“You’d remember him if you saw him.”
“I barely remember my own name after everything that happened. It was . . .”
“Insane,” she repeated.
“Yeah,” he said, with a grim expression. “Word of the day.”
—
The opening crowd at Comic-Con had been only half the size of Friday’s, thanks to all the fresh electrical mayhem. By 10 A.M., the exhibition hall once again bustled with thousands.
Zack manned his rented table in Artist’s Alley, the back-corner mini-bazaar where professionals hawked their works. He’d surpassed his wildest expectations the day before: six sales and ten handshakes from gushing fans of Meldweld. One of his admirers, a statuesque Goth with spiderweb tattoos on her arms, scrawled her hotel information in Zack’s sketchbook. He’d made a note to pin it up on his corkboard when he got home, as collateral against future ego losses.
Ultimately he’d spent Friday night alone in his hotel, text-messaging into the wee hours with his ex-girlfriend Libby. When she mocked him for passing up the chance to bang his first groupie, Zack merely shrugged and chalked it up to arachnophobia. But by 3 A.M., he’d come around to Libby’s way of thinking, as usual. Another non-experience for the King of Missed Opportunities.
The next morning, Zack yawned and doodled from behind his table as the local crowd ignored him. Everyone seemed glaringly tense now, hopelessly thrown by their faltering technology.
Halfway through his latest bored doodle, the convention hall plummeted into darkness.
Zack shot to his feet as countless conventioneers squawked in blind worry. Dozens, then hundreds of cigarette lighters pierced tiny pinholes in the darkness. Though Zack was relieved to learn that he hadn’t gone blind, the preponderance of flames created a new concern. He looked to the artist next to him, a portly man with a Fu Manchu mustache who waved his Zippo like a torch.
“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Zack cautioned.
“What the hell do you want me to do?”
“There are posters, banners, all sorts of flammable—”
“I just wanna get out of here in one piece. You want the same, then shut up and follow me.”
Reluctantly, Zack grabbed his sketchbook and followed. He knew it wasn’t entirely wise to trail the guy with the open flame, but then Zack feared that things were about to get very bad here, very soon.
A hundred yards away, a new crescendo of screams arose as a publisher’s booth became engulfed in fire. Two shrieking exhibitors emerged from inside, both sporting a fresh coat of flames. They crashed into a neighboring stall, setting it ablaze.
Panic seized the hall as the fire spread. Every exit was visible now, and every route became choked by throngs of squealing evacuees. Zack joined the thinnest clog and was quickly shoved aside like a coatrack. He huddled into a protective crouch against a folding wall, away from the flames and mobs. Wait it out, his inner strategist demanded. Better late than trampled.
Soon someone sat down beside him, a tall and slender man in a black T-shirt and slacks. Tucked beneath his New York Yankees cap was a smooth white mask made of some oddly reflective plastic. Zack could spy only a hint of the stranger’s face through the eyeholes. He had fair skin, sandy brows, and the scariest blue eyes Zack had ever seen. They glistened in the firelight, dancing with wild amusement despite the suffering of thousands.
Before the cartoonist could indulge his flight reflex, the stranger grabbed his arm. Zack couldn’t hear the clacking sound in the din, nor did he register the cool silver bracelet as it sealed around his wrist. All he could process were those ferocious eyes. They weren’t just amused, they were contemptuous. Mocking.
The man muttered something brief and incomprehensible before jumping to his feet. He waved his hand in a brusque loop. A puddle of radiant white liquid appeared by his shoes, as round as a manhole and as bright as a glowstick. Zack watched, bug-eyed, as the man plunged feet first into the pool’s hidden depths. He disappeared beneath the rippling surface. The portal shrank away to concrete.
For Rose Trillinger’s second son, this was the end of reason. The end of acceptance. Screaming, Zack rushed to join the stragglers in a fevered dash for the exit. He’d made it all the way to the doors when his new bracelet vibrated and he became sealed inside an egg-shaped prison of light. Within moments— Hannah cut him off with a tense wave of the hand. “It’s all right. I . . . know the rest.”