Chapter One: A Lightning Strike

Dianne sighed and rolled restlessly over onto her side, wrapped in her crimson comforter. Her all-too-alert eyes glanced at the softly ticking clock.

“Two in the morning,” she groaned softly. The cat at the end of the bed meowed loudly, echoing her thoughts.

Dianne yawned, glancing out her window to gaze critically at the clear, moonlit sky, and, flicking on the small lamp on her bedside table, reached for the book Father had given her for her birthday. She knew that she would not sleep before dawn came. Her mind was too wired with thought.

“Meoooow,” the cat said plaintively.

“Are you hungry, my shadow cat?” Dianne teased tiredly, setting down her book. “Well, I suppose I am, too. Just let me get my robe, and we’ll go find snacks.”

She first glanced at the rack on the back of her door where her robe normally hung, but there was nothing there. Smiling faintly, she turned to look at the trunk that sat at the end of her bed, and found she was looking straight into Shadow's eyes. Shadow meowed again.

How could I have forgotten? She wondered. I’m already packed to leave for boarding school.

“I wonder where Father’s sending me this year,” Dianne mused. “I hope it’s not someplace too dreary.” Her father hadn’t ever shown the best taste in boarding schools, but since Dianne went to a different one every year, it never mattered for long if the teachers were terrible, or the hallways were painted a virulent green. The one thing that had been the same, no matter where she had gone, had been the food. Dianne counted on the fact that no matter which boarding school she was at, all the peas would be mushy, the bread would be hard on the outside and soft on the inside, and the cheese would be tasteless. It was a staple of her life.

The other thing she could always count on was the certainty that she would have to make new friends. Never being at the same school for more than a year meant that Dianne was continually an outsider to her classmates, and she had had to learn how to put them at ease. It gave her friends all over the country, but never just quite where she was. It was almost as if people made sure to be where Dianne was not.

Dianne had been very blessed though to find friends at her last junior high boarding school—friends who actually lived in Arkwright, Rhode Island, where her parents lived for the moment. It made her sad to think that she would have to leave Ivy and Rose Maeriner, her first long-term friends, in only one short week, and very likely she would never see them again.

Don’t cry, she thought fiercely. Never cry. Father taught me that lesson long ago. Just thinking of the pain that lesson had brought her, Dianne cradled her right hand in her left. Even in the dim light, she could clearly see the white scar that crossed her palm, a reminder of the words Father had spoken to her long ago.

“Don’t cry, Dianne. Never cry, in front of anyone else, or by yourself. Tears don’t help the hurt go away. You need to be strong, to be seen as calm, composed, so never, ever cry!”

“Meoooow,” the cat said, calling Dianne back from the memory.

“Oh, yes, of course,” Dianne muttered, shaking her head. “No duh.” She hurried around to the foot of her bed and looked up at Shadow, who was perched on top of the trunk Ivy and Rose had given her for her birthday, a relic from their wacky Aunt Violet. “Sorry, Shadow, but get off.”

The cat meowed once more and stretched, unnaturally graceful. She did not looking in the least likely to move. Finally, after a period of time that ended with Dianne applying band-aids to her bleeding hands, Shadow slunk onto the bed unhappily and curled up on Dianne’s pillow, licking her forepaw.

Dianne opened the trunk and slipped on her light blue robe over her pajamas—another thing Father was always insistent on. Whenever Dianne wanted new sleep wear, he agreed to buy her new pajamas, but never a nightgown, no matter how Dianne pleaded for one. He always wanted her to be ready to fight at a moment’s notice, and made her keep a sword under her pillow, which sometimes made it awfully hard to sleep at night. Father had even taught her a few judo tricks for if she ever had to fight at school, though she had never understood why he expected her to be attacked. Dianne was always unfailingly charming to her new classmates.

Scooping Shadow up in her bandaged arms, the girl headed for the door.

A flash of light illumined the room suddenly, and Dianne closed her eyes against it as Shadow leapt out of her arms, undoing all the trouble Dianne had taken to get herself not bleeding.

“One-” she counted, and then she heard the thunderous boom over her head, her eyes still tightly shut. The storm was right overhead. This felt ominous. Lightning out of a clear sky couldn’t be good.

When Dianne opened her eyes, the room seemed . . . different, somehow. She couldn’t put a finger on exactly what the difference was, but knew instinctively that it was not simply the fact that Shadow now cowered under her bed.

But there were rings of red light coming from outside the house. “Huh?” Dianne shook her head. “Too weird. I’m seeing things that can’t be good. Maybe chocolate cake would help.

“Coming, Shadow? There are still snacks in the kitchen.”

The cat didn’t move.

“Fine, then, my little ball of fluff and shrapnel. But I’m still hungry. I’ll be back.”

Dianne crept silently down the hallway to the kitchen, glad for once that Father was not home. He was on a trip off the coast with his best friend, Mr. Bryce, who insisted on teaching Father to fish. Dianne didn’t think Mr. Bryce even knew how to fish. How often do lawyers get time off to relax? That didn’t involve wrestling or football?

Father would have sensed her in the hallway and woken up, but thankfully, Mom didn’t have such good perception. Mom . . . Wait a minute. Mom wasn’t in her room. Where was she?

Dianne peered around the corner, down the steps to the kitchen. Sure enough, there was her mother, sitting at the counter, eating a granola bar. Dianne shook her head. Mom always had been health conscious.

Mom stiffened, catching a glimpse of her. “Dianne! Why aren’t you in bed?”

Dianne shrugged. “Couldn’t sleep. Got hungry. Thought I’d get a snack.”

“You weren’t reading in the dark again, were you?” Mom asked disapprovingly.

“No,” said Dianne guiltily. I just was going to read in the dark.

“Uh-huh,” her mother said, watching her. “That tells me the answer’s yes. You know that reading in the dark causes damage to the eye, Dianne–”

“I know, Mom,” Dianne interrupted. “You don’t need to go all ‘doctor’ on me. But, you know I’ve got eyes like a cat in the dark, I can see perfectly well–”

“Not for much longer if you go on like this,” Mom pointed out. “If you do much more reading in the dark, your pretty blue eyes will need to be framed.”

“I’ll never need glasses,” Dianne declared defiantly.

“There’s nothing wrong with wearing glasses, Dianne,” her mother said. She gestured to her own face. “I wear glasses.”

“Yes, but I don’t want to need glasses.”

“Then don’t read in the dark,” Mom said, smiling. “Want a granola bar?” She held one out for her daughter.

“No thanks, Mom. Actually, I was going to see if there was any of my birthday cake left.”

“But that stuff isn’t healthy!” Mom exclaimed.

“That’s kind of the point,” Dianne said, opening the refrigerator door. “Want some?”

“Why not?” Her mom laughed.

Dianne scanned the shelves. “Looks as though there’s enough left for two.”

“Well, then we just won’t tell your father about this, then. It’ll be our little secret.”

“I’ll save a piece for him, anyway. He knows there was some cake left.” Carefully, Dianne cut a thin slice of chocolate cake and put it back in the fridge, then cut the remaining piece in half. “Which piece do you want?”

“I’ll take this one,” said Mom, pulling the smaller piece toward her across the counter.

“All right, then,” said Dianne, taking forks out of the silverware drawer and passing one to her mom.

“Next on the Rhode Island News . . .” muttered the television set in the corner of the room.

“So what are you doing out here?” Dianne asked.

“I couldn’t sleep,” Mom admitted, fork scraping her plate.

“Why?”

“Oh, I never sleep well when your father’s out of town, hon. But I guess . . . tonight I felt the urge to get up and do something, like a prickle on the back of my neck. I think . . .”

“What?”

“Something’s not right. I think maybe your father’s in trouble.”

“Is that why you turned on the news?”

“Just in case. I couldn’t get through to your father’s cell phone. It’s probably the storm, but . . .”

“What storm?” Dianne asked, a funny feeling in her stomach.

“What do you mean, ‘what storm’? I know I just heard thunder a couple minutes ago, just before I called.”

“I heard it too, Mom. And I saw the lightning. But there’s no storm, Mom. Take a look outside. There’s no rain, no more lightning, and there wasn’t any before the lightning struck, either!” Dianne was struck with sudden inspiration. “Maybe that was what was causing the ball lightning outside.”

“Ball lightning?”

“Well I saw red lines outside my window after the—you know, normal—lightning struck. It could be,” Dianne said uncertainly.

“Hmm. Well, I don’t know, Dianne, but something is wrong.”

“How do you know that?”

“It’s the way I always know when some article of clothing is going to bleed in the laundry, right after I start the washer. I don’t know how I know, I just know.”

“. . . Next on the Rhode Island News, two men washed up on shore just a few minutes ago in the aftermath of a tragic boating accident which left one man dead and the other injured. Stay tuned for future updates.”

Dianne looked at her mother, both stricken. “Oh, no, it couldn’t be, could it?”

“Oh. . . . No, honey, of course . . .” Mom said falteringly. She trailed off as the screen switched to a view of the two men.

“When Alan Bryce and Richard Warder set off on a fishing trip this weekend, all they expected to catch was fish. Unfortunately for Warder, they also caught his death.”

Dianne stared, horrified, at the screen as the man went on to say that Father had drowned in a sudden squall. A sudden chill clenched at her chest, and she found it hard to breathe.

“No,” Mom whispered, not missing a word of the man’s report.

“. . . while Bryce escaped the wreckage of the fishing boat with minor abrasions. Back to you, Ted.” The screen flicked back to the anchorman. Dianne turned it off as the chill intensified. She rubbed her arms, uncomprehending of what she had just learned.

“This . . . can’t be happening,” said Mom, wiping away a tear. “Richard can’t be dead. Not your father . . . I’ve got to get in touch with Alan . . . find out what’s going on . . .”

“Oh, God,” Dianne said, suppressing her tears, caressing her scarred hand. Never cry, she told herself silently. “Father can’t be dead, he can’t be…”

“Yes. . . . There’s so much to do. I’ve got to– to find out where his body ended up, make arrangements for the funeral, talk to Alan about your father’s will . . . I’ve half a million things to do, dear.” Mom said, frantically. She smiled sympathetically at Dianne. “And you ought to get to sleep.”

“Yeah . . .” Dianne said, feeling empty. She felt like going back to bed and curling up in a little ball with Shadow in her arms. And crying. No crying. “Mom, I know I won’t sleep at all. No way.”

“Of course you won’t, of course not, what was I thinking? No, stay with me, I’ll call Alan. . . .”

Never cry, Dianne repeated silently. But this time she couldn’t resist the urge. “I’ll . . . I’ll be back.” She stood, took an unsteady step toward her room, and another, and suddenly she was no longer walking, but running. She wanted to find some corner where she could snuggle with Shadow and cry, cry until she was covered in tears, until no more tears could come . . .

“Dianne?” Her mother called, rising from the counter as Dianne slammed and locked her bedroom door behind her; she rushed into her bathroom and locked it as well, Shadow barely squeezing through before the door slammed.

“How could this have happened? Why? Why?” Dianne asked Shadow in a whisper, staring into the cat’s eyes. “Father was a good man, he could swim like a fish, why did he drown?”

The cat yawned and curled up in the sink. “Meooow.”

“That’s a big help,” Dianne said, a single tear sliding down her right cheek. She looked in her mirror to wipe the tear away and froze, staring into her gaze.

Those weren’t her eyes.

Her eyes were blue. These eyes, those eyes . . . eyes of a certain hue that changed with the colors around them, sometimes blue, sometimes brown, sometimes gray or green, or even purple or red . . . those eyes, these eyes were not hers, and she had last seen them on the television screen. These eyes belonged to Father.

That flash of light, and everything had looked different. . . . Dianne had to wonder. Had that been the moment her eyes had changed? Had that, perhaps, been the moment Father had died? No, she told herself. Surely not. After all, Father must have died hours ago, if Mr. Bryce had had to swim them both to shore, and to give a reporter time to get there, and the lightning had occurred only a few minutes before she found out about Father’s death. But the eyes . . . yes, perhaps that had happened then. After all, she had seen everything differently after the lightning, hadn’t she? She had seen the red lights. Yes, it must have been the lightning. But why . . . ?

“Dianne?” Mom called. “Want the leftover cake?” The cake? No, no, she would not want that cake. That cake was for Father. But he wouldn’t be eating it anytime soon.

“N-no,” Dianne called back, horrified at the prospect. “I don’t think so. Let’s give it Mr. Bryce, what do you think?”

“Sure, hon,” said Mom, sounding uncertain. “We can do that.”

“Mom?” said Dianne, suddenly certain that she wanted company. She unlocked the doors, and poked her head outside her room. “Mom, look at me. Notice anything different?”

“Um . . . Dianne! What happened to your eyes? They’ve turned black!”

“Mom! These are Father’s eyes, Mom! How did this happen? How could this happen? You’re the doctor!”

For the first time in her life, her mother was struck speechless.

---

Dianne’s mother leaned over the cluttered desk to gaze into Alan Bryce’s shrewd eyes. “What do you mean,” she whispered so she thought Dianne would not hear, “it’s in his will?”

“Vivian,” Mr. Bryce said, leaning back in his chair. “I don’t like it either, but it is in Richard’s will. He told me, when he put the clause in, that it is imperative for Dianne to leave for Japrissa High School in Cleveland, when the school train comes, and it leaves in two days.”

“Well, I’m sorry,” said Vivian, shaking with rage as she sat back in her chair. “I’m sorry, but I am not going to send Dianne away to– did you say Cleveland?! Ohio?! You mean he couldn’t even find a boarding school anywhere in Rhode Island to send her?”

“It was his final wish,” Mr. Bryce said, seemingly troubled.

“I’m just not going to do it,” Dianne’s mother said stubbornly. “I won’t, I’m not going to let my baby go off to some school however many miles away, not so soon after Richard’s death, not in two days! I just won’t do it.”

“Well, in that case,” Mr. Bryce said, examining Dianne’s father’s will, “half his money– and that’s a considerable sum, just shy of three million dollars–is to be given to charity, and the rest is bequeathed to Dianne, to be put in a trust fund until she is twenty-one–if she attends Japrissa High School for the next four years.”

Dianne’s mother held her head in her hands and wiped her face. “That– that simply isn’t possible,” she said frankly. “That’s a lot of money—but I don’t want Dianne alone so soon after her father’s death.”

“In that case, you will be left penniless and all Richard’s money will go to charity,” Mr. Bryce said shortly. “That’s a lot of money, Vivian. I would advise you to send Dianne to Cleveland. Surely Richard had good reason for sending her there, I’m sure of it.”

Dianne’s mother sank back in her chair, then turned to look at her daughter.

“I think I should go, Mom,” Dianne said, looking troubled and feeling hollow. Nervously, she adjusted the hat that she wore low to hide her eyes from view. “I was supposed to leave that day anyway, and you can’t tell me that Japrissa wasn’t the school Father had picked out. And if we could keep Father’s money…” Why not go? Why not leave father after all the times he had me leave my friends? But deep in her heart, past the bitterness, Dianne knew that leaving was the right thing. This wasn’t the only place Father had lived. Maybe Dianne could find solace by herself.

Mom knelt next to her. “Are you sure that you would be okay? I don’t want you to go. I think we can deal without the money, Dianne. I still have my paycheck from the hospital. But if you’re sure…”

“I think I should go,” Dianne repeated. “I’ll be . . . okay, Mom. I feel something . . . pulling me onward, southwest. I think I’m being called to Cleveland.”

Mom hugged her. “Then you should go, honey. I can’t say it will be easy letting you go, but . . .” she turned to Mr. Bryce. “I guess you have our answer, Alan. We keep the money. Dianne will leave in two days, on the train to Cleveland. I’m sending her to Japrissa.”

“Excellent. Now, the next order of business, Richard Warder left a package for Dianne in a safe-deposit box, to be given to her in the likely event of his death.” He gestured to a large, brown packing-case in a corner of his office.

Mom blinked. “Don’t you mean the unlikely event of his death?”

Mr. Bryce shook his head. “‘Likely’, I’m afraid, is what his will stated. I’ve taken the liberty, as the executor of his estate, of getting it out for you, Dianne. It says here,” he inspected the will, “that you are to take it with you wherever you go.”

“Lug that thing around?” Dianne asked, astonished. Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes. “It’s as big as a horse.”

Mr. Bryce nodded stiffly. “I don’t understand how it fit in the deposit box, myself.”

As Mr. Bryce went on to discuss the other details of Father’s estate with Mom, Dianne wandered over to inspect the packing case.

She shook her head, and shivered. This was impossible. There wasn’t any room for it in Mom’s car. How did Father expect her to carry it around?

Father! Dianne’s mind cried out, but without an answer. There would never again be an answering call.

No tears, she told herself sternly. Don’t even think about him. But when who she was not to think about stared her in the face with his absence, Dianne wasn’t sure it could be possible to keep her cheeks dry.

So. Cleveland, huh? Dianne had been to Cleveland before, but only briefly, due to Father’s continual changes in where he was assigned. She remembered the city only vaguely, a place where Mom insisted that she not walk the streets by herself, even though she had been fully eleven at the time. Dianne remembered little more about what Father was supposed to be doing in the city than about the city itself. Unnerved, she realized that really, she knew very little about what Father’s work had actually been. What did he do, that had required him to move about so often?

A hand clasped her shoulder. “Come on, Dianne. We’re done here. Mr. Bryce is handling everything for us.”

“Mom . . .” Dianne said hesitantly.

“What, honey?”

Dianne was full to bursting, hungry for the knowledge of just what Father had done, but she was hit suddenly by a foreboding, a sudden chill that asked her whether she really wanted to know. Maybe she didn’t. This certainly wasn’t a good time, anyway, to remind Mom that Father had thought so much of his job that he had dragged them around the country after it. At the last moment, she changed what she was going to say.

“How are we going to get this home?” Dianne placed a hand on the side of the box, and immediately yanked it back, placing it inside her pocket. She had felt something, someone, some current of energy or . . . dare she think it, a current of magic moving around in there!

“I’ll drive it to your house,” Mr. Bryce offered.

“Oh,” said Dianne softly, all she could think of to say, marveling at the touch she had felt a moment before. “Thanks.”

“Are you sure you’ll be all right, Dianne? I don’t like you leaving so soon after your father’s death. It’s not natural. I have to wonder what Richard was thinking, to put something like this in his will!”

“He must have had a good reason,” Dianne said, struggling to reassure her mother.

“Your father was always doing things seemingly without any reason at all.” A tear slid down her mother’s cheek. “I just can’t believe he would do something like this, though.”

Mom’s purse rang.

“Hold on, honey, I think it’s for me,” her mother said, though Dianne hadn’t been about to say anything. Wordlessly, Mom took her cell phone out of her bag and answered it.

“Hello. Vivian Warder speaking.”

“Dianne, do you think I could have a word with you?” Mr. Bryce asked, ushering her out of his office.

“What’s up?” Dianne asked.

“Well I just wanted to say how sorry I am, I guess. I know how close you were to your father. He was a good man.”

“Well, I doubt anyone would dispute the cause of death was drowning,” Mom half-quipped from the other room.

Mr. Bryce stiffened.

“What does she mean?” Dianne asked him.

“I’m sure it’s nothing,” Mr. Bryce assured her sadly. “I saw Richard die, myself. I—” He wiped sweat from his brow. “I couldn’t swim fast enough to prevent him from sinking, with fragments of the boat dragging him down. By the time I found him, he was gone.”

“You mean . . . Richard didn’t drown?” Dianne snapped to attention, listening carefully to her mother’s conversation.

“Apparently not. According to the autopsy findings, the coroner announces puzzlement, having found that your husband did not drown. The autopsy found Richard Warder to be in perfect health–except, of course, for the inexplicable fact that he is, undeniably, dead,” said the voice on the other end of the phone.

Mr. Bryce’s face had gone white.

“Mr. Bryce, was anyone else there? When the boat capsized?” Dianne asked. Her face was very pale. How on earth could Father have died, if he didn’t drown?

Mr. Bryce didn’t answer. Dianne looked around the corner at her mother.

“Interesting. That’s very . . . very interesting indeed.” Her mom set down the phone and stared down at her hands. “Good day to you, too,” Mom whispered to herself.

“Mom?” Dianne said, troubled by more than the thunderstruck look on her mother’s face. She had never before seen her mother so helpless, so unknowing as to what to do next.

“I’m fine,” her mother said, after a pause. “Come on, let’s go home.”

As Dianne rounded the corner into the hall, she couldn’t help but sneak a glance back at the package containing everything she had inherited from her father.

The trip back to Dianne’s home seemed almost instantaneous. Dianne noticed nothing from the time she sat back in the front seat of Mom’s 2004 Ford Focus to the time when her mom tapped her on the shoulder to indicate she should get out. Dianne was too busy being gloomy and considering what Father might have left her to notice the journey.

“The funeral is set for tomorrow,” Mom said, minutes later, as she and Dianne hefted the package up to Dianne’s room.

Dianne simply nodded, finding it hard to think of anything to say.

Her mother groaned as they set the package down on the carpeted floor of Dianne’s room, now seeming much smaller by daylight.

“This thing weighs a ton,” Dianne groaned.

“Are you going to open it now?” Mom asked on her way out of the room.

Dianne shrugged. “Probably.” Her mother closed the door behind her.

The mourning girl looked at the box for a moment.

“Well,” Dianne muttered to herself. “It’s not going to open itself if I stare it to death.” She stood and ripped open the cardboard box along the taped edges, and looked inside.

The box was filled with little packing peanuts.

She groped inside for a moment, then found something hard, metallic, and pulled.

It was a helmet.

Armor. Father had given her armor. And he wanted her to take it with her wherever she went?

Dianne stared incredulously as she pulled out, one after another, belt, breastplate, boots, shield, and sword. Each had a word printed on it, she noticed. The Belt of Truth, and the Breastplate of Righteousness was this a joke? Surely this was an attempt at a joke, in her father’s odd form of humor. Why else would he give her a collection of metal that proclaimed itself to be the Armor of God?

And yet, she knew instinctively that the box was not now empty. Digging down, far into the box, to the very farthest corner, she felt it—the current of magic she had felt in Mr. Bryce’s office. Using a bit of her sleeve to pull out the dusty monstrosity, she saw it was . . . how odd. A very old piece of parchment sat in her hand, a map, but Dianne knew, inexplicably, that this map was not of any place in this world. It was drawn in the medieval style, when sailors had been so superstitious of the sea as to believe in sea monsters. In the right bottom corner, there was even a little sea dragon drawn, with the words printed, “hic sunt dracones”, which Dianne felt sure meant “Here be dragons.” Scrolled in the top left corner, written in handwriting she could not make out, was the title.

Of course, it was so very old that it would have crumbled in her hands had it not been for the laminating that surrounded it.

Dianne felt sure, even before she touched the map, that this was why Father had wanted her to keep everything with her at all times.

When Dianne touched the map, her whole world changed. Literally.

The map seemed to get bigger—but no, it couldn’t be. Who had ever heard of a map that changed sizes?

But it was happening anyway. The map kept getting larger and larger—No! She was shrinking! And as Dianne opened her mouth to scream, her surroundings disappeared and all was black. She couldn’t breathe, or feel anything—not even the clothes she was wearing!

And then she was back. But Dianne was no longer standing in her room.

“Oh, God,” Dianne whispered, “what was that? Where am I?” It was a dark night, with a full moon hanging high overhead, and in the wind was the sound of wolves howling.

Dianne shivered. It was very cold, feeling more like winter than the summer it should have been. Where before she was inside, now she stood just outside a crumbling building on an almost deserted street. Those few out and about looked to Dianne like strange and dangerous characters. Even the couple strolling arm in arm carried swords and belt knives.

Before her was a wooden door, elegantly carved with a hunting scene. The cobbles beneath her feet were sharp, and hurt, for she was no longer wearing her tennis shoes. Dianne looked down. Thin leather slippers adorned her feet. And she was wearing an emerald green silk gown. “What’s going on?”

“Talkin’ to yerself, are ye?” A crippled old woman with a sullen scowl on her face stumbled past Dianne.

“Can you tell me where I am?” Dianne asked, doubting the answer. But who else was she to ask?

“Los’ yer memory or somethin’?” she jeered. “Mos’ people remember comin’ to Paramar.”

“Paramar?” Dianne asked blankly.

“Capital city of Maralin? Continen’ of Avalon?”

“Avalon,” Dianne repeated, horror growing in her mind. Avalon? That’s a fairy story. Everybody knows it’s not true. But the old lady wouldn’t have any reason to lie. “Thank you…” Dianne looked around the abandoned street. Where had she gone?

“Esther,” a voice whispered in her ear.

Dianne whipped around, but there was no one behind her. She blinked. Had she really heard it?

“Thank you, Esther,” she whispered.

Why did I just say that? It’s not like she can hear me. I wonder where she went. Where is this dark and creepy place?

Dianne gaze wandered, and finally fell on the sign right above where she stood. The cracked and peeling sign proclaimed its owner an inn.

“The Dancing Hangman” seemed to have seen better days. For as rich as the carvings in the front door had seemed, when Dianne walked inside, only one patron was visible, and only one barmaid was behind the counter.

Dianne glanced toward the customer, but with his or her hood up, it was impossible to guess at the customer’s gender, much less species.

Now where did I get that from? Dianne wondered. And Avalon! Where did that map send me? And more importantly, how do I get out of here?

“Can I help you with anythin’, miss?” The barmaid asked. Dianne turned to look at her, and tried not to gasp. What’s going on here? Why does that woman have wings?

It didn’t look like the barmaid was surprised at all.

“He’s here, my lady. Came just a couple of days ago. I’ll ring him immediately. He’s been waiting for you,” The barmaid said, scurrying toward the stairs lining the back wall.

Dianne opened her mouth to protest, and ask whom the barmaid meant, but before she could get a word out, the girl had scurried up the stairs and was gone. What the devil’s going on here? I get transported to this place inside a map and it’s dark and cold and I’m frightened and now somebody actually knows I was coming when I didn’t until I was here? Who’s she going to get anyway? Surely I don’t know anyone here.

The barmaid descended again, but this time Dianne’s questions refused to stay in her mouth. Behind her climbed down a man that she knew was dead. And then as the barmaid went back to her duties, he stood there, at the foot of the stairs. Father.

“Daddy?” Dianne croaked. She shook her head.

“Yes, honey, it’s me,” Father said, sweeping her up in a hug.

“But you’re dead.”

“I know.”

“But you’re dead. I saw you dead on the news. How can you be here and be dead? How did you get here? How did I get here? What are you doing here? What am I doing here? What’s going on?”

“All of those questions have good answers,” Father said quickly, stifling the flow of questions and covering Dianne’s mouth. He glanced around the common room. “But let’s talk someplace where it is impossible for us to be overheard. The walls have ears.”

“You mean that guy over there?”

“That’s not the only thing I meant,” he muttered. “Come on.” As her father led her up the creaking stairway, Dianne couldn’t help but wonder at his touch.

“I thought I would never see you alive again,” Dianne said quietly.

Her father glanced at her. “I really am alive, you know. In this world, at least.”

“Yeah. And you know what? That still is freaking me out.”

Father looked at her steadily, and nodded. “Good. You’re not showing it at all. If you had shown even the slightest hesitation, I would be worried.”

“You know, most dads would be worried if their daughters weren’t a bit emotional after seeing them dead. No, most dads would be dead if their daughters weren’t a bit emotional after seeing them dead and have no reason to be worried— ” Dianne’s father laid a hand on her shoulder, and she faltered.

“You’re babbling,” he said kindly.

Dianne shook her head. “I know. I just can’t get over seeing you alive again. What’s up, Daddy?”

“This won’t be the last time you see me, you know,” Father said, opening the door to a room at the top of the stairs. It looked like it hadn’t been dusted in several decades. “We don’t have to hash out everything today.”

“But I want to know why. Why are you here? How?” Dianne sat down on the dingy blue plaid comforter covering an elegant four-poster bed.

Father hesitated, then nodded. “There are some things you need to know, but there are many that I can’t explain. So much has happened since I left you last week.”

“Just start at the end and work your way back. The way you did—I mean, do,” Dianne said, coloring.

Father nodded again somberly. “Well, there’s one thing you absolutely need to know. I was murdered.” Father held Dianne by the shoulders. “And I was sent here to take care of God’s interests in this world. I know this is a lot to take in, but the duty has passed on to you to keep the map safe.”

Murdered? Dianne mouthed the word, and her father winced. “Sorry. But you were murdered? Why? Did you see who it was? Oh, I’ll kill him!”

Father winced again. “Well. There are better ways to take that news.”

“Father!”

“Okay, okay. I didn’t see who it was, all right? But I know why. It was a warlock.”

“Warlock?!”

“They were hunting me. I should have seen it coming, but I didn’t.”

“Warlock?!”

Father nodded, wincing at Dianne’s face, which was filled with frank unbelief. “Unless I miss my guess, you’ll be learning all too much about them in the near future. Warlocks derive their powers straight from demons. Don’t trust them an inch.”

“But—if such a thing as a warlock exists—which I’m not admitting I believe—why would one of them be after you?” Dianne asked, curious and a little daunted by the amount of information she had to take in.

“It was because of the map,” Father said, lowering his voice.

“Why? What’s so special about this place?”

“There is wild magic here.”

“I figured that much out,” Dianne said pointedly. “The wings were a bit of a giveaway. And the world hopping, you know, that was a bit magical.”

“Then listen. There is a small amount of magic outside of this map, but most of it is still in here. There are people—not just warlocks—who would do anything to get this map and use it for their own purposes, and if that happens, the people of this world will die. And likely, the people in our world will die as well. I was killed over this crisis. Make sure that you are not.”