“Oh,” the Illusionist chuckled. “You mean Fido here.” She stooped down and patted the creature on the head. “Good Fido, good boy.”

  “Yeah,” Josh replied, “Fido.”

  “Well, he is from Keygarp, I’ll grant you that. But I’ve trained this little fellow since he was a pup.” She reached into her sweatpants and produced a doggie biscuit. It took only a moment for the smell to reach Joshua. It was so awful it made his eyes water.

  “And you wouldn’t hurt a fly, would you, Fido?” she said as she reached down and held the biscuit to the creature’s mouth. Fido did not look thrilled about taking it, until the coach firmly repeated herself, “Would you, Fido,” while yanking on the chain.

  Half choking, Fido opened his mouth and she popped the biscuit inside.

  “Now, chew, boy,” she encouraged. “Chew the yummy treat for Momma, till it’s all gone.”

  Reluctantly, unhappily, the animal began to chew. Joshua watched, guessing it tasted even worse than it smelled.

  “Now,” the coach looked up, turning her smile upon him. “Where were we?”

  “You said something about me being . . . royalty.”

  “Yes.” She nodded.

  He shook his head. “You’ve made some sort of mistake. I’m just me.”

  Her smile grew. “Oh no, dear heart, you are indeed royalty. You are one of the elect, one of the chosen.”

  Josh felt a stirring inside his chest. The same sort of stirring he felt whenever he was praised or had won at something.

  The coach moved closer, lowering her voice. “I guarantee you, my friend. After my training you will never lose another election again.”

  Josh looked at her in surprise. “How’d you know about the election?”

  “Dear heart, I have studied every thread of your tapestry.”

  Josh nodded. The fact that she’d seen his tapestry gave him some assurance. Perhaps she really could be trusted.

  She continued, taking another step closer, her words growing more and more persuasive. “I have been sent to train and prepare you.”

  His heart pounded just a little in excitement. “For what?”

  “Under my guidance you will become more popular than you have ever dreamed possible. In fact”—she lowered her voice to a mere whisper—“if you allow me, I will make you as popular as Imager himself.”

  “Yeah, right,” Josh scorned.

  “As you wish.” The coach shrugged. “Perhaps I have overestimated your ambition.”

  Josh shifted uncomfortably. His mind raced, his heart beat faster. “How could anybody become as popular as Imager?”

  “By becoming perfect.”

  Her second statement was more shocking than the first.

  “You could do that?” Josh’s voice cracked slightly. “You could actually make somebody perfect?”

  “It’s the only way,” the coach explained. “If you’re going to be as popular as Imager, you must become as perfect as Imager.”

  “But . . . how . . . ”

  “Oh, I wouldn’t worry about that. It sounds like it’s too much work for you.” She turned to her pet. “Wouldn’t you agree, Fido?” The creature rolled back and forth as if nodding.

  “I’m not afraid of work,” Josh argued.

  “Perhaps,” the coach said, looking him over carefully. “But for you to become perfect, I am afraid it would take a great deal of effort . . . particularly for this body of yours and, of course, your personality.”

  “I said I’m not afraid of work.”

  The coach only smiled.

  “How would you . . . I mean, what . . .” He caught himself and tried to sound less eager. “If somebody was interested in being perfect, what exactly would they have to do?”

  “Why, dear heart, that’s what the Kingdom of Perfection is all about.”

  “Kingdom of. . . Perfection?”

  “Of course. It is divided into three levels. On the first level, you work toward physical perfection. On the second, you obtain perfect popularity.”

  “And the third?” Josh could no longer hide his eagerness.

  “The third level is the Sea of Justice. A place where only the perfect may enter. There, at last, you would enjoy the rewards of all your hard work. There, you would finally receive all that you rightly deserve.”

  By now Joshua’s head was reeling. Everything was moving too fast. He knew he should slow things down but couldn’t. After all, the coach was promising popularity equal to Imager himself! He coughed nervously. “So, how would we start—I mean, if I were interested?”

  “You would simply give me permission to transport you.”

  “To the Kingdom of Perfection?”

  “That is correct.”

  “That’s it?”

  The coach nodded.

  “But what about Nathan, what about Denny?”

  “I’m afraid neither one of them is much interested in perfection. Wouldn’t you agree?” She gave him a knowing smile.

  Though he tried not to, he had to smile back.

  Silence filled the room. It was clear she was waiting for his decision. He was cautious, of course. But, if he let this type of opportunity pass, how could he live with himself? Yes, it was a risk. He barely knew her. But look at what she was promising—popularity equal to Imager!

  She continued waiting. So did her pet.

  Finally, after taking a deep breath, Josh spoke. “Well . . .” He shrugged. “What are we waiting for?”

  The coach smiled. “Not a thing, dear heart, not a thing.”

  Joshua turned back to the desk. “Just let me grab the Bloodstone here and—”

  “No, don’t!”

  Josh turned to see the coach stumble over her pet, who was rolling behind her as if for protection.

  “What?” he asked in surprise.

  With some effort, her smile returned. “As I said, you have graduated beyond the stone.”

  “We don’t need it?” Josh asked.

  The coach shook her head. “It is now time to rely on your own powers. The stone was needed in the beginning. But now it would become a crutch that could slow your growth. You must put it out of sight. In fact, it would be best if you completely removed it.”

  “Remove it?” Josh asked.

  “Yes. I will explain on our journey, but for now it would be best to place it outside your dwelling.”

  “Outside?” Josh asked.

  “That is correct.”

  Joshua looked down at Fido, who rolled back and forth, nodding.

  It was an odd request, there was no doubt about it. But she seemed pretty serious.

  “Well,” he said, “I guess I could put it out on the windowsill or something.”

  “That is an excellent idea, most excellent, indeed.”

  Still a little puzzled, Josh moved toward the window. “This seems kinda weird,” he said, “but if you really think it’s better.

  He arrived at the window, threw it open, and set the Bloodstone out on the ledge. “There,” he said, shutting the window and turning back. “So why exactly is it—”

  But he never finished his question. He was interrupted by the sound of approaching hoof beats. Then an overwhelming numbness.

  Then nothing at all . . .

  Denise bolted up in bed. At first she thought she was dreaming. Then she heard it again. A rattling. A clattering.

  She fumbled for her night stand light and turned it on. As usual it was about a hundred times too bright—at least for this time of morning. She squinted at the clock. It read 4:22 a.m.

  The rattling grew louder. She searched the room. Nothing unusual. Just the everyday disaster of dirty socks, dirty clothes, scattered papers, coat piles, book piles, shoe piles, and a few baseball pennants tacked to the wall. Oh, and of course . . . the doll.

  Some may have thought Denise was getting too old for dolls. But she didn’t much care what they thought. The doll was the last present she ever received from her father. He gave it to her when she was four years old—the day he left. She would never part with it.

  At last she spotted something . . . in the corner by the door—behind the broken bicycle pump and football helmet—right next to the spilled box of Josh’s campaign buttons. It was the canteen. The one that still held water from their visits to Fayrah. The water made up of liquid letters and words from the stream. At the moment it was shaking and vibrating on the floor!

  Denise threw off her covers and cautiously padded over to it. At first she was afraid to touch it. But that was silly. The water inside had always helped them before. It had helped them see and hear right side up. It had even saved Nathan from the Illusionist. So what was she afraid of?

  Plenty. When was the last time anyone saw a canteen bouncing around on a floor?

  But Denise wasn’t about to let a little ice-cold fear get in the way. Not her. So, with a deep breath and a little shiver, she finally stooped down and picked up the canteen.

  “Ouch!” she yelled, dropping it back to the floor. It was so hot it almost burned her. Almost, but not quite. She reached for the bottom of her sweatshirt, the one she slept in, and carefully wrapped it around the canteen. Carefully, she picked it up. It continued to vibrate in her hands. But it was more than vibrating. It felt as if it was . . . boiling—as if the water inside was actually boiling.

  She started to unscrew the cap but burnt her fingers for good this time. She tried again, wrapping her sweatshirt around the cap and slowly opening it.

  There was a loud hiss. And, before she knew it, a small cloud of steam escaped. But this was no ordinary steam. Like the water inside, this steam was made up of letters and words. The cloud continued to grow until it was two, maybe three feet across. As it grew, Denise stepped back. It wasn’t that she was frightened, it’s just . . . well, okay, she was a little frightened. Well, okay, she was a lot frightened. But not over the cloud. It was over what was happening to the cloud.

  It hovered at eye level, just a few feet from her. As it cooled, it started to turn dark. And, as it turned dark, mist started falling from it—eventually turning to rain. That’s right. Actual drops of rain fell from the cloud. It lasted nearly a minute, until the entire cloud had turned to rain and fallen to the floor. Now the water lay in a little pool next to the box of Josh’s campaign buttons.

  Denise stared in amazement. Nothing more happened. Nothing at all. Cautiously, she walked to the puddle on the floor. She stooped down to examine it. The letters and words had all disappeared. Now it looked like any other puddle of water. She carefully reached out, then touched it with a finger. It felt like any other puddle of water. She scowled. With all of the special effects, she expected to end up with something more than a puddle of water on her floor. But that was it. The canteen had quit boiling. The cloud had disappeared. Now there was only the puddle of water.

  Annoyed, Denise rose to her feet. Then, just before she turned, she saw it. A reflection. One of Joshua’s campaign buttons, the one pinned to the edge of the box. It was reflecting in the water.

  But the water didn’t reflect the photo of the smiling Joshua. It didn’t even reflect the silly slogan, “Vote for Josh, by Gosh.” Instead, it reflected a very sick-looking Josh. A Josh who seemed to be stretched out on some sort of bed or cot. His eyes were shut and he looked very, very pale. In fact, he almost looked—Denise sucked in her breath. He almost looked . . . dead.

  She dropped to her knees for a better view but momentarily lost the reflection. When she moved and found it again, it had changed. Now it was just the reflection of the campaign button—stupid slogan and all. The sick Josh, the dying Josh, had completely disappeared.

  Denise knelt there another moment. Then she sprang into action. She wasn’t sure what she’d seen, but she knew it was a warning. An omen. She threw on her clothes and slipped into her shoes. Joshua was in some sort of trouble. He needed help. She grabbed her coat and raced out the door. A moment later she returned to scoop up the canteen, and then she was gone.

  Chapter 3

  Close Encounter

  “You’re crazy,” Nathan whispered as he opened the back kitchen door to let Denise inside. “It’s 5:30 in the morning. Everyone’s still in—”

  “I just need to . . .” Denny gulped for air. Running halfway across town will do that to a person. “I just need to see Josh for a second.”

  “Suit yourself,” Nathan mumbled as he rubbed his eyes and stepped aside to let her pass. “You always do.”

  Denise knew she could fire off a good comeback if she wanted. Firing off comebacks was her specialty. But right now there were more important things to do. She had tried waking Josh by tossing pebbles up at his window. Although she could see a strange flickering light inside, he did not answer. Nathan was her second choice.

  They reached the steps and took them as quickly and silently as possible without waking the grown-ups.

  When they arrived at the top they turned toward Joshua’s bedroom. The door was shut but that same flickering light could be seen underneath.

  “That’s funny,” Nathan whispered. “He never gets up this early.”

  “And what’s with that light?” Denise asked.

  Nathan shrugged like it was no big deal, but she could see he was uneasy. As they approached the room she noticed something else—a soft, whispering whirrrr.

  She slowed. “What’s that sound?”

  Nathan strained to listen, then frowned. They continued down the hall . . . slower . . . more cautiously.

  They were nearly there when Nathan started to snicker.

  “What?” Denise asked.

  He continued.

  “What?”

  “It’s the burner thing he uses,” Nathan said. “He’s just doing an experiment with it, that’s all.”

  Denise took a deep breath and blew out the tension.

  “Honestly,” Nathan taunted. “Sometimes you’re such a girl.” Normally, those were fighting words and normally Denise would make him eat them. But considering his parents were sleeping just down the hall, she refrained from inflicting any major bodily damage.

  They arrived at the door. Nathan reached up to quietly knock. There was no response.

  He tried again.

  Still, nothing.

  Denise stepped closer and whispered through the crack. “Josh? Josh, it’s Denny. You okay?”

  More in the nothing department.

  Nathan turned the knob and pushed open the door. “Josh?”

  But there was no sign of him anywhere. Just the eerie glow of the Bunsen burner as it flickered light and shadows across the room.

  Slowly Denise and Nathan entered.

  “Josh?”

  No answer—only the quiet roar of the burner.

  “I don’t like this,” Nathan whispered. “Something’s wrong.”

  “Now who’s being chicken?” Denise scorned.

  “I’m not kidding. Where would he go this time of morning? And why didn’t he shut off the burner?”

  Denise looked around the room. It wasn’t much. Just the usual bed, the usual dresser, with the usual chair and usual clothes thrown on it. Only the desk was unusual. It was covered with glass beakers, test tubes, and all sorts of computer junk. Yes, sir, Josh loved his science.

  “Maybe he went for a walk or something,” Denise said.

  Nathan didn’t answer but moved toward the desk.

  Denise gave another glance around, then spotted something—a half open closet door. Nothing unusual about that. But inside . . . inside she caught a glimpse of a moving shadow. Maybe it was from the flickering burner. Maybe it was just her nerves playing tricks on her.

  Maybe.

  Unfortunately, there was only one way to find out.

  Carefully, cautiously, she started toward the closet. She heard nothing . . . unless you counted the pounding of her heart in her ears. And the closer she got, the louder that pounding grew.

  Soon she stood directly in front of the closet. She hated this, but somebody had to do it. She reached out, grabbed the door, and threw it open to see . . .

  Nothing. Nothing but clothes.

  “Denny?” Nathan stood over Joshua’s desk looking at an open notebook. “Listen to this—it’s his journal.” He began to read:

  Friday, 10:05 p.m.

  “That was last night,” Denise said as she moved to join him.

  He nodded and continued:

  Have subjected the Bloodstone to twenty minutes of intense heat. Still no change. I am beginning to strongly suspect . . .

  He came to a stop.

  “Go ahead,” Denise said. ‘“Strongly suspect’ what?”

  “That’s all. It stops right there, right in the middle of the sentence.”

  Denise did her best to fight off a little shiver.

  “That’s so weird,” Nathan said.

  For once in her life Denise didn’t argue. She reached over and began rummaging through the different piles on the desk.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Looking for the Bloodstone,” she said. “If he was busy running experiments on it, shouldn’t it be around?”

  “Denny, look!”

  She glanced over to see Nathan staring down at the floor. Slowly, he knelt and picked up something. Then, even more slowly, he rose with it in his hand.

  “What is it?” she asked. “Looks like a little shaving of ice or something.”

  Nathan nodded. “And it feels like ice. It’s cold and slippery.” He pushed the sliver around in his palm, squeezing it and pressing it. “But it doesn’t melt.” He squeezed it harder. “I can’t get the stupid thing to melt.”

  Denise looked up at him. Fear crept across his face. “Nathan?”

  He gave no answer.

  “Nathan?”

  When he finally spoke, his voice was trembling. “Denny, it’s . . . blue. ”

  “So?”

  “So what do we know that’s icy and blue . . . and doesn’t melt?”

  She frowned, not understanding.

  Nathan whispered, “Who do we know that’s icy and blue and doesn’t melt?”

 

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