dine. Mother had insisted that Janice must be home in bed by ten, but Father, uncharacteristically, had overruled her. The occasional late night never hurt anyone, he said. They had all bundled up, walked the three blocks to the metro, and then boarded the bullet train to the Greenbelt Mall District.
The dinner was fun, but his parents' jolly mood crumbled as the family headed for the theater. Already the public tridscreens Were running the first reports of the fire in the warehouse district of Seattle, where thousands of metahumans were being burned to death and a terrorist group calling itself the Hand of Five was taking responsibility. Father's face went grim and determined as he listened to the reactions of the crowd in the mall, most of whom seemed sympathetic to the terrorists. Father herded them to the metro, and they took the first train back to the burbs. Sammy sensed the fear beneath his parents' concern. Oliver and Jan-ice felt it, too. Oliver and Father spoke quietly together for a while, then Oliver turned around to smile at Sam and Janice and told them it would all be fine. He was scared, too; Sammy could smell it. But Sammy took his cue from Oliver and tried to hide his own growing fear. Not so Janice, who began to whimper and demand that Mother hold her. There wasn't much conversation during the train ride. Most of the people on board echoed the same racist sentiments the Verners had heard expressed at the mall.
As they got off the metro, Sammy knew something was wrong. The neighborhood was lit as brightly as day, but day had never been so red. All the dogs in the neighborhood were barking.
When the Verners reached their street, they saw their house in flames. The wall fence around the property was battered down in places, while some sections still standing were scrawled with words such as 'Ork Luv-ver,' 'Race Traitor,' and other less savory things. Through one gap, Sammy could see a stark and obscene silhouette. He puzzled at the shape, but Twist knew what the boy he had been was seeing. It was their handyman Variy. The poor ork had been crucified on their front lawn.
Father whispered something to Mother. He ordered Oliver to stay with her. She took hold of Janice and Sammy's hands. Striding forward, Father headed for the knot of people gathered near the driveway. Tears streamed down Mother's face. Oliver looked annoyed and glared after Father, but he stayed put. Sammy heard his father's angry voice demanding to know what was going on, ordering the mob to disperse. They jeered at him.
He repeated his demands and they laughed, an animal sound, wild and dangerous. One came forward and shouted something incoherent into Father's face. Another crept out and swung a fence board against the back of Father's knees. As the elder Verner collapsed, the one who'd shouted at him sidestepped to let him fall to the sidewalk. Then the mob rushed in, beasts tearing at the fallen foe.
Oliver rushed forward, disappearing instantly among the surging crowd. Sammy heard screams, but they sounded too high-pitched to be Oliver's. They sounded like a girl's screams. Twist knew better.
The mob reached them. Mother shoved Sammy and Janice behind her, but someone tore her away. Sammy grabbed his sister and ran. A howling rose behind them, and he dragged her along even faster. Turning down the alley between the Foster and Lee places, he knew he couldn't outrun the mob; he was just a kid and he was carrying his little sister. Pulling Janice into the deep shadows around the Fosters' shed, he crouched there, rucking Janice against the building and covering her head with his arm. He'd protect her as best he could. He tucked his own head down and closed his eyes.
He wanted to run away from these awful people, find a better place to hide. Twist understood as the terror- born, desperate need of young Sammy Verner called to the city spirit, wrapping its protection around him and his sister. It was only a small, weak spirit, much too small to have covered and hidden the whole family from the mob, even if it were not already too late.
A tentacle of the mob surging down the alley brushed unseeing past the huddled children. Not finding its victims, the tentacle retracted back to its parent body as the mob moved on down the street. Now they turned their fury against the Andersons' house, burning it completely before moving on again.
Sammy stayed huddled where he was, hugging his sister. Sam didn't dare move even after she had cried herself to sleep. She needed her sleep. Mother had said so. He cried, too, but would not let himself sleep. Then a man came walking down the street and crossed the mouth of the alley. He was dressed in fine clothes. The flickering light of the fires glittered from gold on his fingers and from the head of his cane. He looked like a rich businessman, out of place in the burbs. But he didn't act out of place; he acted instead as though he owned it all. Sammy Verner didn't know him, but Twist did.
The man was Mr. Enterich, an agent of the dragon Lofwyr. Ever since the Haesslich affair, Enterich had been a symbol of duplicity for Sam, the perfect corporate false front for the savage and duplicitous ma-neuverings of the worm that gnawed at the wood of society. Twist had no memory of Enterich being present that night.
Sammy Verner watched the well-dressed man stroll down the street until he reached the broken gate of the Verner house. Leaning on his cane, the man contemplated the fire. At length a shadow flitted over Sammy and his sister, moving across the street in a curving arc before it vanished. But it returned again, and this time Sammy looked up to see enormous bat wings spread against the paling stars. It was a dragon. The creature banked and came to a silent landing at Enter-ich's side. It was not Lofwyr. 'Success?'
'No trace, no trail. The line must be extinguished. ' The dragon exuded satisfection. 'The losses of time spent dreaming are recouped this night. The herd is culled, and the small rivals shall find no allies. They burn. Everywhere, they burn. Are not the flames wonderful?'
'Perhaps,' Enterich replied. 'I fear this noise that echoes around the world tonight. It is out of control, and the resulting chaos might demand a high price.' 'Temerity. But dawn comes and we must be away. ' The dragon stretched its wings. Sammy hid his head. Despite his own leavening of experience Twist was overwhelmed by childish terror and hid as well. Together the boy and man consciousnesses huddled in fear.
The sound of the beast's passage was a roaring moan. It might have been wind displaced by the force of the beast's wing stroke, or it might have been the voice of the mob. If indeed the two were different. Sammy loved symbols, and dragons were among the best. They were huge and powerful, strong and dangerous. They were elemental beasts that Twist could envision as chaos embodied. When he got up enough courage to look again, the dragon and the man were gone as though they had never been. Maybe they never had.
But his parents were really gone. His brother, too. Only their memories remained in his heart.
A skinny old Indian in a breech clout stood at his side. Howling Coyote. 'Would you give your life to see them live again?'
Sam thought about that for a while, then shrugged. 'What good would it do? They wouldn't like what the world has become. Sooner or later, naturally or not, they would die again, and I'd be responsible for making them face that trial again. They already died once. Let them be in peace.'
'And if you had the power to change the world, to make it so they would like it? Would that make a difference?'
'No. They've earned their peace.' Sam stood up. He was just Twist now, though the child Janice still sheltered under his protective arm. 'But I'd change the world anyway. We all have the responsibility to make things better for ourselves and for our families. We all have to do what we can to make the world a better place.'
'Better for your own ends?'' ' 'Better for everybody.'' 'What about the cost?' Sam looked at the bodies of his parents. They were
even as the scene of the old neighborhood was fading. Even the child Janice was fading. 'Can I pay less than they did to live up to my beliefs?'
'Very easily,' the shaman said gravely. 'Most people don't stand up and pay when it comes down to it.'
'There's a price for everything. Sooner or later, you have to pay.'
'Hey hey, Dog boy, there may be hope for you yet. That's the first step in the dance.' Howling Coyote spun and capered away. 'Or was it the last? I forget. I'm an old man, ya know.'
Sam shook his head sadly and followed the shaman into the dawn.
PART 3
Pay The Price
Sometimes the tunnel to the otherworld appeared in different forms, though its nature always remained the
