Halls of Stolen Dreams: Book 2 of Druids of Le Mars series

By Greg Severson

Now that young Ben Walker knows he is a Druid, in book 2 of the Druids of Le Mars series he must defeat the villain Draven, or watch his sister's classmates perish. Magic is on the rise in our world. Last summer, sixth grader Ben Walker was asked to join the Druid High Council that magically protects the town. On the first day of seventh grade,

• Language: English
• Publisher: Palmetto Publishing
• Release date: Dec 22, 2022
• ISBN: 9798885906531

Greg Severson

Greg Severson is a retired pathologist who is married with one big happy blended family of five children and twelve grandkids. He grew up in Le Mars, Iowa, the town the book is set in, and currently lives in Omaha, Nebraska. He and his wife Deb enjoy traveling, hiking, and skiing, and once in a while she'll even agree to keep him company while he enjoys an occasional cigar. Greg loves the outdoors and all animals, particularly dogs, and has a special place in his heart for his old bulldog, Wendy.

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PROLOGUE

It’s the summer of 2022, and I find myself cruising up the stretch of Interstate 29 that extends from Omaha to Sioux City, on my way to yet another High Council meeting in Le Mars. I’ve taken this route so many times it’s almost like putting on a comfortable pair of shoes. It’s one of the flattest stretches of road around, running up and down the Missouri River Valley, and would be extremely monotonous if it weren’t for the Loess Hills off to my right. They’re not all that spectacular to look at, but I know, thanks to a class I took in undergrad, that they’re extremely unusual from a geological point of view. They formed after the last ice age ended, when sediment deposited by meltwaters from the last glaciers was blown by the wind to form dunes up to two hundred feet high, which were eventually stabilized by prairie grass and trees. The only other place they exist is in the Yellow River region of China, so they’re truly something special. That is, if you’re into that kind of thing.

Whenever I pass by the Modale exit, which is about half an hour north of Omaha, I always think of my mom. Her dad taught school there during the Great Depression, and even though it was a tiny little town, and they didn’t have much money, she and her sisters managed to spend a happy childhood there. She didn’t like to dwell on the past, so it was hard to get much information out of her, but she did tell me once that one of her dad’s students wrote an award-winning poem about the Loess Hills lining the horizon east of Modale entitled The Blue Hills. Mom claimed it was so good it won a contest and was even published in the Omaha World-Herald. Mom passed away over five years ago, and I’m sure the author of that poem is no longer around, but I think she would’ve gotten a kick out of the fact that someone still remembers the poem she wrote all those years ago, thanks to a little girl she probably never met. Life’s funny that way.

I’m surprised how much my wife, Quinn, and I are enjoying our retirement. We’d both grown sick and tired of all the politics associated with our professions, which I’ve discovered is one of the many signs of getting old, but were leery of giving up work we really enjoyed. Your job kind of defines who you are. But we’ve kept ourselves busy by visiting our grandchildren whenever we can and have managed to take some spectacular trips along the way. My favorite one so far was when we hiked the Wainwright Trail, which crosses the northern part of England, extending from the Irish to the North Sea. It was spectacular but rugged, with several fifteen-miles days, and if you decide to check the trail out, I’d recommend you do some serious training before you do. We, unfortunately, did not, and paid the price those first few days.

Some of my travels were bound to involve Druid business, so I knew, shortly after we retired, that it was time for me to come clean about some of the so-called scientific trips I’d taken in the past. I was afraid of how Quinn would react when she found out the true purpose of those meetings and, more importantly, about my magical abilities.

One night, after downing a Manhattan at Dante’s, one of our favorite local restaurants, I decided my moment of truth had arrived. My secret trips had been going on for so long I figured she’d be furious when I attempted to explain it all. Who wouldn’t be? After I finished telling her an abbreviated version of my story, which I’m sure sounded totally bizarre, I took a big gulp of my second drink, which fortunately had just arrived, and prepared myself for what was certain to come next. Quinn stared at me for a few moments, an inscrutable look on her face, then surprised the heck out of me when she burst out laughing. It was so loud and uncontrolled that everyone in the place began to stare. When she finally regained control of herself, tears rolling down her cheek, she told me she’d always sensed there was something odd about me, even before we were married, but had no idea it involved magic. And as crazy as it sounded, it helped explain some of the weird, inexplicable occurrences she’d witnessed over the past years and why I kept a musty old cloak and an antique walking stick hidden in the back closet.

I can’t begin to tell you how relieved I was when she not only decided to let me off the hook but told me she was looking forward to accompanying me on my next adventure. Then she smiled a mysterious smile, her eyes twinkling in the subdued lighting of the restaurant, and demanded I show her something cool when we got home. I just smiled and nodded my head. I could think of a few spells, right off the top of my head, that would be sure to blow her socks off. She was letting me off easy, so that was the least I could do.

I always look forward to visiting various groups of mages and sorcerers scattered throughout the world, sharing knowledge that has taken me years to accumulate and even longer to make any sense of. I don’t know if it has anything to do with my age, but I’ve been growing increasingly concerned about how that knowledge is being used. It took years to appreciate what a wonderful group of people the members of the High Council of Le Mars truly were. Not only were they extremely powerful in magic, but they also always kept their feet on the ground. Two things they always stressed were, use your magical powers sparingly and never use them in an attempt to alter the constant evolution of nature.

Nature was never meant to be controlled by Druid magic. But I have to admit, I do call on the magic of earth every now and then, like when I ask it to turn the leaves in my neighborhood a more vibrant color in the fall and make sure they stay on the trees for a few more days. What can I say? Fall is my favorite time of year! Druids have become more numerous over the past fify years, and I feel that some of the younger members are beginning to get careless, sending group messages on their phones requesting we band together and combine our powers to alter nature, all in an attempt to improve the environment.

I know they mean well, but I’ve grown extremely uncomfortable about how things have been progressing; it started when I attended an international meeting of High Druids that was held in Las Vegas a little over two years ago. A group of geologists had just published a paper claiming that the Eurasian and North American tectonic plates were shifting at a faster rate than they ever had before, and the most noticeable movement was centered in Iceland. Their scientific models predicted such activity would lead to an unprecedented outbreak of earthquakes and volcanoes, so the group overrode my objections and came to a general consensus that if we combined our power and were able to slow their movement down, we might prevent some cataclysmic event from happening and quite possibly save the world. So twenty High Druids, men and women with a particularly strong connection to one of nature’s core elements, were selected to travel to Iceland and cast the powerful spell their plan was sure to require.

I could sense Iceland was a truly magical place the moment I stepped off the plane, and it didn’t take long to figure out why. Quinn was shocked when, on our drive in from the airport, I pointed out a group of dwarves, working away with their pickaxes on a small thermal site, as well as a lone elf off in the distance, carrying a bundle of sticks. I wanted to explore the areas they were reported to live in and possibly learn why creatures from the Other World had decided to settle here, but instead I was forced to attend a gathering of High Druids on the Reykjanes Peninsula, a site where the tectonic plates were reported to meet. Twenty High Druids from all over the world, each with a strong connection to the elemental energy of Earth, joined forces, and while it took us an entire day to accomplish our task, we were successful in slowing the plates down in the end.

Once we were finished, the group agreed to gather at one of the local establishments to celebrate our success and enjoy some of the local cuisine, which included one of my favorites, herring and coarse rye bread washed down with chilled shots of akvavit. But instead of joining in on the festivities, Quinn and I decided to check out early, rent a car, and spend the rest of our time touring the island. We never spotted another elf or dwarf, much less a troll, but we did hear the unsettling sound of rocks shifting wherever we went. The High Druids of Earth had just meddled with God’s creations, and I wondered if in all our wisdom, we had somehow managed to make things worse.

Ever since then I’ve seriously considered turning in my cloak and staff and asking my apprentice to take over. I’ve been working with Jan for years and feel she’s more than up to the task. After all, Mr. and Mrs. D, the High Druids of Wind and Fire, were considerably younger than me when they decided to step down and return to their ancestral home in Wales. They passed away last year, within a day of each other, and Quinn and I considered it an honor to attend their funerals and witness their spirits soar into the sky as their bodies were consumed in funeral pyres built along the edge of a high cliff overlooking the sea. It’s still hard to believe they’re gone. Mr. Corbin, the High Druid of Stars, is ninety-three years old and still lives in Le Mars, but he gave up his position on the High Council years ago to his worthy apprentice, Larry, a race-car driver from Merrill, who’s been doing an outstanding job ever since. Mrs. Kale and Mrs. Whitby, the High Druids of Water and the Moon, passed away long ago but managed to live to ripe old ages of ninety-five and ninety-eight, respectively. Unfortunately, Mr. Manning, the High Druid of Ice, died of a lung ailment long before his time. It’s sad to say, but I’m the only surviving member of our original council.

Buddy and Maisie are basically running the show now, so I know the council is in good hands. My good friend Chuck ended up taking his high school counselor’s advice and enrolled at Brown University. After he graduated he managed to land a big-time job in Boston. Ann left town right after she finished high school to join a hippie commune in New Mexico, and she still serves as its spiritual leader. They’re both members of their respective High Councils and rarely return home, but we still try to get together at least once a year to keep each other current on what’s been going on.

Not to sound narrow-minded, but the rest of our High Council members are millennials and hard to relate to. They think they know everything and never listen to a word I say. I have to admit, I probably acted the same when I was their age, but I still find it irritating! The bottom line is, I no longer seem to fit in. I think today might be the day I officially tender my resignation and free myself of all Druid responsibilities. I’m sure Quinn will be thrilled when I tell her the news.

It’s funny, but whenever my mind wanders, like it is doing right now, my thoughts always drift back to the first year I spent on the Druid High Council back in 1966 and all the evil energy floating around back then. It’s like they always say, evil prospers when good men do nothing. I had a fairly wild ride the summer I became a High Druid of Earth and completed their High Council. With a full complement of members, we were able to destroy Rolf Wagner, a powerful warlock who had been terrorizing the town, and a witches’ coven that lived out on the Bates farm and was always up to mischief. I also discovered I was a Gatekeeper to the Portals, which allowed us to explore the Other World and connect to the powerful magic contained within that realm. Little did I know how much crazier that first semester of junior high was going to be…

Chapter 1

Back to School

August 1966

I don’t know what I was so worried about. Junior high has turned out to be great! All summer long I kept hearing people say irritating stuff like, You’re in for a rude awakening or You’re going to find yourself at the bottom of the totem pole when you start junior high. As annoying as all that talk was, it did make a guy wonder what seventh grade was going to be like. After all, it would be the first time I’d ever attended a school that was not Clark Elementary. But junior high has turned out to be so much cooler than I thought it would be—I don’t even know where to begin.

First, I’d better update you on how the rest of my summer went. The Danbrinks invited my entire family over for lunch shortly after the historic Union Hotel burned down. They’d promised me earlier in the summer that they would help explain Druids to my family so I wouldn’t need to be so secretive all the time, especially around my mom and dad. I kept my fingers crossed that today was going to be the day, because it would be a huge load off my mind.

But first, we needed to eat. Mr. D made hot dogs and hamburgers on the grill, while Mrs. D served up some of the best homemade baked beans and potato salad I ever tasted, finishing the whole thing off with slices of cantaloupe that practically melted in your mouth. I could tell the secrecy spell was still in place because as we sat on their porch enjoying our lunch, their yard looked pretty much like every other yard in town, except for the strange rock grotto and countless butterflies and hummingbirds drifting back and forth in the lazy afternoon sun.

My sisters immediately hit it off with Walter, the Danbrinks’ dog, and began chasing him around the yard after lunch, while the rest of us remained in the shade of the back porch. I was eager for them to start their discussion, wondering what my parents would think about Druids, but all Mr. and Mrs. D did was ask Mom and Dad if I could spend more time over at their house on the weekends. There seemed to be no end to the chores that needed to be done around their big old house. Mr. D promised to teach me some practical skills along the way and pay me for my time, so they both readily agreed. Then Dad and Mr. D lit up their pipes and started talking about the Cubs, while Mrs. D began telling Mom about her prized flowers. There hadn’t been a single mention of Druids! I tried to hide my disappointment when I realized I’d have to continue with my secretive ways. When was I ever going to catch a break?

I watched Mom as Mrs. D droned on about her flowerbeds, slowly nodding her head as she gazed out over their back yard, which was actually one of the many sacred groves scattered throughout the world, admiring the wide variety of exotic-looking flowers and plants. When her gaze finally settled on a group of brightly colored hummingbirds hovering over a clump of exotic purple flowers, I was surprised to see that while she appeared to be happy, there were tears in her eyes. I wondered what she was thinking about, then remembered Mrs. D saying that she thought Mom might have a touch of Druid magic. Maybe she could sense all the magic surrounding her and realized it was just beyond her reach.

I turned my attention to my sisters and observed Susan chasing Walter back and forth across the sun-soaked yard, laughing and acting happier than I’d ever remembered seeing her. Ann, on the other hand, was glued in place near the entrance to the Sacred Grotto, standing so still and rigid I thought she’d fallen into a trance. She’d been acting goofier than usual since drinking that magic elixir Mrs. D prepared for her earlier in the summer to cure her mysterious illness, and now here she was, standing as still as a statue in front of the entrance to a place of tremendous power. As I sat on the porch, watching her lean ever so slowly toward the grotto’s entrance, I became even more convinced that some major change had taken place. Maybe she’d developed a connection to nature, similar to mine, and it was starting to manifest itself. If that was true, I wondered how in the world such an unusual thing had happened to two normal, run-of-the-mill kids like us.

All of a sudden, Ann snapped out of her trance; she spun around, looked me straight in the eyes, gave me an evil look, and burst out laughing before dashing off to join Susan and Walter. The look she gave me was somewhat unsettling and made me wonder, just for a second, if she’d developed some magical abilities of her own, and if so, were they stronger than mine? It had to be my imagination! Or maybe Mrs. D had spiked the tea again, like she did last summer.

The rest of the summer passed by in a blink. The first thing I did, once all the excitement died down, was to take the old coins I’d traded with Dad down to Steph’s Coins and Stamps and get Steph’s take on what I had. Being a believer in positive thinking, I’d convinced myself they were worth a lot of money, but it didn’t take long for Steph to burst my bubble. As soon he picked up one of the quarters and held it up to the light, he began chuckling to himself. Not a good sign! He told me all the coins except for the silver dollar were counterfeit and utterly worthless. Even though they were the same size and weight as normal coins, he warned me not to spend any of them. Doing so was against the law. I thought, just for a second, that if I fed them into a pop or pinball machine, no one would know where they had come from. Then I realized that would be stealing. I considered myself a bigger man than that, so I decided to keep them in my leather coin pouch as a reminder not to get so carried away next time. But it wasn’t a total loss. Steph said he’d take the cool silver dollar off my hands for fifteen bucks. That represented a real fortune to a guy like me.

I continued to mow lawns and tried to save as much money as I could, but it proved to be an impossible task. They had just put in a new pinball machine over at the Cue, Fighter Pilot, and I was hooked. What can I say, if I could scrape together enough money for a can of grape pop and a few games of pinball, I was a happy man! Mom cut me some slack and gave me permission quit piano lessons a few weeks after the big fire. I’m sure it was just as big a relief for her as it was for me, because she wouldn’t need to constantly nag me to practice anymore. Or listen to me play my favorite John Philip Sousa marches over and over again. I had a feeling it had been slowly driving her crazy.

Druid lessons were held every Saturday morning, right after catechism class was let out, as well as most Sunday afternoons. Those sessions ended up being the high point of my week because I seemed to have a real knack for all things Druid. Who knew? Before long, it was agreed that I would be allowed to take my cloak and staff home so we could develop a stronger bond. It’s hard to explain, but their close proximity made me feel more confident and sure of myself. It was a little weird, though, having these ancient items of magic shoved into a closet full of junk, right next to my school clothes, Boy Scout uniform, and Sunday suit. I got a disapproving look from Mom the first time I brought them home, but for some reason, she never bothered to question me about either one. Luckily, Mr. D taught me a spell that allowed me to shrink my cloak and staff to the point they’d fit in my trusty Boy Scout pack, which helped keep them a secret whenever I needed to bring them along with me.

My attempts to connect to the spiritual energy of the earth were an entirely different matter. I was able to call on the earth’s energy to open and close portals, so you would think I’d be able to perform all sorts of amazing stuff. But I could barely accomplish anything unless I was wearing my cloak, holding firmly onto my staff, and standing in close proximity to a sacred site. When I tried various exercises in an attempt to improve my skills, it reminded me of the old side-arm throw I used to have. You never knew where the ball was going to end up. I might be able to cast a perfect spell one day, then the next day my efforts would result in a minor disaster the Danbrinks would be forced to cover up.

One Sunday afternoon we decided to drive out to Gitchie Manitou to see if I could break through the secrecy spell John Close, the council’s founding member, had placed on it back in the day. The place was supposedly powerful in magic and held a portal connecting it to some unknown site in the Other World. Nobody had been able to enter it since he passed away. All they wanted me to do was discover a way in, and it ended up being a total disaster. I had absolutely no idea what to do, so I did the same thing that had allowed me to open the portal directly beneath the Sacred Grotto in the Danbrinks’ back yard. I’d obviously never been inside Gitchie Manitou before and had nothing for reference, so I made my best guess and concentrated on the ancient hieroglyphs lining the entrance to our Sacred Grotto. Then I pushed my staff firmly into the ground and yelled, Open, which always came out in a jumble of words in some ancient Celtic dialect. As soon as I finished speaking, a giant fireball erupted from the small cave we were standing in front of, followed by a loud explosion that knocked us all off our feet. Then a cluster of trees off to one side burst into flames and a big ledge of rocks dropped into the Big Sioux River hundreds of feet below, making a tremendous roar. After a moment of shocked silence, Mrs. D whispered that we needed to leave; we got back on our feet, brushed ourselves off, rushed to their car (which was a beautiful brand-new pearl-white Ford Thunderbird), and jumped in, kicking up a cloud of dust as we escaped down the deserted gravel road.

I made several additional trips to the Other World through the portal located beneath Mr. and Mrs. D’s back yard, accompanied by different members of the High Council. Those experiences went much more smoothly than my lessons—probably due to the fact that I had a stronger connection to Earth’s energy whenever I entered that realm. Before long, I grew accustomed to spending what seemed like days exploring the various pathways, then returning to the surface to discover I’d only been gone for a brief period in our time.

I won’t bore you with the details, but the first thing we did was to return to the Hindu monastery we had visited on our last trip to seek the monks’ help in dealing with Rolf Wagner and told them how well their spell had worked. They were overjoyed and shared that they had been able to sense Wagner’s evil presence fade the moment the spell was cast. Ashoke and I, two apprentices with a special connection to earth’s energy source, became good friends during subsequent visits. He promised to visit me in Le Mars but explained it might take some time. The monks were very traditional and insisted on traveling the pathways first, to make sure they were safe. And they were never in a rush to do anything.

The next place we visited was the Danbrinks’ ancestral home in Wales, a beautiful, mountainous area filled with meadows, forests, and lakes. It was a little unsettling meeting distant relatives of people I’d basically grown up with, because they all looked familiar. A few of their clansmen were Druids steeped in the magical powers of healing, which kind of made sense considering how well Mrs. D’s herbal concoction worked on Ann and her friends last summer. But they were surprised to learn their kinfolk back in Le Mars had retained the ability to call forth tremendous amounts of destructive energy, much like their ancestors had back in ancient times. It didn’t make much sense to me, since the two fields seemed completely different, but rather than ask any stupid questions, I decided to keep my mouth shut. It really didn’t matter what an outsider like me thought.

We also visited a religious order tucked away in some remote area of Siberia. Mr. Corbin, the High Druid of Stars and the music director of our church, had read somewhere that their library contained a rare collection of medieval Orthodox chants, and he’d been dying to get a look at them ever since. That didn’t sound very interesting to me, but whatever! We followed Ty, an elf and one of the Guardians of the magical Pathways that crisscrossed that world, to a range of low-lying mountains that held the portal leading to the order’s domain. Once we passed through the portal, we discovered their religious order was housed in a sinister-looking monastery located deep in the woods. Ty knocked on the door, and when it opened, he immediately recognized several of the monks standing in the doorway. He whispered to me that not only were these monks extremely powerful; they also had to be hundreds of years old, because it had been that long since he had visited them last. As I observed one of the monks float down the hall, his long robes trailing behind him as he went to gather up some of the old manuscripts, it wasn’t hard to believe. He almost looked like a ghost.

Ty told me in a hushed voice that thanks to these powerful monks, the nearby villages had survived numerous violent attacks over the years, which might have explained why the surrounding area seemed to be dripping with sadness and misery. The monks wouldn’t allow us to enter, and I was beginning to get a little bored when I noticed two young monks dressed in ill-fitting robes standing in the shadows of the entrance, off to one side. I began walking toward them, and just as we started to introduce ourselves, a particularly stern-looking monk rushed up, pushed himself between us, and shooed me away. But I did manage to hear their names, Viktor and Ilya. Before the monk separated us, we smiled and nodded to one another. Something special had just passed between us, and I had a feeling we were destined to meet again.

On the way back from one of our trips, Ty surprised everyone by asking Mr. and Mrs. D if I could start traveling the pathways on my own. At first they refused, claiming I was too young and inexperienced, but Ty just laughed them off and said that while I was young and still a little wet behind the ears, I was also a powerful Druid in my own right and much more powerful in the Other World. He promised he wouldn’t let me out of his sight, and since he was endowed with special powers of his own, it was highly unlikely any harm would come to me. Plus, I needed the chance to grow. After a long discussion, they reluctantly gave their consent, with the understanding that the rest of the High Council would need to approve.

Once we made it back to the surface, the first thing Mr. D did was show me how to cast the spell that opened the entrance to the Sacred Grotto, and he made me promise that whenever I used the portal, I would be sure to let someone know. I thought it was a small price to pay to be given the green light to travel to the Other World on my own whenever I wanted, so I readily agreed. So far I’ve only taken a few solo trips, usually after my Sunday afternoon lessons. I figure I have all the time in the world, so there’s no reason to push my luck. But it wasn’t easy to stay away, because the trips I made were almost as amazing as some of the stories Ty shared with me as we walked on different pathways. And I was to discover there was much more to Viktor and Ilya than met the eye. Not only were they powerful mages and much older than I thought; they were also fluent in English. What a relief!

The good old Orioles, ended up being the surprise team of the league. We only lost a single game to the Indians on our way to being crowned league champions, and we managed to beat the mighty Cubs twice along the way. We even got invited to play in a regional tournament in Sioux City, won four out of five games, and came in second to a Storm Lake team we had to admit was much better than us.

My throwing continued to improve, much to my amazement, and I got to come in and pitch relief a few more times. I got a little cocky once and came up with the crazy idea of throwing a combination fast ball/curve. Naturally, the ball got away from me and hit the batter smack in the middle of his back as he turned away from the pitch. Ever since then, batters have seemed a little intimidated by me, which has been hard to get used to. When the season started, I truly had one of the worst arms in the league! But it only took one wild pitch for me to learn my lesson. After that, I kept to the basics and ended up doing a pretty decent job. I knew deep down inside that this miraculous transformation in my throwing abilities had something to do with my connection to Druid magic, but I was having so much fun, why question it?

Then late in July, I got a letter from school, addressed to me, Ben Walker. It had a cool letterhead with a fierce-looking bulldog (our school mascot) standing under a goal post, one of his front paws perched on top of a football. It was an offer to try out for the seventh-grade football team. As far as I knew, Le Mars had always been a baseball and basketball town; although most of us kids liked to throw a football around, I’d never considered trying out for the team. The word was that Knox Stone’s dad, who taught business at the high school, had been given the head coach position. Knox had never mentioned it before, but I guess his dad played linebacker at Texas Tech, so he obviously knew what he was doing. His plan was to start at the ground floor, try to get as many junior high kids to try out as he could, and hopefully turn Le Mars into a football powerhouse someday. I’d never met Mr. Stone before, but Knox and I were buddies, so I was definitely going to try out.

Mr. Stone’s letter generated a lot of excitement, and almost seventy kids showed up for tryouts one particularly hot and humid August morning, two weeks before school started. Fifty of us made the cut, and once we were assigned our own uniforms, which included real pads and a helmet, we began twice-a-day conditioning. Workouts were so strenuous and the weather so hot, humid, and downright miserable that by the time school was ready to start, we were down to thirty-eight members. But the ones who survived were ready to do some real damage. I really didn’t care much for our name, though. The Bullpups sure didn’t make us sound very tough!

It felt a little weird being thrown together with guys who’d attended different grade schools, but we all got along for the most part. Kilian wasn’t particularly big but had good acceleration and hit the line like a freight train, so Coach assigned him to be our halfback. Knox was amazingly quick and had better football instincts than the rest of us, so he was chosen to be our safety and captain of the defense. The Sitzmann twins, who I swear had grown two sizes since baseball season ended, were to be our defensive tackles, while Brooks McElroy, who’d attended Franklin Elementary—I’d never met him before—was probably the toughest kid on the squad and was to anchor our defensive line at nose guard. Since he had such a good arm, I thought Tommy Parrick might try out for quarterback, but for some reason, he wanted to play center, so our seventh-grade coach, Mr. Trotter, reluctantly assigned him to that position. It turned out to be a good choice, because whenever he blocked, he could really move them out. Me, I was lucky enough to be assigned to play on both sides of the ball, defensive end and wide receiver. Luckily, neither one of those positions required much hand-eye coordination, just a lot of speed. Anyway, the Orioles were well represented. Unfortunately, we were going to have to deal with Steve Taylor, the biggest hot dog in town. He was selected to be our starting quarterback.

At the same time football conditioning was going on, the Plymouth County Fair was being held. People claimed it was the second-biggest county fair in the state, and this year they were expecting a record crowd. The Boy Scouts had a food stand set up in an area with heavy foot traffic, right between the Midway and the largest 4-H building. Unfortunately, it was also right next to the 4-H food stand. We tried our best to make a competition out of it, to see who could sell the most food, but it didn’t take us long to realize we were way out of our league. All we sold were basic things like hot dogs, potato chips, pop, and candy. They served all those items plus hamburgers fresh off the grill, breaded pork tenderloin sandwiches, french fries, and homemade pie. Plus, their stand was twice as big as ours and even had seating in the shade. We promised each other not to buy anything from them, but it proved harder than we thought. Who doesn’t love pork tenderloin sandwiches and apple pie? We were fortunate to have a loyal following and were able to sell enough items to make it fun, and the proceeds helped pay for a couple of camping trips.

I had attended the fair every summer for as long as I could remember, but I could swear there was something different about it this year. The sky seemed clearer, the colors brighter, and the people happier—more lighthearted. One of the carnival stands was selling helium balloons, and practically every little kid walking by held on to one, adding to the festive atmosphere. I leaned over the counter and smiled as I watched people walk by, talking and laughing as multicolored balloons floated high in the air. I had to remind myself that if the High Council hadn’t been able to destroy two sources of powerful evil earlier that summer, none of this would have been possible. It made me realize what a huge responsibility it was to be High Druid of Earth. Even though I wasn’t able to call up much of the earth’s energy on my own, I couldn’t have been happier. All that would come with time. I just needed to be patient.

I have saved the most amazing piece of news for last. When the fire marshals finished examining the burned-out remains of the Union Hotel, they discovered the remains of six bodies, later identified by Dr. Mooney as belonging to some of the missing persons whose cases had stretched out over several years. They were able to close all six cases but weren’t able to find any remains of Rolf Wagner, which came as no surprise to me after watching Fluffy and Walter tear his body to shreds and Mr. D conjure up a powerful fire storm that burned the hotel down on top of him. The fire was written off as an accident, most likely due to a faulty gas line in Wagner’s apartment, so as far as the authorities were concerned, the case was closed.

The city was anxious to put the incident behind them, so when the investigation was completed, the site was bulldozed over and turned into an empty lot for future development. It wasn’t long before a group of city leaders came up with the idea to recruit a big-name retailer to move to Le Mars. Whoever decided to take them up on their offer would get the lot for free, with a promise that their store would be built by local contractors at cost and guaranteed to be completed in less than two months. Our local paper referred to it as The Deal of the Century.

You wouldn’t believe all the excitement that followed. The Martinezes were a wealthy family who were able to escape from the Communist revolution in Cuba. They were able to bring most of their money along with them and use it to establish a small chain of high-end department stores in southern Florida. Their youngest son wanted to strike out on his own, so he decided to take the town up on its offer.

As I write, Raphael’s department store is scheduled to have its grand opening in a little more than a week. It is going to be the biggest thing that has happened to our town since, well, since the hotel burned down. Their stores are rumored to be something special, better than anything Sioux City has to offer, and the townspeople can’t wait for the place to open its doors. If things go according to plan, Raphael’s might attract other businesses here and finally put the town on the map.

That might all be well and good, but the best part about the Martinezes moving to town has been Vanessa. I ran into her on the first day of class as she stood in front of her locker, a swarm of seventh graders separating us. She was different than any girl I’d ever met, slender and almost as tall as me, with long, wavy black hair and a bright-red flower stuck above her left ear. She wore glasses with thick black frames kind of like the ones Buddy Holly used to wear, a checkered yellow shirt, a long denim skirt, and dark-brown cowboy boots. She must have sensed I was watching her (I hoped I wasn’t staring like some clueless dope) in spite of all the noisy kids milling around her locker, because she suddenly looked my way and flashed a smile, her dark-brown eyes sparkling. I couldn’t believe it. The most beautiful girl I’d ever seen had just smiled at me!

Before I even had a chance to say hi, Steve Taylor and his posse of jerks walked up and surrounded her, and to my complete surprise, they started making fun of the way she was dressed. What a bunch of jerks! That wonderful smile rapidly faded from her face, and just as she was about to say something back, I walked over and positioned myself between them. Steve gave me a shove for sticking my nose in his business, knocking me back into one of the lockers, hard enough to cause its door to rattle. Then his eyes suddenly widened, and he gave out a yelp. He spun around to see who had been stupid enough to kick him in the rear end and was surprised to discover no one was there. That pissed him off even more, but luckily first bell rang. No one wanted to be late on our first day, so the crowd broke up and we all started heading off to class. Vanessa hung back and asked if I was OK, told me how brave she thought I was, and rewarded me with a smile that seemed to light up the hallway. I managed to mumble that I was fine and apologized for the way those idiots had treated her. She just shrugged, gave me a mysterious smile, and told me not to worry. She was more than capable of dealing with losers like that.

As everyone turned and headed off for class, I found myself floating on cloud nine. Vanessa and I were walking in the same direction, which meant we were going to be in the same block of time class. They were trying out a new method of teaching this year that involved us spending half of our day with the same teacher. If my assumption was correct, it looked like I’d be spending the first three hours of every school day with Vanessa. I couldn’t believe my luck!

We walked through the class door just as second bell sounded and took the only empty seats, located near the back of the room, right next to each other. Mr. Klemme, who was supposedly the most popular teacher in the entire school, was standing behind his desk, so I knew I was on a legendary lucky streak. Then I noticed Taylor sitting in the front row with a couple of guys from the football team. There were almost two hundred kids in my grade, and I had managed to get stuck in the same block of time class with that butthead. Maybe I wasn’t so lucky after all.

Steve and his buddies started whispering and giggling about something, then turned around, gave Vanessa and me nasty looks, and stuck out their tongues like a bunch of second graders. How incredibly lame. Mr. Klemme rapped his knuckles on his desk to get everyone’s attention, and as soon as Taylor turned to face the front of the room, he slapped the back of his neck and grimaced, acting as if he’d just been stung by a bee. I heard someone giggle, looked around, and realized it was Vanessa. She turned my way, holding a hand over her mouth to stifle a laugh. It might have been my imagination, but I could have sworn she’d just cast some kind of magical spell. As if she couldn’t be any cooler!

Chapter 2

The Bates

September 1966

Augustus Bates, a powerful warlock, stood in front of the old colony farmstead, admiring all the progress being made in repairing the damage those meddling Druids had inflicted that past summer. He had to admit he was mostly to blame, forgetting what those fools were capable of doing. In his defense, he hadn’t felt them push against him for quite some time, like they usually did whenever he and his cult performed ceremonies that called forth evil spirits. He had foolishly convinced himself they’d finally lost interest in him and his wicked activities. The extent of the damage they’d caused had come as a complete surprise. Not only had they destroyed half the farm; they had also managed to wipe out the coven of witches that it had taken him years to recruit and indoctrinate. He hoped he wasn’t losing his edge, because his carelessness had come with a high cost.

His family had originally joined the English colony back in the 1870s, shortly after it was first established, but the main reason they immigrated was a bit different than it’d been for those high and mighty Druids. True, his family had left England to escape persecution, just like the Druids had, but their reasons were a bit more pressing. The local authorities were closing in on their operation and getting ready to throw them all in jail. You see, his family came from a long line of witches dating back to the 1400s, a time when serious witch persecutions first began. One of his distant ancestors who lived in those dangerous times had been a powerful warlock and had discovered a way to conjure up a demon from some dark, forgotten realm, then hold sway over him with a simple word of power. That word, handed down through generations of Bateses, was so powerful that the old man was nervous to even think about it.

In order to keep their connection to this monster strong, someone from their tight-knit family was required to conjure up the demon several times a year, preferably on a night when the moon was full, and bring him back to their dimension. During these visits he would be asked to perform some unpleasant task and then be rewarded with a few hours of freedom to do whatever he pleased. When the sun came up, he was forced to return to his dark and twisted world. Whenever an important ceremony was held, his family needed to be prepared to sacrifice a human soul. Luckily, such a sacrifice wasn’t required very often—only when they asked the creature to perform a particularly onerous task. But too many people had been disappearing, and the folks back in Wales were growing suspicious.

So when someone in the family discovered the Close brothers were recruiting people to move to the States, they jumped at the chance. His grandfather, uncles, and their families decided to risk everything they had and left their ancestral homes for places unknown. The move proved to be wise, and the Bates family prospered, at least at the beginning. But as the world around them changed, the number of clan members residing in the colony gradually dwindled, and eventually only Augustus and his son, Charles, were left. The farm was remote so they were left pretty much alone and were still able to call forth their demon to help out with some of their more successful spells. Like the pestilence they’d released on the children in town just months before. Bates would never forget how the demon had come to the aid of his family when he had kidnapped two newborn infants to serve as surrogate children for his son and his wife, Paula. Augustus didn’t know how he had managed to pull it off, but the Bates family would remain forever in his debt.

Charles and Paula were unable to have children of their own, and since children were counted on to pitch in with all the never-ending work on a farm, their family needed to come up with a solution. So several years ago, after gathering their cult members together under a particularly bright harvest moon, Charles lit a massive bonfire. When it was burning brightly, sparks floating high in the air, Augustus uttered the dreaded word that would summon Draven from his dark and evil realm so he could request his aid.

No matter how many times he performed the ceremony, Augustus was never able to overcome the gut-wrenching fear that washed over him when Draven made his terrorizing appearance, popping out of the thin air enveloped in a dense cloud of gray fog. He always looked the same, dressed in a glistening black cape with two short swords stuck in his belt. A pair of wings darker than the night sprouted from his back and fanned out on either side of him. And his head was massive, covered by thick, smoky gray skin stretched tightly over his face, with two curved ram horns protruding from the top of his skull. Whenever he spoke his head would tilt back and his rictus smile would reveal a row of sharp, jagged, teeth. The aura of death surrounding him was palpable, forcing anyone present to take a step or two back.

Fortunately, it didn’t take long for them to reach a mutual agreement. After sacrificing one of their newest disciples, who kicked and screamed as Draven proceeded to slit her throat with his curved knife, breathing in her life essence as he did, he agreed to search for a suitable candidate. Several weeks later, on a frosty autumn morning, Augustus found a straw basket propped up next to the front door and was overcome with joy when he peeked inside and discovered it held two identical newborn babies. They were considerably smaller than most newborn infants and had finer features, with slightly pointy chins and ears, so Augustus figured Draven must have kidnapped two infant elves and transformed them