“Go for it, then.”
Lorena spent a minute or two moving the dials and switches of the Wand, adjusting and flipping and turning each one until she was satisfied that its power was at maximum and that it was locked onto Atticus’s last known nanolocator readings.
She eyed Lisa. “This is it. If it doesn’t pull in that boy now, it never will. If you hear a loud buzz in your head or feel like your fingers might fall off, don’t be alarmed.”
“Of course not.” The slightest roll of Lisa’s eyes made her look half bored and half amused, but Lorena knew that fear still lurked behind it all.
“Want a countdown?”
“Mom!”
“Okay, okay. Here we go.” She reached for the button on the top of the Wand and pushed. The click was surprisingly loud, as if the entire forest and all its creatures had quieted at the same moment.
Nothing happened. At first. Then a low hum seemed to rise up out of the ground, along with a vibration that tickled Lorena’s legs, made her shift and scratch at the underside of her thighs. The noise rose in volume and depth, like giant tuning forks and gongs had been struck, the sound ringing all around them. Lorena’s eardrums rattled, and a pain cinched its way down her spine.
The world around them exploded into a swirl of gray mist and terrible, thunderous noise.
Chapter 4
Concerns
Master George stood at the head of the table. He and the other Realitants were in the conference room of the Grand Canyon complex. George hadn’t sat down since the meeting began, and he didn’t know if he could. Sitting seemed like such a casual gesture, something done for rest and relaxation. How could he do that when the world—the worlds—were in such utter chaos?
“Been runnin’ our lips for thirty minutes, we ’ave,” Mothball was saying. Her stern expression made George incredibly sad. She hadn’t smiled since Master Atticus had winked from existence. “And still not a flamin’ thing done. Need to make some decisions, we do.”
“Darn tootin’ right,” Sally added, the burly lumberjack of a man also looking gruffer than usual. “Get dem plans a’yorn hoppin’ so we can quit gabbin’ at each other. I’m downright sick of these here chat-and-chews.”
Now it was Rutger’s turn to speak up. “Look, you bunch of grumpy fusses—”
“That’s enough,” George interrupted. He hadn’t needed to say it loudly or harshly. His little friend of so many years cut off and didn’t argue. “Thank you. Just let me think for a second.”
He looked around the room at Sato, Paul, and Sofia—the only other Realitants in attendance. Those three looked like youngsters who’d been thrown into the horrors of life far too early. And like people who’d lost a dear friend. Both of which were true. They sat slumped over, staring at the table, their faces turned toward the ground.
The other Realitants—people he’d worked with for countless years—couldn’t afford to come to the meeting. They had too many problems to deal with in their own areas of responsibility. For now, this small group was all George had.
“Listen to me,” George finally said. “I know that Master Atticus is on all of our minds. His . . . loss has put us on edge, and I don’t believe we’ve said one nice thing to each other since he disappeared. But the world is in crisis, and we must meet our responsibilities. There are things we can do to help.”
To say the world was in crisis was the understatement of the year. When Mistress Jane tried to sever the Fifth Reality with her new tool of dark matter, it had sent ripples of destruction throughout the universe, almost destroying it. Atticus seemed to have saved the day—or at least delayed the ultimate end—but the aftershocks were devastating.
Tornadoes, earthquakes, fires. Everywhere. Millions of people dead. The governments of the world were desperately trying to keep things under control and reach out to the hungry and wounded scattered all over.
Paul cleared his throat, and everyone looked at him. But before he spoke, his expression melted into something full of misery, and he sank back into his seat. Sofia reached out and squeezed his shoulder.
“Master Paul,” George began, but he found himself empty of words. He suddenly lost every ounce of leadership he’d ever had in his bones. Despair threatened to swallow him whole.
Sato—who was usually rather quiet—suddenly shot to his feet and slammed a fist down on the table. “Snap out of it!” he yelled. “We all need to snap out of it! Quit moping around like babies and start acting like Realitants. If Tick were here, he’d be ashamed of us.” He sat down, but his eyes burned as he gazed at each Realitant around him in turn. “I’ve got an army. The Fifth will do whatever they’re asked. Just say the word, and we can get started.”