Beyond the creeping vines and smoldering torches, a whole overlay of runes and codes and glyphs, objects waiting to be unlocked, appeared through the school. It was medieval and futuristic at once, everything dusty and faintly neon.
Through their phones, the nameplate on the principal’s office was no longer MRS. MORRISSEY, but her common nickname, DRAGON LADY. The swinging sign Charlie had smacked no longer said GO TIGERS! but FUCK TIGERS!
Peter had collected his Goldz from the locker. Three hundred in all.
No one had any Blaxx yet. No one even knew how to get them—or, more to the point, how to avoid them. Charlie thought about the sliding scale of Goldz—three hundred, eight hundred—what would that mean for Blaxx? Well, who cared—his lousy chess pieces didn’t even move. Big deal.
“You should cash your Goldz in. That’s a lot,” Charlie said aloud, then wished he hadn’t.
“How do you do that?”
“Click on the counter. Here, bring up the inventory. This is the bank, up here.”
Peter read his phone. “We have choices. Gather round. ‘The Sword of Pelicus.’”
“Interesting.”
“‘The Gate of Tannhäuser.’”
“Too many doves.”
“And one more.” Peter looked up, eyebrows raised. “‘The Breath of God.’”
“Yes,” Alex said.
“Yep,” Kenny agreed. “It’s called the God Game. You have to go with the Breath of God.”
“To play devil’s advocate for a second,” Charlie said—and Vanhi interrupted with “No pun intended”—“swords and Tannhäuser Gate sound a little more exciting than ‘breath.’”
Kenny shook his head. “You guys never read your Bible. The breath of God is more than breath. It means spirit. His power. To create or destroy.”
“Which is it?” Charlie asked. “Creation or destruction?”
“Maybe that’s up to us,” Vanhi said.
“I’m convinced,” Peter announced. Without taking a vote, he clicked on number 3 and purchased the Breath of God.