Instead of the dingy, cluttered sidewalk of D'Arblay Street, a wide, rocky beach stretched out beyond the door-sill. Farther away was a darkness that somehow I just knew was the ocean.
And here was the part that really got me: over the horizon, three purplish crescent moons hung in the sky.
Chapter 27
OVERALL, the whole place looked like something puked up by a mountain. And it was hot. Eating-five-alarm-chili-while-locked-in-a-sauna hot.
The landscape before me was alien--and I mean that quite literally. I'd seen pictures of lava flows in Hawaii, black rock twisted into undulating formations that looked almost alive. What I was looking at was like that, crossed with a bunch of moshers at a punk concert. Spiky rocks jutted up everywhere, ten, twenty feet high. Every edge glistened in the moonlight.
I turned to look behind me, but the door I'd just come through was gone. The whole building had vanished. There were only rocks as far as my eye could see.
My father started running toward the shore in a curious zigzag, jumping and weaving like he was in a video game, until he was on the other side of the beach, standing on a spiny black ridge next to the water.
His voice was faint. "Come over here! And, Daniel... stay on the path."
What path? I tried to visualize where he'd stepped. No dice.
Oh well. Here goes nothing.
I took a deep breath and made a running jump in what I hoped was the right direction. I landed near the top of one of the tall, jagged spires and balanced on one foot for a moment, trying to figure out where to jump next. But no sooner had my foot touched the rock than I felt the surface lurch sickeningly beneath me.
When I looked down, I saw smoke. A second later, the smell of burning rubber reached my nose. The rock was so hot that the soles of my shoes were melting.
Barely thinking, I jumped down to one of the lower rock humps. And then I got another surprise. This time, it was the ground that was moving.
Beneath me, the four-foot-wide hump yawned open like a mouth to reveal a gaping pit with jagged glass walls. It was like a laundry chute direct to the underworld, and I was spread-eagled right over it. "Uh, Dad?"
"I told you to stick to the path."
"This isn't exactly fair!" I gasped, trying to keep myself above the ground somehow.
"You think Phosphorius Beta will play fair? You think the Prayer will? None of them ever do. Look at what happened to me! Ambushed in my own house when your mom and I were cooking potpies."
I gathered all of my strength into my legs and hurled myself forward. The rocks below me snapped shut, the rough sides rubbing against one another sounding like bones being ground to powder.
I landed on one of the jagged peaks but quickly felt myself slipping. My arms were still windmilling as my body tilted backward and my feet flew up in the air. In a second I would land in a pit of sharp, grinding stone and turn into filling for a nice English mincemeat pie.
That was it. If my father wasn't going to play fair, neither was I.
Chapter 28
IN THE BLINK OF AN EYE I aimed a mental bolt downward in a straight line, and felt carbon fibers wrap themselves around one another, traveling faster than thought.
Now I was holding a flexible rod, sixteen feet long, Olympic-standard size and weight for pole vaulting. And while I was still in midair, I spun around and stuck it in the crevice between two chomping rock pits, using my momentum and the pole's pliancy to carry me up and over another of the tall rock formations.
At the peak of my arc, I dropped the pole and threw my hands up, grasping at something that till that moment had existed only in my head: a makeshift parasail. It wasn't exactly elegant, but the rough, thin strands of rope attached to the corners of a square canvas sheet would get the job done.
I couldn't help letting out a whoop of excitement as I glided over the entire bizarre-o landscape and landed lightly beside my father.
And people thought skateboarding was an extreme sport?
"Well, how was that, Dad?"
"Hmph." I could see he was trying to contain a smile. "I brought you here to teach you to pay attention to your surroundings. Creativity is your strength, but it isn't everything. You can't imagine your way out of every situation." He paused a moment, looking me right in the eye. "Take it from me."
"Well, speaking of surroundings, what is this place?"
"Cyndaris," Dad replied. "Beta's home planet."
"But I thought--"
"That it was too hot to support life? That's mostly true. We're at Cyndaris's North Pole, the coldest place on the entire planet. A few miles in any direction, and you would burn up faster than a firecracker on the Fourth of July."
The triple moons hung low over the "ocean" (which I realized now couldn't be water, not in this heat), tinting it violet. The List had mentioned that some of Beta's people were cultured, even poetic, and, minus the whole burning-everything-in-sight side of things, I could see where they might draw some of their artistic inspiration. I had to admit the view was amazing.
"What's with the rocks?"
"Carbon-based life never evolved here. These rocks are living organisms. Carnivorous ones. Think of them as Cyndarian flytraps. They generate heat to attract fire-based life. Then swallow it whole."
The perfect setting for Dad's boot camp.
Chapter 29
AN HOUR LATER, every muscle in my body was aching. Even my teeth hurt.
Training with Dad sure wasn't like watching The Karate Kid. This was the furthest thing from martial arts training, or learning to turn myself into a mosquito or an elephant or learning to whip up a stun gun right in front of a nasty alien beastie. Instead, this training consisted of paddling out to a rock in a dinghy (through some kind of toxic liquid that can actually exist in these temperatures), carrying the dinghy to the other side of the beach, and then starting all over again.
I'd done close to thirty runs back and forth over the deadly beach, balancing the dinghy with my hands and head as I tried to figure out a safe path among the hungry stone jaws. I have to say, I was getting pretty darn good a t i t. Only problem was, I was getting tired. It was hard to think. I wouldn't be able to create another vaulting pole. I doubted I could create a drinking straw.
Then, on my thirty-second trip back to the water, I fell. There was no rock within reach. I watched helplessly as the boat toppled out of my grasp and was chewed to pieces by one of the waiting mouths below. Meanwhile, I was about to be impaled by a stone hotter than a stovetop. I gritted my teeth and tightened my chest as much as I could in preparation for impact.
And then something happened that had happened to me only once before.
Time stopped.
Chapter 30
MY BODY WAS FROZEN about six inches away from a searing hot, pointy rock. The crunching sounds that had become nearly constant were silenced, as was the lapping of the waves on the shore.
"Well, watching you work so hard has been great fun," my father said, leaning closer to me. "But I guess we should really come to the point of tonight's lesson."
Not a minute too soon, I wanted to say, but my lips couldn't move. Neither could my head, so I could just barely see Dad in my peripheral vision. Couldn't we have skipped the basic training and just gotten to the point?
"I know this ability to manipulate time is something we went over quite awhile ago, you and I. But it's only now that you're grown up that some of the potential that you r m other and I saw in you is finally being unlocked. So there are a few things you should know."
He stood up taller, his voice becoming more military again. "Number one: bringing new things into the world is not an ability you should take lightly. But being able to go back and change things is an even greater burden."-He sighed. "I was never too good at it. None of the family was. So frankly we don't know much about what effect it might have on the universe as a whole. All we know is that it puts a tremendous strain on your body and mind. So be careful, and don't abuse the power, Daniel "Number two
: time travel. It's not an easy power to use. Believe me, I've tried. When The Prayer went after your mother..." His voice trailed off for a moment, and I was almost glad I couldn't see his expression. "Short story is, time travel seems to be connected to emotion. It can be triggered only when you are feeling something, and feeling it very strongly."
That must be how I did it before, in the van.
"Number three: powerful events can create 'stress points' in time. What I mean is, they pretty much punch a hole right in the time stream. It's always been said that a powerful enough Alien Hunter can not only find these holes, but can actually travel between them. I believe that you can, Daniel. You just need to figure out how."
He sighed again. "Daniel, you carried yourself well tonight. I'd say you're at least one percent--okay, okay, maybe one and a quarter percent--of the way to being a truly effective Alien Hunter."
Fantastic. I really wished I could groan. And then something struck me. If time is stopped, how come--
My father answered before I'd even finished the thought. "How come I'm not frozen? How should I know? This is your dream."
Dream?
As if on cue, time started again. I felt the air pop in my ears, and a split second later I felt an object hit my sternum with the force of a red-hot sledgehammer.
Chapter 31
EVEN THOUGH it was "just a dream," I took off the entire next day. Facing blazing fireballs and ferocious brain suckers was enough work for twenty-four hours.
Strangely, the burn mark on my chest from that fiery eyeball looked even worse now--the red marks sorta looked like a face howling with laughter--and I wondered if the training session hadn't been real. In another dimension.
I treated my friends to a matinee performance at Shakespeare's Globe Theatre. It's a giant circular arena with a thatched roof, and it's where Shakespeare's plays were originally performed. If you get to London, or if you live in London, you have to check it out.
The play was The Tempest, about a magician called Prospero who lives with his daughter on an island. Wha t r eally got me was, at the end Prospero gives up his powers, throwing his spell book into the sea. In a lot of ways, I majorly envied the guy.
But then: What would my life be like if I just gave up the mission? The List?
I don't think I could exist without it.
By the way, this is exactly what my little break from hunting Beta felt like--a single page in a book.
Chapter 32
A LITTLE TIME OFF was good, and it had been very necessary. But this was where I really felt at home: stalking my prey.
The last glimmers of the setting sun glinted off one of the cracked fifth-floor windows in the dingy apartment building, dazzling me a little. I was hiding on the opposite roof, watching The Cockney Fireman (as Joe had started calling him).
At six fifty-two, I saw the guy emerge from the front door of his building. He glanced furtively around the cul-de-sac through his aviator sunglasses, spat some foul goo onto the street, and strode off purposefully with a strange lopsided gait. He was headed to the main road. And I had someone already waiting for him.
"He just passed me," said Willy in my head. "I'm sticking to The Cockney Fireman like peanut butter on the roof of your mouth. If he's meeting with Beta, you'll be the first to know."
"All right. Divide and conquer. But, Willy, be extra careful," I said. Willy would tail the creep wherever he was headed, giving me the chance to search his apartment.
I immediately scrambled across the tiled roofs surrounding the alley until I was on top of The Fireman's building. Then I dropped down onto the top level of the fire escape. It was slick and rickety, and I made my way carefully, then down the rusted ladder to the third floor.
Behind a filthy window, the apartment was full of shadows. I created a thin crowbar and jimmied the window open, trying not to make a sound.
As I slid it up, a medley of truly foul smells drifted out, almost knocking me backward. As messy as the place was, it smelled a hundred times worse: gasoline, sweat, vinegar, unwashed socks and underwear, all mixing into a rancid cocktail.
I did not want to go in there.
Of course, I had to: with The Cockney Fireman out of the way for a while, now was my chance to see what else he was hiding besides the cases of motor oil that he drank like diet colas.
"Like what he's done with the place," I mumbled to myself. "Wonder who his decorator is? The Tasmanian Devil?"
The disgusting kitchen was connected to an equally foul-smelling living room. A brown fabric couch, covered w ith singe marks and empty oil cans, dominated the place. The TV looked as if it had broken long ago: a fist-sized hole was smashed in the screen; a Wolverhampton Wanderers soccer jersey lay on top, discarded, its arms missing.
I swallowed hard. The sleeves looked like they had been burned off. I wondered whose jersey it had been-- and whether or not the dude still had his arms.
Then I heard something. A soft, muffled whimpering coming from behind a closed door next to the couch. A trap?
No--the notes of fear, of hopelessness, sounded too genuine to me. They were the same sort of terrified sounds I had made the night my parents died.
In less than a second, I moved to the door and threw it open--revealing a dank bedroom, illuminated by a dim, flickering light. There was definitely a theme going on in this place decor-wise. Soiled, bare mattress? Check. Mounds of trash? Check. Trembling little girl? Big check.
She was seven or eight at most, lots of brown curls, her face as pale as paper. She whimpered pitifully as I entered the room.
"Don't worry, sweetie. I'm not going to hurt you," I said in a quiet voice. "I'm going to get you out of here. I'm Daniel. What's your name?"
"Su-san," she said. And then she choked out, "I want to go home! Please, please!" before bursting into tears that brought some to my own eyes.
I dug around in my pocket for some tissues before giving up and simply creating a handkerchief. When I knelt d own to hand it to her, I realized she'd stopped crying. She was staring over my shoulder. Then she raised a hand to point behind me. I turned slowly.
It was him, The Cockney Fireman, sunglasses off, teeth bared, flames seeping from both nostrils and one eye. "'Ello, mate. Back to try a little of me home cookin'?" Bad, bad news, but what was worse-- Willy had promised to let me know the creep's whereabouts.
So what happened to Willy?
Chapter 33
NORMALLY, I would have flexed right into a defensive stance. But something nearly uncontrollable inside was pushing me toward the offense this time. I leaned toward him fearlessly.
"If you did anything to hurt my friend, I swear I'll extinguish you," I hissed.
"Oi dunna what yer talkin' about." He grimaced. "Huh! Beta didn't tell me yah were a nutter."
The flame in his nostrils and eye flared a little, then came out his ears, too. "Oi thought yah would have realoized after our last meetin' just how dangerous a game yer playin'." He shrugged. "But Oi guess Oi'm gonna get to kill ya after all. Good-ee."
His face had begun to distort before he'd even finished, and now a ball of fire burst from his bad eye--good eye? -- aimed straight for my heart.
Instantly I focused on the physical space in front of me and watched the fireball dissolve before it got close enough to even singe my shirt.
"What the--" growled Beta's henchman, loosing another three bursts of flame. They, too, died in midair.
Just because I can create things doesn't mean they always have to be visible. In this case, my defense screen was something neither of us could see, a concentrated cloud of carbon dioxide. It's basic chemistry: no oxygen, no fire. No fire, no burned-to-a-crisp Daniel.
He frowned. "So, you've figured out 'ow to put out my foire. Well played, mate. It's toime to get out the big guns, then."
The Fireman had turned his head upward and raised his hands in front of him, like he was waiting for it to start raining fire.
Then, out of nowhere, his mouth opened and h
e gave a bloodcurdling, unearthly scream. The scream of a man being burned alive , I couldn't help thinking. A moment later, the sleeves of his denim jacket burst into flame. They were burned away in an instant, and I could see his massive arms, glowing a dull, angry red, the color of molten metal.
And then--oh, crap--I saw the volcanoes!
Around the room, on all four walls, the ceiling, and the floor, miniature craters were appearing, blackened rings rising from the plaster, the wood paneling, the rug.
The room took on a reddish glow, and from the center of each crater, lava began to flow, first in drops, then in rivers from the ceiling, down the walls, flowing and pooling on the floor.
The heat was unbearable. What with The Fireman's screaming, it probably wasn't that different from hell.
Or maybe this room was a branch office?
Chapter 34
STEAMING LAVA already covered most of the floor. In less than a minute, there would be nowhere left to stand without getting severely scalded. I was blanketing my body as best I could with carbon dioxide, but there was no way I could keep up with this much fire.
The only area left untouched was a small circle where The Fireman stood. If I wanted to get out of here without turning into a pile of charcoal briquettes, that was my only chance.
He finally stopped screaming and lowered his head to look at me--just as I did a flying leap and tackled him into a bubbling pool of lava. I was using his body to shield myself from the red-hot liquid.
There was a loud sizzle, but he didn't cry out. Suddenl y h is skin radiated heat like a house on fire. Even when my hands started blistering, I didn't let go.
He was grunting between gritted teeth, and squinting at me through smoke-clouded eyes. Then his panting and grunting took on a different tone, a deep, vicious crackle.
A moment later there was a searing explosion and his body burst into flame.
Just in time, I jumped back into the clear area in the middle of the floor. In seconds, there was nothing left of him, only flames.