For the next several days, Jacob lived in Howard's apartment. Howard had gone over the little cover story Deborah had concocted, but Jacob couldn't be any bit concerned about it. He had no intention of going out for any reason, and he had not left his room for the entirety of his stay. On occasion, Howard would come in to check on him, offering him the occasional book as well as setting up a TV in the room for Jacob to watch. He was never pushy, allowing Jacob to eat in his room and never trying to go beyond small talk, which was perfectly fine for Jacob. Eventually, things finally settled into a pseudo-normal as he resumed his original rhythm and habits.

  Wake up.

  Shower.

  Eat.

  Watch TV.

  Take a nap.

  Read a book.

  Go to bed.

  Repeat.

  It was somewhat comforting to get back to the basics of his lifestyle, and for a time he could pretend that nothing had changed at all. Of course, that's not to say his imagination wasn't strained, especially when you considered the clean linen sheets that were as soft as a baby's bottom, properly cooked food that didn't set off the smoke alarm every five minutes, and an actually working TV with over a thousand channels that showed more than snow and books that had all of their pages and covers. It was, by and large, the best place Jacob had ever stayed in with but one major glaring problem. Now that he was in Uptown, the least frequented part of the city Jacob had been to, he was starting to understand that it wasn't a matter of money that kept them out, but rather the overwhelmingly obnoxious nature of the entire section of Grumsdale. It was largely a miniaturized version of Las Vegas complete with flashing neon signs that never turned off and could pierce through blackout curtains, loud noises all hours of the day and night right outside the window, and a skyline that was littered with billboards, balloons, and anything else that could hold advertisement. If there was a way to spend money in this part of town, these people wanted to be sure you were giving it to them and only them. It was a deluge of the senses, and Jacob found he couldn't live here without a bottle of ibuprofen by his bed.

  Of course, for someone like Howard, that was a perfect setup. As he had remarked before, Howard was a psychiatrist, and it seemed he preferred to do his work at home with his patients sitting on his couch. It turned out Bernie St Bernard served another purpose as an emotional support animal, and many of Howard's sessions included some poor schmuck weeping into the dog's neck as they spoke of their crippling gambling addiction and the debts that came with them. It made Jacob wonder how they were likewise paying for therapy, but he had to admit Howard did a decent job. His dialogue was short, thus allowing his patients to fully disclose their issues and various medical conditions. Jacob always felt like a rube for listening in, but he had to admire Howard's patience to sit through what could at times be hour-long spiels of grief and woe. Once the patients got their matters off their chests, Howard would typically offer kind words as well as several methods to help with their troubles. However, he never prescribed any sort of drugs. Most of his remedies were predominately mental exercises as a means to stave off temptations, though he also knew several support groups to whom he assigned his patients for added guidance and support. What few patients Jacob saw upon completing their treatments always seemed to feel as though they came to their solutions on their own rather than having Howard spell it out completely, and Howard would simply smile and wish them a happy life. In short, he was nothing like the shrinks his uncle Laramie had always warned against.

  Howard wasn't Jacob's only source of human interaction, though. Both Lance and Deborah would pop in now and again to check on him. Lance was still living at Paradiso, though Howard did have a spare bed made up for him just in case, but he always made time to make the trek up to sit with Jacob in his room. They'd never talk much, but once or twice Lance would bring one of his little projects in the hopes of having Jacob work on it with him. It was mostly little repair jobs, part of Lance's Fix-It business, but on the odd occasion, Jacob would find some weird little bauble or doodad from a taser that was built into a Billy club to what appeared to be a grappling hook built into a leather glove. Jacob asked about it once or twice, but Lance would always brush it off to work on some other gizmo he was working on. He was more interested in simply working with someone, and Jacob, having little else to do, was content to work with him. However, little did he know, this would be the start of something that would truly change all of their lives.

  ........................................................................................................................................................

  "The Midtown what?" Jacob asked.

  "The Midtown Bizarre Bazaar," Lance repeated. "It's a biannual event held every year. It's basically an enormous yard sale where everyone brings their stuff to sell, sets up little shops, and just go nuts. The local shops host special deals, too, and there are all sorts of games and activities."

  "It's quite the tourist attraction, too," Howard said, now armed with a cardboard box full of old books and other various mementos. "You got your swappers, your antiquers, and all the other Toms, Dicks, and Marrys that're after a good deal. It's also quite the charity event."

  "This year they're doing a special event for Paradiso," Lance said excitedly. "If they hit the mark, I'll finally hit the mark."

  Jacob wanted to bring up the fact that Lance was an orphan squatting there, thus anyone else fixing the place up would likely report him, but the boy looked too delirious with delight for even his sour mod to dampen.

  "Well, you guys have fun. A little peace sounds good."

  Howard made a face.

  "Yeah, nice try, bucko," Howard said as he set down his box. "Deborah would wear my intestines as a hat if I left you all alone."

  "I wouldn't be alone," Jacob rebuffed. "I'd have Bernie."

  Said St Bernard was currently sleeping on his back, his jaw hanging wide open while his tongue rolled out onto the floor. Howard shot the dog a look before shaking his head.

  "I trust Bernie with many things, but security and childcare are not among them. No sir, you're coming, even if I have to drag you."

  Jacob gave his eyes a roll.

  "Oh sure, Doc. Let's drag the guy whose uncle is accused of being a mad bomber who was roughed up by the police commissioner of the crappiest little town I've ever seen in my life and whose mug is likely also on wanted posters throughout the city. With eyes like mine, I tend to stand out like a sore thumb."

  Howard thought on that, and he went back to his box. To Jacob's disappointment, he came out with a few items: a baseball cap with cans on the sides, a pair of pink heart sunglasses, and a sports jersey that appeared to be three sizes too small. Jacob balked at them, and he looked up at Howard questioningly.

  "Let's just say I was pretty wild in my youth and several pounds heavier," Howard chuckled. "This is just my way of letting go."

  Jacob could only sigh in defeat, and before long they were all on their way back to Midtown. As Lance had pointed out, it was a large event with the entirety of Main Street decorated with streamers, balloons, and confetti. All roads save for the trolley line were closed off, creating several avenues and streets that were lined with various stalls and promotional bulletins. After finding a parking spot, no small feat, Howard led the two boys to Lance's stall: The Fix-It Spot. Jacob recognized many appliances and toys Lance had been fixing up back in Paradiso, as well as a tip jar with a small, scribbled thermometer that read "Paradiso Repair Fund" in green crayon next to it. Manning the stall was Joe the mechanic, who smiled and waved as they drew near.

  "Got 'er all fixed up for you, Mr. Fix-It," the kindly mechanic chuckled. "Just don't forget my ten percent."

  "Never have, never will," Lance chirped as he took out a little stool from behind the stall and took a seat.

  Joe then looked at Jacob's way. The boy expected some off-handed remark about his uncle or the debt on the van, though Jacob was curious of what had become of it now that a week had passed. Instead, Joe's face cracked into a snaggle-toothed grin.

  "Hey, Mcfly, your DeLorean broke down? I'll give you a good rate."

  He got a good laugh at that before walking away, leaving Jacob with his shoulders sagging and his lip curling in a sneer. Lance tried to hide his snicker for but a moment, but he shot the older boy a grin.

  "Hey, the disguise worked at least. Not even your own mother would recognize you in that."

  "Gee, and I wouldn't recognize her either," Jacob retorted dryly. "Can't believe I agreed to this. Oh, wait! I didn't! Where'd Doc go anyway? I thought the idea was not to leave me alone. That was barely an hour ago"

  "Oh, don't be like that," Lance said. "Come on! Enjoy yourself. See what the town has to offer."

  "Oh, I've seen what this town has to offer, alright," Jacob grumbled. "And all of it was trouble."

  But Lance was no longer listening. A line of people had formed at his stall, and he started handing out various bits of junk while collecting money. Jacob gave another defeated sigh and stormed off. He shuffled aimlessly up the street, stewing in the noise and chaos. On both sides, several people were hawking their wares and trying to get people to spend their money. As Lance had pointed out, several people appeared to be oohing and awing at the various odds and ends to be found. The local bakery had created a smorgasbord of tasty-smelling treats from the standard apple pies to Chinese mooncakes and even had a cakewalk in progress with a gaggle of giggling children marching along to the music. A toy shop that made handmade puppets was having a traditional Punch and Judy show to entertain any that wanted to stop and watch, though Jacob heard a few parents complain about the violence. However, it was one particular stall that caught his attention, as well as his nose. He spied a large Italian fellow working in tandem with a spindly, grey-haired woman at a shared cart. Joining them was Oscar with his gelato cart as the two set up a menagerie of flowers and some freshly made pizza. Wilhemena and Vigo's Italian Garden could be read on the sign overhead, and Jacob quickly pieced together that these were the owners of the pizza and garden shops that were demolished. The same stores his uncle had been working on and off at. On impulse, he drew closer, catching onto the conversation as they chatted.

  "Only that much?" Oscar asked.

  "The insurance was only willing to cover the loss of potential profits." the round-faced Vigo sighed as he pulled a fresh pie from the portable oven. "They did not cover detonations."

  "And I had just done all that plumbing work." wheezed Wilhemena as she put out a bouquet of daffodils. "It's a miracle I can even be out in the daylight with how little I've got left."

  "Well, don't frown, cugina e signora," Oscar said. "Should be a good crowd today. You should earn enough to rebuild your businesses and then some."

  But Vigo gave his head a sad little shake.

  "I'm afraid not, cousin. I'm afraid this is my and the signora's final farewell."

  Oscar's face drew back with shock.

  "You have already sold?"

  "The vultures all but jumped us the minute the dust settled," Wilhemena said solemnly. "It was money we weren't getting, and truthfully it was probably more than the lots of land were. They even offered to clean it up."

  "It's true," Vigo said with a nod. "Course, you know why that is, yes?"

  Jacob watched as Oscar's face lost all expression, and he dropped his voice to a whisper.

  "Come now, Vigo. Don't be spreading such thoughts around."

  "Like no one else is thinking hissed," Wilhemena hissed. "He's finally returned, or maybe he's never left. Mark my words, the Slumlord will stop at nothing until we're all working for her."

  Vigo shot her a harsh glare.

  "Not one more word about it, woman! There are children around, and we don't want to be giving them nightmares."

  Jacob took that as a hint to make himself scarce, and, honestly, he felt he had heard enough. He quietly departed the stall as enigmatically as he had entered it, letting his thoughts drift. A slumlord, as he understood it, was a landlord that let tenants live in squalor while they earned a lot of money for property. A nasty thought, but the way they were talking about it sounded like they were talking about Al Capone. Was the Slumlord some sort of gangster, then? By their words, it sounded like he, or possibly she, was the one responsible for the recent destruction, and by extension all of Jacob's problems. He remembered his talk with the detective and how she believed that, if Uncle Laramie had been involved at all, he was likely coerced. He still refused to believe his uncle was building bombs for bad guys, but he could have been a lookout or something. Granted, that didn't make Jacob feel any better, and it still left his uncle as an accomplice. Given the fact that the police commissioner of this stupid city nearly popped his head like a soda cap simply because Jacob was related to a supposed suspect did not give him much faith in the legal system. No, this whole thing only made Jacob feel even worse. He was suddenly broken from his chain of thought when he bumped into someone.

  The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

  "Hey!" Jacob snapped as he took a step back. "Can't you see I'm walking here? What sort of idiot just stands in the middle of the street?"

  The figure turned, and Jacob screamed.

  It was Blazer, sporting a sinister glare through his now blackened eye. A brief flash of memory reminded Jacob that he was likely the one that brandished that upon him, which meant he was in the absolute worst possible place to be. Granted, Blazer didn't seem to immediately recognize Jacob thanks to his disguise, but he didn't appear to like being called an idiot. Before Jacob could make his hasty retreat, Blazer had grabbed him by the front of the jersey, and he yanked him close.

  "You got a death wish or something, heart eyes?" he snarled.

  Jacob stammered and trembled, his tongue seeming to swell in his mouth and garbling anything that came out. Blazer dragged him close, and he looked closer.

  "Wait a minute. What's up with your eyes?"

  Jacob gasped as his Adam's apple leapt up into his brain. Blazer was now looking at him very closely, and Jacob could have died on the spot when he saw the glimmer of recognition coming into the bully's eyes.

  "It's you!" Blazer exclaimed. "You're the freak eyes punk!"

  Jacob wanted to scream the contrary, to get away from Blazer and beeline it for the nearest bus out of town, but Blazer's grip wasn't just on the jersey but the shirt he was wearing underneath. It was an iron grip, and nothing short of ripping the fabric would save him. Fortunately for his wardrobe, something, or rather someone, else interfered. A strong hand gripped Blazer's shoulder, and with a hard yank he pulled him away from Jacob. In the process, Jacob fell back on his bottom, making him look up at his rescuer. He was a middle-aged man dressed in a bright red three-piece suit. His hair was graying and cut in a buzzcut, and he was sporting a scar over his right eye. He wasn't a particularly beefy fellow, unlike Blazer, but Jacob got the clear distinction from the harsh glint in his gaze that he was better off not ticking this guy off.

  "Anis, you mook! Whacha think you're doing?!" the man snapped as he grabbed hold of Blazer's ear. "What did we discuss on the way here? Absolutely, positively, and by no means no horseplay! Are these not the conditions we agreed upon this morning?"

  "Ow ow ow!" Blazer squealed as he tried to free his ear. "Dad, this is him! The guy I told you about what gave me this shiner!"

  The man looked back to Jacob, his gaze like a brick.

  "Were you the one what did this to my boy?" he asked, pointing a thick finger at Blazer's blackened eye.

  Jacob went perfectly rigid with terror, and he tugged on his collar anxiously.

  "Y-y-yes well," he started to stammer. "He...started it?"

  Of all the things he could have said, why did he have to say that? Jacob knew that was the last thing the accused ever wanted to say in front of the victim, much less the victim's father, regardless of if it was the truth or not. He gulped down hard, and he braced himself for the inevitable. The man drew closer to him, looked him dead in the eye, and he raised a hand. However, rather than having his skull caved in, Jacob was stunned to have the man smack him on the back. It wasn't necessarily painful, but the impact plus his own rigidity caused the air to leave his lungs.

  "Not bad, kid, not bad at all!" the man laughed, making his belly roll. "You boxed him what good. Got yourself a pretty mean right hook, I'd say."

  Jacob was stunned, but Blazer was completely gobsmacked.

  "You're congratulating him?" he asked incredulously. "He beat me up!"

  "After you started the fight," his father retorted matter-of-factly. "If you're gonna pick a fight with someone, son, you'd better be ready for any outcome. Win or lose, you take it like a man, and you don't whine about it in the end."

  He turned back to Jacob.

  "Gotta give you credit. For someone that dresses like that, you must know what it takes to survive at all costs. Come on, and I'll treat ya."

  Jacob blanched.

  "I-I dunno. I mean, I don't think..."

  "Come on, I insist!"

  He took the boy by the shoulder, and he started to guide him away. Jacob dared to look back towards Blazer, and if looks could kill...no, that was an understatement. The sheer, unrestrained wrath on the older boy's face was pungently obvious, and it was likely the next time they crossed paths he would do everything in his power to kill Jacob in the most agonizing manner he could imagine. Jacob could only turn away and pray he knew what he was getting into. Fortunately, what he was getting into was a small bistro on the opposite end of the street, just far enough away from Blazer. The two took their seats, and the man ordered for them with a request of the usual, whatever that entailed. Jacob was still anxious, if not outright horrified, but he did his best to be dignified as the man lit a cigar.

  "I'm suddenly aware of my rudeness," the man said. "Introductions. I am Judas Scarlett. Perhaps you have heard of me?"

  Jacob blinked, but the name did ring a bell. Of all the obnoxious advertisements in Uptown, the most prominent was that for Scarlett Tower, the largest building and casino in all of Grummsdale. It was something of a cornerstone for the entirety of Uptown, and it was a huge eyesore. Though something in Jacob's gut told him to keep that last part to himself.

  "I'm Jacob," he said. "Just Jacob."

  "Named after the great deceiver, eh?" Judas asked with a laugh. "Seems we're cut from the same cloth, eh?"

  Jacob flashed him a quizzical stare.

  "You know. Jacob? From the book of Genesis? Brother of Esau? Stole the birhtright from him?"

  Jacob continued to stare. Judas gave his head a sad little shake.

  "Oi vey! The educational system really did go down hill after they took the bible out of school. He was only the father of the Israelites as we know of them now. He was a man that used deception to get what he wanted and in turn became one of the most influential human beings in human history."

  Jacob was no christian, but he felt there was some context missing there.

  "You seem quite like the good Mr. Israel," Judas went on. "A very bookish, unassuming sort, but clearly belying some spunk if my son's eye is anything to go off of. How may I ask did that come about exactly?"

  Jacob chuckled anxiously, wishing desperately that he was anywhere else right now. Still, the man was waiting, and the truth was that he had a few questions for him in regards to Blazer.

  "Did you know your son was beating up a little kid?" he asked.

  There was no show of shock on Judas' face, and he simply sipped on the drink the waitress brought him.

  "Is that so?" he replied casually.

  Jacob straightened a bit, reclaiming his backbone.

  "A kid named Lance. A bit of a dork, but he didn't deserve being bullied by a guy three times his size. There was something of a dust up, one thing then led to another, and I guess you saw what happened next."

  "You definitely popped him good." Judas chuckled. "Been calling him eight ball the last couple of days."

  "And?" Jacob pressed.

  "And what?" Judas replied.

  Jacob balked at him.

  "That's seriously it? Your son gets noticeably disfigured, you find out that he's been picking on a little kid who clearly couldn't fight back, but your only response is to chill with the guy that hit him and make jokes? What kind of dad are you?"

  And there was the nerve Jacob shouldn't have touched. Judas' gaze suddenly became much harder, and his grip on his paper coffee cup tightened to the point that the lid went flying. Definitely shouldn't have said that. He leaned in forward, his expression like a mausoleum statue and thrice as grim, and he dropped his voice to a whisper.

  "Seeing as your own ain't told you to never push you luck, I'll give you the same advice I'm giving my boy. In this world, it's not about what you can do, but what you can get away with.If my son is beating up on people, it's because there was no one that could stop him. You got to pick your battles and accept the consequences, win or lose, but only the house wins, and I'm the house. If I say it's fine what my boy does, then it's fine. If I wanna laugh with the punk what beaned him because he got cocky, I will. If I decide that Laramie's little runt ain't worth watching out for anymore, I may just decide to rub him out myself."

  Jacob's could almost feel his heart stop. His Uncle Laramie? Did this guy know what happened to him? Then did that mean...

  "Excuse me, Mr. Scarlett?"

  The man sat up straight, and he turned to face a woman with a ribbon on her arm that read "Neighborhood Watch".

  "We've a problem at our face-painting booth. Your daughter is literally painting the street red."

  Judas' eyes went wide, and he stood straight up before running down the street while calling out.

  "Charlotte, honey, we talked about this! No taking the things that aren't yours until daddy buys them!"

  Before long, he had vanished into the crow, and Jacob sat alone with his coffee and scone. His heart was still beating, though his pulse was starting to hurt his ribs. That had been terrifying in a manner he couldn't process. What even had that been, and just what had he meant? Was this the guy that made his uncle vanish? He didn't really seem the type to hurt someone, but then again he certainly had the money and maybe the influence to pull it off. But that bit about him watching Jacob was the most chilling. He looked about the circle of faces around him, the many strangers that could actually be some sort of assassin poised to, as Judas had so crudely put it, rub him out.

  That tore it!

  Jacob got to his feet and ran from the bistro as fast as his feet would allow. He wasn't sure where he was going, but he had to get out of here. Away from this city and away from all the crazy people that called it home! He kept running and running blindly through the thick of people before something finally stopped him. Namely, it was Lance's stall. He crashed into it head on, shattering the wooden beams as it all toppled on top of him. It caused the youngster's perspective clients as well as the piles of repaired junk to scatter as Lance started moving debris.

  "Jacob! Hey, you alright? What happened?"

  Jacob was a writhing mess, littered with splinters and speaking in tongues as his panic devolved into pure hysteria. Lance managed to get a hold of him, pulling him close and gently rubbing his back. He whispered a few calming words in Spanish into Jacob's ear, and slowly he started to calm. Soon, Jacob was sitting up as Howard came jogging over.

  "Crimeny, I leave you boys alone for a minute, and suddenly everything goes pear shaped. What happened?"

  "I dunno," Lance said. "Jacob just freaked. Lucky thing he crashed into me and not Mr. Vasquez and his cane."

  He then took a closer look at Jacob, and he noticed that his hat and glasses had come off.

  "Hey, Jake! Your eyes and hair changed again."

  Jacob was suddenly sober, and he looked to a nearby store window. Sure enough, his hair had become a platinum silver and a length longer whilst his eyes gleamed in a golden glow. His shoulders sunk, and his jaw fell open.

  "Oh, come on!" he whined. "Again with the Legolas look? This day just gets better and better."

  He looked up to the sky, and he extended his arms.

  "Please, universe! Hit me again! There has to be something worse you can throw at me!"

  Just then, Jacob felt a twitch. Something in the back of his skull started to buzz, and his ear strained at the approaching sound of a motorcycle. Multiple motorcycles, in fact. He then visibly shuddered, and his heart quickened again.

  Here they come! Watch out!

  Jacob straightened.

  That voice...

  Nina?

  Suddenly, a deluge of motorcycles came crashing down the street as a band of hooligans in orange tracksuits and helmets started opening fire with small guns. Several more abandoned their bikes and threw themselves into the thick of the fleeing crowds, tackling several people and beating on them with billy-clubs, chains, and various other blunt instruments. Howard quickly herded the two boys into an alley, shielding them as best he could as they hunkered down next to a dumpster for cover.

  "What a wish to be making, eh Jacob?" Howard ventured in weak humor. "I think Debbie's told me of these people. They're called the Lowtown Legion, a local street gang that recently popped up. Guess they're wanting to make an impression."

  Jacob flinched at the sound of shattering glass, and he gulped as a storefront was lit ablaze.

  "What an impression." he gulped. "Can I go back to my room now?"

  "You two are staying right here," Howard hissed. "I'm going to try and flag down a cop. I don't get where Langley and Christopher are. They were supposed to be guarding the street."

  "The cops are useless in this town," Jacob muttered dryly. "What a shocker."

  "Just stay here, both of you!" Howard hissed before taking off.

  Jacob pressed himself against the side of the dumpster, laying a hand over his head as he tried to get his bodily functions to settle. He felt like he was about to wet himself, have a seizure, black out, and throw up all at once. What was worse was that the buzzing in his head was getting worse. Even with his eyes off the scene, he could almost make out everything that was happening in excruciating detail. Evil, that's all he could describe it as. He could feel nothing but true evil emanating from these Lowtown Legion people, if they were even people. Jacob's mind was racing, trying to come up with something that would get him out of this alive, but then he thought of the voice. It was that Nina woman's from the dream, he was sure of it. He hadn't had any odd visions or dreams since, but she had remained vividly in his mind. What was that she had said before he blacked out? Something about words; important words he would need to remember. Well, he couldn't remember, and Nina had ended their talk before she could elaborate. Then again, he had been in that light place twice before, so maybe he had heard something. The more he thought on it, the more he did recall...something. It was two words total, that was it, and the first one started with a T. But what was it?

  "Television?" he mused. "Telethon? Telemetry? Telegraph?"

  None of those words seemed to fit, but then a fresh sound caught his ear, and he looked up. In the middle of the road was a little red-haired girl of about four, crying as he teddy bear dragged the ground and the chaos ensued around her. She was completely alone save for the Lowtown Legion that was slowly approaching her. It didn't take a genius to figure out what he was planning, but Lance was the first to notice, his muscles tensing.

  "Lance, no!" Jacob shouted.

  He moved to grab him, but Lance had already skirted out of his reach and rocketed towards the girl. Just as the thug moved to grab her, Lance tackled into him, knocking him off balance and moving him away. Lance then took the little girl's hand and started to pull her away to safety. The thug quickly recovered, however, and he started to pursue. Lance dug into the pocket on his overalls, and he came up with a small dart gun. He turned and fired, the projectile catching no the thug's shoulder, and suddenly several volts of electricity was sent through his body. He fell silently to the ground, but his fall attracted more of the thugs who in turn started to hunt after Lance. Jacob wanted to call him over, but it was as though his tongue had become glued to his mouth, and his legs refused to move.

  Telemetric?

  Telecast?

  Telegram?

  What was that blasted word?

  Lance was on the sidewalk now, but regardless which end of the street he ran he was cut off. He had no choice but to duck into a laundromat, both he and the girl vanishing from view as about six heads of those thugs slowly marched in after him. Finally, Jacob's legs obeyed, and he ran out onto the street, desperate to see what had become of the children.

  Teleonomy?

  Telepathy?

  Come on, come on, what was it?

  Lance had just stuffed the girl into a dryer on the back wall, closing the door before standing sentry in font of it as the thugs continued to draw close. That buzzing in Jacob's head was an entire hornet's nest now as he sensed nothing but that creeping dread that came only from a helpless victim as their killer drew near. Jacob's body was moving on its own now, his brain too preoccupied with finding that blasted word and its hidden purpose. He could see the lead thug raising his hand, a gun held tightly in their fist, and the end of the barrel was pointed squarely at Lance's forehead.

  All at once, the world went into slow motion. Jacob pumped his legs as hard as he could, but he knew he'd never reach him in time. Even if he did, there was nothing that could stop the thug from shooting him, too. But nevertheless he charged headlong, reaching out a hand as though he could grab Lance and pull him away. He felt his body heat up, and around his neck his pendant, the Sterling Star, began to gleam.

  Say the word! Nina's voice echoed in his skull, and at last it came to him just as the thug pulled the trigger.

  "TELE-TO!!!" Jacob screamed at the top of his lungs.

  Then, there was a massive burst of light.