A Strange Tale

by James Somers

  When Percival pulled open the fractured glass door and stepped inside, he found himself standing inside the living room of his own house. His head throbbed with a migraine headache. He pushed his fingers against his temples, blinking his eyes until the feeling subsided. He turned toward the seventies-styled mirror hanging above the television and caught his own reflection.

  Percival saw himself in jeans and a striped blue shirt. His hair was uncombed—an unruly mop. It seemed funny to him for only a moment. He remembered this—when he was six years old. Seeing his reflection now, he found that he looked exactly the same as he had then. Percival turned, looking for…he couldn’t remember what he was looking for. For a moment, Percival had thought he had friends with him, but he was alone in the living room.

  Voices called to him from the kitchen. His mother said, “All right, Percival, you can come in now!”

  He walked to the swinging kitchen door and peeked inside. His parents stood behind the dining room table, wearing brightly colored cone-shaped birthday hats. “Surprise!” they yelled when he came into the kitchen. “Happy number six,” his father said, patting him on the back.

  His mother came to him with a birthday hat of his own, placing it on his head with a snap of the thin elastic band under his chin. She blew a party horn at his face, the coiled paper tickling his cheek playfully. “Happy Birthday!” she said, blowing the horn again.

  Percival’s father stepped aside, revealing a shiny red bicycle—his first—a present he had never forgotten, despite receiving better ones afterward. “A Mongoose,” Percival said. He had learned how to ride on this bike. There had been a few scrapes and bruises along the way, but he and his father had never been closer.

  On the table sat a chocolate birthday cake adorned with six candles and multicolored sprinkles. Percival had always preferred his mother’s homemade cakes to the store-bought kind. They might not have been as pretty to look at, but they sure tasted better. He sighed, smiling at his parents. This had been one of those perfect days in his life—a time when everything seemed just right.

  Percival’s father pulled out one of the chairs for him. Percival took a seat before the birthday cake with its six lit candles. His parents stood before him, singing Happy Birthday, blowing their party horns again. Percival made a wish and blew out the candles. The light smoke coming from the extinguished candles wrinkled his nose—the smell of rotten eggs. Sulfur, Percival thought.

  His mother was standing next to him now. She had sliced off a huge piece of cake for him and was preparing to feed it to him. “Open up, Percy,” she said sweetly. “Here comes the airplane.” Percival opened his mouth, eager for the delicious cake his mother used to make. But when he closed his mouth around it, the texture seemed wrong—slimy. The chocolate taste was off too. It seemed too sweet.

  Percival caught a glimpse of his mother in his peripheral vision—only it wasn’t his mother. A grotesque caricature of the women—frazzled, dirty hair, streaked eyeliner, horrid broken teeth and leathery skin—stood there instead. Startled, Percival looked at her directly. His sweet young mother was there again, smiling broadly with another bite of cake hanging on a plastic fork in front of his mouth. “Eat it up, Percy,” she said. “This is your special day.”

  Percival took another bite without really looking at it. The slimy texture was there again, and it was even sweeter this time. He spit the cake back onto his plate—only it wasn’t cake at all. A slug, the size of a man’s thumb, writhed on the plate before him. Percival grimaced when he recognized what he’d been eating. “What’s wrong, dear?” his mother asked.

  Once again, Percival glanced at her and saw the snaggle-toothed creep he had seen before. But when he looked straight at her, his mother reappeared. “Something’s not right,” Percival whispered to himself.

  “What’s wrong, dear?” his creepy mother asked. “Don’t you like your cake? I made it especially for you.” She was grinning maniacally now.

  Percival blinked several times, rubbing his eyes. The woman’s appearance gradually faded from looking like his mother to the creep. The plate of birthday cake faded also until Percival saw a writhing mass of slugs heaped on the plate covered in chocolate sauce and sprinkled with maggots. He shoved his seat away from the table, wiping his mouth on his sleeve furiously.

  The entire room had changed by now—no longer his parent’s kitchen, but a dirty padded cell with broken, dripping water pipes jutting through the ceiling. It smelled musty and sour. Percival stood, backing away as his creepish mother and father figures approached him, wearing loose undone straight jackets. The father figure was bald with a huge lobotomy scar running across his scalp. “What’s wrong, son?” he said, stifling laughter. “Don’t you like your birthday party?”

  Percival looked down and found his recent attire had returned along with his werewolf killers. He drew both massive pistols and aimed. The creeps kept advancing. “Don’t make me do it!” Percival warned. The creeps looked at one another, giggling, then rushed toward him. Percival fired, but the bullets had no effect. He brought the pistols together, mashing them like a big ball of silver Silly Putty. The wad of silver reshaped, growing in length to become a broadsword.

  Percival swung at the creeps, but the blade merely sliced through them like smoke. They hissed at him and then faded. “Phantoms,” he whispered. The Asylum must trap people with illusions, he thought. I’ve got to find the others.

  Percival imagined a hole in the wall of his padded cell then walked through. Stepping into the hallway beyond, he found a ramshackle hospital ward. Stained broken-down gurneys lined the hallway. Mud, or something that looked like mud, had been smeared on the walls. Percival kept the sword ready and began walking down the corridor. Fluorescent lights flickered here and there, making the scene seem even creepier.

  Percival heard a terrible banging coming from an intersecting hallway. He raced toward the noise, hearing Sir Bane’s deep voice booming from behind a door midway down the corridor. Baanna came hopping down the hallway from the other direction. They reached the door together and heard Sir Bane crashing against the door, trying to get out.

  “Sir Bane?” Percival asked.

  “Yes!” he shouted. “Percival, is that you? I somehow ended up in this cell with several ghosts!”

  Percival imagined the door gone, revealing a disheveled Sir Bane on the other side. The knight paused, looking for the door he’d just been hammering with his shoulder. “A handy trick,” he said. “Thank you.”

  “Where’s Violet?” Percival asked.

  “I didn’t see anyone else,” Sir Bane said. “As soon as I stepped through the front door after you, I found myself back in the King’s Court in Fantastique. I was reliving the ceremony where I became a knight of the Griffin Order.”

  “I had a similar experience,” Percival said.

  Baanna nodded enthusiastically. “I guess Baanna must have done the same,” Percival said. He could only guess what sort of perfect day a mystical orangutan warrior might experience.

  Violet’s scream erupted through the Asylum hallways. Percival instantly began to shake with anger. “Where did it come from?” he asked frantically. He had to save her. Neither Sir Bane nor Baanna seemed to be able to discern the direction.

  “I can’t tell,” Sir Bane said helplessly.

  Violet screamed again. This time, Percival took off in the direction he thought then turned back as the sound seemed to come from everywhere at once. “I can’t believe this place,” he said. “I’d like to meet the guy who thought this one up.” Another scream—louder and longer.

  Percival closed his eyes trying to focus on his hearing to lead the way. He could search endlessly in this madhouse and never find her. He imagined himself riding the sound of Violet’s voice all the way to the source. And when she screamed again, something unexpected happened.

  The sound of Violet’s voice seemed to pierce directly through Percival’s chest, snaring him and pulling him off his feet, flying thro
ugh the air like a fish on a hook. He had no control whatsoever, bouncing off the walls, dragged by the sound of Violet’s cry to wherever she might be inside the Asylum. Sir Bane and Baanna ran after him frantically, probably thinking some specter had seized him and made away with him.

  Percival quickly lost sight of their pursuit as he tore through hallways around several corners, flailing wildly through the air, helpless. He managed to turn his body around enough to see down the long corridor toward a set of swinging hospital style doors with little round windows near the tops. The doors were closed, and he wasn’t slowing down—her scream seeming to go on forever.

  Realizing the worst, Percival braced for impact. As Violet’s screamed came to an end, Percival smashed headlong into the doors. He tumbled through, seeing stars in his vision as he landed inside what appeared to be a gruesome version of an operating room.

  Percival stood up, holding his head—a plump knot forming already. He was startled to find Violet strapped to a stainless steel table with two more creeps standing over her, wearing filthy surgical gowns, masks and gloves. One of the creeps was holding a pitcher of water, while the other held a pair of sparking jumper cables attached to a corroded car battery. Apparently, the Asylum’s version of shock therapy had elicited Violet’s agonizing screams. On a table nearby lay an entire assortment of grisly tools and torture devices, including a chainsaw.

  When Percival burst into the room, the creeps turned on him, looking entirely startled by the interruption. The one with the jumper cables made ready to touch Violet’s skin again if Percival made any move toward them. The other creep dropped his pitcher of water, reaching for the chainsaw instead. He cranked it up with a loud buzz, grinning, mad as a hatter.

  Sir Bane crashed through the swinging doors with Baanna on his heels. The orangutan leaped through the air, his mystical sword shrouded in deadly green light. Baanna sliced through the creep with the battery cables before it even realized what was happening. Its phantom form vaporized like the other creeps Percival had seen. The other creep dropped his chainsaw immediately, running from Baanna’s sword. The phantom passed right through the wall and out of sight.

  Percival rushed to Violet’s side, trying to undo the leather straps she had been fastened to the table with. “Violet, are you all right?” he asked. “Speak to me!” Violet seemed to be catatonic, unresponsive to Percival’s pleas. With the straps undone, he shook her shoulders lightly and patted her cheeks. She blinked several times then peered into Percival’s eyes as though trying to fasten on to reality again. “Are you all right?” Percival asked again.

  Violet nodded then grabbed Percival, hugging him hard. She began sobbing on his shoulder. Not knowing what else to do, he returned the hug, patting her back to reassure her. “It’s okay,” he said. “It’s over now.” Percival closed his eyes, trying to relieve his anger with the knowledge that Violet was safe. Within moments, she had collected herself, wiping her tears away and replacing them with a burning intensity.

  “Let’s find the well and get the dagger,” she said.

  That small breakdown was all Violet was going to allow this insane place. Percival watched as his friend rebuilt the dogged stoicism she often displayed in very difficult situations. She wouldn’t give these creeps the satisfaction anymore. “Do you know what happened to my sword?” she asked.

  Percival had no idea, but he imagined another like it in her hand. She held it up, making the weight and balance sure. “Let’s find the basement,” she said, walking out through the double doors, leaving the others to follow.

  WELL OF SOULS

  As it turned out, the Asylum’s basement was relatively easy to find. However, it was actually a boiler room full of sweating pipes issuing steam from defective joints and wrought iron catwalks, slippery from all the humidity. The entire maze of machinery was lit in crimson light with no particular place of origin. Percival was sure he had seen something similar in a horror movie, years ago.

  Down at the very lowest level, the chamber opened up around what Percival could only surmise as their destination. “The Well of Souls,” he whispered. They were standing upon metal grating that made up the entire floor around the Well. Water flowed beneath the grates as though a river were rushing beneath their feet. The Well was deeply set in the floor, more like a hole in the ground than any sort of wishing well, and fluorescent green light emanated from it—very similar to the portals they had been using to go from one realm to the next.

  The Mortal Dagger hung suspended in mid-air within the shaft of light emanating from the well. “That must be it,” Percival said. He looked at Sir Bane. “Should I just take it?” he asked.

  Sir Bane examined the room for any sort of trap or enemy they might have missed.

  “Surely it can’t be that easy,” Violet said. “Nothing in this place ever is.”

  Percival felt the same way, but nothing had presented itself yet. “Here goes,” he said. Percival walked cautiously across the metal grates toward the ancient looking dagger hovering before him. Nothing sprang out to kill him. But as soon as Percival reached for the weapon, green flames erupted from the grates beneath his feet.

  Violet screamed. Sir Bane and Baanna rushed forward, trying to save Percival from the flames, but the fire spread outward along the floor, coming to meet their advance. Feeling the intense heat, they were both forced to retreat.

  “Percival!” Violet screamed. Tears were rushing down her cheeks. Her best friend in the world had been completely swallowed by the furnace of fire churning before them. Baanna held Violet’s arms, trying to restrain her for fear she would ignore the peril to fling herself headlong into the flames, though there was no way to save Percival now. The three of them stood, watching as the flames ascended nearly to the high chamber ceiling, despair burning their hearts like the fire before them.

  Suddenly Percival was walking through the flames toward them, a bright smile upon his face and the Mortal Dagger held securely in hand. None of them moved. Their astonished faces only made his smile grow wider. When he reached them, the fire died away as suddenly as it had come, retreating below the red hot floor grates. Speechless, they examined him completely, inspecting his flesh and clothing. They found his flesh pink and healthy, his clothing unmarked and not a hair on his head singed. Despite the intensity of the heat all around his body, Percival didn’t even smell of smoke.

  Sir Bane finally managed to speak. “I don’t understand…how can you be alive?”

  “It was something Mr. Lonely said to me before we left,” Percival said. “He told me to remember the three Hebrews.”

  Violet’s face lit up. “Meshach, Shadrach, and Abed-nego?” Violet asked, almost laughing.

  Percival bit playfully at his bottom lip, nodding. “Apparently,” he said. “He said that was the key to obtaining the Mortal Dagger. I thought about their faith as I reached for it.”

  “But how did you know?” Sir Bane asked, still seeming skeptical. “You didn’t know before you walked in there.”

  “You’re right, I didn’t,” Percival confirmed. “As a matter of fact, it wasn’t until the flames swallowed me. I couldn’t believe I was still alive, that I couldn’t even feel the heat. I remembered what he said. Then I knew.”

  “But we felt the heat and could not approach,” Sir Bane said.

  “That’s just it,” Violet tried to explain. “Only Percival could retrieve the dagger. The fire would have killed anyone else.”

  Sir Bane laughed, shaking his head. “Simply amazing,” he said.

  Violet grew suddenly serious. “But now we have to go through the Well of Souls,” Violet said.

  “The Queen,” Percival added. “We have to face her.”

  “We must kill her,” Sir Bane corrected. “And for that you must use the dagger coated in the Render’s blood.”

  Percival retrieved the syringe of Render blood from his inside pocket. He held the Mortal Dagger out from him, pouring the contents of the syringe over the blade. The blo
od did not drip even a single drop onto the ground. Instead, it clung to the dagger’s ornate blade like iron filings to a magnet. “I guess we’re ready,” Percival said.

  “You have to command the Well of Souls, Percival,” Violet said.

  Percival nodded, walking toward the fluorescent green energy swirling in the Well before them. “Well of Souls,” he said, looking doubtful. “I command you to take me and my friends to Hallowed Hill.” Nothing happened.

  He looked back at the others. “Here goes nothing,” he said, stepping forward until he dropped down through Well’s maelstrom of energy. Green flame shot upward, enveloping him. When the fire dissipated, Percival was gone.

  HALLOWED HILL

  Percival saw the flame take him through the Well of Souls. His vision flashed as though someone were waving a bright light in his eyes. When he materialized again, Percival found that the Well had deposited him within a massive cavern. It was mind-boggling how vast this single chamber was. He could clearly see he was underground, but the ceiling of the cavern appeared to be close to a mile above him.

  Green flame erupted behind Percival, like a geyser going off. It lasted only a moment, leaving Violet’s startled form in its wake. When she spotted Percival, she ran to him. A rock the size of her skull smashed into the earthen floor between them. Both Violet and Percival stumbled backwards, looking up toward the cavern ceiling. Percival could see bits of dust still trailing downward. When he looked around at the surrounding terrain, he realized what he had supposed was rocky ground to actually be the result of falling rock from the roof of the cavern. “We’d better be careful to watch out for those,” Percival said.

  “No kidding,” Violet said.

  Behind them, two more puffs of green flame left Sir Bane and Baanna with them in the cavern. “So this is Hallowed Hill?” Sir Bane asked, patting the residual smoke from his clothing.

  “Actually,” Percival said, “I believe that must be it.” He pointed down toward the far end of the cavern where a great mansion sat upon a huge mound of earth. Thick clouds gathered above it, swirling angrily, filtering what appeared to be scant moonlight coming from somewhere unknown. Bolts of lightning struck the ground around the mansion while sheets of rain swept back and forth, partially obscuring their view. Further out and closer to them, Hallowed Hill was littered with craters, boulder-sized hunks of rock thrown down from the ceiling and the remnants of an ancient graveyard. A viscous river flowed around the hill then away, carrying what appeared to be ghostly people beneath its surface.

  “Are those souls?” Violet asked.

  Percival lingered on the sight, his flesh beginning to crawl at the thought. “Can’t be,” he managed. “True souls don’t come to an imaginary place. The wicked don’t come to so kind an end.”

  “That may be,” Sir Bane said, “but that constant moaning is still unnerving.”

  The others nodded.

  “We’d better get moving,” Percival said, starting out toward Hallowed Hill.

  Violet pointed toward the ceiling. “Watch out for falling rock,” she informed Sir Bane and Baanna. “I nearly got my skull crushed just before you arrived.”

  They looked up apprehensively, spotting several chunks falling some distance away into the slowly churning river. Nodding, they followed after Percival who held the Mortal Dagger before him, stained with the blood of the Queen Render. He supposed Queen Lilith would be found inside her mansion somewhere, but it always paid to be ready just in case.

  The trek across the vast cavern floor covered less than a half-mile. A little better than halfway to Hallowed Hill, torrential rain swept down over them—a not so subtle gift from Queen Lilith to make their trip more enjoyable. No doubt Queen Lilith was already aware of her visitors. Percival wondered what terrors she would have waiting for them in her mansion once they reached Hallowed Hill.

  They came to a place where the river cut them off from the hill. No bridge had been built. Apparently, you either flew over somehow or crossed the river itself. Neither option was very appealing, so Percival constructed a bridge in much the same way he had to cross the Chasm at Bloodmare Castle. The bridge was an easy affair, both in its construction and crossing, much to everyone’s surprise.

  “Does anyone else feel like this should have been more difficult?” Violet asked, once they had come to the other side of the river.

  Percival was about to agree when a massive stalactite smashed into the ground between them, driving into the earth like a great stake. He dodged away, as did the others, looking to the ceiling for more falling debris. A storm of rock cascaded toward them. “Run!” several said to the others as chaos ensued.

  Violet started up Hallowed Hill, trying to evade man-sized chunks of rock pounding the ground all around her. Baanna flipped and twirled out of harms way with more grace, seeming like a kung fu master, deftly maneuvering through the rain of debris, occasionally striking through smaller stones with his mystical sword. Sir Bane, the largest target, was grazed several times, but managed to gain ground up Hallowed Hill toward the ominous mansion.

  As the falling stones pursued them, Percival realized they were quickly becoming separated from one another. Rock had been falling for mere seconds, yet the entire surface of Hallowed Hill had quickly become a forest of rock spires. Percival navigated through them even as more stones fell from the sky around him.

  As the rocky rain began to abate, Percival emerged unscathed, standing directly before Queen Lilith’s mansion. The finely crafted house looked like something out of the Victorian era, yet in a spooky Addam’s Family sort of way. Da-da-da-dum, snap-snap, he thought. He pushed childish memories aside, realizing none of the others had emerged from the spires of rock towering around the mansion. He called out to them individually and waited. No reply.

  Frantic, Percival started back toward the stones, trying to decide in what direction the others may have tried to ascend the hill and where they might be found, possibly injured or worse. Feminine laughter traveled over the weedy lawn to Percival before he could take up his search. He turned, werewolf killers cocked and ready in both hands, to find Queen Lilith standing before the open glass doors of her mansion. Only, it wasn’t the queen Percival had expected.

  “Welcome, Percival Strange,” Widow Black said.

  She wore a finely made gown, royal apparel of supernatural design and quality, with a long crimson train trailing behind her back into the house. A crown, like a kindling flame in appearance, hovered just above her dark, curled locks. “I see you made it past the Renders,” she said coyly. “I suppose I should have expected it. Surely, the Master Caretaker of the House wouldn’t put so much faith in you if you were incompetent.”

  Percival was too stunned to reply. He had never suspected that Widow Black, though a traitor, would turn out to be the very enemy he had to destroy in order to complete his Trial. Whatever sway she may have held on him initially was gone now. Listening to her, he vaguely recognized her veiled compliment. Still, she clearly held him in contempt, remaining superior in her demeanor. And why not? Percival wondered if he actually could destroy her. He had witnessed her power, in part, but clearly she would not have let the half be known while walking among the very people sent to assassinate her.

  “What’s your game, Lilith?” he asked finally.

  She smiled, intrigued. “I could have killed you before now, if I’d wanted to.”

  Percival didn’t even feel insulted by her statement. He knew it was true. “I know you could have,” he admitted. “So, why didn’t you?”

  Her eyes flashed bright red with power as she smiled again, this time showing a vampire’s smile—something Percival hadn’t noticed before while she called herself Widow Black. “Maybe I’m interested in you,” she said.

  Percival’s first thought and reaction must have been written all over his face. Queen Lilith rolled her eyes, waving her hand at him dismissively. “Foolish child, I mean interested in your power.”

  Percival blushed, embar
rassed. Still, the idea that he might be powerful enough to earn her interest intrigued him. “I don’t understand,” he admitted.

  “Of course not,” she said. “I would not expect you to understand the inner political workings of the imaginative worlds, its council, or my place in either. You are, after all, only human.”

  How did she know? Mr. Lonely and Marlon had been careful not to reveal him for fear of what might happen among the Council Delegates. Immediately, Percival tried to remember some misstep that had given him away.

  “Of course, I knew, you ridiculous boy. I’m not as blind and stupid as that rat, Pipsqueak,” Lilith offered. “You are human and gifted, even for them. How else would you possess such power in this realm?”

  Despite his shock at Queen Lilith’s perception, Percival remained aware of his missing friends. He hoped they would all emerge from among the spires at any moment, but worried that so far none had. “Why didn’t you tell your boss about me?” Percival asked.

  “Boss?” she spat. “I am beholden to none—the Sovereign Queen of the Underworld.” Lilith sauntered across the length of the front steps. “Pipsqueak may wield control over Horrif-I for the time being, but things can change quickly. If you were to join me, Percival, that time might come very quickly.”

  There it was. At the end of the day, it all boiled down to a power struggle. The cliché, “why would I ever join you,” came to mind, but he held his tongue. Villains always enjoyed a good monologue, so he let her continue while trying to push aside the thought that Violet, Baanna and Sir Bane might be lying nearby half crushed beneath these huge stones, slowly slipping away into death.

  “Think about it. You could be a prince in my empire,” she proposed. “All of Horrif-I’s denizens would be yours to command. With our combined power, we could easily go on to conquer the other imagined worlds as well.”

  “I don’t care anything about having power,” Percival declared. “I’m fine just the way I am.”

  “Really?” she said, genuinely surprised. “I supposed a boy like you would have grown up picked on, with little respect or hope of gaining it.” She grinned. “Tell me, Percival, do the bigger boys respect you? Do the girls swoon for you?” She laughed, seeing the obvious answer written all over his flushing face. “No?”

  Percival set his jaw, determining not to let her get the better of him. “None of that matters,” he said, though perhaps with less conviction than before.

  “To a boy your age, I would have thought it meant a great deal,” she said. “Perhaps, I was wrong about you. Still, I would be willing to give Violet to you as your very own.”

  “What did you say?”

  “You heard me,” Lilith said. “I could make her love you, Percival. Don’t tell me that doesn’t appeal to you…even though she is rather boyish and plain. I’ve seen the way you look at her and her you. I could make her infatuated with you, if you liked. Join me in overthrowing Pipsqueak and that miserable council of buffoons, and she’ll be yours.”

  “Violet isn’t yours to give,” Percival said, glancing sidelong, hoping she would emerge from among the stones.

  Queen Lilith laughed again, this time with more vigor. “Dear boy, have you not realized yet? They are all mine to give. I have your friends, so you can stop looking for them to come running to your aid. If you refuse me, they will die painfully before your eyes—especially that ragamuffin girl.”

  QUEEN LILITH

  Queen Lilith had already captured his friends somehow. Percival hated to think under what conditions she might be keeping them, or what torture they might experience at her command. What could he do? Give up? Allow the entire realm of imagined worlds to fall under the control of this vile queen? Everything in his mind told him to fight. But Violet might be killed for it. Percival wondered what his friend would do. Probably the right thing, he thought.

  Percival gritted his teeth against the consequences of what he was about to do. No matter how it turned out, he knew he’d never forgive himself for losing his friends. Percival opened his eyes, beholding Queen Lilith, knowing she held all the cards in her favor.

  “Well?” she cooed. “What is your decision?” She had him and she knew it. Percival could see it written all over her too-smug face. He would lose those dearest to him if he didn’t submit to her will. He would lose Violet.

  Immediately, Percival attacked, unleashing a barrage of imagined forces against Queen Lilith unlike any he had executed before. Clouds boiling overhead in the cavern were seized by his mind, striking furiously with lightning at the steps of Queen Lilith’s mansion. At that same moment, many of the rocky spires driven into the earth behind Percival leaped into the air, somersaulting like gymnasts to crash down upon the mansion’s front façade.

  Queen Lilith, clearly shocked by the attack, shot through the open doors backward into her mansion—as though she’d been seized by some invisible hand just as the first strikes of lightning ignited her dress. In flames, with smoke trailing after, she retreated only a fraction of a second before five jagged boulders crashed down upon the steps and through the front of her mansion.

  Percival wasted no time following her, running up toward the ruined front of the house, looking for a way past the boulders and shattered glass. He knew allowing Queen Lilith an opportunity to mobilize would give her time to kill the others. Right now, she was caught off guard, and Percival intended to keep her that way.

  He barely paused at the front of the house—only long enough to command the inanimate rock to reform into boulder-sized stone juggernauts at his bidding. “After Queen Lilith!” he commanded. The juggernauts ground their stone joints and obeyed their master, crashing through what was left of the front of the mansion, taking up pursuit of the fleeing queen.

  However, Lilith would not retreat so easily. She was waiting at the juncture between two descending staircases merging into one on their way to the first floor. As soon as Percival and his juggernauts came into the huge foyer, Lilith blasted one of the rock soldiers apart with streaking bolts of crimson lightning.

  The blast sent Percival skidding across the polished marble floor. Lilith sent more of her lightning after him, scorching the floor, but rebounding off the large mounted mirror upon the wall. Even dazed, Percival had noticed what had happened. Her lightning isn’t electrical, but magical in nature. “Destroy her!” he shouted to the remaining stone juggernaut.

  Lilith managed, magically, to knock the beast backward off the stairs, just as it was about to take hold of her. Percival got to his feet as Lilith redirected her energies toward him, then leaped into the mirror behind him. The mirror reflected the magical lightning out upon various artifacts in the room, causing several furniture explosions and fires in the process.

  Percival burst back through the mirror, shattering its glass as he did so. He landed on his feet with his hands palms down, commanding the reformation of the glass shards. They instantly sprang up, reforming in his hands as a mirrored shield and mirrored glass sword. Crimson lightning arced away from Lilith’s splayed fingers, reaching like a ferocious beast to consume Percival. His mirrored shield and sword reflected the attack, even sending some of it back toward Lilith. She screamed furiously as her own magic knocked her back into a wall decorated with grisly renditions of famous paintings.

  At Percival’s quick imagining, a gruesome portrayal of the Mona Lisa reached out, grabbing Lilith by her hair, yanking her back in order to get a choke-hold around her neck. Several well known Greek statues adorning the landing leaped from their pedestals to further restrain Queen Lilith. She struggled terribly, practically foaming at the mouth in her fury.

  Percival arrived on the landing within seconds, his shield and sword cast aside. He placed the Mortal Dagger at Queen Lilith’s throat. “Relinquish your crown and my friends, and you may survive this day,” he demanded. “Otherwise, you die, Queen Lilith.”

  Percival saw it in her eyes—genuine fear. She was wondering if she could get away, strike at him somehow and e
scape. Percival pressed the blade against her skin a little harder. “It would be a shame for this dagger to bring blood,” he said. “I’m not really sure how much Render blood it takes to kill you.”

  He had expected to see her resign herself to defeat. Instead, Queen Lilith smirked. Percival didn’t have a chance to wonder about it. He saw something moving in the reflection of her dazzling eyes.

  Percival whirled around, finding Lord Pipsqueak’s bodyguard, Dim Bones, creeping toward him with a huge double-bladed axe raised over his head. His skull-socket eyes flared with rage—the candle flames within intensifying so that his entire skull lit up like some crazed jack-o-lantern. Percival reached down, taking hold of the long carpet leading up the middle of the stairs, yanking it up with all his might.

  Dim Bones was thrown backwards, down the stairs, smashing into a pile of bones and leather clothing on the floor. Almost immediately, the bones reconnected, building the skeletal warrior from the ground up until his skull blazed again. He picked up his axe and started up the stairs again.

  Percival saw his mirrored sword and shield lying on the ground beneath the skeleton. He imagined the weapons shattering, and the shards reforming the mirrored pane they had once been. The full length mirror coalesced flat on the floor, then tumbled up and over, swallowing Dim Bones through the mirrored side. Percival waved his hand, commanding the mirror back to its mounted frame upon the far wall. It landed there, revealing a struggling Dim Bones, unable to free himself from the looking glass prison.

  Percival turned back to Queen Lilith. Her smug expression was gone. Moreover, her intense beauty was fading rapidly. Percival saw that the Mortal Dagger he had been holding to her throat must have drawn blood when he reacted to Dim Bones. The poison was working through her body, erasing the power and beauty, leaving a ragged frail woman behind. Lilith sagged in the grip of the painted figure behind her and the statues still holding her limbs. Her flaming crown extinguished and fell to the floor, rolling to stop at Percival’s feet.

  In that moment, the three Greek statues cracked like eggshells, revealing Violet, Baanna and Sir Bane beneath the marble skins. Violet, who had been the statue holding Lilith’s legs, rushed Percival, hugging him as tight as she could. Stronger than many boys Percival’s age, she nearly squeezed the breath out of him. But he was so happy to find her safe, he didn’t care one bit.

  UNCEREMONIOUS

  Percival wasn’t exactly sure what he had been expecting when he and the others returned. After defeating Queen Lilith and taking her crown, they had been returned almost instantly to the Lonely Manor. Within a marble chamber, looking to Percival very much like a courtroom, the Council Delegates representing the imagined worlds had unanimously declared his Trial a success. He had noticed that some of the Council Delegates did so bitterly, but did so nonetheless. Mr. Lonely had informed the Council of his intent to begin Percival’s training quickly, and the motion had carried without open dissent.

  Even Lord Pipsqueak had been in attendance. Percival had barely been able to take his eyes off the white mouse throughout the meeting. He was surprised, however, when Lord Pipsqueak added his vote to those in favor of Percival becoming the new Master Caretaker of the House. It just didn’t make sense that Pipsqueak should try so vehemently to destroy him through the Trial only to turn around and vote him in without any bluster whatsoever.

  Following the very unceremonious ceremony, Percival and Violet had bid farewell to Sir Bane and Baanna. Both courageous friends had felt the need to return to their own worlds, though their parting came with much hugging and even a few joyous tears. Violet had wanted to remain with Percival, but Mr. Lonely had insisted that she return to her parent’s home. Apparently some sort of suspension of time had been in effect, and it was time to release their town from the Manor’s control. She resigned herself to their will on the matter and was soon led by a chatty Mrs. Lonely through a portal which looked very much like a dusty old broom closet.

  That left Percival with Mr. Lonely and the wizard, Marlon. “That went off about as well as could be expected, I think,” Mr. Lonely said.

  “What do you mean?” Percival asked.

  “Isn’t it obvious, Percival?” Marlon said. “Many of the Council Delegates are fine with having you as the Master Caretaker in training, but others don’t like you…I’m not sure why, exactly, but they don’t.”

  “I was wondering,” Percival said, “why Pipsqueak voted me in? That doesn’t make any sense. He made it very clear how much he hates me before any of this ever began.”

  “We’ve been wondering the same thing,” Mr. Lonely said. “And you’re right to be concerned. Lord Pipsqueak would never give up his positions so easily.”

  “And many of the other Council Delegates follow his lead when they vote,” Marlon added. “They even did so today. You could see it on their faces. They only voted for Percival’s acceptance because the Trial’s conditions stipulate it and because Lord Pipsqueak voted that way rather than stir up another stink.”

  “So, he’s up to something?” Percival asked.

  “Almost certainly,” Mr. Lonely said. “However, we can’t afford to bother over it at the moment. We must begin your real training for the role of Master Caretaker. That’s the most important thing.”

  “Agreed,” Marlon said. “Even if Lord Pipsqueak is plotting something against you, the surest offense we can have is a good defense—having you fully trained in the politics and power of the Master Caretaker’s role among the imagined worlds.”

  Percival nodded. He wasn’t sure, but he had the feeling that what he had faced in the Trial had only been the beginning of his troubles. He would rejoin his family, outwardly, but secretly he would administrate between the constantly bickering denizens of the imagined worlds, commanding powers he had only the barest understanding of at the moment. “Lord,” he whispered, “what have I gotten myself into?”

  Lord Pipsqueak sat upon his tiny throne within the main hall at Bloodmare Castle. Quill, Pipsqueak’s porcupine-esque bodyguard stood at his left. Dim Bones was noticeably absent, still imprisoned somewhere within the strange realm beyond the looking glass. Rot, Pipsqueak’s partially decomposed canine, slobbered and growled in the corner, chewing upon the femur bone of some unfortunate lackey who had earned the white mouse’s easy displeasure.

  An impatient god of the sea stood smoldering before Pipsqueak’s throne. An entourage of Neptune’s mer-people trailed behind him, all of them glistening, their natural oils making their scales reflect the available crimson light oddly. Fayd Ra, the Delegate for Neo, stood at his side, trying to avoid the nearly constant splashes of water falling away from Neptune’s ever-wetted body.

  “You can save your complaints,” Lord Pipsqueak said. “I already know what you have come to say. You don’t like or understand why I passed the boy during the vote?”

  “Precisely,” Fayd Ra said, his tone as icy and calculating as ever.

  “Complete idiocy!” Neptune thundered. “Your own denizen, Lilith, told you he was a human boy from Urbane! How could you possibly vote him through?”

  “Indeed,” Fayd Ra said. “It would seem you gave away a perfect opportunity to rid ourselves of the boy, before he becomes a problem.”

  “Or perhaps,” Lord Pipsqueak suggested, “I’ve only allowed a weaker enemy to take the place of a stronger one?”

  “I don’t follow,” Neptune said skeptically.

  Lord Pipsqueak rolled his tiny pink eyes. “Someone, please inform the news media,” he said. “Neptune doesn’t understand.”

  Neptune fumed, but waited.

  Lord Pipsqueak stood up from his throne, pacing back and forth across the dark stone pedestal upon which it sat. “If we had opposed the boy’s inauguration after he successfully completed the Trial then we would become whining fools before the public,” he explained. “However, if we allow the boy to train, even take the position, then show him for what he is—or at least what we want everyone to think he is—we will both
rid ourselves of the incumbent Master Caretaker and set up the newbie for an easy public debacle—two birds taken down with one seemingly agreeable vote on our part now.”

  Fayd Ra paused, considering the possibilities.

  Neptune, however, remained unconvinced. “And just how do you intend to pull it off?” he demanded.

  Lord Pipsqueak rubbed his tiny pink paws together, looking off toward the future realization of his unfolding schemes. “Don’t worry,” he said, grinning. “I have everything under control.”