ordinary lives until one day, bam, something weird happens and our lives are turned upside down forever. I’m writing my story so that if something like this happens to you, you’ll know where to find us.

It started out a typical spring day at Cobworth (I secretly called it “Snobworth”) Academy, in Cobworth, Massachusetts. It was pleasantly warm and sunny, so most of the kids chose to eat their lunches outside on the school grounds. At fancy prep schools like Cobworth, you’re not allowed to call it a “lawn” or “grass”; it has to be “the grounds.”

Oh, I suppose I should introduce myself. My name is Adam Jory, and when this story began I was thirteen years old. This was my first year at Cobworth Academy, having transferred in the previous fall after my dad was killed.

Now, I’m sure there are plenty of fairly decent prep schools full of fairly normal kids, but Cobworth wasn’t one of them. They seemed determined to uphold the image most people have of these types of schools. The place was arranged to look like the fanciest universities, with brick buildings complete with actual ivy and huge, landscaped grounds, most of which served no function other than to look pretty. Many of the kids’ families had been coming to Cobworth for generations, and nearly all were rich. Apparently, two U.S. Presidents had even attended the school as kids, a fact that the teachers were always going out of their way to remind people of.

Anyway, at the time I was sitting alone under my favorite, perfectly manicured tree and munching on a P.B.J. sandwich (the only thing I knew how to make), idly fingering the pendant I always wore around my neck. I had noticed a raccoon under a nearby bush that seemed to be staring right at me, which I chalked up to it wanting my food. I’d just started to wonder why it was there at all, as I’d read somewhere that raccoons were nocturnal, when I heard voices coming from behind me.

“Give it back!”

I sighed, recognizing the voice as coming from Tony Berkowicz, the closest thing I had to a friend at my new school. I peeked around the tree and saw the usual band of Cobworth bullies standing in a circle around Tony, laughing. They were just like all the bullies I’d run into at other schools over the years, except they wore fancy school uniforms, had perfectly combed hair with too much hairspray, and had parents who drove BMWs. Their leader, whose name was, naturally, Winston Davenport the Third, was dangling Tony’s school tie out of reach and smirking.

Ordinarily I’d be happy to see them tormenting someone other than myself. As the new kid at school, I was a natural target and had gotten my fair share of Winston’s attention. Having dealt with far worse, however, I usually just ignored them until they went away. Tony, on the other hand, tended to break down into tears when he got upset, which made him a juicy target for jerks like Winston. Added to that, Tony was short for his age, wore thick glasses, and was so skinny, it looked like a stiff breeze would knock him over. But all that wasn’t the real reason Winston chose to go after Tony more than anyone else. The main issue was that Tony came from a poor family, and Winston felt he had no place at Cobworth. Tony had gotten accepted on some kind of grant program set up by the school to prove they weren’t above teaching the occasional normal kid. His mother had died when he was a baby and his father worked in construction, but hadn’t been able to find much work lately.

“This old thing?” Winston was saying. “It really is starting to look rather worn. We can’t have you going around wearing it and giving Cobworth a bad name, now can we? I’m really doing you a favor; it’s high time you replace it.” I’m not kidding, he actually talked like that.

Winston himself was a head taller than Tony, pale, with perfectly parted, blonde hair that didn’t move at all despite it being a windy day. I figured this was due to the colossal amount of spray or gel or whatever it was he used. He had a nose and ears a little too large and cruel, blue eyes. He had this funny way of speaking too. I think he was going for a British accent, to make himself sound more cultured or whatever, but he just came out sounding nasal to the point where you winced every time he spoke.

Now I knew, as did Winston, that Tony couldn’t afford to replace his tie. Cobworth issues one tie to each student when they start their school year, but lost or damaged ties and uniforms had to be replaced at the student’s expense. Tony would be in major trouble if he had to ask his father to buy a new one. By this time, I could tell Tony was on the verge of one of his breakdowns. I eyed my half-finished lunch, sighed again, and got up.

“Give it a rest, Winston,” I said, walking around the tree toward them.

“Stay out of this, Jory,” Winston said with barely a glance my way. “It’s about time your little friend here learned his proper place.”

He took a pair of scissors out of his pocket and it was obvious what he intended to do next. I started toward Winston, but his two cronies moved to block me. I think their names were Dennis and Roland. They were basically exact copies of Winston, only with brown and red hair. I could have held my own against either of them alone, despite the fact that they were a couple years older and bigger than me. None of these guys had been in a serious fight in their lives. As it was, however, the two of them just had to keep me off Winston long enough for him to cut Tony’s tie into ribbons, and I knew they could do it.

Tony was in a full-blown panic, tears on his face, begging Winston to stop, which only egged him on. With a smile, Winston raised the scissors to the tie, taking longer than he had to so he could savor every moment, and that’s when it happened.

I’d already been pretty angry by that time. Picking on someone like me, who had some chance of defending himself, was one thing, but picking on poor Tony was another. Maybe it was the tears on Tony’s face, or Winston’s smug expression, but my anger turned to full-blown rage. I leaped forward, but Dennis and Roland held me. All I knew was that I had to help Tony. My vision turned red around the edges, then I heard a cracking sound coming from above me.

I looked up to see something really strange. A thick lower branch of the tree above Winston was bending down like there was a heavy weight on it, and cracks were forming in the middle. Neither of the goons holding me noticed, but Winston must have sensed something because he started to look up. Just then, the branch broke off and landed squarely on his head. He stood for a moment with a dazed expression, his eyes kind of crossing, then fell to the ground and began wailing like a little girl. His two friends forgot all about me and stared at their fallen leader in shock. Meanwhile, I had a headache, felt a little dizzy, and noticed my legs were shaky.

Winston had an egg forming on his head and a small gash on his scalp that was oozing blood, but otherwise seemed fine, which was surprising, considering the size of the branch. I wondered if his rock-hard hairdo had acted as a helmet and provided him some protection.

All the commotion had, by this time, attracted the attention of one of the teachers. As luck would have it, it was Mr. Evans, the English teacher. While some of the teachers at this school were actually fairly cool, Mr. Evans was definitely not one of them. He pretty much shared the same views as Winston regarding what made a student “Cobworth material”. He’d gone to Cobworth himself, and had been in the same class as Winston’s dad.

“What is going on here?” he roared, running up to us.

Winston had recovered enough of his marbles to think straight, which was unfortunate for me. I saw him look at me, then the broken branch, and smile to himself. The bottom dropped out of my stomach as I realized what he was planning.

“I was just minding my own business when Adam attacked me with that!” Winston exclaimed, indicating the branch on the ground. “Look what he did!” he said, pointing dramatically at his slightly bleeding head.

“Is this true?” Mr. Evans asked, turning to Winston’s buddies.

Dennis and Roland glanced at each other, and then they both nodded.

“That’s a lie!” Tony yelled, “Adam was nowhere near him, and he was just trying to stop Winston from destroying my tie!” But Mr. Evans gave no indication of hearing Tony.

“Come with me, Mr. Jory”, the teacher said in a triumphant tone. I drooped my shoulders in defeat, knowing anything I said would just make it worse.

As I was walking away I heard Winston ask his friends, “Is my hair ok?”

*****

I spent the next half hour in the principal’s office with Mr. Evans trying to convince the principal to expel me.

“This is exactly the sort of thing I warned you would happen if we let … elements like this into Cobworth!” Mr. Evans yelled, gesturing in my direction.

Fortunately the principal, Mr. Jamison, was one of those adults at Cobworth I’d mentioned who were ok. He listened patiently to both sides of the story, and then pointed out to Mr. Evans that it was a windy day and falling branches were a common occurrence. Also, given that it boiled down to Winston’s word against mine, I was innocent until proven guilty. In the end, he settled on detention only, which sent Mr. Evans storming out of the room in a rage.

“After all,” Mr. Jamison said to me,” fighting of any kind is strictly prohibited, and we can’t just ignore it.” He looked at me sadly. “I know your transition to Cobworth has been hard, particularly in light of the… circumstances that lead you to us, but you must understand that is not a free pass to get into fights. In the future, if something like this happens, I expect you to get a teacher.”

I wanted to defend myself and point out that Tony’s tie would have been confetti by then, but knew that would get me nowhere, so I just said, “Yes sir.”

I was able to console myself with the fact that Winston and his friends got detention, too, and with the knowledge that Tony’s tie remained safely intact. Our “punishment” was an hour of washing chalkboards after school, which passed for hard labor at Cobworth, though I didn’t really mind doing it. When my hour was over, I headed outside to find Tony waiting for me.

“Thanks for backing me up, Adam,” he said.

“No problem”, I said, “just another day at Snobworth.” This got a bit of a smile from him.

It turned out his father was taking him to the mall in Nashua to catch a movie and he invited me along, which sounded great. Cheered up, I started walking home and was rounding a corner to cut behind the gymnasium when I ran smack into the Winston gang again. This time, they’d cornered the raccoon I’d seen earlier and were poking at it with sticks, laughing. Winston was sporting a ridiculously huge bandage on his head.

“So, I guess when there are no little kids around to torture, you make do with defenseless animals,” I said.

They spun around to look at me and I realized it would have been smarter to keep my mouth shut. This part of the grounds was abandoned after school. It was just me and them, all armed with sticks.

“Well, well,” Winston said, “looks like I’ll get a little payback even sooner than I expected.”

They moved to encircle me. I knew I couldn’t outrun them, since they had longer legs, and I’d never been the fastest runner. In fact, any time I tried to run faster than a jog I tended to trip over my own feet and fall flat on my face. I was tall for my age, but this didn’t help me at all. I’m one of those people with arms and legs that look too long for their body, and I have huge feet that always get in my way. I’d never gotten above a C+ in gym class. So, I put down my bag and got ready for a fight, knowing this wasn’t going to end well for me. The two goons grabbed me from behind and, in my struggles, my pendant swung free from my shirt.

“What’s this, a necklace?” Winston chortled as he grabbed the pendant and pulled, breaking the chain.

That pendant had been the last gift my father had given me, and was the only keepsake I had left from my life with him. I struggled harder but was held fast from behind. Winston could see how important it obviously was to me, and his smile broadened.

“Dear me, how gaudy,” he said in his infuriatingly snobby voice. “I doubt even my little sister would wear this, but I suppose it will make a nice souvenir. Now, about that payback we were discussing,” he said while raising the stick, meaning to clobber me with it.

Suddenly, I heard what sounded like a cross between a chittering noise and screeching come from behind Winston, then a black and gray streak shot up Winston’s pants and shirt and latched onto his scalp. As it turned out, the raccoon wasn’t as defenseless as I’d thought. I just stood there with my jaw hanging open, along with Dennis and Roland, as Winston ran in circles and shrieked, “Get it off!” with a ticked-off raccoon attached to his head. He finally managed to knock the animal to the ground, but it landed on its feet, hissed, and charged again. All three of the Winston gang started screaming and running, the raccoon at their heels. It chased them for about thirty yards before stopping, then I could have sworn it shook a fist at them while chittering triumphantly, a piece of head bandage still in its mouth. That accomplished, it walked right up to my feet, sat down, and started to smugly clean itself off. I probably should have been nervous with it coming so close to me, especially after what I had just witnessed, but I somehow knew it meant no harm.

“Er, thanks for that,” I said, glad no one was around to see me speaking to a raccoon. The raccoon, for its part, ignored me and kept cleaning its fur. I fished out the last of my sandwich and tossed it to the animal, who caught it and devoured it in two seconds flat.

I found my pendant on the ground where Winston had dropped it, placed it in my pocket, and continued on my way home. I’d walked about ten steps when I noticed a shuffling sound behind me and I turned to see the raccoon following.

“Uh, look, it’s not that I’m not grateful,” I said, “but I can’t exactly show up at home with you. Go on, shoo!” The raccoon just stared at me.

I started walking again, only to hear the same shuffling. I shook my head and walked the two miles to my house, some unwanted company trailing me the entire way.

Chapter Two

 

On the way home I took the pendant back out of my pocket, just to reassure myself it was still there. It was a large stone disk with a pattern engraved onto it:

My dad had given it to me after a research trip to the British Isles. He’d said it was an old Celtic symbol that had to do with nature and balance, or something like that. I’ll admit I didn’t remember the specifics, what mattered was that it was from him. Pretty much everything else from our lives together had been destroyed in the fire.

My dad, George Jory, had been a history professor at Harvard University, though he hadn’t actually done much teaching there. He’d spent most of his time traveling the country, and sometimes other countries, for his research. His main interest in the last few years had been the history of the modern environmentalist movement. As a result, I had moved around from school to school most of my life, going wherever his research took him. It had been kind of hard not making any friends for more than a year or two, but I liked seeing all the cool places he took me. He’d also been a major outdoorsman, spending every free moment hiking and camping, and taking me along once I got old enough. Those days in the wilderness with Dad had been some of the best times of my life.

I got to my neighborhood, raccoon still in tow, and concentrated on finding my mom’s house. Even after living here for five months, I had to carefully watch the house numbers to identify hers. It was one of those neighborhoods that screamed “rich,” with every house the size of a small mansion, and every one of them looking exactly the same. Why someone would spend that much money to live crammed between identical houses, I had no idea, but then I had never really understood my mother. Her name was Lynne Jory, and she was a pediatric surgeon. She split her time between practicing as a doctor and traveling to lecture at medical schools around the country. It was rare to see her for more than one or two full days a month. My parents had never talked about it, but I’d been able to read behind the lines and gather that my mom had never seen herself raising children; she was too focused on her career. It was my father who had wanted to have a family. They’d agreed he would mainly be the one raising me, which was why I had gone with him when they got divorced. The funny thing was, Mom kept the name Jory to this day.

I arrived home to find Sid Wozniak washing down his Porsche in the front driveway. Sid was technically my stepfather, though I hated to admit this to anyone. He was a former shampoo model and most of the house was packed with pictures of him in his glory days with a perfect, shiny head of hair. Once he’d gotten a ticket to the easy life by marrying my mom, he’d let his body go down the toilet and had gained over one hundred pounds, though apparently he didn’t realize this. Sid was on of those types who wore nothing but tight Speedos at the beach, and those that weren’t blinded by the sight of him wished they had been. He was currently wearing a Hawaiian shirt two sizes too small, with the buttons straining over his huge pot belly and the top half unbuttoned to show plenty of hairy chest, which no one should to have to see, ever. He had his black hair greased up and combed over in a pathetic attempt to cover his increasing baldness. He looked up to see me walking down the driveway.

“Well, look who finally decided to show up,” he said. “First I come home from working all day, find you haven’t done a single chore, and have to break my back doing your work. Now, here you are looking like you dragged your uniform through the mud. Don’t think you can blow off your duties because your mother isn’t here.” My mother was lecturing in San Francisco somewhere.

I should point out that, as far as I could tell, Sid never did any actual “working” of any kind, unless you count playing golf, bowling, and going to bars with his loser friends. The “duties” he mentioned were mainly keeping his precious cars sparkling clean, since we had a maid to clean the house. I realized he was right about my clothes, though. I hadn’t noticed how messed up they’d gotten in that last fight. Thinking of the fight made me remember the raccoon and I spun around, afraid (or maybe kind of hoping) that it would attack Sid, too, but it must have finally run off.

“Why are you still standing there, gawking at nothing like an idiot?” Sid asked. “I want to see you get to work right now!”

It was probably a bad time to bring it up, but I said, “My friend Tony was wondering if he and his dad could take me to the mall and a movie tonight.”

This got a laugh from Sid. “You’re not going anywhere until the Porsche, the Beamer and the Hummer are washed, vacuumed, waxed and spotless,” he said. “This is for your own good; you’ll never make anything of yourself until you develop a proper work ethic.” Which was rich, coming from him.

Just when I thought things couldn’t get worse, I heard an engine behind me and turned to see a hot pink Mustang pulling in. My stepsister Annabell got out. She had hair dyed three different colors, always had on so much makeup that even I wasn’t sure what she actually looked like under there, and wore the most ridiculous designer outfits (though never the same one twice). Half the closets in the house were devoted to her wardrobe. She had just turned sixteen, and Sid had immediately bought her the Mustang. Sid had never so much as bought me a box of Kleenex.

“Daddy!” She wailed.

“What is it, sweetie?” Sid yelled, forgetting about me and running up to his daughter.

“My friend Crystal and I were talking, and it turns out she’s wearing the same dress as me to the spring dance this weekend!” She threw herself dramatically into her father’s arms, sobbing. Even as she was bawling into her father’s chest, she was texting on her phone with her left hand, her finger flying over the screen, almost like she wasn’t completely aware she was doing it. Her phone had pretty much become one of her appendages these days; I’d only seen her without it once or twice.

“There, there sweetie,” he was saying. “Why don’t you wear one of your other dresses?”

“Oh, Daddy,” she said. “How could you even suggest that? I’ve already worn all those dresses before!” as though this explained everything.

“I just have to run to the mall tonight with Samantha and Katie to find a replacement, or I don’t know what I’ll do!” she sobbed, still punching away at her phone without looking at it. I had to admit, that takes talent.

“Now don’t you worry, honey,” Sid said. “You just take my credit card and get whatever you need.”

Annabell’s eyes were suddenly and miraculously clear of tears as she beamed at him, “Thank you Daddy.”

“Anything for my little girl,” Sid said heroically.

Annabell started heading inside while Sid turned and scowled at me. “Why are you still standing there? Get to work,” he growled.

I built up the courage to ask, “So if I finish on time, I can still go to the mall with Tony?”

Annabell overheard this and spun around, “Oh, daddy! I can’t be seen at the mall with him, I’d just die of embarrassment.”

Sid barked a laugh. “Not to worry honey, there’s no way he’ll finish his chores in time, thanks to his dawdling,” he said, and they went inside.

Determined to prove him wrong, I got to work and within an hour all three of Sid’s stupid, yuppie cars were gleaming. Annabell came out carrying one of the cinnamon mocha double lattes she was always drinking, heading for her car, but stopped to gawk at my work.

“Guess you’ll be seeing me at the mall after all,” I said, grinning.

She narrowed her eyes and kept walking. When she got to Sid’s BMW convertible, she pretended to trip on the water hose I’d been using and dumped her latte all over the upholstery.

“Oops!” she said with a smile. “Look what I did. Will Daddy ever be upset.”

Sid was just coming out as Annabell turned on her fake tears again. “Oh Daddy! Look what happened! I tripped over the stupid hose that Adam left right in my way, and I fell into the car. It was all I could do to not to break something!”

Sid’s face turned red with rage. “She could have been hurt!” he yelled.

“But…” I began, but he kept on yelling.

“I don’t want to hear it! I want that car looking like new, and you can forget about going anywhere with your hooligan friends for a week!” All the while, Annabell stood behind him, smirking.

Annabell drove off, swerving as she continued to text, and Sid left for his favorite bar, leaving me alone with the BMW. I turned back to the car with tears of frustration coming on when I felt a gentle hand on my shoulder.

“Don’t worry yourself about it, child,” said Tallula, the maid.

Tallula was the closest thing I had to a regular parent figure. That’s how it had always been at my mom’s house. I’d lived with my dad since I was six, up until he died, but his research occasionally took him overseas for months at time. During those trips, I stayed at mom’s place. Given that she usually wasn’t there either, and Sid wanted nothing to do with me, they had hired a series of nannies to watch over me. I say “a series” because none of them ever lasted long. I remember always being angry that they were there at all, being too young to understand why my parents weren’t around. Just when I got completely fed up with a nanny, strange things started to happen.

For example, one was taken away by ambulance after being attacked by a pack of chipmunks, which was strange, considering chipmunks don’t even travel in packs. She insisted that prior to attacking her, the chipmunks had been stalking her and conspiring against her for weeks. Another nanny just up and had a nervous breakdown one day, screaming about petunias assaulting her and the shrubbery plotting to kill her. Last I heard she was still in a mental hospital in Boston somewhere.

Tallula had been different. She was short, had graying hair, very dark skin and a gentle voice. She was Native American and said her tribe was mostly over in Oklahoma some place. From the start, she seemed to be able to sense when I needed to be alone and when I needed someone to talk to. She was the only one around here who showed any sign of understanding or caring about the pain and confusion I’d felt after my dad died. And, like now, she had a way of showing up to bail me out when I needed it most.

*****

Feeling as angry as I was, there was only one thing that could take my mind off things. I grabbed a snack, a canteen of water, and headed out to the hiking trails. The one good thing about my mother’s neighborhood was that it was right up against a huge area of conservation land with miles of trails through the woods. Maybe it was because of my father, but I never felt such a sense of peace as when I was out in the woods. I felt at home there.

Because it had been such a weird and frustrating day, it took me longer than usual to calm down, which was why I was too distracted to pay attention to the time. Next thing I knew, I realized the sun had set and I cursed myself for being such an idiot. There was no way I’d get home before dark, and I hadn’t brought a flashlight. I knew the trails well enough to stumble home, but it would take twice as long and there was always a risk of tripping and hurting myself.

As I turned toward home, I heard the sounds of movement and branches breaking coming from, not the trail, but off in the woods. It sounded large, probably a deer or even one of the occasional black bears around here, so I just kept walking. The sounds started getting closer. I noticed a faint orange light coming from the same direction and caught a whiff of smoke in the air. I figured it must be campers blundering around in the woods. This ticked me off since camping on this land was against the law, and campfires were very illegal. I’d just decided to give these people a piece of my mind when something shot out of the woods and latched onto my leg.

I’ll admit I screamed, and it wasn’t a manly scream either. I looked down to see two little beady eyes staring back at me, surrounded by black and grey fur.

“You again!” I yelled at the raccoon. “Look, you’re not getting any more food, alright?”

But then I realized the raccoon was in a state of panic. It kept tugging at my pants leg, trying to pull me down the trail toward home and running in circles, squealing. I just stared stupidly at it; I’d never heard of a wild animal acting this way. The little creature seemed to get more frustrated. It jumped up onto my leg, grabbed the bit of broken chain hanging from my pocket with its mouth, and darted down the path dragging my pendant behind it.

“Ack!” I cleverly said, and gave chase.

I’d been running for a minute or so when I noticed the noise in the woods had turned into loud crashing, and it was following me. I started to get nervous. I was looking back over my shoulder when I ran right into someone on the trail, making me scream again.

“Tallula!” I yelled,” You scared me to death!”

I noted two things: Tallula was drenched in sweat and breathing hard, like she had been running this way, and the stupid raccoon was sitting on the ground behind her.

“Is that thing yours?” I asked. “It stole my father’s pendant!”

“And he saved your life in the process,” she answered, panting and peering into the woods around us. “And no, he’s yours, if you could say he belonged to anyone.”

“Er, what?” was all I could think to say.

“No time!” She shouted. “You need to run. When you get home, look in the bottom of my top dresser drawer. There’s an envelope there for you. Now RUN!!” With that, she moved between me and the sound, just as its source stepped into view.

It was like nothing I’d ever seen before, a weird combination of scary and ridiculous. It had the body of a lady, though disgustingly hairy, but where the lady’s head should have been was the head of lion, and instead of sharp teeth it had huge, buck teeth like a donkey’s. Rather than human feet, it had what looked like huge chicken feet with talons. The light I’d seen was coming from its body, which was glowing an orange color, and I could smell smoke again.

“Lamashtu,” Tallula muttered under her breath.

My first thought was to wonder why some crazy naked lady was wandering the woods at night wearing a stuffed lion’s head with donkey teeth and rubber chicken feet. Then it turned to Tallula and spoke, and I knew that it was real.

“Don’t interfere, druid, or you die as well,” it said in a gravelly voice with a whistling lisp, which I guess is unavoidable with buck teeth that size.

“You’ll not touch him,” Tallula replied before yelling over her shoulder to me. “Adam, RUN!”

Just when I thought things couldn’t get stranger, the maid’s body seemed to kind of melt, become clear and fluid, grow in size, and the next thing I knew, a huge grizzly bear was standing in front of me. It glanced at me once, roared, and charged the creature. In response, the creature let out a shrieking roar that sent a chill down my spine, and that I somehow recognized, before it leapt forward, too.

I did the only sane thing one can do when confronted with killer naked chicken/lion ladies and shapeshifting maids: I screamed for a third time, turned, and ran for my life. Now, I’ve already mentioned that running and I don’t go together very well. Given that I was also running in blind terror down a dark, wooded path, it was a miracle I managed to make it a full two hundred yards or so before running smack into a tree and knocking myself unconscious.

I must have been out for only a few minutes, because when I came to there was still a hint of light in the sky. I also noted that I had a raccoon perched on my chest that was licking my forehead. When it saw I was awake, it held out my pendant in one paw. I blinked, then grabbed the pendant and put it back in my pocket as I lurched to my feet, head throbbing. The forest was quiet. No sounds of fighting, roaring or anything, and the smell of smoke was gone. Even so, there was no way I was going back to investigate, so I stumbled the rest of the way home.

I got there without any further excitement and climbed the stairs to my room. I could hear Sid’s snores, which practically shook the house. I should have known my mysterious disappearance wouldn’t have caused him to lose a wink of sleep, if he’d even noticed at all. I don’t know if it was the state of shock I was in or the head trauma, but I forgot about the envelope Tallula had told me to find. Instead, I crawled straight into bed and was asleep the second my head hit the pillow.

I had my worst recurrent nightmare, the one about the fire. I was in my room, having been woken up by crashing sounds, and realized my room was full of smoke. My father burst into the room shouting, “Adam, get out!” He half-lifted, half-dragged me to my open window, kicked the screen out, and shoved me through (fortunately, it had been a one story house). “Get away!” He cried. “I’ll hold it off.” I’d thought he meant the fire, and wondered why he didn’t just get out, too. He disappeared into the smoke, and I just stood there listening to the roaring and shrieking of the fire, calling his name, but I never saw him again.

I woke with a gasp. I finally made the connection in my mind, understanding where I’d heard that creature’s roar before. The sound I’d heard, the one I’d thought was from the fire itself, had been identical. I broke out in a cold sweat as I realized two things: That creature had been in our house that night, and it had killed my father.

Chapter Three

 

I sat in bed for a few moments wondering if all the insane stuff yesterday had just been part of my dream. Then I reached up to feel the huge lump on my head and saw my broken necklace on the nightstand. It had been for real. But that was just crazy. I mean come on. Monsters? Maids that were actually bears? This stuff just didn’t happen outside the movies and books I liked.

I got out of bed, took some Tylenol for my pounding head, and tried to decide what to do next. That’s when I remembered the envelope. I snuck quietly down the hall to Tallula’s room, since it was early morning and Sid and Annabell were still asleep. Her room was full of all kinds of cool animal carvings and paintings she had made herself. I wondered what had happened to her. Was she ok? Something told me she wasn’t. The look in her eyes before she changed had made me think she knew she wasn’t going to walk away from this fight. This just made me all the angrier at that creature. It seemed determined to take away everyone I cared about, though I had no idea why. All I knew was that I’d find a way to make it pay.

I got to the dresser and started going through the top drawer, which was kind of embarrassing since it was the underwear drawer. At the bottom I found a plain envelope with Adam written on it, and inside was a handwritten note. It took it back to my room, sat down, and began to read.

 

Adam,

 If you’re reading this, the worst has happened and you are without my protection. I know you have a lot of questions, but I am not the one to give you answers. If I’m gone, that means they have found you and that you are in great danger. As long as you stay here, everyone near you will be in danger as well. You need to go where you will be safe, and you need to go now. Take the next train heading west. You must find your way to Wyoming. I have friends who will be watching for you and who will help you on your way. Be careful, child, and believe in yourself.

  Tallula

 

 

I had no idea what the upside-down triangle after her name meant and I had more important things to worry about. Head West? And why Wyoming, of all places? How could I just pack up and leave? I’d have thought this crazy if not for what I’d seen yesterday. If Tallula had been telling the truth, everyone here was in danger as long as I was around. Not that I had any love for Sid, but even he didn’t deserve to be chewed to death by giant donkey teeth, or however it was that thing got you. Then there was my mother to think about; she’d be coming home in the next few days. That’s what made me decide.

I grabbed my backpack and loaded it with Tallula’s note, some changes of clothes, a toothbrush and the couple hundred dollars I had stashed away from doing odd jobs. I put the necklace back in my pack and tossed in the picture on my nightstand. It was a picture of me at age six with both my parents at Rockport, Massachusetts. We were sitting on the cliffs overlooking the harbor. Even then I was tall and gangly for my age, with pale skin and brown eyes. I had this annoyingly fine, floppy hair that hung down limply in a mess no matter how much I combed it. My dad was average height and wore glasses, but you could see the resemblance between me and him in the picture. Mom was tall and thin with reddish-blonde hair. We all looked so happy in the picture, the ocean behind us. Rockport was a special place for me; it was the last place where I had a clear memory of the three of us together as a family. Every time Dad and I had been in the Northeast I’d made him take me there, and I would sit on the stone bench on the cliffs, watching the boats come and go. I’d even made a game of leaving messages for myself and hiding them in the rocks under the bench for the next time I came. Lame, I know.

I blinked and focused back on my task. The last thing I did before I left was to hide a note in mom’s jewelry box telling her I was fine, not to worry, and that I’d call when able. I obviously couldn’t tell her everything or she’d think I was going loony, but I knew she’d still worry. She did love me in her way, just like I loved her; she just didn’t know what to do with me. Like I said, she’d never seen herself as being a mother. For that matter, she didn’t know what to do with Sid either. After the divorce, I figure she’d been lonely and he was a pretty face (at the time, anyway), and she’d thought it would be nice to have someone here full time when I was around. I’d tried to tell her what he was actually like when she wasn’t here, but she didn’t want to hear it.

I crept out of the house and, as I was climbing onto my bike, my little furry friend reappeared. He calmly scampered up onto my shoulder like this happened every day.

“I’m sorry, but you can’t come along,” I said. “I’m pretty sure there are rules against taking raccoons on the train with you.” He chittered, and then did the strangest thing yet. He grabbed the zipper on my pack, yanked it open with his teeth, climbed in, and stuck his head out to look at me. I sighed; it was obvious he meant to stay. Secretly, I was glad to have any company, since it made the upcoming trip a little less scary.

“Well,” I said, “if you’re going to stick around, I guess you need a name.”

Tallula had said it was a he, so I gave him the first name to come to mind: my father’s name. So, with George the raccoon stowed away, I rode my bike to the commuter rail station in the next town. From there, I booked a seat on a train to Chicago, which was the right general direction, and planned to figure out the next leg of the trip from there.

I first noticed the man in the yellow slicker and hat while waiting for the train. He caught my attention because it was sunny and he looked like he was dressed for a hurricane. He had on one of those bright yellow slickers that hang down to the feet, and one of those waterproof fisherman caps with a wide brim that flopped down and covered most of his face. I could see enough to tell that his face a little off, almost disfigured. I saw a chin and nose that were pointed and sticking way out. He was shorter than me, maybe four and a half feet, and had legs that looked too short and arms that hung down to his knees. He also seemed too have trouble waking in a straight line, weaving back and forth like he was drunk.

I forgot about the strange little man after boarding the train and taking a seat. As I settled in, George climbed out of my pack and sat next to me. My initial reaction was to panic, expecting people to scream and run, or at least to be kicked off the train. I gradually realized that, not only did no one appear to care, no one gave any sign of noticing he was there. And it’s not like a large raccoon sitting in plain sight on a seat in a tightly packed train would be hard to miss. People must have been aware of him on some level, because no one tried to sit on him, but it was almost like it was a subconscious awareness only. I’d already gathered that George was not your average raccoon, but this definitely took the cake.

As we pulled out of the station an elderly lady in a floral dress who smelled like a mix of lemon drops and cigarettes sat next to me, on the other side of George, and immediately started talking to me. For some reason, she felt like she had to lean within inches of my face while talking, so I got an extra blast of lemony tobacco with every word.

“Well, aren’t you a dearie!” She yelled far louder than necessary. “Are you traveling by yourself? Aren’t you the big man!” She shrieked.

“Uh, traveling to visit some friends,” I replied.

“Eh?” she asked, cupping her ear with her hand. I repeated myself more loudly.

“No, I think it was tuna on rye,” she hollered.

I could tell this was going to be a very long train ride. She proceeded to tell me her life’s story, about all her children and grandchildren, and about her various medical problems. I tried pretending to be asleep, but nothing worked. After an hour of this I was looking desperately for any escape, and even found myself kind of hoping there would be another monster attack, which might have been preferable.

“…so then my doctor told me it was just gas!” She was saying, cackling.

“Oh, heh, right, uh, I just saw someone I know. I think I’ll go say hi,” I stammered, getting up.

“Oh, sometime in July, I think,” she yelled.

George got up to follow and the lady yelled, “Aren’t you a cute kitty!” Apparently some people were more aware of George that others.

I hurried down the aisle before she could start another of her stories and found my way into the dining car. I had a grilled cheese sandwich while George sat across from me munching on anchovies. He had to wash each fish in a glass of water before he’d eat it, for some reason. Then I found a quiet corner and shut my eyes. I fell into a disturbing dream in which Winston was wearing a floral dress and chasing me. He sprouted chicken feet, held me down, and forced me to listen as he described how the change in weather was making his joints ache something fierce.

*****

I woke as we arrived in Chicago. I put George back in my pack and wandered around the station a bit, trying to find something to eat before finding another train or bus heading west, when I saw the man in the yellow slicker again. No matter how many turns I took, I looked back to see him behind me, still weaving as he walked and occasionally bumping into people. He was following me. I sped up, trying to lose him, and he matched my pace. I started to panic and broke into a full run. I found my way out of the station and ran down the sidewalk for a full two blocks before ducking into a small park. A glance back showed no sign of the little man. I hid behind a stand of trees, figuring I’d wait a few minutes to make sure the coast was clear. Just when I thought I was out of the woods, I heard an all too familiar voice.

“Well, well, if it isn’t my young friend from the train!” the old lady said as she came hobbling toward me. “It’s rude to walk out on a lady the way you did!” Great, this was all I needed, as if being pursued by a vertically challenged, drunken fisherman wasn’t enough.

“Look, uh, I’m sorry, but now is really not a good time,” I said while trying to make myself less visible.

“Oh, it’s too late for apologies, Adam, you need to learn to respect your elders,” she replied, coming to a stop next to one of the trees, twenty feet away.

I opened my mouth to reply, then stopped cold. I had never given her my name. “Who are you, and how do you know who I am?” I demanded.

“Someone who was sent a long way to find you,” she cackled.

George scrambled out of my pack, leapt to the ground, and hissed at the old lady. Her smoky scent became suddenly overwhelming as a burst of flame erupted at the top of her head and moved down her body. For a second I thought she was spontaneously combusting, but then I noticed that wherever the flame passed over her, she changed. The entire process took about two seconds and when it was done, there was an unfamiliar man standing in front of me. He was over six feet tall and built like a serious athlete. He was pale, with black hair and a long, black beard. If you were to draw a picture of the classic villain, it would probably look something like this guy. Even stranger, the floral dress was replaced by a long red robe, complete with a hood that was thrown back over his shoulders. Around his neck hung a metal disc with a symbol on it:

What was up with these people’s obsessions with triangles?

“Now, Mr. Jory, we both know why I’m here. Where is it?” He asked.

Having just seen an old lady burst into flames and turn into an evil weightlifter who was dressed like he was going to a Harry Potter convention, my brain was kind of on overload. Given that I also had no clue what he was talking about, all I could come up with in reply was something like, “Guh?”

“Don’t play dumb with me!” He yelled. “The key! The key to finding the Tablets! Where is it?”

“Uh, look, what key? And why do you think I have it?” I asked, holding my hands up.

He narrowed his eyes at me. “Very well,” he said, “I can see you choose to make this difficult. I’m prepared to force you to tell me what I need to know, or at least ensure that you can’t share it with others.”

He raised a hand, which was suddenly engulfed in flames. He pointed his finger in my direction and all I could do was stand frozen in shock. Suddenly, there was a flash of yellow in the corner of my eye right before something bowled me over and charged the robed man. The next thing I knew, the man in the yellow slicker had leaped up onto the robed man’s back and was beating him over the head with a metal trash can lid while bellowing, “Traitor!”

The little man’s hat had come off, and his face looked even more disfigured than I’d thought. His nose and chin jutted out so far that I remember wondering how he ate without them getting in the way. Through a straw, maybe? He had giant ears, tiny eyes, and was nearly bald except for little wisp of hair on top. His skin had an odd, grayish color.

The fight lasted about two seconds before the robed man snarled and there was an explosion of heat and sound that would have knocked me off my feet if I hadn’t already been down. It threw the little man about thirty feet through the air before he hit a large tree dead on, shattering the trunk. I figured he was done for, since that impact should have squashed anyone, but he climbed back to his feet looking only a little dazed.

“Dmitri!” yelled the robed man. “You should know better than to interfere. Besides, we both know you’re more likely to injure yourself than me,” he said with a smirk.

“Leave the boy alone, Ethon!” yelled the man in a surprisingly deep voice for someone so small. “He doesn’t know anything!”

“I don’t have time for this nonsense,” Ethon replied. “The boy will tell me what he knows.”

He pointed his finger at the little man, whose name was apparently Dmitri, and his finger started to glow. Right as he was about to cook Dmitri, however, he let out an angry scream and looked down to where George had latched onto his ankle with his teeth. Dmitri charged again, still weaving drunkenly, and, despite that fact that the robed man hadn’t moved and was an easy target, missed him by a few feet and ran smack into the tree next to him. This time, when he fell to the ground he lay completely still. The robed man let out another burst of flame and George squealed as he flew through the air and landed with his fur smoking.

I started to get mad. I was sick and tired of having no idea what was going on, and now this guy had hurt the only companion I had, not to mention the strange little man who seemed to be trying to protect me. I had to do something to help them; I couldn’t let this guy hurt them because of me.

Several things happened at once. About twenty birds came out of nowhere and started dive bombing the robed man, pecking at his head and face. He cursed, swatting at them, and took a step back. As he did so, his foot sank into the ground and he fell backward. On the way down, he clocked his head on a low-hanging tree branch that I could have sworn hadn’t been there a second ago, and lay unmoving on the ground. I stood gaping at him, not believing my luck, and would have gone to check on George, if I hadn’t suddenly gotten the worst headache of my life and felt a wave of dizziness. The world started to spin, and the last thing I remember was falling to the ground.

 

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