I hope this day finds you all warm and happy. If so, enjoy it. Dark times are upon us, and I fear we must gather as soon as possible.
Something odd is happening within the Realities. Something unnatural, indeed. Sinister forces are about, and I have my suspicions as to the source. And no, it is not Mistress Jane. I shan’t write about it any further; you will be briefed during our meeting.
On the twenty-second of August, please report to the nearest cemetery at your earliest convenience, whereupon I will wink you to headquarters straightaway, based upon your nanolocator reading.
Now I really must be going, as poor Rutger appears to have hung his malodorous socks in front of the cooler vent, creating quite a smell, I assure you. Wish me luck in finding a can of powerful air freshener.
Most sincerely,
Master George
P.S. Muffintops sends her warmest regards.
P.P.S. Please attach the Spinner to a blank wall and observe carefully to learn about entropy and fragmentation.
“Spinner?” Paul asked. “What’s he talking about?”
“The twenty-second? That’s only two days away,” Tick’s mom whispered, her voice not hiding the sudden dismay at the possibility of her son running off again.
Tick’s initial excitement at hearing from Master George quickly faded into a sickly pang in his gut. He had dreaded this moment in many ways, knowing he’d be summoned again, leaving his poor mom to worry about him. Even though she’d been convinced of the truth about the Realities, Tick knew that when the day actually came for him to leave again, she’d throw a fit.
Like any good mother.
“Mom . . .” Tick said, but no other words filled his mouth.
His dad reached over and squeezed Tick’s shoulder, then shook his head ever so slightly when they made eye contact.
“Honey,” Dad said, “let’s go for a drive and talk a bit. Lisa, Kayla, you come with us—we’ll get some ice cream.”
“But I want to hear—” Lisa protested, but Dad cut her off.
“Just come on. In the car. Let’s go.”
Tick didn’t completely understand what his dad was doing. He had insisted all summer that he believed in Tick and in his responsibilities as a Realitant, and that he would do whatever it took to support him and make sure nothing got in his way. But now, in the moment, Tick couldn’t believe his dad was going to leave them to discuss the message and its meaning alone.
He was treating Tick like an adult, and Tick wasn’t sure he liked that as much as he thought he would.
As his parents left for the garage, half-dragging Kayla and Lisa, Mom staring at the floor with dead eyes, Tick tried to push aside the swirling, conflicting emotions he felt about involving his family with the Realitant stuff. He wished he could somehow separate them into two different worlds, independent and unaware of the other. But he couldn’t. And he was a Realitant Second Class with people depending on him. He pulled out a chair and sat next to Sofia; Paul did the same.
“So, what do you think?” Paul asked.
Sofia threw her arms up. “What’s there to think? Instead of flying back to our homes, we’re going to the cemetery with Tick.”
“But my ticket is for tomorrow night,” Paul said. “Just because your parents don’t give a—”
He stopped, looking quickly at the floor. Tick groaned on the inside. The more they got to know Sofia, the more they realized her parents didn’t seem to care too much about what she did. This time they’d even let her come without her fancy butler, Frupey. But the verdict was still out as to why they didn’t care; Sofia refused to talk about it.
“Go home if you want,” she said with a sneer. “They have dead people in Florida, too, don’t they? Find a cemetery there.”
“Ah, man,” Paul said as he dropped his head into his hands with a groan. “You have no idea how hard it was to explain this stuff to my family. I don’t know if I can go through that again.”
“Fine. Then quit.”
“Oh, give me a break. I didn’t say squat about quitting.”
“It’s gonna be hard for all of us,” Tick interjected. “We just need to make them understand.”
“Easy for you to say,” Paul said. “I swear your dad is the single coolest person that’s ever breathed.”
“Maybe. But none of us can quit. Ever.”
Paul leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms in anger. “Dude, quit preachin’. Paul Rogers is not gonna quit. I was just saying, man, it’s gonna be killer telling my old lady I’m running off again.”
The full load of spaghetti in Tick’s stomach was starting to churn. “Our parents just have to trust us. That’s all there is to it.”