“Where you think, boy?” He made an unpleasant sucking sound in his throat then spat on the ground. “Ol’ George sent me after you rug rats.”
“How’d you get here?” Sofia asked. “You can’t tell me there’s a cemetery nearby.”
Sally turned and pointed at nothing in particular. “There’s a might nice spat of his fancy kyoopy gobbledygook back yonder ways. You three too busy starin’ at that big pile of sticks to notice me comin’ up on ya.”
Tick shook his head, finally feeling like the world had solidified again around him. That message on the door, he thought. That message! “Why’d Master George send you back to us? I thought we were on our own.”
Sally shrugged his bulky shoulders. “Still are, I ’spect. Just come to pass on a little somethin’, that’s all.” He slid the satchel off his shoulder and down his arm, then opened it up. After a few seconds of rummaging around, he pulled out a shiny silver cylinder, two inches in diameter and six inches long.
“This here whatchamacallit is for you whipsnaps,” he said, holding the small rod out toward Sofia, who stood closest to him.
She shook her head. “If that’s what I think it is, you better give it to Tick. We can’t go with him anymore.”
Sally’s arm dropped to his side, the cylinder gripped in his hand; his eyes squinted in confusion. “What in the name of Mama’s chitlins stew you talkin’ ’bout? You ain’t done forgot the plan, did ya?”
Tick wanted to say something, but the words stuck in his throat again.
“No, we didn’t forget the plan,” Sofia said with a sneer, then pointed toward the door with the creepy red letters scrawled across it. “But that stupid door says that only Tick can go through it. If Master George wants him to get close to Chu, looks like he’s on his own.”
“You don’t know that,” Tick said, forcing the words out through a cough that rubbed the back of his mouth raw. “Maybe I just need to go in, do something, and come right back out.”
“Doubt it,” Paul muttered.
“Why?” Tick asked.
“I just have a feeling it’s done for us, dude. I think Chu wanted you from the beginning because of your freak show back in the Thirteenth—winking us with a broken Barrier Wand and all. We’re done—I know it.”
Tick looked at Sofia, pleading with his eyes.
“I think he’s right,” she said, frowning.
Sally walked forward until he was close enough to read the message on the door. “Whoever wrote that nonsense ain’t got a bit of learnin’ in him, I can tell ya that. I can barely read dem chicken scratches.”
Sofia raised her eyebrows at Tick as if to say, When did Sally get so smart?
“Messy or not,” Paul said, “it doesn’t beat around the bush. Only Tick can go in there. If we try, we’ll die a, uh, horrible death.”
“That’s only half the problem I’m worried about,” Tick said. “What does Mistress Jane have to do with it? Why just me and her?”
“Reckon you and that no-good tweety-bird’s all Chu cares about,” Sally said with a grumble. He spit again.
Tick squeezed his fists at his side, then rubbed them against his temples. “I can’t do this,” he whispered. “I can’t go in there by myself.” His insides churned with panic, as if internal wires had been crossed, messing up his whole organ system. He felt like a sissy, but the truth of it weighed on him like the chilly air had finally frozen solid around him. I can’t do it, he thought. I can’t go in there without Paul and Sofia!
“Ah, now,” Sally said. “Ain’t no time for that. You ain’t got nuttin’ but brave inside you, boy. Suck it on up, hear?” He held the shiny chrome cylinder out to Tick.
Tick stared at it, not moving a muscle.
Paul walked over and put his one good arm around Tick’s shoulders, wincing with the effort. He leaned over and spoke close in Tick’s ear. “You listen to me, bro. No way we’re gonna let anything happen to you. You’re the one with that transponder thingy in your ear—we’ll go back with Sally and keep an eye on every move you make. We won’t sleep, won’t eat, until we can wink back to get you.”
Tick nodded, then looked at Sofia. She stepped forward and grabbed the silver rod from Sally, then lightly shoved it against Tick’s stomach.
“Paul’s right,” she said, trying her best to throw compassion into her voice. “The three of us will wink back to Master George and watch you like a hawk. First sign of trouble and we’ll come help you.”
Tick waited a few seconds, then finally took the cylinder from Sofia. It was cool to the touch and slippery in his sweaty hands. “I don’t think you should do that. Follow me or come after me, I mean.”
“Why?” Paul asked.
“Well, if Chu wants me alone—or . . . with Mistress Jane—then we better do things his way.”
“For awhile, maybe,” Sofia said. She looked as if she might say more, but then closed her mouth.
Tick looked at Sally and held up the silver rod. “What am I supposed to do with this anyway?”
Sally grunted and rummaged through his leather pack again. “Ain’t no way ol’ George be lettin’ me tell ya.” He pulled out a wadded up piece of paper and handed it to Tick. “Read that, ain’t too hard no-how.”
Tick unfolded the paper with shaking hands then read it out loud:
Dear Master Atticus,
You hold in your hands the antidote to Reginald Chu’s nanoplague, which is causing people all through the Realities to go insane. We believe the plague can be destroyed by injecting this silver rod and its contents into the mechanism that controls the virus-like nanoparticles. You need simply to smash the antidote against Chu’s device—Dark Infinity—and let Rutger’s brilliant engineering do the rest of the work.
I need not tell you the incredible amount of danger you are about to undertake. I daresay, I almost feel tempted to abandon the whole thing. But alas, I think you’d agree that we have no choice. The fate of all the Realities may hang in the balance. Atticus, you must do this thing. You must do it, no matter the cost.
Once we see sign of your success, we will come and rescue you. This, my good man, I swear to you.
Your comrade in arms,
Master George
Tick held up the cylinder, studied it closely, ignoring his surge of panic. The odd object had no blemishes, no scratches, no smudges—it was perfectly smooth, perfectly shiny.
“Piece of cake,” he muttered with a pitiful attempt at a laugh. “Waltz into Chu’s house and smash this against something. Piece of cake.”
“Yeah, dude, piece of cake,” Paul said. Tick couldn’t help but wish he could trade places with Paul, broken arm and all.
“You heard him,” Sofia said. “You heard Master George. We’ll be watching your every move, and we’ll come save you as soon as . . .” She trailed off, and Tick wished desperately that no one would say another word.
“I’m going,” he said, pushing the fear away. Now or never. Just move. “I’m going right now. Sally, can I have that bag of yours?”
Sally nodded, then handed over the leather satchel. Tick put the cylinder and the message from Master George inside, zipped it up, then slung it over his shoulder. “I’m going right now,” he said again.
Without waiting for a response, Tick turned and walked up to the dilapidated wooden door. As he reached down and twisted the loose handle, the others spoke from behind him.
“We’ll be watching you, dude,” Paul said.
“You’ll be the only thing we care about until we’re back together,” Sofia blurted out.
“You be tough chickens, now, ya hear?” Sally shouted.
Tick pushed open the door and stepped inside. As he went through, a cold tingle shot down his back.
Chapter
35
Beautiful Black Hair
The room was completely dark but strangely warm. Tick pulled the door closed behind him, fighting to calm his breath, standing still in the blackness. The floor beneath him was solid, smooth; the air smelled like . . . flowers. Like an old lady’s perfume. He sniffed, then scratched his nose.
“Hello?” he called out. Isn’t that what they always say in the movies when they walk into a haunted house? “Hello?” he repeated. His voice died as soon as it left his mouth, without even an echo.
The entire room abruptly flared with lights; Tick’s hand shot up to shield his eyes.
It came from everywhere at once: the walls, floor, and ceiling were made out of a rough material that glowed brightly. Tick turned around to see that the door had disappeared—and nothing looked anything like the inside of an old wooden shack.
Chu had already winked him to a new place.
The room was a perfect circle, thirty feet in diameter, bare of furniture except for several, almost invisible, clear plastic benches curving along the walls. That was it—no decorations, no signs, no light fixtures, nothing. Just glowing walls and invisible benches.
“Heaven’s waiting room,” Tick whispered.
“No, it’s not,” a soft voice said from his left.
Tick spun in that direction, stumbling backward two steps. Ten feet from him stood a tall woman, close to the wall, dressed in a tightly fitted yellow dress. Long, silky black hair hung from her head and framed a pale but perfect face; her red lips pulled tightly into a grim smile. Brilliant green eyes stared through horn-rimmed glasses. Tick was certain he couldn’t have missed her before. She had appeared out of nowhere.
“Who . . . who are you?” he asked.
The woman ignored him, scanning the room around her with a disgusted look, as if it were full of snakes and lizards and frogs. “This place is about as far from heaven as you can get in the Realities.” Despite her apparent anger, her voice still gave Tick goosebumps, as if he listened to someone playing the harp.
“Who are you?” he repeated. “Are you—”
“Yes,” she replied, finally focusing her eyes on him. “I imagine you saw a message similar to mine. My name is Mistress Jane, as yours must be Atticus Higginbottom.”
She walked over to him, her feet tap-tap-tapping as she did so. She stopped and held out a hand, which he took and shook quickly before letting go, a shudder of nausea trembling in his stomach. Master George’s most hated enemy stood inches from him.
Tick cleared his throat. “I . . . I thought you were bald.” He didn’t know what else to say, what else to do.
Mistress Jane smiled, though it was empty of humor or kindness. “Yes, I was bald for a very long time. So very long.” She stared past his shoulder as if remembering something sad from her past. “And it was quite . . . painful to grow it back so quickly. Painful, but sweet. That’s how the Chi’karda works in the Thirteenth, after all.”
Tick swallowed, fidgeted on his feet. He was so lost and confused and scared. His mind spun; his heart thumped.
Mistress Jane caught his eyes again, then continued. “So many things have changed, boy. I’ve changed. Do you understand?”