Crisanta Knight: The Liar, The Witch, & The Wormhole

n our way back to the Emerald City’s YUR station, I told my friends about Ozma, and also Eva and Julian’s magic. As I was wrapping up the tale, we passed through a bustling agora. Among the stalls we discovered a booth selling Mark Two magic compact mirrors.

I was surprised, as those weren’t set to debut in our realm for a little while longer. But the shopkeeper told us that the Wizard had sources in other realms scouting for fresh innovations that would allow Ozians to get the best technology first.

This was too good an opportunity to pass up. My four friends each purchased a Mark Two, and I bought a couple of extras for emergencies, which I stuffed in my backpack alongside my own. I was grateful that we’d converted the majority of our money to ONC currency at the ATM in Neverland.

We made it to the entrance of the station and fell in line behind other Ozians going down to the YUR. I glanced up and spotted another crow with a camera collar. He flew overhead and landed on top of a lamppost across the street.

Descending below street level, we found that the platform was a lot busier now and my friends and I struggled against the wave of civilians. The subway doors slid open just as we arrived. Passengers simultaneously exited and entered the car without concern for who had the right of way. I felt totally disoriented, and yet I thought I registered something in my peripheral vision. I was almost certain I caught a glimpse of . . .

My friends and I were the last ones to board. Once inside, I turned to face the platform. That’s when I laid eyes on him.

It was uncanny how seeing him sent a surge of hatred and fear up my spine. The hairs on the back of my neck stood on end and my breath caught in my throat.

Arian had a half dozen men with him, but I didn’t see Mauvrey and Alex. When Arian spotted me, his eyes widened and he started to push his way toward the subway car. I automatically tried to take a step back, but it was too crowded.

Suddenly I felt the subway car jolt. The doors suctioned together, sealing shut in front of my face only a few feet before Arian reached them.

He and I locked gazes through the glass for a moment, but there wasn’t time for anything else. The subway sped away and plunged into the tunnel before either of us could make a move.

I nodded. “If he’s here to find Paige, he probably had the same thought as we did about seeing the Wizard.”

“That’s good,” Jason said. “The Wizard will send him to the Maze of the Mindless. With any luck, maybe he and his antagonist buddies will get turned into brainless scarecrows.”

“It’s a nice thought, but Arian’s too good,” I said. “We should assume that he’ll make it through the maze, and when he does, he’ll come back for Julian and force him to reveal the truth. At which point we’ll all be after the same thing.”

This whole day had been moving so fast—scarecrows and subways and witches, oh my—I hadn’t had time to properly reflect on the knowledge Paige had imparted.

It was crazy to think that our realm’s entire genie population was trapped somewhere. They had vanished from Book so long ago. The history books had several theories about what happened to them: they’d gone extinct after thousands of years of life, their powerful magic had burned them out, they’d migrated to another realm. No one was sure; that’s why there were so many conflicting books on the subject. I’d even written a paper last semester about the differing theories. I got a B+.

I don’t think anyone ever suspected that the Fairy Godmothers were responsible for the disappearance. Now that I knew what the Godmothers were willing to do to maintain control over the realm however, I had no trouble believing it.

“I can’t even begin to think how much destruction the antagonists would cause if they got to the genies,” Jason said. “Even if there were only ten genies left, at three wishes a piece, that’s thirty powerful, magical ways Arian and Nadia can attack the realm. They won’t need to wait for Natalie to open the Eternity Gate.”

“Maybe that was their plan all along,” Daniel said. “The deal with Natalie and the Eternity Gate isn’t meant to happen for another nine months. What if that’s their back-up plan and Paige and the genies have been their primary objective this whole time?”

“No, I do not believe so,” SJ cut in. “Genies have restrictions on their magic just like Fairy Godmothers do. They cannot bring things to life or take life. They cannot affect free will. They cannot penetrate In and Out Spells. So perhaps the two efforts are linked—complementary to one another. When the Eternity Gate opens, all normal magic that is active will be suspended. That includes In and Out Spells, Fairy Godmother Magic, and the power of other magical creatures, like genies. Therefore, I think that even if Arian and the antagonists found out where the genies are being kept now, they would not set them free until after Natalie opens the Eternity Gate. If their magic is not active when the Gate opens, they will not be affected. So after the fact—when the Gate is open and the Fairy Godmothers’ magic is temporarily suspended—the antagonists can release the genies and use their powers without anyone to stop them.”

“If the antagonists do that when the In and out Spell around Alderon is lowered, they will have an army of magical power to take on the rest of the realm,” Blue finished. “They will have the genies, plus all the witches and warlocks in Alderon with Pure Magic Disease. Meanwhile, the only magic we’ll have left on our side is—”

The fact that we were the only ones getting off at this stop should’ve been our first clue that something was wrong.

We arrived at the station closest to where my Hole Tracker and our Oz map indicated the next wormhole would open. The specific coordinates were less than a mile from this spot, and the wormhole itself was scheduled to appear in about twenty minutes—making it an optimal place for us to disembark.

When the intercom announced our arrival at “S.H. Station: Home of the Poppy Plains,” my friends and I thought it was peculiar how the other passengers shifted in their seats nervously as we rose to exit. They avoided eye contact with us, all except for one young girl who met my gaze and mouthed the words “good luck” as the sliding doors closed.

The subway sped away into the tunnel, leaving us in the deserted station. There was not a single other living soul on the platform, and it looked like there may not have been for some time.

We worked the levers by the staircase in the way we’d seen back in the Emerald City station. The road above opened and we ascended the staircase. On the surface, an enormous sea of Poppies surrounded the Yellow Brick Road. It made the flower moat surrounding the Emerald City look pathetic. There were tens of thousands of flowers here in an assortment of colors. Red, purple, pink, orange, yellow—the colors stretched out in massive stripes like a rainbow.

A dense fog rose up from the great number of Poppies. The drowsy gas was thick and mysterious-looking.

My Hole Tracker’s proximity sensor beckoned us forward and we proceeded down the skinny sliver of Yellow Brick Road toward a forest in the distance. The entry to the YUR automatically sealed itself off in our wake.

More crows passed overhead, giving me a bad feeling. They only circled a few times before flying off. The others were too distracted by the drowsy gas to notice.

I found myself feeling both elated and guilty at how easy this was for me. For anyone else, walking along a thinly laid strip of Yellow Brick Road fenced by Poppies would have felt like traversing a wire over shark-infested waters. To me, such fears were inconsequential. Past a few purple veins, Poppies caused no harm on me.

Unfortunately, my friends did not share this immunity. The fog of drowsy gas around the Emerald City had affected them slightly. The strength of the fog here had a much stronger impact. As we continued, my friends slumped. The drowsy gas influenced them more and more the further we passed through the plain.

“This drowsy gas sucks,” Blue commented when we were halfway across. “I literally feel myself getting dizzier with each step; it’s like my muscles are weakening.”

“Not only that,” SJ added, her breathing ragged and shallow. “My mental acuity is losing its strength. It is like the foggier the landscape grows, the foggier my mindscape becomes in turn. Do the rest of you feel it?”

The boys and Blue were in consensus; the drowsy gas wasn’t just making them physically tired, it was affecting their mental sharpness as well.

“I don’t know,” I admitted. “It must have something to do with my magic.”

“Of course it does,” SJ huffed, still mentally alert enough to channel her spite and jealousy.

I shrugged off the comment. It was all I could do. Even after everything with Alex and Mauvrey and Arian, the pettiness of SJ’s bitterness toward me still filled me with resentment. Short of pushing her into the Poppy fields for an extended nap, my only option was to keep distance between us.

We arrived at the forest fifteen minutes before the wormhole opened. Each tree was at least a hundred feet tall and a muddy shade of gray. The twisted trunks were thick with dark red leaves crowding the branches. They formed a canopy overhead that made the sky look blood red as we passed beneath them.

The fog of the Poppies persisted through the forest, wrapping itself around the trees like ghostly police tape.

Scattered throughout the forest were various swamps. Aside from the occasional dirty bubble that emerged from their murky waters, they remained still and eerie. No wildlife in sight. My lethargic friends had to watch their step as we moved along. We kept to the Yellow Brick Road and did not wander from its path even though we’d left the Poppies behind.

Further into the forest we encountered remnants of abandoned old houses. The paint on the outsides had faded. Windows were dirty or cracked. Wooden shutters and roofs were dark and withered from rot. Doors hung open on their hinges, creaking as a light breeze moved them back and forth.

My skin felt cold and my nerves stood on end. Everything about this place felt off. I didn’t like it. What I liked even less was the moldy pumpkin I suddenly rammed my foot into.

I couldn’t help but squeak in surprise. This hauntingly silent atmosphere had me in such an anxious state that the gourd had completely caught me off guard.

The pumpkin rolled over a few feet and came to a stop when it collided with a slab of gray stone. A gravestone.

I cautiously approached the slab and knelt before it. The thing was covered in moss, dust, and cobwebs, but I was still able to see writing underneath. I brushed away the dirt until the engraving was legible.

“Blue.” I tilted my head up at her. “This name, I know I’ve heard it before. Where’s it from?”

In all the years I’d known Blue, one of her favorite passions had been fairytale history. And accordingly, one of her favorite pastimes had been sharing her research with us. She was definitely our group’s expert on the subject. She talked so much about her findings that I had to tune her out sometimes out of necessity. However, some things did stick and I was glad. The info had come in handy in the past, and had even saved my life.

Blue furrowed her eyebrows and squinted at the gravestone. “I . . .” She bit her lip before shaking her head. “I’m sorry; it’s those dang Poppies. My brain’s cloudier than this forest. I know that name too. But I just . . . can’t remember . . .”

I glanced back at the stone, then the pumpkin that had led me to it—bright orange beneath its mildew, a chunk missing from where a rat must’ve bitten into it, two brownish spots of discoloration near the top.

“It’s fine,” I said, putting my hand on my friend’s shoulder. “It doesn’t matter. We need to keep going.”

And keep going we did. We journeyed deeper into the grasp of the forest—the fog escalating all the while, especially closer to the swamps. We came across more and more pumpkins and gravestones. The gourds blocking our paths were at various stages of decomposition, but were always lying close to grave markers.

What was stranger still was that we began to hear rustling sounds behind us. Every time we turned around though, there was nothing there except pumpkins. I felt like we were being followed, or at the very least being watched.

“Hey, what’s that?” Jason pointed to a building ahead. It was hard to make out at first. The Poppy fog was incredibly thick.

Moving closer, I saw the building for all its spookiness. The foreboding structure was about twelve feet high with a swamp pool positioned behind it. It was sandwiched tightly between two trees that leaned inward, as if reaching for each other. These trees were different from the others in the forest. Their bark was black and they sprouted bright yellow flowers.

The dwelling itself was cracked in half, but in an upside down V shape so that the opening was big at the bottom and small at the top. Its insides were completely shrouded in darkness. I didn’t want to go anywhere near it. Alas, I realized we would have to. According to my Hole Tracker, that was our destination. Our wormhole would appear shortly within that ominous-looking structure, creating a portal to the next realm in the Wonderland sequence, Limbo.

In no hurry to enter the building until we absolutely needed to, my friends and I drifted around the clearing. In the distance, despite the thick fog and foliage, we could see glimmers of pink, red, and purple Poppies. We were near the other end of the forest.

Something shimmered about fifty feet from the Yellow Brick Road. One of the trees was not natural. It was made of bronze. We strayed from the path and walked toward it.

From base to branches, the bronze tree was covered in engravings. Each inscription had the name of a person, followed by the name of a specific place and a realm in parentheses. My fingers traced the words with curiosity.

Nicole Weathersbee (Tarrytown, New York; Earth)

Sir Aronheart (the Forest Savauge; Camelot)

Reese Klein (Tarrytown, New York; Earth)

Bo’sun Smee (the Neverwood; Neverland)

Ichabod Crane (Tarrytown, New York; Earth)

Daniel studied the tree. “This is a memorial,” he said decidedly. “All these names probably correspond with the tombstones we’ve been seeing. I spotted the name ‘Sir Aronheart’ on a grave a ways back.”

“I don’t know,” I responded. “But the engraving for ‘Bo’sun Smee’ says he’s from Neverland. You don’t suppose that Smee is the same Smee who—”

“It is. Or rather, it must be,” SJ interjected. “Bo’sun is another word for first mate. How many first mates from Neverland named Smee do you know?”

“That would explain why Captain Hook’s first mate was a different dude than in the stories,” Blue commented. “I’d been wondering about that. Smee must have died here. That guy Mr. Gropper replaced him.”

“All these people from other realms, they must’ve gone through some kind of wormhole that led them to Oz,” I said as I took a couple of steps back. “But why are their graves here? And what killed—Awgh!”

I tripped and landed on my butt at the tree’s bronze roots. I twisted around to see what had caused me to stumble.

I rolled the pumpkin out of the way and got on my hands and knees. Right at the foot of the tree was a black marble plaque with weathered golden writing.

“Tarrytown . . . This sequestered glen has long been known by the name of ‘Sleepy Hollow’ . . . A drowsy, dreamy influence seems to hang over the land, and to pervade the very atmosphere.”

— Washington Irving,

The Legend of Sleepy Hollow

“Sleepy Hollow . . .” Blue repeated in a daze. Then her eyebrows shot up. “Oh, crud. Guys, we arrived at S.H. station. We’re in Sleepy Hollow. The original Sleepy Hollow.”

“The adaptations I’ve read for the tale of Sleepy Hollow are set in different locations,” Blue explained. She pushed her hands out from her head, eyes clenched, as if she were straining to mentally and physically pierce the Poppy fog to try and explain what she knew. “The most well-known version was written by this guy named Washington Irving and takes place in Tarrytown, New York. It’s an Earth town that’s been haunted for hundreds of years and is nicknamed Sleepy Hollow. But if this Sleepy Hollow has all the gravestones, and . . .”

Her eyes darted back to the creepy building between the trees. “The portal . . . of course! It makes perfect sense!”

“Everything,” Blue said. “Don’t you see?” Blue turned to me. “Crisa, if your watch says a hole is going to open up here, then maybe holes have opened up in this area before. That would explain all the Sleepy Hollow adaptations out there and Tarrytown’s namesake.”

“A place called Tarrytown, New York, doesn’t get a nickname like Sleepy Hollow without a reason. I think it’s because of the Poppy plains around this forest. They’ve been making us sleepy and our thoughts hazy since we got here. It’s plausible that this sleepy effect has been seeping through into other realms whenever a portal opens up.

“I mean, just take a gander at Irving’s description of Tarrytown: ‘a drowsy, dreamy influence seems to hang over the land, and to pervade the very atmosphere.’ Can you think of anywhere else that fits that description? I’ll give you a hint.” Blue opened her arms wide and gestured around us. “It’s surrounded on all sides by an ocean of sleep-inducing flowers.”

“So if this Sleepy Hollow created the Sleepy Hollow legends in other realms,” I clarified, “then all these people with gravestones here are—Awgh!”

I picked up the rotten thing to inspect it. The gourd was identical to the first one I’d stumbled over by Ichabod Crane’s tombstone. It had the exact same missing chunk with corresponding rodent bite marks, mildew formations, and pair of brown spots.

“Blue, remind me. How does the rest of that Sleepy Hollow story go?” I asked steadily.

Blue squinted as she tried to focus through the Poppy fog. “The Hollow is known for having a lot of ghosts, but the main one it’s famous for is the Headless Horseman. He rides around carrying his severed head in his arms. The unfortunate souls he encounters lose their heads and get added to his collection.”

“There’s something else too,” Jason interceded. “I remember reading a picture book version of this story when I was younger. In the illustrations, the Headless Horseman was depicted as this big shadowy figure with his head concealed in a sack he carried around. But sitting on top of his shoulders where his head should’ve been . . . was a pumpkin.”

Our gazes all drifted to the orange object I held in my hands. Then we heard the same rustling sound from before and our eyes darted to the forest behind us. An army of pumpkins had gathered about sixty feet away. They remained still while we looked at them, but they hadn’t been there a few minutes ago. Which meant they’d definitely moved.

“How long until the wormhole opens, Crisa?” Jason asked, a note of worry in his voice.

The deep, taunting voice came from the rotting gourd in my hands. I dropped the pumpkin, which made an “oomph” sound as it landed in the leaves.

I poked it with the tip of my boot, rolling it over. Two eyes and a mouth had formed on its bruised surface.

“It did before it was so crudely dumped,” the pumpkin responded. “Honestly, you lose your body and it’s like no one respects you anymore. But I digress. The hunt is about to commence.”

“Yes. Once our master returns, he’ll be so glad to have so many fresh bodies.”

“The rules are simple,” the pumpkin replied. “All you have to do is get past our master. If you make it to the portal and go through before it closes, you’re safe. You get hit and you become like the rest of us.”

I started to open my mouth to ask another question, but the pumpkin interceded—grinning with his crooked mouth. “Us pumpkin heads are the weapon of choice for the Headless Horseman. Get hit by one of us when we’re lit up by his fire and brimstone, and BAM! Your body disintegrates and all that’s left of you is your head, which swiftly turns into a pumpkin.”

“That is horrific!” SJ exclaimed. “How can you be smiling about such a thing?”

The pumpkin probably would have shrugged if he’d had shoulders. Since he didn’t, his eyes rotated in their rotting sockets.

“It’s nothing personal. How can it be? We’re not people. We used to be. My name was Ichabod. I was a teacher back in New York just trying to win the heart of the girl of my dreams when I got caught in the Horseman’s path. Alas, that is the past and this is the present. And you would be surprised how quickly you lose your humanity when you’re no longer human. We are starved for entertainment around here, and chasing the innocents that the Pop-Up Portals regurgitate is the only thing we have to look forward to. And on that note . . . I suggest you start running. He has really good aim.”

The face of my Hole Tracker flashed brightly. A wormhole was forming. We all turned on our heels and looked at the creepy dwelling between the black trees. An orange hole appeared. It spiraled clockwise and grew bigger and bigger until it was the size of a garden shed.

“Have fun,” Ichabod said with an evil laugh, rolling away to join the rest of the gourds. The pumpkins were now assembled like a tight-knit battalion a mere forty feet away.

Once the Pop-Up Portal steadied, it levitated for only a moment before its vivid interior began to waver like unsettled water. A figure emerged from within. The new arrival to the Hollow was cast in shadow due to the brightness of the portal behind him. But who, or rather what, he was was unmistakable. He was mounted atop a black horse with a glistening silver mane, and he wore a black cloak and set of leather gloves. A crimson scarf was tied around his neck—above which was nothing but air. No doubt his head was concealed in the velvety sack tied to the horse’s platinum saddle.

Menacingly still for a moment, the rider looked at us. Or at least I assumed he did. It was really hard to tell with him being headless and all.

The rider held out his hand. Just above his leather-cased palm, a ball of fire appeared. Unlike the one I’d seen Eva produce, this flame was brilliant green. It levitated above his hand for a second as every pumpkin in range revealed a malicious face and was consumed from within by the same green fire. Igniting like a hundred enormous, viridescent fireflies, they floated off the ground. And then they starting coming at us.

They shot off in swift succession like cannonballs. My friends and I dove behind the bronze tree for cover. Peering around the trunk, I saw the Headless Horseman clench his fist and extinguish the ball of fire in his hand before galloping after us. His horse’s eyes had taken on the same kelly green shade as the flaming gourds.

Despite our initial shared cover, my friends and I were driven further away from each other and the wormhole as we evaded the attack of the pumpkins. They were coming at us from all directions, and we were forced to scatter through the forest.

The fog simultaneously worked in our favor and worked against us. In the last few minutes—maybe a result of nearing nightfall—it’d grown incredibly dense. It was so thick now that I couldn’t see more than ten feet in front of our noses. This made the pumpkins’ assaults blind. I appreciated the advantage, but the consequence was that the sleep-inducing effects of the Poppies increased as well. With the fog so dense, the drowsiness was significantly slowing my friends down.

Daniel and I were both behind a particularly large tree at the moment. While I felt totally wired from head to toe—alert and vigilant as ever—I could see weakness in his body and a dazed expression on his face.

A pair of pumpkins collided with a tree to our left. Daniel shook his head like a tired student trying not to fall asleep at his desk. He was doing his best to fight the fog’s effects, but the pressure to succumb was strong. His eyes started to close and I shook his arm in panic.

We spotted SJ, Blue, and Jason nearby. Pumpkins were pelting the tree they were hiding behind. The moment there was a ceasefire, they dashed over, coming to a crouch beside us.

“I . . .” SJ blinked hard and teetered on her feet. Her slingshot was clutched in her hand and she had an ice potion in the other. “I cannot get a clear shot,” she said. “Even if I had one, there is a good chance I would miss. With all this Poppy fog, I am barely hanging on.”

Blue nodded in the direction we’d come from. “The wormhole? Ichabod said if we make it through the portal, we’re home free.”

“Too risky,” I replied. “It’s a long way back to that house where the wormhole opened, and without being able to see where we’re going, we’d be running blind. We need to make a break for the exit of the Hollow.” I pointed at the colorful Poppies poking through openings in the fog bank. We were at the edge of the forest now. The Yellow Brick Road continued a few yards to our left. “We’ll find another hole to use later. Not getting decapitated or turned into a pumpkin takes precedence.”

I shook my head. “It wouldn’t help here. I can’t exactly command a tree to protect us when it wouldn’t be able to see any better than we can.”

Another whinny sounded. A half dozen pumpkins pummeled a tree five feet away. Icy air filled my lungs as adrenaline soaked my muscles.

The five of us leapt from our cover and bolted. We couldn’t see any of the trees or buildings before coming within a few feet of them. On more than one occasion we had to throw ourselves to the ground to avoid an incoming gourd.

My friends struggled. As if avoiding the erratic attack of the pumpkins wasn’t hard enough, their dulled alertness inhibited our progress. I periodically stopped in my tracks to make sure I hadn’t lost any of them.

The shield spiraled out just in time to protect us from a pumpkin that came hurtling out of the fog. The pumpkin ricocheted off my shield and tumbled to the ground—its flaming face contorted and momentarily dazed.

I turned to see him save Blue in a similar manner. Leaping in front of her with his weapon at the ready, Jason used his axe’s force field to protect them mere milliseconds before a pumpkin would have struck Blue’s head. Not bad for a guy with Poppy-diminished reflexes. I guess his instinct to protect Blue was too strong for the Poppies to suppress completely.

Through the thick fog, I began to see the outline of a large figure rapidly approaching and I heard the clopping of metal horseshoes echoing around its advance.

In a frenzied race, we headed for the edge of the forest—feet splashing in murky swamp water and crunching violently through piles of leaves. I swept aside a spider web the size of a tablecloth and burst into the open.

The Yellow Brick Road gleamed and a fresh sea of Poppies surrounded us on both sides. Because of the open air, the fog was much thinner here—allowing us to see what lay ahead—but the drowsy effects were still present.

We continued to sprint away from Sleepy Hollow; it was only a matter of time before the pumpkins and the Horseman pursued us out here. When we’d put about eighty feet between us and the forest line, SJ abruptly stopped. “Hold on,” she said, pointing to the sky. “What is that?”

We skidded to a halt and looked up to where she was signaling. I squinted at the little black specks decorating the skyline—inbound for us at five hundred feet away.

She was right. Some of the black specks had fatter, sharper wings and long torsos that extended into tails.

I connected the dots. “Glinda’s crow spies have been watching us since the Emerald Tower. Remember? It started with the one in the window of Julian’s potions lab. They must’ve reported back to the witch and she sent her flying monkeys to stop us before we could leave Oz.”

A pumpkin shot out of the billowing fog and I dove into the field of Poppies, taking Blue with me. We plunged into the pink flowers. But while I stood up a second later, she remained motionless from the moment the petals touched her skin.

“Oh, no!” I hurried to her side, but it was too late. Her eyelids were closed and the veins in her arms were pulsing purple. She’d been exposed.

The others moved to come to her aid, but I held up my hand to stop them. “Stay on the path!”

I stashed away my wandpin then swung Blue’s arm over my neck and lifted her up, dragging her out of the Poppies and back onto the road.

“She only touched them for a minute,” Jason said, worried. “How long will she be out?”

“I don’t know,” I said. I glanced up at the incoming crows and flying monkeys then turned my head to see the shadowy figure of the Horseman emerging from the forest. We were trapped—enemy monsters in both directions and Poppies that would instantly incapacitate my friends everywhere else.

I turned to see what she was gesturing at. The pumpkin that had assailed Blue and me had passed out. It lay asleep in the spot where it’d crashed into the Poppies. The flames around it had extinguished. Its gnarled eyes and mouth were closed. What’s more? It was faintly glowing purple and seemed to be snoring.

“The Poppies work on enchanted creatures too,” I thought aloud. “I have an idea! It’s crazy . . .”

Jason lifted Blue into his arms and my friends stepped behind me. I dropped to my knees—my hands pressed flat against the Yellow Brick Road.

I’d practiced a version of this trick so many times at home in Midveil that part of me felt sure it would work. At the same time, I’d never tried it on this scale. What if I didn’t have the strength? My control over my powers had improved drastically in the last few weeks, but the job at hand was massive. I hoped that all my training with Liza had made me ready. If it hadn’t, there wasn’t going to be another chance.

The shadowy shape coming out of the fog was accompanied by a dozen green, floating blobs—pumpkins getting ready to target us.

I cleared my head of all emotion and concentrated—allowing my creative will and commands to flood into the bricks, infusing them with temporary life and purpose.

Golden energy purged from my fingertips into the road like an electric charge. Every yellow brick in the path ahead began to shake and light up.

The long road broke apart. Each brick came to life individually and rose into the air. They levitated in front of me en masse as the Headless Horseman and a squadron of gourds came into view. Six pumpkins rushed forward, beelining toward my group. I directed six bricks to meet them before they got anywhere near us.

Each brick assaulted a pumpkin like a miniature cannonball. They either shot through their assigned targets—splattering pumpkin pieces everywhere—or hit them with enough force to cause them to veer off course and topple into the Poppies for a nap.

The Horseman directed more and more pumpkins to attack the way a conductor commanded his orchestra. As the gourds came flying out of the forest, I made my glowing bricks meet them dead-on in the same way. It was difficult at first. I’d never sustained so much power and split my focus in so many different directions. But my magic was only getting started.

Soon enough, my power and concentration came like a reflex. Golden light pulsed through me as my magic burned at its fullest potential. In that enhanced state, I created an opportunity for us to advance. I had not forgotten about the imminent threat of the flying monkeys. Knowing that we could not deflect their aerial attack with all the other obstacles in play, I realized our only way out was onward and upward.

While I continued to keep the Horseman’s pumpkin assaults at bay, I directed a hundred bricks to come to our aid in an alternative way. The bricks read my mind and merged to construct a staircase in midair.

The spilt-focus of my magic was unstoppable then. As I continued to command portions of my protective golden brick storm to deter the Horseman’s flaming pumpkins, I willed the rest to unceasingly construct a staircase. Without pause, each time we scaled a portion of stairs, the bricks immediately broke apart and flew to the front of our charge to build even more steps—flawlessly continuing our advance.

We passed over the Horseman’s figurative head. I redirected my offensive bricks downward like a straight-up rainstorm. When we’d made it past him and were high over the trees, I commanded the staircase to take us down.

We descended into the depths of the forest once again. It was tricky at first, the tops of the trees being so thick and all, but we shimmied through the branches and after the highest layers the descent was easy.

We touched down. Fog surrounded us on all sides as the screeching of the flying monkeys closed in. I looked up. The creatures were having trouble breaking through the trees due to their large, crooked wings. The crows, however, were darting through. I shot off several bricks at the first ones that plunged in.

I glanced over my shoulder and spotted it. Just a short distance away was the circular, orange body of the wormhole.

My friends bolted for the hole. I clenched my fists—golden light flaming around them. But then I stumbled. Tiredness hit me fast and hard. I was suddenly out of breath. My glow was rescinding and my skin had begun to pale. I was about to reach Magic Exhaustion.

A pumpkin exploded against a nearby tree, causing me to jump back. I tried to build a protective wall from the closest bricks, but pain charged through me and I decided to stop. I could feel I only had a little magic left, so I had to conserve what I had.

I made after my friends as fast as I could, pausing to send the occasional brick to collide with a crow. Regrettably, my defense cost me time. Soon SJ, Daniel, Blue, and Jason were but shadows in the fog. A second later their silhouettes were gone completely. The only beacon that remained was the orange hole.

Green explosions lit up around me. Although the fog was inhibiting the view of the Horseman, it didn’t mean he was going to stop taking shots.

The trees above shook wildly. At last three flying monkeys successfully maneuvered through the branches. They descended quickly, claws outstretched.

Every brick within my control circled protectively around my body and shot up into the trees like a giant fist, hitting the flying monkeys and knocking them away like a powerful hook punch.

The move took me down too, but in a different way. My knees buckled and I collapsed to the forest floor. I tried to summon more magic, but it was gone. Every part of me begged for rest. This was the worst case of Magic Exhaustion I’d ever experienced. My body wanted me to sleep, to give in to the tiredness, but I couldn’t do that. Not now. I clenched my teeth, pulled myself to my feet, and somehow found the strength to run.

Crows in my wake, searching for me through the fog, I sped over root, vine, and stump—desperately spurring my legs on. The wormhole appeared to be closing. It was shrinking in size and brightness before my eyes.

A pumpkin crashed into a tree three feet to my right. Stealing a glimpse, I discovered the Horseman and his shadowy steed had broken through the fog and were galloping at full speed toward me. He had one gloved hand driving his beast forward and the other raised to control the flaming pumpkins at his heels. He was about to take one final blow.

I arrived at the creepy house not a moment too soon and dove for the hole. My vision was consumed by a vivid, tangerine flash. Then I crashed onto whatever ground waited for me on the other side.

The world was going dim. It looked like I was in an all-white room, but I didn’t have the clarity to note more than that. The sparkling wormhole was sealing itself off behind me, but I could still hear the sounds of metal horseshoes and the screeching of flying monkeys. They echoed in the back of my mind as Magic Exhaustion took over and I passed out.