The rest of us patch up our wounds while we’re waiting. Shark and I are the worst, battered all over. The brace around his stomach has cracked in several places. He glues it together with magic, but I get a glimpse of the flesh beneath. It’s ugly—purple flesh speckled with a moldy green fungus. There’s blood soaking into his trousers, and bits of his guts are poking out of ragged holes.

“How much longer do you think you can keep going?” I ask.

Shark shrugs. “I should have been dead weeks ago, as my doctors kept telling me. Having cheated death this long, who knows?”

“Has the infection been there long?”

“Who made you a nurse?” he scowls.

“Infection?” Timas barks. “You were supposed to tell me if you got infected.”

“It slipped my mind,” Shark says drily.

“Let me see,” Timas says, reaching for the brace.

“Leave it,” Shark grunts. “I used magic to heal myself. I’ll be fine.” He sighs. “You know what I miss? The ladies. No matter how bad things got, when Meera or Sharmila was with us, I always felt more at ease. Crazy, huh?”

“If they were here now, they’d march you to a hospital and have that infection looked at,” Timas huffs.

“Why don’t you go find a machine to tinker with?” Shark snaps.

“Over here?” Timas replies archly.

“I thought I was supposed to be the highly strung one,” Kirilli murmurs, and we all laugh.

“Seriously,” Timas says, smiling, “that infection will kill you if we don’t have it treated.”

“Seriously,” Shark responds, grinning tightly, “I know it will, but I don’t think it’s the sort of infection any doctor can treat. Just let me battle on and drop when it’s my time. I don’t have much longer whether I push on or go back. I’d rather die fighting than tucked up in a hospital bed.”

Timas considers that, then nods. “As you wish.”

Kirilli chuckles. “That’s the one plus point about not having any women around—we can discuss these things logically. No woman would let Shark get away with reasoning like that.”

“Our kind of women would,” Shark disagrees. “Sharmila and Meera knew the score. They wouldn’t have objected. Or wept. They were tough.”

“Yeah,” I sigh, thinking of Meera on her motorbike, red hair streaming behind her, laughing as she tore past speed signs.

Silence settles over us again as we brood about the friends we’ve lost, the wounds we’ve endured. It’s a relief when Kernel finally opens a window of white light and staggers away from it, exhausted.

“About time,” I grunt. “Let’s go.”

“Wait a minute,” Kernel stops me. “This is a window to a distant place in our universe, not a passageway between realms. It doesn’t work like a normal window. It’ll take several minutes to cross and there isn’t any oxygen. The Old Creature gave me a piece of a lodestone to use.”

Kernel digs out a sliver of rock and studies it. “I’ll use its power to erect a shield, but I’m not sure it will hold us all. If the shield starts to crumble while we’re crossing, I’ll have to cut the rest of you loose.”

I stare at Kernel suspiciously. “If this is some kind of trick…”

“No trick,” he insists. “I wasn’t supposed to bring others back with me. I don’t know if I can swing it.”

“Can’t we erect shields of our own?” Shark asks.

“It’s a different type of magic. You won’t be able to tap into it.”

We gaze uneasily at one another. Shark, Timas, and Kirilli wait for me to make a decision.

“Will there be any fighting?” I ask.

“On Atlantis?” Kernel shakes his head. “No. A few of the slug creatures might attack, but we can easily repel them.”

“Then I’ll come by myself. The others can stay here. We’ll pick them up on our way back—or I’ll pick them up if I return alone,” I say quickly, before Kernel launches into another of his I-won’t-be-coming-back spiels.

“You’re sure you’ll be safe without us?” Shark asks.

“Yeah.” I grab Kernel and settle my fangs close to his throat. “If Window Boy gives me any trouble, I’ll chew through his carotid artery before he can blink.”

“Charming,” Kernel sneers, then creates a tight, invisible barrier around us, and we shuffle into the window of light.

Crossing has always been instantaneous, like stepping from one room to another through a doorway. Not this time. I find myself floating through a weird zone of lights, all sorts of shapes and colors. I cling to Kernel like a child to his father, ogling the lights, feeling completely out of my depth. I try to ask a question, but no sound comes from my lips.

“We could speak normally,” Kernel’s voice says inside my head, “but it would mean more work on the shield. It’s easier this way.”

“Bloody telepathy,” I grumble silently, then nod at the lights. “Is this what you see all the time?”

“These are different from the normal lights,” he says. “But they’re similar.”

“How do you concentrate on normal stuff?”

Kernel laughs. “For me this is normal. The only time I was unable to see lights was when I entered the Board in Lord Loss’s palace.”

“How are we moving?” I ask. “What’s propelling us?”

“I’m not sure. I think the lights draw us on. As long as I bear Atlantis in mind, they steer us towards it.”

“What if you black out or go crazy?”

Kernel sniffs. “There’s no telling where we might end up.”

I’ve never felt so helpless. At least in the realm of demons, no matter how bad things got, I was always able to fight. Here I’m relying on Kernel for everything. I feel useless. On Earth I’m a magician, a leader of werewolves. Here I’m nothing. If Kernel cast me adrift, I couldn’t do anything about it.

I get tenser the farther we glide. I want to go back and take my chances without Kernel. I don’t mind dying on Earth or in the demon universe. But not here, in this unnatural zone of lights. It was a mistake asking him to bring me. I should have stayed where I belonged.

I fight my hysteria as long as I can, but eventually it threatens to overwhelm me. I’m about to demand that Kernel take me back, but before I can he says, “That patch of green light is the entrance to Atlantis.”

I fix on the green panel and smile eagerly as we draw closer. The other panels seem to slide away from around us until the whole universe looks like one giant patch of green. Then we slip through and land on a hard floor.

We’re in a chamber made of stones. The air is foul, acidic, painful to a nose as sensitive as mine. Squinting against the discomfort, I look around and spot a fat black man sitting close by. It’s the Old Creature in human form, disguised as Raz Warlo, a Disciple who fought with Dervish many years ago.

“Hello, Kernel,” Raz says stiffly, eyeing me beadily. “I did not expect you to bring another piece of the Kah-Gash.”

“This is Grubbs,” Kernel says. “He has something to ask you.”

“Yes,” Raz says. “I can read it in his thoughts. The answer is no.”

“Hold on a minute,” I growl. “You don’t know what—”

“You want my help,” Raz interrupts. “You want me to return to Earth, recharge the lodestones, and provide you with the means to repel the Demonata.”

“Well, OK, maybe you do know what I want,” I smile, trying to make a joke of it. “But you can’t refuse before I have a chance to—”

“I can see all of your arguments already,” Raz says. “None will persuade me to return with you. The threat of withholding Kernel won’t work either, since he is determined to travel to the ark with me. He has a greater calling he must respect. Your world is unimportant in the grand scheme of things.”

“It might not matter to you,” I snarl, “but it means everything to us.”

“No,” Kernel says sadly. “It doesn’t. I’d save it if I could, but if it’s a choice between dying meaninglessly or helping others survive… I’ve got to go, Grubbs.”

“Nobody has to go anywhere,” I hiss, trying to rein in my temper. “Come with us. Give us the power to defend ourselves. You made the lodestones work once—why not again? Time means nothing to you guys. Give us a million years. That won’t kill you, will it?”