The Journal of Curious Letters (The 13th Reality #1)

It was black.

Mistress Jane had never explained to anyone why her throne was made from completely nondescript, heavy, black iron, nor had anyone ever dared ask. But Frazier thought it must be a symbol that her seat of power was so important, she wanted it to stand out among the world of yellow.

She sat on her black throne, dressed from head to toe in the color she so dearly loved. She wore a hat embroidered with lace and daffodils that stretched a foot above her bald head. Her sparkling gown fit her body tightly, covering every inch from the middle of her neck to her shiny yellow heels. Horn-rimmed glasses sat atop her nose, her emerald eyes peering through like focused lasers.

Everything about this woman is just . . . weird, Frazier thought as he waited for her to say something.

“I don’t know why we rescued you,” Mistress Jane said, her voice taut with barely veiled anger. “We could just as easily have destroyed the complex of that buffoon Master George while you still sat inside, bawling your eyes out.”

“Yes, Mistress Jane,” Frazier replied. He knew better than to say anything else—yet.

“We finally had a hope of knowing George’s plan once and for all—and you threw it down the drain in exchange for a little fun with your Chu Industries toy and a car. You better hope the attack on George takes care of any loose ends. SPEAK!” She belted this last word, causing several nearby servants to gasp.

Frazier stumbled on his words. “Mistress Jane . . . I

n-never intended to k-kill them. I only meant to scare them enough to t-talk. I failed, and I’m sorry.”

Jane stood up, her reddening face all the fiercer against the yellow background of her hat and dress. “They did not die, you blubbering sack of drool!”

Frazier couldn’t hide his shock at hearing this. How in the world did they escape before the car . . .

He knew that now was not the time to wonder, now was the time for apologies and groveling. “I am very sorry, Mistress Jane.”

“Listen to me well, Frazier Gunn,” Jane said as she sat back down on her throne. “And let my servants put this on record. I give you one spoken sentence—one sentence only—to convince me why I should not send you to your death at the hands of the scallywag beasts. And not the nice ones that only take a week to digest their food.”

Frazier closed his eyes, throwing all of his mental powers into quashing the rising panic and constructing a single sentence that could save his life. He had nothing. Nothing! But then a single word popped into his head, giving him an idea. It was desperate, but his only shot. Quickly, in his mind, he visualized each word of a sentence one by one, going over them several times. Finally, he opened his eyes and spoke.

“Master George has a spy in your presence, and I know who it is.”

Jane’s eyes screwed up into tight wrinkles, her brow creased. She folded her arms, studying Frazier for a long moment. “Nitwit!” she suddenly screamed, causing even more servants to gasp.

Frazier jumped, his heart sinking to the floor. “But—”

Before he could utter another word, a young girl dressed entirely in yellow zoomed through the air from the back of the room, stopping to hover directly in front of Frazier, facing Jane. No one had figured out how Jane used the mutated Chi’karda to enable flight, but seeing people flying always gave Frazier the creeps. It seemed so . . . unnatural.

“Yes, Mistress?” a high-pitched voice asked.

“Fetch me a banana sandwich.” Jane leaned to the side, peering down at Frazier. “We have much to discuss, and I’m hungry. And make it quick!” She clapped her hands, a booming echo that shook the walls.

As the little servant flew off to obey Jane’s orders, Frazier tried to regain his breath after that frantic moment when he’d thought for sure he’d be killed, all the while in disbelief that Jane could stoop so low as to rename a child Nitwit. Of course, the last one had been named Nincompoop, but

had been disposed of once Jane got tired of yelling “Nincompoop!” every time she wanted something.

“Frazier!” Jane snapped.

“Y-y-yes, Mistress?” he stammered.

“Start talking.”

Frazier told her about Annika.

~

It truly did happen in the blink of an eye, a quick tingle shooting down Tick’s spine.

The instant Master George pushed the button on top of the Barrier Wand, the room of the Realitant headquarters vanished, replaced by thousands of massive trees covered in moss. Tick and the other recruits, along with Mothball, stood in a dark forest, hazy sunlight barely breaking through the thick canopy of branches to make small patches of gold on the earthy floor. The haunted sounds of exotic birds and insects filled the creepy woods, smells of roots and rotting leaves wafting through the air. Tick had the uneasy feeling that the forest wanted to eat him alive.

“Where are we?” Paul asked, though he must’ve known the answer.