The Blade of Shattered Hope

Instead of answering, Mothball nodded at her mom.

Windasill grinned again and curtsied—quite the display from someone so big. “You do look just like him, I must say. A wee bit shorter’s all.” Then, inexplicably, she started crying, the stifled sobs accompanied by tears streaming out of her eyes.

Now he was beyond confused. “What are you talking about? What’s going on?”

Rutger answered for them. “Sato, you’re the Alterant of Grand Minister Sato Tadashi, who was the supreme ruler of this entire world—in this Reality anyway.”

“Was?” Sato repeated, not knowing how to react to the strange revelation.

Mothball’s mom answered, right after spitting on the ground. “Bugaboos killed him last month, they did, just weeks after he took office. Sacrificed hundreds of blokes to break through security and get to him. He was the most respected leader we’ve had in ages, despite being so young. Gone and dead now.”

“Why . . . why’d they kill him?” Sato asked. He had an uncomfortable feeling this was leading somewhere he wouldn’t like. Mothball’s answer confirmed it.

“They thought he was you.”

Chapter 13

Sleepless in the Dark

Drip.

Drip.

Drip.

That was all Tick could hear, and it was driving him crazy. The others were asleep, and even though the soft sighs and snores of their slumber floated through the air, all his mind could focus on was that stupid dripping water.

Drip.

Drip.

Drip.

Everything had happened so fast after Jane revealed that she’d kidnapped his sisters, Lisa and Kayla. The news shocked every bit of surging power out of him, and he’d collapsed to the floor in defeat, knowing he couldn’t take the risk she might be lying. He couldn’t risk their lives. Not them.

As soon as he’d given up, Jane had winked them all away. He didn’t know how she did it, or who helped her, but one instant they’d been in his basement, and the next they were here, in some kind of cell made of gray stone, damp and cold and dark, with that maddening drip of water as a constant companion. The only light was faint, coming from somewhere down a long hallway outside the bars of their prison.

They’d been there for hours and hours. Every question in the world had been asked, every nook and cranny of the room examined, and they had shouted and screamed for help until their voices went hoarse. Then exhaustion crept in, and now everyone was asleep.

Except Tick. He huddled with his back against the hard, cold wall, his arms wrapped around his knees, his hands clasped in front of him. He felt empty, like his mind and heart had become a complete void of space, sucking every last bit of strength and will away. Jane had his sisters—but who knew where or how or why. And he was here, with his mom and dad, his two best friends, and the leader of the Realitants, all of them captured and helpless.

He’d tried several times to summon even the smallest trace of the power he’d felt against Jane in the basement of his house, but nothing came. Just emptiness. He floated in a void. A yucky, blecky, hopeless void.

“Tick?”

The voice startled him. He put his hands down to the ground, ready to spring to his feet. But a second later he realized it was Sofia, just a few feet from him, lying down with her head resting on her folded arms. She pushed herself into a sitting position and looked at him. He could barely see the features of her face, but they didn’t look as sad as he would’ve expected.

“Still here,” he replied. “Did you actually fall asleep?”

She yawned in response. “Think so. Had a bad dream.”

“I wish this were a bad dream.”

“Yeah.”

“Dude, I finally snooze and you guys wake me up.” Paul was getting to his feet, rubbing his eyes. He made his way over to sit next to Tick and Sofia. “You think the geezer and your mom and dad are actually sleeping?”

“I hope so,” Tick said. “They’re old—they need it.”

“Actually,” Sofia whispered, “the younger you are, the more sleep you need. Just for the record.”

Tick wasn’t in the mood for her smarts. “Whatever.”

“So what do you think she’s up to?” Paul asked. “Jane the Beast, I mean. And what’s the deal with that robe and mask, the scratchy voice? Tick, you’re the only one who’s met her before—did she talk like that? Did she have that mask?”

Tick shook his head and was happy to realize he didn’t feel any guilt at what Paul had just said. In fact, he wished she’d died. “Remember when I broke apart Dark Infinity and attacked her with it? I think it burned her and melted stuff all over her. Kind of like it . . . fused them together.”

“And maybe it made her more powerful, too,” Sofia added. “Maybe she somehow kept the powers of Chu’s weapon. How else could she have winked into your basement and winked us all here?”

“Huh?” Tick asked. “How do you know she did it? Not someone with a Barrier Wand?”

Sofia pointed in front of her as if Jane were standing there. “Because I was staring at her the whole time. As soon as you quit trying to do whatever you were doing with your orange hocus-pocus stuff, she reached out with her hands and swept them through the air, like she was picking up a big pile of leaves and throwing them. Then I felt the tingle, and next thing I know, we’re here.”

“What were you doing to her, anyway?” Paul asked.

The question hit Tick like a thump in his chest. He hesitated, not knowing what to say.

“Hello?” Paul pushed. “Earth calling Atticus Higgin-bottom.”

Tick shifted to get more comfortable. “I don’t know, man. It’s hard enough to understand it in my brain, much less explain it to you guys.”

“Well, try,” Sofia said. “If we can help you figure out these freaky powers of yours, we might get out of here someday.”

Freaky powers, Tick thought. Did she have to say it that way? After a long pause, he cleared his throat and resolved to tell them everything. “Every time I’ve had an . . . episode, I feel this heat in my chest and gut, something burning inside me. I’ve been able to push it down a couple times recently and make it go away.”

“Hey,” Paul said, “at least that’s progress over what you did at Chu’s shack. Maybe you’re learning to control it.”

Tick nodded. “Maybe. Anyway, in my basement, I kind of panicked when Jane started talking, and when the heat came, I didn’t stop it. I . . . encouraged it, tried to hold onto it, make it grow. It was like I had these mental hands, trying to clasp invisible fingers around an invisible . . . something. I don’t know—I can’t describe it. It took a lot of focus and concentration. Then, I just mentally threw it at her. I guess I attacked her just by thinking it and wanting it.”