‘Sit!’ commanded Mr Hardnose, adjusting the drab grey tie that matched his drab grey suit.

Newt and Rowan sat on the two uncomfortable plastic chairs positioned in front of the large, imposing wooden desk. They were lower than standard chairs and the principal now towered over them.

Designed to intimidate us? wondered Newt. Well, it’s working.

Newt lowered her eyes, looking away from the principal as he smoothed down his severely parted, thinning black hair and moved to stand behind the desk. She was good at working things out … not so good at facing them.

‘This behaviour of yours is unacceptable,’ snapped Mr Hardnose. ‘If this were the army, I’d have the two of you running laps of the oval and doing push-ups until all the fight and bluster had been sweated out of you.’

Newt kept her eyes down. She had always thought that the principal seemed more like a caricature of an army officer rather than the head of a school. He was always marching about, barking orders at the students. He even carried a swagger stick, a sort-of riding crop that army officers used to carry around in the old days.

THWACK!

That swagger stick now hit the desk, making Newt jump.

Rowan actually yelped.

‘Eyes front!’ Mr Hardnose barked.

Newt stared at the principal, wide-eyed and jittery.

Mr Hardnose swung the stick up under his arm and began pacing behind the desk.

Newt’s eyes shifted from the principal, drawn to the large bookshelf behind him. She couldn’t help it – she always looked at bookshelves. You could tell a lot about a person by the content and organisation of their shelves. Floor to ceiling, this one was full of books about military history, seemingly ordered by size and spine colour … like neat little soldiers all in a row. Newt scanned spines as if searching for something in particular.

There was a knock at the door and the principal’s secretary popped her head in. She had a kind, wrinkled face, grey hair in an untidy bun and a mischievous gleam in her eyes.

‘Excuse me, Rodney, but there’s a parent here complaining about the lack of quality coffee at the Parent-Teacher Association meetings. She seems a tad over caffeinated, if you ask me, but she is rather persistent. I think it needs your immediate attention because, frankly, I’m not paid enough to deal with this sort of thing.’

The principal sighed impatiently. ‘Don’t call me that in front of the sold– students.’

‘Sorry, sir,’ said the secretary, giving him a mock salute and trying to stifle a smile.

As he stalked across the room, Mr Hardnose called over his shoulder. ‘Don’t move!’

The door banged closed and Newt’s eyes snapped back to the bookshelf. There was one particular book that caught her attention. Larger than the others, it was old and beaten up, its spine cracked and torn. It looked as if it had been shoved into a random space on the shelf, without consideration of its size and colour. It seemed out of place, like an ordinary person in a military parade. She felt an unexplainable urge to get up and examine it. Hold it in her hands.

But what if Mr Hardnose comes back while I’m looking at it? Newt thought.

Newt’s desire to hold the book fought with her need to not get into any further trouble. Her mind imagined making a rush for the book, but her body stayed sitting right where it was. Her hands gripped the sides of the seat as if determined to keep her there.

As Newt’s internal struggle raged, she saw movement beside her. Rowan sprang from his chair, vaulted over the desk – sending papers and pens scattering to the floor – and snatched the book from the shelf. He hugged it to his chest, eyes frantic.

‘What the heck are you doing?’ demanded Newt, jumping to her feet. She had always thought Rowan was strange, but this was a new level of bizarre behaviour. It made her feel particularly uncomfortable because she herself had wanted to hold the book so much.

‘Um …’ Rowan hesitated. ‘I’m … not really sure.’

‘You’re not sure?’ scoffed Newt. ‘You’ve just jumped over the principal’s desk and stolen one of his books … and you’re not sure?’

‘I just …’ He paused again. ‘I just sort of felt the need to hold it. I can’t explain it.’

Newt went pale. That’s exactly how she had felt … still felt. As she watched Rowan, she had a strong urge to take the book from him – wrestle it from his hands, if necessary.

‘Maybe you should put the book down now,’ suggested Newt, her eyes glued to its beaten-up cover.

‘Yeah. Sure.’ Rowan went to return the book to the shelf.

‘No.’ Newt’s voice was a little too quick and desperate. She tried to calm down. ‘Just put it on the desk.’

‘Better to put it back where it belongs,’ he said, holding it up. ‘Eeek!’ He froze.

Newt saw a spider scuttling across the shelf. It wasn’t very big. ‘Oh, you’re not?’ She laughed. ‘You are! You’re scared of spiders.’

‘Shut up.’ Rowan was still holding the book, unable to put it back where the spider was.

‘Just put it down,’ said Newt, a note of amusement in her voice. ‘You’ve already caused enough of a mess.’

‘Okay, okay,’ said Rowan. ‘No need to get all huffy.’ He turned, holding the book out in front of him and made a show of putting it on the desk, although Newt could see the reluctance in his eyes.

The moment his fingers let go, Newt launched forward and grabbed the book. Turning her back on Rowan, she clutched it to herself.

‘Hey,’ called Rowan, ‘what’s with you?’

Newt didn’t answer. While her need to hold onto the book was strong, she also had the feeling that something was missing. She loosened her hold and held it out in front of her, examining the cover.

‘The Magic of Science and the Science of Magic,’ she read in a whisper, and her heart sank. ‘Sounds like one of your dumb fantasy books. I wonder what it’s about.’

‘Oh yeah,’ said Rowan. ‘You’ve just grabbed that book. And hugged it. And you’re itching to know what it’s about. So yeah … fantasy is dumb, isn’t it?’

Newt didn’t have an explanation for her actions. She did have a deep-down feeling that she had to do something … although she wasn’t sure what. She opened the book. With a puzzled expression, she read out loud.

‘It takes two to open this doorway.’

That was as far as she got.

‘No more interruptions,’ the principal’s voice bellowed from outside.

Newt slammed the book closed, a rabbit-caught-in-the-headlights panic in her eyes.

‘Quick, give it to me,’ said Rowan, stretching out his hand. ‘I’ll put it back.’

Newt didn’t want to give him the book – she wanted to keep it; hold onto it. And yet, she found herself holding it out to him across the desk.

As Rowan’s fingers touched the book, it flared with light. Despite this astonishing turn of events, they both tried to keep hold of it. But it vanished, fading from their grasp, leaving a tingling in their fingertips.

What? How? Newt’s mouth hung open as she tried to comprehend all that was going on.

Next to the desk, something even more astonishing happened. The air shimmered and swirled, and a hole opened up.

A hole!

A large hole!

A hole that was about the size of … a doorway.

This is not scientifically possible! Newt’s brain screamed. Holes don’t just appear at random in midair. Maybe it’s not just a hole? Maybe it’s a wormhole? Or a portal? Or something?

She couldn’t believe her eyes and yet she couldn’t look away from the phenomenon – this swirling, hanging, unlikely hole/portal/ thing!

Newt felt a strange persistent tugging within her – an urge to go through this impossibility and explore what lay beyond.

‘Doorway,’ she whispered.

‘What?’ Rowan’s voice was little more than a squeak.

Newt’s mind raced, desperate to find connections, to make sense of this nonsense.

‘The book said something about opening a doorway,’ she reasoned.

‘And you reckon this is it?’

Newt nodded and stared.

And through the shimmering swirls, she could see something …

The principal’s office!

But it was different. It was a disaster area. The outside wall was half collapsed. The desk was a pile of rotting wood and the books, a decaying stack on the floor by the collapsed shelves. How could that be possible? Fear was building up inside her, but Newt felt a ridiculous need to go through the hole.

Don’t be silly, she told herself. You can’t go through it.

Behind her the door opened and Mr Hardnose’s voice hit her. ‘What in the name of General MacArthur is going on here?’

Newt was paralysed. She wanted to go through. She wanted to run away from the principal. She wanted to give in to the strange tugging that pulled her to the doorway. Despite all this, she was also scared and unable to make the decision to go.

Then she saw Rowan dive for the hole.

And, without thinking, she found herself following.

‘NO!’ She heard the principal’s voice shouting from behind as she threw herself into the distortion.

As reality swam around her, she momentarily sensed something nearby.

Something wrong.

Something dangerous.

Something full of hate.

A patch of darkness flowed past. And then it was gone.