“I thought I'd find you back here,” Bo said.

  Windston hurried and looked back over his shoulder, but Frem was gone.

  “Who were you talking to?” Bo asked.

  “No one,” Windston said. He shook his head, wiping his eyes with his sleeve. “I do that sometimes. I get lonely.”

  Bo sighed, looked up at the sky, and briefly winced at the red star before adjusting his glasses. Windston, of course, couldn’t see him do that, but he felt something in the pause. “That's probably my fault,” Bo finally said, his words heavy with remorse. “At any rate, your company is wanted back at my place. You've actually been wanted for a while, but we couldn't find you.”

  “Great.”

  “I figured you'd go out and get something to eat and come right back.”

  “Yeah, I hate it there,” Windston admitted.

  “That's okay. No problem. Just... we do need you back, now. We have some very important things to discuss, you and I.”

  “Like what,” Windston said, though he thought he knew.

  “Like... just do me a favor, Windston. Don’t give me a fuss. Just come with me and find out. Will ya? Isn’t that the easy way?”

  “Fine.”

  They headed back, Windston behind Bo and checking over his shoulder here and there to make sure Frem, who had crawled back out and was squat dancing in the moonlight, wouldn't get himself caught by being stupid.

  Back at Bo's, Windston found that the crowd in the front lawn had gone, probably dispersed into the crowd watching the dancers. Those of the few who did remain at the mayoral mansion were on the porches, mostly the top one, which was a narrow wrap-around balcony one could get to either by clambering out the near floor to ceiling windows of the four front rooms, or heading out the back door from Bo's mayoral bedroom. Bo and Windston did the latter.

  Two men with droopy blonde spikes for hair were there. They were tall and thin, their faces sullen. They looked like twins. There were others Windston recognized as the richest men in Zephyr, and with them were their wives. There was also the commerce conductor and the head policeman. And then there was Professor Wignof, who was cradling Bo's dog like a baby and blowing him kiss after kiss after kiss.

  Bo and Windston headed past the others toward the professor and took a seat. The dog squirmed when he saw Windston, but only because his hands still smelled like BBQ.

  “Found him,” Bo said, leading Windston forward with an arm around the upper back.

  “Where have you been, my beautiful boy?” the professor asked. “I have been longing to speak with you all this time.”

  Windston didn't say anything.

  “Looks like we lost a wig,” Bo said, ruffling his hair.

  The professor touched his arm, and Windston shuttered and made his way to the railing, where he leaned his back away from them, to keep them from touching him.

  “We were just enjoying the festivities,” Wignof said. “And I am thinking, where is this wonderful boy with the wonderful sword Bo speaks about?”

  “My sword?” Windston asked.

  “Yes,” Wignof said. “Your sword.” He had dropped the dog, who sniffed Windston's empty hands before skittering off and clicking his claws down the stairs. Now his hands were clasped, and he was leaned in, staring at Windston.

  “I think the sword is still downstairs,” Windston said.

  “It is,” Bo confirmed. “Right there in the closet where you left it.”

  “We might have to change this,” Wignof said. “Soon. Very soon.”

  “Change what?” Windston asked.

  “The location of this sword. It seems to me that maybe it is better in your hands. What do you think?”

  “I think you're right,” Windston said, and he would've smiled if it wasn't for how creepy the two adults had been acting.

  “Good. Because I have this proposition for you. It feels as though I travel all the way from my humble town in Galsia to ask you. This, of course, is not the case. But it feels like it is. That is how important it is that I am learning of you and this sword.”

  Windston didn't say anything.

  “Will you come back with me, back home, so I can study your sword with you?”

  Windston looked at Bo, who raised his eyebrows and nodded. “It's okay with me,” he said. His nod became a head shake. He chuckled. “I think everyone’s okay with it.”

  Windston didn't know what to say, so he didn't say anything.

  “All I need is for you to pick up that sword and carry it here to my handsome friends. And then you must come with me at first north, and then back south, back home.”

  Windston shrugged.

  “This Galsia,” he said, “my home… this is your home, too, you know. Look at your yellow hair and your blue, blue eyes. This is where these features come from. Do you know this?”

  “I don't care about that.”

  “The sword belongs there, Windston. For the sake of science and research. You do care about this, yes?”

  “I don't,” Windston said. “And I don’t like you. In fact, I’d never go with you. Anywhere.”

  The scientist laughed. Bo cracked a smile.

  “Ever,” Windston said. “Ever, ever, ever.”

  “Even with your sword?” Bo asked.

  “Even with,” Windston said.

  “But why not?” Wignof asked, and he made a quick look at one of his creepy guards.

  “Because.”

  Barking. Barking, growling and a squeal.

  The squealing continued, along with crashing. There was a definite commotion downstairs. At least two men and a woman were involved; there was a shriek followed by raucous noise and yelling. And then there was a very abrupt, “OUCH!”

  Wignof snapped a finger and the Galsian guards burst through the window and headed downstairs, much to the disapproval of Bo and the policeman, the latter drawing out and blowing his whistle at them.

  Windston jumped off the edge of the balcony just in time to see Frem burst out through the shattering side window of Bo's office. He was carrying something under his arm; it looked like a rolled-up rug. It was a rolled-up rug, the one Bo said was from Mannley, but there was something aglow inside it.

  “Hey!” Windston yelled. “That's my sword!”

  “Yeah!” Frem laughed. “I got it! Let's get outta here!”

  Without hesitation, they did. They ran, Frem giggling. They ran, Windston laughing. They ran and ran and ran toward the beach. And then they ran up along it, north.

  After a bit, Frem threw Windston the rug, which the latter very quickly tilted to dump out his sword.

  There it was. His sword.

  “Yes!” he yelled, holding it overhead, staring up at it.

  Something whizzed past and stuck into the side of the boathouse. It was a dart. Another flew at Frem, and then one of the Galsian guards looked as though he exploded fire from his back and flew into Windston like a rocket, ramming him hard with his shoulder.

  Windston flew into the building, the outer wall bursting into pieces. Inside, as he climbed to his feet, he saw, in the darkness, moonlit dust rising around the silhouette of a man with droopy spiked hair like limp bananas.

  It was difficult to consider this thing a man because, frankly, it didn't look any more like a man than it did a woman. In fact, even bodily, it was ambiguous. Neither the shoulders, nor the hips, were too terribly wide. There wasn't much muscle mass. In fact, Windston wondered if it was a living thing at all, based on how it moved.

  And how its eyes glowed.

  It approached quickly and he sliced at it, cutting off its hand.

  It didn't yell, but it gripped its wrist and looked blankly at a single leaking tube sprouting out from it among sparking wires.

  There was a noise from outside. It was a pop, and it came with a flash. Limbs clattered against the walls and ceiling, and a foot flew inside.

  The author's tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

  Frem grunted and a torso fell into the one Windston had cut. It fell beside Windston and met his eyes with one of its own. It was missing half its head.

  Windston jumped on instinct and burst through the top of the boathouse in a spatter of wood. Frem was down below on the shoreline, sticking up his middle fingers and chuckling, mocking whoever it was he was looking at off in the distance.

  Police whistles screamed everywhere in town, and Frem didn't hesitate to blast the boathouse to oblivion now that Windston was clearly out and above it. He threw a volley at whoever he'd been taunting as well. Screams filled the air as Windston broke his fall with a roll in the sand.

  “Come on,” Frem said. “There's more coming.”

  Windston nodded.

  They headed north into the woods as fast as they could. For all they knew those things could be out by the dozens, combing the area.

  Frem led the way from the sky. They headed this way, Windston trailing with leaps and sprints just behind. And then they cut a quick right and headed northeast for a bit. They moved this way mile after mile after mile until, finally, Frem swooped down and landed on the side of a cliff Windston knew all too well. It was a waterfall fed by a waterfall. Between the two was a pool of rapids over smooth stones. It was very loud, very misty, and very private.

  It was also Windston's favorite place to bathe. Unfortunately, it was out of the way. Bathing there was a rare treat.

  “I think we're safe here,” Frem hollered down to Windston. “Or, should I say, those things are safe from us.”

  Windston hopped up to the ledge. He dusted himself off before taking a seat on the boulder he usually sat on to take off his shoes for a bath. “I come here all the time,” Windston said. “I love it here.”

  Frem nodded. “It’s nice but I’m beyond ready to leave.”

  “How come?”

  “I'm trying to go north, but those birds...” Frem said. “They won't let me go that way. That's what I was doing this morning. I was trying to go west, and then north. They showed up right when I cut north. It's like this place is booby trapped.”

  “Weird. I’m always looking for them but never find them.”

  Frem shrugged. “I don't usually hear them until they're right on my trail. Funny thing is, they never follow me back here. It's like... I don't know. On purpose or something.”

  “They wouldn't come up here anyway.” Windston said, admiring his sword in the moonlight. “Not unless they saw you jump up here.”

  “You're welcome, by the way,” Frem said. “That stupid thing. It zapped me.”

  “It zaps anyone who isn't me,” Windston said. He shrugged. “I guess maybe you aren’t strong enough to use it.”

  “That doesn't make sense,” Frem said.

  “Why not?”

  “Because I'm probably a lot stronger than you are.”

  Windston laughed.

  “I'm not kidding,” Frem said. “I probably am. I'm the strongest kid I know,” he said, a thumb at his chest.

  “Yeah? Well, I'm the strongest kid I know. And I know you.”

  Frem shook his head. “You’re not. I am.”

  Windston stood, puffed out his chest, smiling. “I can pick up this boulder and throw it at you if you want me to prove it.”

  “Go ahead. I'll just catch it.”

  Windston smiled bigger, his eyebrows raised. He turned, squatted, and wrapped his arms around a narrow part of the boulder. Groaning, he stood back up; the boulder came up with him. “Ready?” he asked, his face smushed against the side of the rock, which dripped soil from ripped roots.

  Frem didn't say anything. He just lit his hands aglow.

  “You can't do that,” Windston said.

  “Why the hell not?” Frem asked, his hands darkening again.

  “Because that's cheating.”

  “How is that cheating? I was gonna blast it into smaller pieces so I could pick them up.”

  Windston laughed and set down the rock. It went mostly back in place, but it was wobbly and crooked now.

  “You ruined it,” Frem said. “It'll take years to sit snug again, and all because of your big fat ego.”

  “I don't have an ego.” But the truth was, he did, despite the fact that he wasn't sure what an ego was.

  “Okay, buddy,” Frem said. “Anyway, who cares who's stronger?” Frem continued. “I could flatten this whole forest if I wanted to.”

  “That'd be a waste. The trees are the only good thing about this forest.”

  “I'm not saying I would. But I could. You couldn't.”

  Windston shrugged. “It's hard to blast anything without any arms.”

  “It's hard to cut arms off without any sword!” Frem yelled, his hands lit before Windston could do anything more than hold his sword in front of his face.

  But he didn't blast him. He was just kidding. He fell backward laughing. And he kept laughing while Windston scowled in disgust.

  “I don't think you could hurt this sword anyway,” Windston said.

  “Oh, yeah?” Frem asked, still on his back. He was about three feet from the water's edge, close enough so that little splishes splashed his left arm and leg, and part of his torso. “You wanna put that to the test?”

  “How?”

  “Let me shoot it.”

  Windston narrowed his eyes at Frem, who had lifted a leg and rested its ankle on top of his other knee. “Maybe,” he said. “I kind of wonder what would happen.”

  “Set it down, then. Against that rock. I'll hit it with a little one first.”

  Windston smiled and set the sword down while Frem squirmed so that he could see the rock and sword.

  “You can't be mad if it blows up.”

  Windston stroked his chin. “I'm not worried about it blowing up. But it might fly off somewhere.”

  “That's true,” Frem said. “Maybe you should hold it?”

  “Better not shoot me.”

  “I won’t. I've been doing this all my life.”

  “Fine,” Windston said, grabbing his sword and holding it out to the side, away from his body. Closing his eyes tightly, and his mouth, he turned his face as far away from the blade as possible and gripped the sword with all his might.

  “Ready?” Frem asked.

  Windston nodded.

  There was a whirring sound, a sound of simultaneously rising and falling pitch, and then a steady hum. Windston cracked open an eye and saw a small ball floating above the palm of Frem's right hand. He had one eye shut, and he was bouncing it despite that it never touched his skin. With a sudden jerk, he clasped the ball in his hand and tossed it like a snowball, right at the blade.

  It was a direct hit, and there was an immediate pop. The pop, however, was interrupted by a loud crack, followed by a hiss. The ball looked magnetically stuck to the side of the sword, and then it began shrinking as the blade shone brightly, first on impact, and then all over. The light grew brighter and brighter until the ball was gone, and then it all shot into Windston's hands, causing him to let go.

  “Whoa,” Frem said. And then he said, “Ha. Made you drop it.”

  Windston cringed and looked at his hands. The palms were pink, like the blade, and glowing. “Ow!” he finally said. “That hurts!”

  Frem laughed again. “I guess it's a draw. That’s a really badass sword, though.”

  “It is,” Windston agreed, nodding. Carefully, he reached down and touched the pommel. It was fine. He picked it up and looked the whole thing over. “Looks fine to me.”

  “I bet your hands hurt.”

  “They're buzzing. Feels weird.”

  “That's crazy,” Frem said. “Speaking of buzzing,” he said, and he headed over toward the one single oak that grew up on the ledge of that cliff-side waterfall. Behind it was a bag, and he fetched it. “And speaking of crazy… check this out.” He tossed Windston the bag.

  Windston looked inside. The moons were bright, but, even still, he could only see what looked like jagged shreds of paper.

  “Fish around in it,” Frem said. He was back to his spot by the water, staring up at the moons. “I'll tell you something while you look,” he said, staring at the red star. “I'll tell you that other secret.”

  “Which one?”

  “The one I was gonna tell you if you got me beer. You didn't, but who cares. It's probably nasty anyway.”

  “I knew you never had one.”

  Frem shrugged. “I wish. That guy. The woodpecker guy. He was talking about his dream. He said he met a guy with a swirl for a face.”

  “He said that,” Windston agreed. “He saw one, anyway.” He had found what felt like a large nut or seed. It was smooth as polished glass between what were evenly spaced bumps. He pulled it out and looked at it.

  “Well, he wasn't lying.”

  “I know that,” Windston said. It was dark; he couldn't see the color.

  “There's more in there than that,” Frem said. “Find the blue one.”

  “How?” Windston asked, fishing again.

  “You'll know,” Frem said. “Anyway, I saw the swirl faced guy too. And the worm. I saw both with my own two eyes. It was probably around the same time as your friend. But I'm thinking maybe after.”

  “Frank,” Windston said. He found another couple of seeds. They were all different shapes and textures. One was rough, like sandpaper. Another was barbed, like a cat's tongue. One had jagged fins on it. One had spiky pokes. They were anything from completely spherical to oblong.

  “I say that because there was a very troubled woodpecker headed back north down the trail. It flew north as if it had been deep south. That is, it was tired, and speeding, as if on an urgent quest. And that's, of course, when I noticed the star. I craned my neck to watch the bird. The star caught my eye.”

  “Uh-huh,” Windston said. He found the blue one. He knew he had. It trembled in his fingers. And it was difficult to move it this way or that. That is, it felt stuck in the air, and then, when moved, carried the momentum of something much heavier.

  He pulled it out and looked at it.

  “Let go of it,” Frem said.

  “What, drop it?” Windston asked. But he did before getting an answer. It was suspended in air. It moved, too. Ever so slightly, very slowly, it moved north. “What the heck?” Windston said.

  Frem rose to his feet. “It's a dragon egg. Or so they say. I think it's more of a seed, myself.”

  Windston stared in wonder at the egg. Or seed. It was directly in front of the moons, covering the red star. “Looks more like a seed, I guess.” He didn't finish his thought, which was that there was no way dragons could come out of such small things as these.

  “Well, I actually have reason to believe this,” Frem said. “Of course, they're small, like seeds. But, more importantly, I've got experience.”

  He headed Windston's way and snatched the seed from the air. “You see, you take it,” he said, pacing toward and then stopping at the rock. “Where it goes. And then, whoosh, it flies up on its own in a beam of light and shoots into the ground. I've done it. Twice.” He wheeled and looked at Windston, smiling, winking, a thumb up; he grabbed Windston's hand and slapped the seed into it.

  “How many are there?”

  “Nine, total,” Frem said. “I've planted two, so we have seven.”

  “We,” Windston said, making a face of surprise and resistance. “Who said I want dragon seeds?”

  “I said,” Frem said. “I can tell. This is your kind of thing. You’re a dragon guy. Like me.”

  The truth… this was Windston's exact kind of thing. In fact, he'd been just dying to form a group of super strong kids for the past two years – if only he could find any. They'd call themselves the Super Kids, and they'd travel the world fighting evildoers. “Okay, so what if it is? Where do we even plant this thing?”

  “Where it goes?” Frem said, and he knocked on Windston's head and made a hollow sound with his mouth. “It's going north. That’s why we’re going north. Probably to Ice Mountain or something. It's usually a landmark, anyway. How easy could it be?”

  “I don't know,” Windston said, and he was suddenly overwhelmed with a feeling of butterflies. “That easy, I guess,” he said, and he couldn't not smile.

  “So... I've rescued you not only from the evil Bo Beeman, but his creepy little doctor friend with his little robots. I got you your sword back. I've confirmed your friend's crazy story with a matching story of my own. I even let you do me favors so you don’t overly owe me or anything.” He shrugged and tapped his chin. “Definitely seems like I’m friend material.”

  Windston smiled. “I guess,” he finally said.

  “You guess?!” Frem asked, his eyes suddenly wide, his fangs bared, and his hands outstretched, glowing white and crackling.

  “Whoa,” Windston said.

  “I'm super powerful!” Frem yelled at the top of his lungs.

  “So am I!” Windston yelled too, only he was ignored.

  “With nine dragons of my own by my side, I'll take over as king, as ruler, as emperor of the world!” He fell to his knees and gripped at nothing in tight fists beneath his chin, staring skyward. “And you can be my royal advisor,” he said to Windston.

  “Bodyguard,” Windston said.

  “Bodyguard,” Frem agreed. “You are kinda strong, I guess.”

  “The strongest kid in the world,” Windston corrected him.

  “The strongest kid in the world,” Frem repeated, shrugging. “But I am the most powerful!”

  “No, I am,” Windston said. He stepped forward and faced the tree. “I can punch really hard!” he yelled, punching the tree. It shook violently as hole after hole after hole was punched into its trunk. Bark and splinters sprayed out of the other side, and apples fell by the bushel.

  “Well,” Frem said, “can you blow up trees?!” he asked, charging a massive ball of energy between both outstretched hands. There was a sound, a tone ascending and descending all at once, and then whirling and hissing. Everything went blank as the world became nothing and the bright white light became everything; there was an explosion that spelled doom for an entire acre two acres away. Dirt and wood and pedals and ash fell all around them as a fire blazed and smoke rose. Frem laughed diabolically, veins in his eyes, bulging arteries in his neck.

  He looked at Windston and heaved in and out. “What say you? Shall you be my friend?”

  Windston, who was staring over Frem at the cataclysmic mess he'd made, said, “Yes. Yes, I will.”