back.”
“Nonsense,” Beranabus snorts. “It will have slaughtered and devoured him by now.”
“Beranabus!” the Indian woman hisses. “Do not say such a thing!”
“Why not? It’s true.”
“You do not know that. And even if it is, you should not say it. Not in front of . . .” She nods at me.
Beranabus laughs. “If the child was bold enough to follow us, he’s bold enough to be told the truth. Isn’t that right, boy? We don’t have to lie. You’d rather we were honest about it, aye?”
“Art isn’t dead,” I say, my voice trembling. “He’s alive. I’m going to get him back.”
“Steal him back from Cadaver?” Beranabus laughs again. “You’re brave, but stupid. You couldn’t find him, not if you searched for the rest of your life. So it doesn’t really matter if he’s alive or not, does it?”
“Is that the demon’s name?” I ask, ignoring his question. “Cadaver?”
“Aye. But that’s no use to you. What are you going to do — report him to your police?”
“We have to send this boy back,” the young woman says. “Open another window. Return him.”
“We don’t have time,” Beranabus says. “Cadaver knows we’re after him. He’s on the run. The farther ahead he gets, the harder he’ll be to find.”
“That doesn’t matter. We must —”
“You’re chasing him?” I cut in, excited. “You’re going after the monster who stole my brother?”
“Aye,” Beranabus says, eyes twinkling.
“Then I’ll come with you. Please. Let me. When you find him, if Art’s still . . . you know . . . I can snatch him back. Take him home.”
“No,” the Indian woman says immediately. “It is too dangerous. You do not know what you would be getting yourself into. . . . Excuse me, but what did you say your name was?”
“Kernel. Kernel Fleck.”
“My name is Sharmila.” She smiles. “You must go home, Kernel. If we find your brother, we will return him to you. I promise.”
“No,” I say stubbornly. “I want to help find him.”
“Help?”
Beranabus repeats, cocking an amused eyebrow. “How exactly do you plan to
help?
”
“I . . . I don’t know. With the spells? The lights?”
“What lights?” Beranabus frowns.
I point to the patches of light that are joining together ahead of him. He looks at where I’m pointing and his frown deepens. I realize these people can’t see the patches either. Before I can explain, the black man speaks up.
“Sharmila and Nadia are right, master. This child does not belong here. We must return him. If we don’t . . . if we leave him in this nightmarish world of water and screaming trees . . . we will be no better than the demons we seek to stop.”
Beranabus sniffs. “A nice plea, Raz, but I never claimed to be any better than the Demonata. I say we leave him, and my word is final — isn’t it, Nadia?”
He looks hard at the young woman. She stares back defi-antly for a few seconds, then drops her gaze. “It wouldn’t take long to open a window . . .” she mutters. “I could do it while you search for Cadaver.”
“You’re not very skilled at finding your way around,” Be-ranabus says. “What makes you think you could locate the right place?”
“I could try,” she insists. “And even if I don’t find the exact spot, I can return him to our world. He could make his own way home from there.”
Beranabus thinks a moment, then shrugs. “So be it. Waste your time if you wish. But keep out of my way, so you don’t interfere with —”
“I’m not going!” I shout. “I came to find Art and I’m not going home without him!”
“Kernel,” the black man — Raz — says, “you don’t know what is happening. This is not a place for children. You must go home. Mustn’t he, Sharmila?”
“Yes,” the Indian woman says, glaring at me like an angry teacher. “I gave you my word that I will return your brother to you if we find him alive. That will have to be enough.”
“Trust me,” the
“Nonsense,” Beranabus snorts. “It will have slaughtered and devoured him by now.”
“Beranabus!” the Indian woman hisses. “Do not say such a thing!”
“Why not? It’s true.”
“You do not know that. And even if it is, you should not say it. Not in front of . . .” She nods at me.
Beranabus laughs. “If the child was bold enough to follow us, he’s bold enough to be told the truth. Isn’t that right, boy? We don’t have to lie. You’d rather we were honest about it, aye?”
“Art isn’t dead,” I say, my voice trembling. “He’s alive. I’m going to get him back.”
“Steal him back from Cadaver?” Beranabus laughs again. “You’re brave, but stupid. You couldn’t find him, not if you searched for the rest of your life. So it doesn’t really matter if he’s alive or not, does it?”
“Is that the demon’s name?” I ask, ignoring his question. “Cadaver?”
“Aye. But that’s no use to you. What are you going to do — report him to your police?”
“We have to send this boy back,” the young woman says. “Open another window. Return him.”
“We don’t have time,” Beranabus says. “Cadaver knows we’re after him. He’s on the run. The farther ahead he gets, the harder he’ll be to find.”
“That doesn’t matter. We must —”
“You’re chasing him?” I cut in, excited. “You’re going after the monster who stole my brother?”
“Aye,” Beranabus says, eyes twinkling.
“Then I’ll come with you. Please. Let me. When you find him, if Art’s still . . . you know . . . I can snatch him back. Take him home.”
“No,” the Indian woman says immediately. “It is too dangerous. You do not know what you would be getting yourself into. . . . Excuse me, but what did you say your name was?”
“Kernel. Kernel Fleck.”
“My name is Sharmila.” She smiles. “You must go home, Kernel. If we find your brother, we will return him to you. I promise.”
“No,” I say stubbornly. “I want to help find him.”
“Help?”
Beranabus repeats, cocking an amused eyebrow. “How exactly do you plan to
help?
”
“I . . . I don’t know. With the spells? The lights?”
“What lights?” Beranabus frowns.
I point to the patches of light that are joining together ahead of him. He looks at where I’m pointing and his frown deepens. I realize these people can’t see the patches either. Before I can explain, the black man speaks up.
“Sharmila and Nadia are right, master. This child does not belong here. We must return him. If we don’t . . . if we leave him in this nightmarish world of water and screaming trees . . . we will be no better than the demons we seek to stop.”
Beranabus sniffs. “A nice plea, Raz, but I never claimed to be any better than the Demonata. I say we leave him, and my word is final — isn’t it, Nadia?”
He looks hard at the young woman. She stares back defi-antly for a few seconds, then drops her gaze. “It wouldn’t take long to open a window . . .” she mutters. “I could do it while you search for Cadaver.”
“You’re not very skilled at finding your way around,” Be-ranabus says. “What makes you think you could locate the right place?”
“I could try,” she insists. “And even if I don’t find the exact spot, I can return him to our world. He could make his own way home from there.”
Beranabus thinks a moment, then shrugs. “So be it. Waste your time if you wish. But keep out of my way, so you don’t interfere with —”
“I’m not going!” I shout. “I came to find Art and I’m not going home without him!”
“Kernel,” the black man — Raz — says, “you don’t know what is happening. This is not a place for children. You must go home. Mustn’t he, Sharmila?”
“Yes,” the Indian woman says, glaring at me like an angry teacher. “I gave you my word that I will return your brother to you if we find him alive. That will have to be enough.”
“Trust me,” the
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