At first, relief flooded her. Nobody in sight—just the bare gray rock gleaming in the hot sun. Then she spotted the blue canoe floating in the reeds. Before Melissa could turn around, someone waded out of the shade cast by the low boughs of a tree overhanging the water.
It was a girl in a red bathing suit, standing waist deep. She had long blond hair that hung down her back and a thin pointed face. She didn't look at all surprised to see Melissa. In fact, Melissa thought afterwards, it was as if she had expected her.
I pushed open the heavy wooden door. The orange cat shot between my legs, his fur bristled, screeching in fear. Fire! The flames danced on the huge millstones and the sacks of grain stacked neatly around the walls. Strange shadows flickered in the dark corners. I edged closer to the fire, fighting back my terror. The back of my neck prickled. Lester had set the fire on purpose! He was trying to burn down Uncle Stuart’s gristmill! I stared around the room wildly. Uncle Stuart’s warning rang in my head. "One spark and the whole mill can go up in flames. Do you know how explosive flour can be?"
This birthday was getting a little bit better. Brady took a big breath. If he tiptoed, he could sneak outside without anyone noticing. He turned to leave the room. A low growl sent prickles up his spine. In the shadowy hallway, a pair of white fangs gleamed. Grit was blocking the doorway.
Something silver flashed in the corner of the room.
Jeremy stepped closer.
A jagged lightning bolt glowed and shimmered.
"Neat!" said Jeremy. He picked it up.
It felt warm.
His fingers tingled.
"Put that down!" screeched Mr. Magnus. "Can't you read? DON'T TOUCH!"
Everything swirled around Jeremy.
Mr. Magnus cried, "He's not ready! He didn't read the rule book!"
When Jeremy burst through the door, Mr. Magnus jumped up. "Now we can get started!" he cried.
"Meow," said Aristotle from the top of the blue and gold trunk.
Mr. Magnus unrolled the scroll.
"The last riddle," said Jeremy.
"And a real doozer!" said Mr. Magnus. His voice shook. "I'm round like a ball, but I'm not a toy. Beware, Inventor, and your little boy!"
"An inventor!" said Jeremy.
"I've read all the books," sighed Mr. Magnus. "I found only one inventor. His name was Daedalus. He lived on a Greek island called Crete."
"The second riddle!" said Jeremy. Jeremy was good at riddles. But Mr. Magnus looked worried. "This is a tough one," he moaned. He opened the scroll and read out loud: "I have twenty legs but just one wing. The sea is my kingdom and Jason my king. Who am I?" Jeremy frowned. "Twenty legs...one wing...," he mumbled. He screwed up his face. He thought as hard as he could. "It's no use," sighed Mr. Magnus.
Jeremy blinked. He was sitting beside a swamp. Green slime covered the murky water. Cold clammy fog tickled his face.
Jeremy had just traveled back in time three thousand years. He didn't look any different. He was still wearing his jeans and runners. He didn't feel any different. Except that he was stiff and cold.
He looked around for Aristotle. The cat was sitting on a mossy log, washing his fur.
"The Underworld sure is foggy," said Jeremy.
Aristotle stopped licking. "We aren't in the Underworld yet." He flicked his tail. "You better check the map."
"I like being alone," I say. "Honestly. Groups just aren't my thing. It's actually fun not having friends."
I don't know why I said that. It was supposed to be funny, but it sounds pathetic. Van's face is more transparent even than mine. He doesn't embarrass easily but he definitely looks annoyed.
"I don't think sarcasm suits you," he says stiffly.
I'm tired of talking about this. I stand up and stretch. "Have you ever seen Renegade?" I ask.
"Who's Renegade?" says Van.
"A horse," I say. "Come on."
A faint sound brushed her ear, and she heard a voice whisper death. She glanced around, astonished. A gentle breeze had picked up, rippling the long grass in the meadow. She frowned. There was no one else there except Ira and Maddy, and the only sound was the rustling of the aspen leaves by the creek.
The sound came from behind the cabin, like someone hitting something hard. I glanced up at the windows. What had happened to Papa? I sucked in my breath and ducked around the side.
A boy was swinging an axe at a log propped up against a stump. I slipped behind a tree and watched. The boy split the log in half and then picked up the pieces and threw them on a pile.
I'd never seen such a skinny boy. When he swung the axe his shoulder blades stuck out under his shirt. His feet were bare and his pants ended in a ragged line just below his knees. The boy split two more pieces of wood. Then he dropped the axe and leaned over, gulping in air, his hands on his knees.
Bolt burst into a trot. Sam's heart jumped down his throat. Up and down, up and down, he bounced in the saddle. His feet flew out of the stirrups. The fence and then barn and Grandpa flashed by. "Whoa!" yelled Sam. "Whoa!" Grandpa stepped in front of Bolt. He grabbed the reins and pulled Bolt to a stop. Sam took a huge breath. "I'm getting off!" he said. He slid off the horse. It was a long way to the ground. His legs wobbled. He thought Grandpa would be disgusted with him. But Grandpa looked pleased. "Not bad for your first time," he said.
Grandmother's steel gray eyes flickered past me.
She saw the rows and rows of black stumps. She stared at them for a long time. Then she shuddered and said, "It's worse, much worse, than I ever imagined."
There were a lot of things they should have done, Robin realized, as the cold formed an icy ball inside her chest. The emergency survival pack—why had she forgotten to grab that? She though miserably of all the things inside it—matches, a space blanket, a tiny stove... This was stupid. They should go back. People died of hypothermia in this kind of weather.
