Clay struggled to understand. “So then the Other Side is underground? The way you guys talk about it, I always thought of it as behind the sky.”
“Who says it can’t be both? The Other Side is everywhere and nowhere.” Buzz smiled and pointed upward. “Speaking of the sky, looks like your meeting is coming to you.”
It was the second time that morning that Clay had seen something big flying toward him, but this time there was no mistaking it for a dragon.
As the teepee sped over the lake, heading toward camp, it spun this way and that, looking as though it were about to tip over at any moment. Yet somehow, whether because of Mr. B’s expert steering or some mysterious balancing spell cast years ago, the teepee managed to descend from the sky without any passengers falling out.
When Clay finally caught up with it, the teepee was floating at the far end of the lake’s long but narrow beach. The teepee kept skirting the shoreline, as if debating whether to land or go for a swim.
Owen stuck his head out the flap door. “Hi, Clay. Right on time… Eli, how do I stop this thing?” he shouted over his shoulder.
“You don’t!” came a voice from inside. “You pilot your plane; I pilot my teepee!”
At these words, the teepee lowered itself almost but not quite to the ground and then stopped moving. Even so, Clay nearly fell over as he entered; stepping into the teepee was like stepping into a rowboat on a choppy sea.
“Sit down, Clay, before you knock over the teapot!”
The teepee pilot—Eli, aka Mr. Bailey, aka Mr. B—a small, round man with big mutton-chop sideburns, put a hand on the tall glass teapot resting on the brass tray in front of him. Flowers and herbs and other less identifiable botanicals steeped inside the pot.
On the other side of the teepee, Owen, the seaplane pilot, was settling back on a pile of cushions, a teacup in hand. Younger, taller, and slimmer than Mr. Bailey, he had a shaved head and a scruffy chin. A master of disguise, Owen was usually to be found playing one role or another—whether a ponytailed airplane mechanic or a cantankerous old janitor—but for the moment he seemed not to be playing anyone but himself.
Clay chose an empty spot to sit down, whereupon he discovered he had an unwelcome view of Mr. B’s naked hairy feet.
“Is it my brother?” he asked Mr. B, unable to hide his anxiety. “Is he okay?”
“Your brother’s fine,” the camp director reassured him.
Owen laughed. “Or as fine as he ever is. You know Max-Ernest.… Actually, I’ve got a message from him. Well, a mission, really.”
“A mission?”
The knot of tension in Clay’s stomach relaxed (his brother was alive, at least), but it was soon replaced by a bilious ball of indignation.
In the year that had passed since his first summer at Earth Ranch, Clay had seen his older brother exactly once. Max-Ernest had promised to come home sometime in the spring to visit, and indeed he did come—for all of one day. A day that Max-Ernest spent arguing on the phone with his old friend Cass while Clay skateboarded around the block over and over, waiting for Max-Ernest to pay some attention to him.
When the attention finally came, it consisted mostly of Max-Ernest criticizing him for not wearing a helmet.… To which Clay responded that he was almost fourteen years old and he would do what he wanted.… To which Max-Ernest responded that you could crack your head open at any age.… To which Clay responded, you’re never around anyway, so what do you care if I crack my head open?… To which Max-Ernest responded, depends, is that like cracking a joke?… To which Clay responded, huh? That isn’t even funny.… To which Max-Ernest responded, you’re right, it’s not. Cracking your head open is never funny.… And that was pretty much that.
And now Max-Ernest had the nerve to send Clay on a mission?
“That’s right, a mission,” said Owen. “For the Terces Society.”
The Terces Society. That was the secret organization to which Max-Ernest and Cass had belonged since childhood. Max-Ernest had always kept Clay away from his Terces Society activities. He wouldn’t even confirm that Terces was secret spelled backward. Clay had had to figure that out for himself.
“And for the SOS,” Mr. Bailey added. “It’s a joint operation, you might say.”
SOS. Society of the Other Side. That was them. That is, Mr. Bailey, and the counselors and campers at Earth Ranch. Last year, by agreeing to stay at camp, Clay had agreed to join the SOS, but he hadn’t thought of the SOS as the kind of group that sent you on missions. It wasn’t like it was the CIA. Or the Terces Society, for that matter.
“Here—” said Owen.
He handed Clay a glossy black brochure. There was no picture on the front, only words:
You’ve gone on safari in Kenya and ice fishing in Sweden.
You’ve been swimming with dolphins in Mexico and sharks in the Bahamas.
Now it’s time for the ultimate thrill.…
Frowning, Clay opened the brochure. Inside was a photograph of rippling sand dunes. In the center: the unmistakable shadow of a dragon flying above.
“So they’re saying you get to… fly on a dragon?” asked Clay slowly.
Owen nodded. “It’s some sort of wild animal park–style resort. Hasn’t officially opened yet. Still supersecret. The brochure is supposed to attract investors. We had to bribe a very exclusive travel agent to get it.”
“Is it for real?” said Clay, confused. “I mean, there aren’t any dragons left, are there? I thought Ariella was the only one in the world.”
“As far as we know, Ariella is the only one…” said Mr. Bailey. “But, yes, it’s for real.”
Clay looked at Mr. Bailey in alarm. “Wait, you don’t mean they’ve got Ariella?”
“We can only assume so,” said Mr. Bailey gently. Everyone at camp knew how attached Clay was to the dragon. “I’m sorry. I know this is bad news.”
His mind reeling, Clay looked down at the brochure again. “The Keep—this is the place the Midnight Sun said they were building, isn’t it? The dragon sanctuary or whatever?”
“That would be the one,” said Owen.
Clay clenched his teeth. After all he and his friends had gone through to rescue Ariella, the Midnight Sun had captured the dragon again! It was too terrible to contemplate. And yet at the same time, squirming inside him, barely acknowledged, there was another feeling: relief. Maybe Ariella hadn’t abandoned him after all; maybe the dragon had simply been unable to come back.
“At first none of us believed the Keep was real,” said Owen. “Except for Cass. She was convinced that the Midnight Sun was using Ariella to breed more dragons, and she wanted to know why.”
“I can think of a few reasons.” Clay thought of a line from the Occulta Draco: He who has power over dragons has power over us all.
“I’m sure you can,” said Owen. “Anyhow, she went to the Kalahari Desert to investigate.”
“So what did she find out?”
“We don’t know,” said Mr. Bailey. “She disappeared.”
“Disappeared?” Clay repeated.
Mr. Bailey nodded gravely. “We think she’s been taken hostage, and we want you to help Owen bring her back.”
Clay blinked. Cass, a hostage? It seemed impossible. She was the most kick-butt person he knew.
Cass had been a constant presence in his life. When Clay was little, the young survivalist was always with Clay’s brother, and she always took the time to give Clay a key tip or two: like how to make a compass with duct tape and a cork, or how to use cayenne pepper to stop himself from bleeding.* Later, after Max-Ernest went away, she’d been the one to let Clay know that his brother was okay.
Now he was supposed to rescue her.
Owen smiled. “Know anybody else who can talk to a dragon?”
“So you want to get Ariella out at the same time?” In the back of Clay’s mind, he’d already begun planning to do exactly that.
“I was going to go by myself,” said Owen. “Then we thought, we can’t rescue Cass and not rescue the dragon as well. Too dangerous—leaving it in the hands of the Midnight Sun. And who knows? A dragon might just come in handy when we’re all trying to get the heck out of there.”
“And my brother’s really okay with this? He doesn’t even like me to ride my skateboard.”
“I told him you’re the only person in the world that Ariella trusts,” said Mr. Bailey. “You’re the only man for the job.”
“Why isn’t he going? Wait—don’t tell me: He’s allergic to dragons,” Clay scoffed.
Owen laughed. “That would be his reaction, wouldn’t it? No, it’s because we’re going undercover, and Ms. Mauvais is there, and she would recognize Max-Ernest in a second. That a good enough reason for you?”
Clay shrugged, but he had to acknowledge it was a good reason. Ms. Mauvais was the notoriously cruel, and famously ageless, leader of the Midnight Sun. Clay didn’t know much about her, but he knew that his brother had had more than one unpleasant encounter with her over the years.
The camp director poured a cup of tea and handed it to Clay. “Here, have a sip of courage. Nurse Cora made this tea specially.”
Clay sipped cautiously. Knowing Nurse Cora, sip of courage was not just an expression. Sure enough, the drink filled Clay with a pleasant tingling feeling that couldn’t be attributed simply to the tea’s temperature. He suddenly felt he was ready for anything.
“Well, what do you say?” asked Mr. Bailey. “Of course, we would never make you do something like this if you didn’t want to. It is an incredibly dangerous mission for someone your age to undertake. The Midnight Sun members are practically vampires, and for a day or two you will be entirely in their hands.”
“It’s okay,” said Clay firmly. “I’ll do it.”
But not for Max-Ernest, he said to himself. For Ariella. And Cass.
“Great,” said Owen. “I knew we could count on you.” He reached behind his back. “Your brother asked me to give you this.”
“Er, thanks,” said Clay, taking the gift.
It was a Day-Glo green skateboard helmet, decorated with graffiti-style words in various other Day-Glo colors: exclamations like 
mixed with skateboard terms like 
and 
and 
Did his brother really think Clay would like this helmet? Just because he liked graffiti?
“There’s another surprise waiting for you outside,” said Mr. Bailey.
Oh great, thought Clay. Kneepads. Or would it be wrist guards? Bracing himself, he opened the teepee’s flap door.