“Now I’m your prisoner?”

Spencer bumped painfully along. The inside of the Thingamajunk suitcase smelled like his grandma’s closet, but the stench of his own clothes, splattered with the contents of the stink bomb, overpowered anything else.

Spencer grasped at the lid of his prison, trying desperately to wedge the suitcase open. The Thingamajunk seemed to be running around with a mouthful of Spencer, but at least he wasn’t being digested.

Abruptly, the bouncing stopped. Spencer pounded against the lid of the suitcase, and, to his surprise, it popped open. Before he could even gasp a breath of fresh air, someone had seized him around the middle and yanked him out of the Thingamajunk’s mouth.

Surrounded by darkness, he saw a flash of stars overhead. Then he was plunging headfirst into cold water. Somehow he held his breath as his head went under. He thrashed, feeling the brush of human hands as they shoved his head down.

What was happening? Was someone trying to drown him? Then Spencer was hauled upward, lifted over the edge of a great tub of water, and dropped onto the hard ground.

He gasped once and ran a hand across his dripping face. Sounds from the wild Thingamajunks echoed upward from where the creatures were still locked in combat with the Aurans and Rebels. Spencer knew he was still in the Valley of Tires, but he seemed a safe distance away from the action, snug against one of the tire walls.

Spencer shivered against the water in his clothes. Then he finally looked up to see his captor. It was a boy, short and stocky, though looking to be about Spencer’s age. Details were impossible to make out in the darkness, and on top of that, the boy was shrouded, wearing some kind of black cloak, deep hood shadowing his face.

“Sorry about that, mate,” the boy whispered. He extended a hand, wearing a glove with the fingers cut out. He had a strange accent, and Spencer couldn’t tell if it was real.

“Had to dunk you,” the boy said, helping Spencer to his feet. “Had to get the stink off you or the Thingamajunks would smell you out and get hungry.”

“Who are you?” Spencer asked.

“Oh, right,” the boy said. “Forgetting my manners. Name’s Aryl.” The boy gestured up to the towering wall of tires beside them. “Now start climbing.”

Spencer staggered to his feet. He looked up at the wall, but in the darkness, he couldn’t even glimpse the top. “Climb?” Spencer repeated. “Are you serious?”

“Deadly serious,” Aryl said. “Got to get somewhere private so we can talk a bit.”

“But . . .” Spencer stammered. “What about the others? Shouldn’t we help them?”

“Help them?” Aryl snorted. “I just set this up so I could get you away from them!”

Spencer shivered again, but it wasn’t from the chill of his clothes this time. “It was you, then?” Spencer stared at the shadowy figure. “The stink bomb and the barbed wire?”

Aryl grinned, his broad jaw tightening. “The Aurans are so predictable,” he said. “Boring, really. Stopping in the Valley of Tires? Please! V’s losing her touch.”

“So you led the Thingamajunks on that stampede, knowing we were down there?”

“All it took was a well-placed stink bomb to start them running. A second bomb splattered the Aurans, making them the target. A little hidden barbed wire to take out the mops. Then I trash-talked one of the Thingamajunks into swallowing you and bringing you to me. I painted myself the perfect opportunity to get you alone.” He shrugged as though this elaborately premeditated plan was just an ordinary day’s work.

“Now I’m your prisoner?” Spencer said.

Aryl raised his eyebrows. “Bit gloomy, but if you want to think like that, then sure. You’re my prisoner for the next half hour. Just let me tell you about your Auran powers and then you’re free to go.”

Spencer went rigid. How did Aryl know he was an Auran? The Rebels had been trying hard to keep it a secret, but this boy pointed it out like it was common knowledge.

Aryl gestured once more at the wall of tires. “Let’s climb.”

The stout boy leapt past Spencer and clutched onto one of the tires. With surprising agility he started the ascent, not even looking back to see if Spencer would follow. But the boy was too intriguing not to follow. He somehow knew that Spencer was an Auran. He seemed to have a lot of information, and he was willing to part with it. But for some reason he wanted to do it hundreds of feet up.

Spencer cast one last glance toward the sounds where the others fought on. He wasn’t really leaving them. He would just find out what Aryl had to say and be right back. Spencer grabbed the first tire and pulled himself upward.

The climb was strenuous and dizzying. After a few moments, Spencer felt the muscles of his arms and legs begin to shake. He didn’t know how Aryl managed, so swift and confident.

About halfway up, Spencer made the mistake of looking down. From such a terrifying height, the moonlit earth seemed to reel.

“Keep up!” Aryl shouted over his shoulder. But Spencer, suddenly aware of the dangerous fall, seemed to freeze. He wanted to climb higher, but his legs and arms locked up. Trying to forget about the unsteadying elevation, Spencer began focusing on his next move.

Above him was an oversized tractor tire with thick, deep treads. It jutted out from the other tires, making an impassible overhang. The only way Spencer could reach Aryl would be to squeeze through the middle of the big tire and pull himself through. The wind howled past him, tousling his hair and causing him to tremble.

Gripping with both hands, Spencer pulled himself up. He was halfway through the huge tire, his head rising through its center like a rabbit emerging from its hole, when the tire suddenly shifted, its weld to the wall straining under the boy’s weight. A shout escaped his lips, and Aryl turned back for him.

Spencer was stuck now, feeling the tire gradually breaking free, ready to plummet the unfathomable distance.

Aryl backtracked, dropping nimbly toward him. He paused above the tractor tire, reaching down for him.

Spencer risked letting go just long enough to reach for Aryl’s gloved hand. But the distance between them was too far, and if Aryl got any closer, his weight would surely detach the unstable tire.

“Don’t you have a mop on your belt?” Aryl called.

Spencer fumbled for the handles. He’d lost one mop against the Thingamajunk, but Penny always stocked the belts with a backup. He drew the weapon from its U clip and extended the handle toward Aryl. Just as he got a solid grip, the tractor tire groaned and broke away. Spencer’s hand slipped from the mop shaft, and he found himself in a heart-stopping free fall atop the tire.

His hands gripped the dirty tread of the tractor tire like it was some kind of life preserver, his eyes clamped shut. Then his fall came to a jarring halt, nearly throwing Spencer from the tire. He thought for sure he had struck the ground until he opened his eyes.

Aryl had used the mop to lasso the falling tractor tire. He struggled to hold on as Spencer dangled from the world’s largest, most deadly tire swing.

He gasped for breath, unable to believe that Aryl had managed to catch him. Then he screamed again, nearly slipping once more as the tire swing began to sway back and forth. Aryl was whiplashing the tire swing from side to side in an attempt to reconnect Spencer with the wall. He was gathering speed, swinging faster and farther with every move Aryl made.

Then, at the peak of his swing, Aryl jerked the handle just as the mop strings retracted. Spencer was flung upward, as though launched from a slingshot. His grip failed and he separated from the tractor tire.

Had anyone else executed the stunt, Spencer might have died. But Aryl’s move was precise and calculated, perfectly landing Spencer at the very top of the tire wall.

Spencer lay back, closing his eyes and trying to get his head on straight. His clothes and hands were now filthy black from the tire tread, and he wondered when he might get the chance to wash himself clean.

“How’s that for a shortcut?” Aryl’s voice startled Spencer, and his eyes snapped open to find the other boy just summiting.

“I thought I was dead.” Spencer was still panting as he sat up.

The height was staggering. Here, above the howling wind and grunting Thingamajunks, the night was almost serene. Rising moonlight touched the land, and Spencer felt as though he could see forever in any direction.

At such a distance, the moonlit Aurans and Rebels battling below looked no bigger than toy action figures. He hated leaving them behind and convinced himself that he wouldn’t stay long with Aryl. Spencer would get the information he needed and get back to help his friends.

Aryl let him linger in the moment, settling down into a tire beside Spencer. The movement seemed to cause the whole tire mountain to sway beneath them, and Spencer reached out to steady himself.

“Well,” Spencer finally said. “We’re up here now. You want to start by telling me who you are?”

“I’m not that different from you, Spencer,” Aryl said. “Yes, I know your name.” He said it before Spencer realized that he’d never introduced himself to Aryl. “And I know a lot more than that.”

Aryl’s gloved hands reached up, and he cast off the deep hood of his cloak. His hair was trimmed short. In the moonlight, it shimmered as white as the driven snow.

“That’s right, Spencer.” Aryl nodded. “I’m an Auran too. But you probably know me by a different name. They call me a Dark Auran.”