chapter twelve

Neon is on him in a flash, growling, talons pinning the monster to the ground. Neon’s mouth is half-open, and pink-yellow saliva is dripping onto the creature’s face.

“Whoa!” I cry. “Neon, stop! We don’t attack strangers!”

“We HUG strangers!” Globlet says.

I groan. “No, Globlet! Not that. DEFINITELY not that. No attacking, no hugging!”

Neon sniffs the creature, then glances over at me—like he’s asking if he can eat the thing.

“That’s a hard no, Neon,” I say.

Neon reluctantly retreats, allowing the monster to compose himself. The creature stands, brushes himself off, and I finally get to see him—really see him—for the first time. He vaguely resembles an oversized owl on his way to a beginner’s magic class.

Suddenly, this oversized-owl dude breaks into a huge smile. “Oh-ho!” he exclaims, pointing a finger at me. “I know exactly what you are!”

“Confused?” I say.

“Please! Remain still while I fetch my publications!”

The owl-type monster dives back into the port-a-potty. I hear crashing and banging, like a bunch of pots and pans are having a wresting match. When he re-emerges, his goggles are on and he’s balancing a huge stack of books.

Neon apparently isn’t amused by any of this— because he jogs off, sniffing and exploring.

“I know it’s in one of these . . .” says the owl dude, pushing the books forward, then lifting himself out of the port-a-potty.

He riffles through the books, then stops and buries his beak in one. “Of course! I know from my expertise of this dimension that you are surely a . . . parakeet and a microwave, two earth-bound creatures known for their closely bonded relationship.”

“Nope. Human.”

“And I’m Globlet. I’m not a microwave. Anymore.”

“Of course!” the owl barks. “That’s what I said!”

“You said parakeet and micro—”

“No, you misheard. See, I don’t want to brag,” he says, in the tone of someone who is definitely about to brag, “but I am something of a human EXPERT. However, you are actually the first human I’ve met in the flesh!”

“Ya don’t say . . .” I manage. I might be hangry because I’m feeling extra impatient.

“Ooh!” he exclaims, suddenly very excited. “Can we do the human thing?”

I blink twice.

“You knowww,” he says. “The one with the hands!”

I guess he means handshake? The only non-human I ever met who shook hands was Mr. Peppers, and that’s only because we spent like seven months training him. And even then you had to give him a bacon-flavored biscuit as a reward.

I stick out my hand, then pause. “You wash your hands after using your . . . uh, home, right?”

Too late—

“Okaaaay, that’s enough of that!” I say, yanking my hand away. “And I’m sorry, did you say your name was Johnny Steve?”

The owl-type monster—Johnny Steve—nods enthusiastically. “I named myself so that I would fit in with any humans I encounter. I chose a name from your giant yellow books of telephone numbers!”

“Aww man, I wanna name myself!” Globlet whines. “From now on, call me PATTYCAKE HAMBURGER JONES!”

Johnny Steve bows graciously. “PLEASED TO MEET YOU, PATTYCAKE HAM—”

“NOPE! NOPE! Shutting that down!” I say. “Globlet, you’re Globlet. And sure—why not—you’re Johnny Steve. I’m June. And this ferocious weirdo is Neon.”

Neon is busy poking his snout around Johnny Steve’s port-a-potty. Glancing back, Johnny Steve explains. “You see, being a human expert,” he says, “I chose to make my home in the place humans love most . . . THE TOILET. Did you know humans LOVE toilets? Even more than flowers, pizza, or the internet!”

I’m about to explain that he’s mostly wrong there. And that, also, you never really know how much you love toilets until all the real ones stop working. But then—

KRR-CHHHHHH!

A hiss at my belt!

The walkie!

It startles me, and I do a little leap backward. We must be back in signal range! I’m eagerly reaching for it, yanking it from my belt, when—

POW! Neon pounces, snatching the walkie from my hand in his teeth!

“No!” I cry. My hand is grasping the base and we’re locked in a tug-of-war. “No! Give . . . it . . . back! Bad Wretch! Bad Neon!”

I pull harder, but that only makes Neon pull harder. He’s bouncing happily from paw to paw, like this is the best game ever. His glowing saliva splashes the walkie. My hands are slick and I feel my grip loosening. “Tug-of-war is fun,” I groan, “but this is NOT the time—”

GULP!

He swallows the walkie, as my hands slip and I fall backward.

Neon thrusts his chest out and smiles proudly. He seems to think he just saved me from some sort of buzzing, box-shaped bug.

“Just great,” I say with a sigh. No walkie. No getting in touch with my friends. No hope of the cavalry showing up to help me. I plunk down on a nearby rock, shoving my backpack aside, feeling pretty hopeless.

Johnny Steve waddles over. He pulls back his hood and looks me in the eyes. “You look like you have chosen to embark on a grand quest.”

“Ehh,” I say with a shrug. “Not sure I chose to embark on a grand quest. But yeah, me and Globlet are trying to get this walkie-eating monster back to his own kind. Only, I have no idea where to find his kind. Or what I’d even do if I did find them. Wretches are—”

“Evil,” Johnny Steve says in a mysterious whisper. “Indeed, the adults of that species are very foul. They serve . . .” He looks around, then whispers, “He Who Shall Be Named a Whole Bunch.”

“Wait, wait—what? He Who Shall—”

“Dude!” I bark. “I know about Ŗeżżőcħ. That’s why we’re trying to get Neon someplace safe! A band of Rifters are after him and—”

“Ahh, Rifters,” Johnny Steve interrupts. “Interdimensional pirates! Bad business. Very bad business. I mean, pirating is a good business to be in! Lots of freedom, no pants required. But what you speak of is, overall, a bad business.”

“These Rifters are trying to deliver that Wretch to Thrull.”

“Thrull!” he exclaims, nodding. “The talk of the land! Of course the Rifters would go to him—they side with whoever has the most power.”

“Wait,” I say. “What do you know about Thrull? Do you know about the Tower? And, ugh, did you say Thrull is the talk of the land?”

Johnny Steve goes quiet. After a moment, he whispers, “We shouldn’t speak of the Tower, human. Leaves a bad taste in our brains. A very bad to-do, it is.”

“I know it, duder,” I say as I take a tired seat on the ground. “I know it.”

Johnny Steve eyes me. Then Globlet. She waves at him. He waves at me. Everything is odd.

Johnny Steve looks like he’s considering something major. He paces for a few moments, then suddenly—whack!—he taps his staff against the ground. I see that it’s both a walking stick and a sword.

“Human June,” he says. “I will guide you. I know where there is a Wretches’ nest—not so far from here, but not so near either.”

I shoot him a skeptical glare. “Why would you help us?”

His little nose pinches inward. “I have explored these lands. I know where you must go, and I know you will not make it alone. Humans are notoriously breakable.”

I look at Globlet, hoping she might offer some sage advice. But Globlet is currently attempting a handstand.

“However!” Johnny Steve says. “I must ask you for something in return.”

Of course. This’ll be the part where he bargains for my soul or one of my friends’ souls or asks me if I know a place where he can bargain for a soul, quick, no questions asked.

“In exchange for guiding you,” Johnny Steve says, “I request conversation. As I said, I’m a human expert—and now that I am in the company of a real human, I am excited to discuss your strange species.”

Not bad, I think. Weird, but not bad.

However, there’s one problem. “I’m not super into being led around on a string,” I tell him. “I kinda pride myself on being independent.”

“Okay, relax, Beyoncé . . .” says Globlet.

I shoot Globlet a look. “How about this, Johnny Steve: you tell me where the nest is, and I’ll let you tag along with us.”

“And we’ll talk human stuff?” he asks excitedly.

“You betcha.”

“Deal!” he says.

And with that, I tighten my sneakers, jerk my backpack straps, and make sure the Gift is secured around my wrist.

In a flash, Neon is at my side—but I don’t shoo him away. I’m ready to get on with this, ready for whatever comes.

And so, we continue our journey—only now, we have a defined destination.