Dirk and Christopher stood outside the Purejoies’ house. Christopher was wearing black leather armor covered in red glyphs. Dirk was wearing his Dark Lord’s robe, a big black cloak, marked with his Seal and far too big for a boy his size. On his shoulder sat Dave the Storm Crow. It cawed into the night sky, happy to have its Dark Master back.
Dirk and Chris looked at each other.
“Here we go,” said Chris.
“Okay,” Dirk said, nodding.
Christopher rang the doorbell. It chimed pleasantly. Dirk made a face. One of these days he was going to change that doorbell chime—maybe to a kind of alarm siren, like they used in World War II movies. Or maybe a “Mwah, ha, ha!” Yeah, that’d be cool.
The door opened. Mrs. Purejoie stood there looking down at them, her face a mask of astonishment.
“Christopher! Oh my goodness, Christopher! Thank heavens you’re alive!” she said before gathering him up in her arms so tightly she nearly squashed him.
Chris hugged her back, tears coming to his eyes. Dirk looked on, an expression of mild distaste on his face. Bah, sappy nonsense, he thought to himself. Then Mrs. Purejoie glanced over at him. Dirk began to panic.
“And Dirk! We were so worried. Come here, my darling,” she said as she gathered him in for a family hug.
He fell into her embrace, face screwed up in horror. Dave the Storm Crow flapped up with a caw of annoyance, feathers flying. Not hugs, thought Dirk, anything but hugs! It wasn’t long ago that he’d been a twelve-foot-tall Dark Lord, terrorizing thousands, and now here he was in a group hug with his “mother” and his “brother.”
Still, it wasn’t so bad.
Then he noticed someone standing behind Mrs. Purejoie. It was the White Witch, Dumpsy Deary. She was staring at him, her mouth open.
Dirk just grinned at her. She shook her head in horror, as if coming to her senses and then, without warning, she just ran out of the door and down the street as fast as she could.
“Miss Deary … What, where are you going … ?” stammered Mrs. Purejoie.
“She’s off to report what she’s seen to the White Wizard Hasdruban,” said Dirk matter-of-factly.
Mrs. Purejoie frowned. “Who … Now hold on a moment. Where have you been? What’s happened to you? I mean, we’ve had the police, social workers, neighbors, practically the whole town out looking for you! Are you all right?”
“We’re fine, Mom, don’t worry,” said Chris.
“Don’t worry! What do you think we’ve been doing all this time, young man? Nothing but worrying, I can tell you. Now get in the house, you’ve got some explaining to do, both of you! And what are you wearing? Is that … I mean … What is that? And … your face! Goodness me, Christopher, what happened to your face?”
And so the questions began …
Dirk and Christopher were eating a big hearty breakfast. They were dressed in their school clothes—they’d gotten back to earth just in time to start a new term at school, much to Dirk’s annoyance. Although from their point of view they had been gone for weeks, time ran differently on earth than it did in the Darklands and only a few days had passed here. Still, as far as the people of Whiteshields were concerned, Sooz had been missing for several weeks, and Dirk and Chris for several days.
At first, they had been overjoyed to see them, but soon their joy turned to anger and they had been thoroughly grilled, not just by Mr. and Mrs. Purejoie but also by the police and the social services too. Dirk had invented a complex story involving “a live-action role-playing game”—hence their strange clothes—in the local woods and then Sooz got lost and later Dirk and Chris set off to find her, which they did, but then they got lost too, and they had to rough it in the woods for a while. Dirk said that Chris had tripped over and gashed his cheek on a fallen branch. Chris hadn’t been too happy about that, but what else could he do—say that Dirk the boy had turned into an evil Dark Lord and had cut his face with a taloned claw for sabotaging his army of Orcs and Goblins?
No one really believed their story anyway but there was little more the authorities could do about it. The children seemed safe enough, and unhurt. Indeed, they had a strange new air of confidence about them, and stuck to their stories in a most un-childlike way. Something about them was different … More grown up. Nevertheless, Dirk was deemed the ringleader, and he had been electronically tagged, which he really hated.
But for now, Mrs. Purejoie, so happy to see her son safe and sound, was spoiling them with a big breakfast of bacon, pancakes, and maple syrup. Or as Dirk called it: “The crispy flesh of his slain enemies with pancakes made from the Dough of Doom, and covered in the sweet succulent syrupy blood of angels.”
“Yes, dear,” said Mrs. Purejoie. She was so glad to have them back that she didn’t mind Dirk’s weirdness. Though that probably wouldn’t last.
There was a knock on the door. It was Sooz. She’d come by to join them on the walk to school. Mrs. Purejoie pressed packed lunches into their hands and kissed them all too much and generally made a fuss.
Eventually they got out, taking the short walk to school. “So, how was it for you, my Child of the Night—or should I say, my Lady of the Dark?” said Dirk.
“Not too bad, Dark Lord,” she said. “It was great to see Mom again, it really was, but she got angry pretty quick and gave me a real hard time. Nothing compared to Hasdruban and his armies though, or you for that matter … Umm … Anyway, so … Well, I stuck to my story and that was that.”
“Just like us, then,” said Chris.
Sooz nodded.
“So,” said Dirk, as they ambled down the street toward the school gates. “Rufino and Gargon are camped out in the woods, but they can’t stay there forever. What are we going to do with them?”
“We’ve got to send them back to the Darklands; it’s the only way,” said Chris, running a thumb along the scar on his cheek.
“True, but how? We can’t do that ceremony again and we’ve lost the Voyager Boots,” said Dirk.
“Maybe we don’t need to send them back right away,” said Sooz. “I’ve been thinking of starting a band.”
“What? What do you mean, a band? Like a warrior band? But there are no Agrashes or Skabbers here, Sooz. Who’s going to fight for you? The seventh grade?” said Dirk.
“No, no, a music band. You know, like AngelBile.”
“Oh yeah, of course, a music band, I keep forgetting,” said Dirk. “Well okay, but what’s that got to do with anything?”
“Well, it’s gotta be a heavy Goth band, right? So Gargon could be in it. You know, like Morti, they’ve got a lead singer who dresses in a monster suit, looks like Gargon.”
“Gargon in a band. Really?” said Chris, as they turned into the school gates. All around them, children were streaming through the gates jostling, shouting, bickering, laughing, texting, and generally behaving like schoolkids.
“No, it’d work! Everyone would think he was in a monster suit. Then he could walk around with us, like he was promoting the band or something!” said Sooz.
Dirk laughed. “Gargon in a band, ha, ha!” he said, as he pushed open the doors to the school assembly hall.
They walked in to line themselves up in the seventh-grade section, along with everyone else. “He’d probably eat the other band members or chop their heads off and put them on his belt!!!”
“No, he wouldn’t. He’s really pretty gentle, you know,” said Sooz.
Dirk looked at her as if she were insane. Then he frowned. “Well … maybe. He does seem different now—with you anyway. Hmm, maybe it’d work.”
At the far end of the assembly hall, several teachers were standing on a raised stage. One of them reached for a microphone.
“What about Rufino?” said Chris.
“Well, that’s a little easier, once we’ve taught him—” Dirk was interrupted by a teacher.
“Welcome back to school, children,” said the teacher, her voice echoing loudly around the hall. Dirk scowled. He hated to be interrupted by anyone, let alone dogooding, interfering schoolteachers, may the Nether Gods eat their souls!
“Anyway, as I was saying,” continued Dirk, “we could show him how things work on earth and then maybe we could kind of employ him or something. I was thinking as my bodyguard maybe …”
“Your bodyguard?” said Sooz. “He swore one of those oath things to me. He’d have to be my bodyguard!”
“SILENCE IN THE BACK!” said the teacher.
Dirk frowned. “We’ll talk about this later,” he said in a whisper.
“Now, children, I am delighted to announce that Whiteshields School has a new principal!” She gestured and a figure stepped up to the microphone. He was tall, with white hair, a long white beard, and improbably bushy white eyebrows. He was dressed in a white suit, and he held a white cane in one hand, and wore a white hat with a blue headband. The pupils of his eyes seemed oddly dark. He grinned a sinister grin, and said:
“Hello, everyone. I am Dr. Hasdruban, your new principal …”