The Quillan Games (44 page)

Courtney wanted Bobby home. He needed to know what was going on. They had to find Mark not only to save him, but to stop Saint Dane from using their friend for whatever his plans were for Second Earth. Courtney was faced with a decision. Should she go to Quillan to find Bobby? She felt certain it was wrong for him to enter the Grand X. It was way too risky. And now that Mark needed help, it was all the more reason that he had to come home. For Mark, for Second Earth, and for himself.

Courtney jumped to her feet. She had made up her mind. It was worth the risk of damaging the flume. She grabbed her pack and took a step toward the stairs to the basement . . . when she heard the growl.

Courtney froze. It was coming from the foyer of the mansion. She cautiously slid her hand into her jacket pocket and grasped the canister of pepper spray.

Grrrrr . . .

She knew that growl. There was no mistaking it. Quigs. She glanced over her shoulder to see if there was another way out of this room. A window, a back hallway, anything.

There wasn't. It was too late anyway. The quig sprang.

It was a huge muscled black dog with rows of sharp teeth that were too big for its jaw. It rounded the corner from the foyer and charged her at full speed, its yellow quig eyes focused, its teeth gnashing.

Courtney pulled out the pepper spray, aimed, and waited. She didn't want to miss. It meant she had to let it get dangerously close. The quig charged; Courtney steeled herself. She waited . . . waited . . . waited . . . and pulled the trigger.

Fum!

A burst of energy blasted out of the bottle and hit the quig,
knocking it backward. It hit the ground, rolled, and lay there unconscious.

“Ahhh!” Courtney screamed and dropped the bottle. It was an unconscious act. Whatever had just shot out of the bottle, it wasn't pepper spray. Pepper spray didn't knock out a charging quig. Or anything else for that matter. Yet the demon-dog was out cold. Courtney slowly knelt down and retrieved the canister. She looked at it as if it were something alien, because it was. Looking closely, she realized that it wasn't her pepper spray. It was the same size and weight, but the canister was metallic silver with no markings. Her pepper spray was plastic with writing that said very clearly,
PEPPER SPRAY
. This wasn't it. Courtney reached into her left pocket to check the other canister of spray. It was the exact same as the first. It wasn't hers. She had no idea when or how they were changed.

Courtney didn't want to be there anymore. She abandoned the idea of jumping into the flume, at least for the time being. She jammed the silver canisters into her pockets, picked up the envelope holding Bobby's journal pages, put it into her backpack, and ran out of the Sherwood house. All she wanted was to get home. Too much was happening and none of it was good. She made it back over the wall surrounding the Sherwood property with no problem, and down the tree to the sidewalk. With her head down, she walked quickly along, wanting more than anything else to be someplace safe and sane.

A car horn sounded behind her, making her jump and scream, “Ahhh!”

She turned to see her father pulling up behind her in their Volvo wagon.

“Sorry,” he said. “Didn't mean to do that.”

Courtney tried to catch her breath.

“You want to tell me why you're not in school?” Mr. Chetwynde asked.

Oh. Right. School.

“I couldn't,” she said, truthfully. “I wanted to go, but there's just too much to deal with. I can't stop thinking about the Dimonds. I want to go home.”

“I don't blame you,” Mr. Chetwynde said. “Hop in.”

Courtney wanted to kiss her dad. He always made things better. She wished she could confide in him all that was happening. It was tough not being able to turn to him when she needed him most. She clutched her backpack to her chest and slipped into the passenger seat.

“Any more news on the plane?” she asked, wiping away the tears.

“No,” Mr. Chetwynde said. “But no news is bad news. They're analyzing radar data but there isn't much hope. They're looking for survivors now. Man, what a tragedy. You see stuff like that on the news all the time, but you never think it'll happen to somebody you know.”

Courtney loved her father. He was her protector. Her champion. He always seemed to know how to make things better. It bothered her to know that she knew so much more about the true perils of the world, and of Halla, than he did.

Mr. Chetwynde added, “They officially released the passenger list.”

“And?”

Mr. Chetwynde gently shook his head and said, “Mr. and Mrs. Dimond were on board.”

Hearing those words made Courtney wince, though it didn't come as any real surprise. She knew they were gone. It fit too perfectly into Saint Dane's plans to get close to Mark. Courtney didn't want to talk any more about airplanes or tragedies. She closed her eyes and settled into the seat for the short ride home. She had grown to hate riding in that old car. The long, painful drive home from the hospital was still a
vivid memory. She was glad that their house was only a few blocks away. There wasn't enough time for her to get sore from the old seat. But no sooner did she close her eyes than she felt a strange sensation. She didn't understand what it was at first. She looked at her ring. It wasn't activating. Still, something felt odd. It took a few moments for her to realize what it might be.

“Did you get new car seats?” she asked.

“No, why?”

“This seat is really comfortable all of a sudden. I mean, really comfortable, like an easy chair.”

Mr. Chetwynde chuckled. “That's an odd thing to think of at a time like this!”

Courtney wiggled her back into the seat. The seat moved in response!

Courtney looked to her dad and said, “C'mon! I rode in this seat for three hours when I got out of the hospital, remember? I felt every bump in the road between here and Derby Falls. This is definitely not the same seat.”

“I don't know what to say,” Mr. Chetwynde said. “Maybe it's because you're feeling better.”

Courtney shifted her butt again. The seat seemed to take on a subtly new shape, giving her perfect support. Whichever way she moved, the seat compensated and cradled her like a down cushion. Courtney figured her dad was either hiding the fact that he spent a bunch of money on fancy new seats and didn't want her mom to know, or she was imagining things. She was about to challenge him again when they arrived at their house. Mr. Chetwynde stopped at the curb, kissed his daughter good-bye, and continued on toward work. As she walked up the path to the house, Courtney had a vague sense of unease. Something felt off, but she couldn't put her finger on it.

“Mom? Mom!” she yelled when she got into the house.
There was no answer. Courtney realized it was already past nine. Her mother always left for work by eight.

“Dinner's ready for defrosting, sweetheart,” came her mother's voice from the living room.

“You're still home?” Courtney yelled back with surprise.

Courtney's mom called, “Throw it in the microwave for me?”

“Now?” Courtney yelled back. “It's too early!”

Courtney's mom called out again, “I'll be working late tonight, so don't wait for me, okay?”

Huh? Courtney walked into the living room saying, “What are you talking about?”

When she entered the room, she looked around for her mom . . . and froze. There was something on the desk that wasn't there when she'd left earlier. It was the desk where they normally kept their ancient computer. The computer was still there, but it wasn't ancient. It was a wide high-tech screen showing the image of Courtney's mother.

The image said, “When I got to work, I saw there was a late meeting scheduled. Sorry. Let me know as soon as you get this message. I hope school wasn't too rough. Such a tragedy about the Dimonds. I love you.”

The screen went blank.

Courtney didn't move. She knew that computer screen was not there when she left a few hours before. Even if it were, how was her mother able to leave a video message? From work! That was impossible. Stranger still, how did it know enough to play itself when she came into the house? Courtney wouldn't normally be home until after three. What was going on?

Courtney felt her cat, Winston, rub against her legs. Courtney looked down . . . and screamed. It was a cat all right, but it wasn't Winston. Winston was a short-haired tortoiseshell. This cat was black, with yellow eyes and a little tuft of white on
its chest. Courtney dove onto the couch. Instantly the image of her mother appeared again, as if Courtney's scream had triggered it.

“Dinner's ready for defrosting, sweetheart. Throw it in the microwave for me?”

Courtney looked at the strange cat who was sitting on the floor staring at her.

“How did you get in here?” she yelled at the animal.

The cat purred and said in a strangely metallic voice, “I live here!”

Courtney screamed.

“Dinner's ready for defrosting, sweetheart. Throw it in the microwave for me?”

Courtney jumped up and ran out of the room, headed for the stairs and the safety of her bedroom. She'd only made it up halfway when the ring on her finger came to life.

“No!” she shouted, as if it would make a difference.

She yanked the ring off and threw it on the floor near the front door. She plunked down on the stairs, hugging herself, watching the ring grow, the lights flash, and the music play. Compared to everything else that had happened that day, this magical event was run of the mill. Courtney closed her eyes for the final, bright moment. When the lights were gone, she looked to see that Bobby's next journal had arrived. This one looked like the last few. It was a brown envelope that she knew would contain the small gray pages with Bobby's handwriting.

Courtney dragged herself down the stairs and approached the journal slowly. She wasn't entirely sure if she wanted to read it. She didn't think she could take any more. But she had to. It was her job. She was an acolyte. She took a breath, bent down, picked up the envelope, and . . .

The doorbell rang.

Courtney jumped and yelped. She had no idea if somebody
could get a heart attack from being surprised too often, but if it was possible, she figured she was due. She quickly picked up her ring and hid the envelope in her backpack with Bobby's previous journal. The doorbell rang again. She looked out the window next to the door to see who it was and saw a young guy she didn't recognize. He looked about her age, with longish, unkempt brown hair and a yellow sweatshirt that looked too small for him. It wasn't because he was fat, either. If anything, he looked pretty built. She wondered why he would wear a sweatshirt that was so ugly and way too small. She went to the door and called, “Can I help you?”

“Is Courtney home?” the guy asked.

“Who wants to know?” Courtney asked.

“She's expecting me,” the guy answered.

“I am?” Courtney said, and opened the door.

The first thing that hit her was how handsome the guy was, in a rugged kind of way. The next thing that hit her was that the ugly yellow sweatshirt had the words
COOL DUDE
printed on the front in red seventies-looking cheesy lettering. She knew that sweatshirt! It was the shirt Mark always kept at the flume in case a Traveler came to Second Earth. That meant this handsome guy was a Traveler, but who could it—

She looked more closely at the guy. She hadn't seen him in over a year. He had changed. He had grown up. He wasn't a little kid anymore.

“What's with the stunned face?” the guy said. “I told you I was coming home.”

“Bobby!” Courtney shouted and threw herself into his arms.

The two stood there, holding on to each other. Courtney cried. They were tears of joy and pain and loss and love and pure emotional release. Bobby was home. Things would be better.

“Don't want the neighbors talking,” Bobby said as he
maneuvered Courtney back into the house. “I hope your parents are at work.”

“They are,” Courtney said, tearing herself away from him and wiping her eyes. “You've changed,” she said.

“In a good way or a bad way?” he asked.

“Oh, good,” she said. “Mostly. But you look tired.”

“Yeah, that's one word for it,” Bobby said.

“What happened on Quillan?” Courtney asked. “With the Grand X?”

Bobby frowned. “Didn't you guys read my last journal?”

Courtney grabbed her backpack and pulled out the envelope. “I just got it like five seconds ago!” she said.

Bobby shook his head in wonder. “Amazing. I sent it ages ago.”

“I don't get the whole relative time thing between territories,” Courtney said.

“Join the club,” Bobby said.

“So what happened?”

The expression on Bobby's face turned dark. “It's all coming apart, Courtney. Everything. I want you to read the pages, then we'll talk.”

“I will,” she said. “Come in, sit down.”

She pulled Bobby into the living room. The two sat on the couch, facing each other. Bobby looked around the room and smiled. “This house is exactly like I remember it. It's good to know some things don't change.” He pointed to the big computer screen and said, “Other than that bad boy. That's a little high-tech for your dad, isn't it?”

Courtney didn't know how to answer. She was as clueless as Bobby.

Bobby spotted something else and said, “Hey! Who's that? What happened to Winston?”

Sitting in the doorway was the cute black cat, staring at
them. It stood up and said, “My name is Doogie.” With a flick of its tail, it turned and strutted off.

Bobby and Courtney sat staring at the animal for a good thirty seconds before Bobby said, “Now that's something you don't see every day.”