Children of the Eighth Realm

By T. W. Jacobs

The orphans of Halfer Home harbor little hope for the future. Despised by their human and elf minders alike, most will end up in prison or dead once they leave the orphanage. If they’re among the few magical Mimics, the outcome could be grimmer still.

The enchanted Home loves them, but that can be as deadly as its hatred. It holds the key to an alternate reality known as dreamtime. There, entire lifetimes are lived within a few hours, and the “children” are more ancient than the elves. Still, not even the most powerful of the Mimics can remain in dreamtime forever.

The sudden appearance of a mysterious door offers hope where there was none before. It also spawns acts of shocking violence as loyalties falter and rivalries explode. When vengeful elves arrive, the halfers find themselves battling for freedom and their lives.

Time is running out for the Door to open before a growing number of enemies succeeds in destroying the Mimics. With the bloodthirsty Home determined to keep them and old scores to settle, can they escape before they tear each other apart?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Tracy St. John
• Release date: Apr 26, 2023
• ISBN: 9781940294490

T. W. Jacobs

T. W. Jacobs began writing stories while still in grade school. Her professional writing career has included government law enforcement training film scripts, marketing material for a casino, and cheesy television ads for car dealerships. Her writing has been affectionately dubbed as ‘genre-bending’ because much like her life, it doesn’t fit neatly in any category. She resides in Brunswick, Georgia, with her husband and son.

Book preview

CHILDREN OF THE EIGHTH REALM

By

T. W. Jacobs

© copyright February 2023, T. W. Jacobs

Cover art by Erin Dameron-Hill, © copyright February 2023

This is a work of fiction. All characters, events, and places are of the author’s

imagination and not to be confused with fact. Any resemblance to living persons or

events is merely coincidence.

Smashwords Edition

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

To my favorite magical guy, Jacob. May you find your perfect world.

TABLE OF CONTENTS

A Word of Warning

Preview: The Basement

Part One: The Mimics

1. The New Orphan Arrives

2. Sleepwalker

3. The Shower Incident

4. Demiurge

5. Enigma Goes on a Journey

6. Visitation

7. Succession

8. Sage

9. Beast and Our Boy

10. Mother

11. Beautiful

12. Our Boy’s Abduction

Part Two: Dreamtime

1. To Do

2. Gathering in the Cemetery

3. Christmas

4. Sleep’s Dreamtime

5. To Do’s Dream

6. Altercation

7. The Prince

8. The Door

9. Large

10. The Basement

Part Three: The Door

1. The Chairman

2. Of Elves and Home

3. Settling Scores

4. The Chairman’s Nephew

5. Tension

6. Shopping

7. Death

8. The Day Before

9. The Last Day

10. Aftermath

The Ninth Realm

1. Arrival

2. Beast and Our Boy

3. Enigma

4. Mother

5. Sage

6. A Return to the Eighth

Acknowledgments

About the Author

A Word of Warning

Like its creator, Halfer Home has lived many lives, few of them happy. You have to understand, it eats those it loves. Its floors, its walls—hell, its very foundation—are soaked in blood. I should know. I’ve given more than enough of my blood to it. I do so to make myself a part of it for as long as I’m required, for those who need me to use it to protect them and protect them from it.

Truth be told, I’d sooner cut your throat than my own. I didn’t set out to be a martyr. Yet I make this sacrifice without hesitation. To do so is to spit in the faces of those who put me, and those like me, in this position.

Maybe it’s for nothing. After all, hope is a smirking, cold-blooded creature, killing us an inch at a time with promises it seldom keeps. Sometimes it does keep them, though. So I bleed, and I dare to hope.

All I ask is that you accept my sacrifice. Live as many lives as you can before it’s your turn to feed the Home.

Preview: The Basement

Two weeks and three days until departure

The chief of the Syracuse Bureau of Elven Enforcement didn’t know which was worse: the sound of blood dripping to the floor in steady plonks or the retching of the other officers. He’d emptied his own stomach on the Home’s rock-strewn excuse for a lawn. This was the worst crime scene in his career. In any cop’s career.

He held his coat sleeve to his nose and breathed through his mouth as he surveyed the horrific scene in the orphanage’s basement. Even after several hours, his brain denied what his eyes told him.

This can’t be real. Yet it was. So real that no one else could confront it. The half dozen officers who’d manned up sufficiently to stay in the basement kept their backs to the game room.

It was as if some psychotic director had staged every slasher film finale in a single room. Blobs of meat scattered across the pool table’s surface. The same with the assorted card tables and chairs and snack bar. More blobs stuck to the wall. The chief had spotted a couple identifiable body parts in the mess: half a forearm with a hand attached. A pointed ear. All was cast in the gruesome shade of scarlet, thanks to the gore-covered lighting fixtures. He swallowed the burning tide that rushed up his throat.

The creak of the stairs was a welcome distraction, though the chief doubted the long-absent forensics team was making a fourth attempt to do its job. He turned from the abattoir, wondering why he was able to cope better than the rest. He’d no doubt pay the price later. He was in for months of nightmares.

Years of nightmares.

One of his sergeants nodded in respect as he descended. The tawny-eyed elf stopped on the bottom step and came no closer. His gaze flicked to the doorway behind the chief and away again. The sun’s up, sir.

I’m happy for it. The chief winced and tried for a milder tone. It’s been a long night. Do you have news for me?

Eleven boys and three counselors are unaccounted for. Could all that be from fourteen people?

The missing children. How old?

Teenagers. Fifteen or older.

The chief supposed that was something. Not much, but the thought of the younger children of the Home torn into misshapen blobs would have brought on another round of heaving. Even halfers didn’t deserve this. He couldn’t imagine any living being heinous enough to deserve what had happened the night before.

Except perhaps the murderous fiend behind it.

Plonk. Plonk. Plonk. Hours afterward, the blood continued to drip. The sound would follow him the rest of his life.

Not bothering to hide his sarcasm, the chief said, How lucky for us that the new law putting halfers under elven jurisdiction passed two days ago. Just in time for us to deal with this mess.

Sir? The sergeant’s gaze flickered toward the game room. Away again.

Have the orphans been confined to their dormitories?

As you ordered. We’re doublechecking who’s who.

The bonfire outside?

Extinguished.

Have we tracked down the administrators and counselors?

A couple. That’s where I got the names of the missing adults. Otherwise, no one’s talking.

The chief almost pitied the terrified humans who’d been in charge. After the call had come in from local law enforcement, it had taken him and his men three hours to travel from the bureau in Syracuse, New York, to reach Peak Valley Children’s Home. In that time, the staff had abandoned the halfers. They probably hadn’t looked back. The chief had arrived to find one frightened human cop guarding the crime scene.

Given the state of the basement game room, the humans who’d run the orphanage had every reason to be hysterical with fear. It had bolstered resolve to not answer questions, no matter how exacting the interrogation methods.

It wouldn’t keep the chief from trying. Get warrants to bring them and any of the others we can find in for questioning.

What of the boys? There’s some question as to feeding them.

Call for catering, but they’re to eat in their dorms. I’ll begin interviewing them shortly. Someone had to know which of the monsters possessed the kind of magic that had ripped apart fourteen people.

Sir? If this is the sort of magic we’d see from a…if it’s what it appears to be…can we handle it? The sergeant stuttered through the mangled question, taking a step up as if ready to run as the humans had.

A chill passed through the chief. He swallowed and decided against answering. This is a matter for the highest office. Find me a direct number so I can talk to the chairman of the North American Council of Elves. Him, not his sycophants.

Behind him, the steady sound of unfathomable death continued, as if it would never end.

Plonk.

Plonk.

Part One: The Mimics

If an elf sullies himself with the race of humans, his wealth shall be forfeit to the council. Any progeny which springs from the foul union shall be put to death upon its birth or discovery.

-Fifth century elvish law, as set forth by the European Council of Elves

"I’m pleased to announce the amendment to spare the lives of the hybrid offspring of elves and humans, popularly referred to as ‘halfers,’ has been passed by our council. The amendment to spare the lives of magically-inclined hybrid offspring of elves and humans, often referred to as ‘mimics,’ has also passed, with the exception of those deemed supremely dangerous; to be specific, those mimics who possess the abilities of mindreading, leveling, and borrowing the magical abilities of others."

-From Chairman Welhon’s 1902 address to the United States Human Congress, announcing the first amendment to the Unlawful Progeny Law, passed by the North American Council of Elves

1. The New Orphan Arrives

One year, nine months until first departure

Here we are. Probably not the prettiest place you’ve seen, but it’s not so bad. Plenty of other boys live here. You’ll have tons of friends. The social worker spoke fast, his words tumbling over themselves, as if to convince himself rather than the boy who sat next to him in the sedan’s front seat.

The social worker was among the few who’d treated the raven-haired boy with kindness. Young and idealistic, he’d gone out of his way to do right by the new orphan. It had made such a mark, the boy at first didn’t pay any attention to the structure they’d pulled up to. Instead, he kept his sapphire gaze on the man, who appeared much older than he had a week ago when they’d met.

I could stay with you. His voice was as raw as his heart.

I don’t blame you, kid. It would be great to turn the car around and drive as far from that as I could. Unfortunately, it would land me in jail, and you’d be stuck here anyway.

The man’s gaze remained riveted on the orphanage. They’d driven past a slanted board half a mile back, nailed to a post that had been stabbed into the rocky valley floor. The board had identified their destination as Peak Valley Children’s Home. It would be the boy’s residence until he reached his eighteenth birthday. Almost no one adopted halfers.

The child swallowed as the man’s face blurred. You sound mad.

Not at you. I wanted to make a difference when I took this gig, not warehouse kids and write endless reports.

He finally glanced at the boy and managed a smile that was more a grimace.

Sorry. Don’t mind my gibberish. I’m exhausted from the drive. Bet you are too.

The boy wasn’t, however. He was too frightened to feel tired. He’d been ready to snap from the tension for days. Only the social worker’s kindness had kept him from doing so. That was coming to an end, and an unimaginable void stretched before him. He wanted to scream.

Instead, he said in a defeated tone, Please don’t leave me.

The social worker’s expression said he wanted to scream too. Sorry, kid. Let’s get this over with.

In a flurry of motion, the man swung the door open and jumped out. The boy was left with no option but to follow him.

He peered at the grounds and the huge building he’d been brought to, and a little of his panic subsided. Not all of it, but enough to keep him from bursting into the tears that constantly threatened.

The valley between the stark mountains wasn’t pretty. That much the social worker had correct. Scraggly rocks scattered over dusty ground where sparse bunches of weeds struggled for purchase. Most of the landscape was gray under a dour sky. It smelled dry and dusty, similar to an abandoned attic.

The boy turned his attention to the five-story building, which seemed to have erupted from the stony ground. The orphanage was big, wider than it was tall. It should have been intimidating.

It towered over its ground floor, which had a roomy, if dilapidated, porch. The second and third floor bulged outward, the white paint separating in places. It reminded the boy of how a fat man’s shirt strained at the buttons, splitting the fabric. In contrast, the orphanage’s top two floors squeezed smaller than those below. Odd, as if the builders had mistakenly built the second and third floors too big, then run out of building materials and had to make do for the final two floors.

Despite its monolithic stature and awkward lines, the boy’s fears eased. He sensed the building was interested in him. Could a structure feel emotions? Though his sight insisted otherwise, it leaned toward him. Its edges tried to curve, inviting him into a hug that would restore the security he’d once known.

Come to me, my child. Let me hold you.

It’s a nice place, he decided, tucking a wayward lock of hair behind his pointed ear.

Yeah? The man sounded surprised. He pulled the garbage bag with the boy’s clothes and a worn teddy bear from the car’s backseat. Sure, you’ll do well here. Nothing to be afraid of.

He headed for the orphanage, and the boy followed. When the social worker’s feet dragged slower and slower, creeping to the front steps, the young halfer glanced up at him questioningly.

The man saw him do it. He shook himself and sped up. Seconds later, he rang the bell.

The door, its paint peeling in tandem with the rest of the Home, swung open. A man whose beet-red face perched atop the roundest body the boy had ever encountered, peered down at him. It was then the child knew not all who dwelled within were as kind as the Home.

All right, bring him in.

The social worker gave the boy a worried glance. It was the child who led the way through the door.

He was disappointed by the foyer. It wasn’t as warm or welcoming as he’d imagined it would be. Well-lit, it reminded him of the entrance to the opulent home his mother had cleaned, without the fancy expensive furnishings or fine marble floor.

White walls sporting unimaginative framed prints offered few clues. A flight of stairs led up and turned a corner so their destination couldn’t be spied upon. To the boy’s right sat a battered desk, behind which a gray-haired woman sat. She squinted at him through black-framed glasses, frowned, and pounded at an old-fashioned black typewriter.

The social worker set down the garbage bag of clothes and dug into the briefcase he’d carried in. Here’s his file.

Instead of taking the offered thumb drive, the red-faced administrator of Peak Valley Children’s Home stared at the boy for several seconds. The boy felt small before the stare, though he was almost as tall as the two men.

I won’t cry. Not in front of that unsympathetic gaze, a regard he was all too familiar with.

Meanwhile the social worker attempted a bit of friendliness on the woman. Wow. I haven’t seen any of those old Royals anywhere but antique shops. You’ve got some of the special kids who foul up electronics, huh?

She gave him no answer, typing harder and louder than before.

Sit while I speak to your social worker, Red Face ordered the boy, pointing to a wooden chair against the wall. He waved the man toward the closest door off the lobby. Come in, and we’ll sign the forms.

Be back in a few. Behave yourself, the social worker told the boy. He winked, but there was no joy in his expression. Just pity.

The child sat and watched his sole ally disappear into the office. The door closed.

A minute later, the woman got up from her desk and went through a nearby door. Her heels clicked like the typewriter as she walked. She closed the door behind her, leaving the boy alone without speaking a word to him. He doubted she’d looked at him once.

He gawked at his surroundings. He hoped to rediscover the sense of comfort he’d gotten from the outside of the massive five-story house. The sensation had disappeared the moment he’d stepped inside.

He heard whispers coming from the stairs. A giggle. Shushing.

Three boys peeked from around the corner, where the stairs curved to regions unknown. They had pointed ears like his, bared by crewcuts. Two sported brighter-than-human eyes. One had a runny nose. The biggest of the group waved him closer.

He’d never met fellow halfers before. His heart leapt. He slid off the chair, hitched his jeans higher on his slim waist, and hurried across the wood plank flooring. Within seconds, he was halfway up the first group of stairs. The faces above him disappeared.

Wait!

As he ascended, the warmth he’d expected downstairs enfolded him. Here was the greeting he’d thought the orphanage wished to give, among the residents on the upper floors. He climbed quicker and turned the corner.

It was there that the graffiti began, the clean walls of the first floor ending in penciled names, penned foul words, drawings crude and accomplished, and dirty handprints. The boy paid little attention to them, until one sentence, painted in red letters half his height, screamed at him.

Are you with me or against me?

Up here, newbie.

The halfers waited for him on the second-floor landing. The boy slowed, examining his fellow orphans as he ascended.

The biggest must have been close to his own age. He had all the physical traits of an elf, except for the shorn hair and bulkier build. Pointed ears, nose, and chin. Long limbs that might have been elegant beneath the long sleeves of his sweatshirt and jeans. His white eyes glittered. He wore a silver chain around his neck with dozens of dog tags glinting in the yellow light of a grimy overhead lightbulb.

The pair on either side of him were dark-haired and younger. The snotty kid had human-dull eyes and elf-sharp teeth. The other had a hooked nose and freckles.

They refused to budge as the boy reached the landing, forcing him to squeeze against the wall to join them. He stood before the trio as they inspected him.

The obvious leader looked the boy up and down. Newbie. How’d your mom die?

A lump filled the boy’s throat. She got sick.

That doesn’t make you special here.

I figured. It’s an orphanage.

You think you’re smart?

The boy shrugged. No answer would be correct. He’d dealt with bullies in his short life, and bullies were what faced him now. It was depressing he’d have to put up with harassment among his own kind.

The big kid gave him a shove, the precursor to harsher blows. The ritual of aggression had commenced. I bet they put you in my dorm. I get all the losers. He sneered at the snotty kid. Snotty ducked his head and kicked the floor.

White Eyes focused his attention on the new boy once more. I’m Large, leader of the Regimentals. You belong to me, and you’ll shape up or get hurt. You can start by kissing my feet, newbie.

His minions snickered.

The boy glanced toward the stairs rather than the worn sneakers he was supposed to smooch. Large moved, cutting off that avenue of escape. I don’t repeat my orders. Last chance.

Bullies rarely expected a frontal attack when they were bigger and had the numbers. A risky proposition, effective about fifty percent of the time in the new boy’s experience. The losing fifty meant a nasty beatdown, but it was his preferred course of action.

He lunged. His hands slammed against Large’s chest and sent him reeling. Large crashed against the grimy wall after almost falling down the stairs. Before he recovered from the shove, his would-be victim took off down the hall.

The corridor twisted like a maze. Numerous closed doors interrupted the cramped graffiti that crawled over every inch of vertical surface. The boy raced as fast as his legs would take him, the thunder of his pursuers close behind. He ran and ran, not daring to slow, though he gasped for air.

Faster. Don’t stop. As if the Home had whispered to him, the boy understood if he tried any of the doors, Large and his lackeys would catch him. Whoever was inside those rooms wouldn’t interfere.

The crooked hall seemed to have no end, until the end was suddenly there. The boy bounced off the window that erupted before him. He fell to the floor. There was a set of stairs several yards away, down yet another bend in the zigzag hallway. From the sound of stomping feet drawing closer, he wouldn’t reach them before Large caught up.

One door offered escape, a thin access to the boy’s right. It was no more than a supply closet, judging from the size, but it was his last hope. He jumped up and twisted the knob. It refused to turn. Locked.

He glared at the doorknob in his fist, and tumblers clicked. He flung it open. With the floorboards shaking as Large raced closer, he sprang into the room, closed the door, and locked it once more. He leaned his slight weight against the flimsy barricade.

Who are you?

He drew a startled intake of breath as he wheeled to confront the closet’s occupant. In dim light from a tiny, dirty window, he saw a boy smaller than himself. Same as Large, he had silver hair and white eyes.

This fellow’s hair was long, past his shoulders. In contrast to Large’s light tan, his skin was rich sienna, making his hair and eyes blinding in comparison.

He sat cross-legged on a narrow bed, as if he were the world’s smallest yogi. He wore a robe, that exposed his narrow chest. He stared at the boy, his expression unreadable.

Please, the boy whispered. I don’t want them to find me.

Thunderous fists pounded on the other side of the door. Come out of there! He’s ours, Sleepwalker. Shove him out, and I’ll let this pass.

The new boy moaned, sure the little guy would let Large in. His companion’s eyes shifted slightly, glancing at the door the boy leaned against. His stony expression remained unchanged. They won’t come in here.

I pushed the guy who’s yelling. He said he’s the leader.

The silver-haired boy uttered a sound, a chuckle or a snort. He’s leader of the Regimentals. He’s a dull, nothing special. You made him pretty mad, shoving him in front of his stooges. His piping voice rose. Quit it, Large. You’re bothering me.

The thuds ended. I’ll bother you a lot more, freak.

Head still wonders who burned Eagle.

A growl answered. After a few seconds, footsteps stomped away. The boy gaped at his savior in disbelief. Large was giving up?

The silver-haired stranger cocked his head. Never underestimate the power of blackmail. Let’s get back to you. The door was locked.

Locks don’t work against me.

After a long pause, his rescuer uttered a sigh. The boy couldn’t tell if it was in relief or disappointment. Fine. You can stay here tonight.

Large mentioned me staying in a dorm. They gave you a room of your own?

The Home did. The Home knows me. He searched the boy’s face. I’m Sleepwalker. Call me Sleep, for short.

That’s your name? As silence spun out on the other side of the door, the boy dared to move to the middle of the room…if such a tiny space could be called that. The miniscule bed and rack on which hung a few clothes left the area almost too tight to turn in.

Sleep is my dub. Like a knight of the realm? I dub thee Sir Something-or-Another.

Large has a dub too.

Everyone does. Sooner or later, you’ll get one.

I can’t use my real name? It’s—

Don’t say it. From the moment you set foot in the Home, you ceased to be that person. The life you had before is over. Forget it.

The boy stared at him. Forget his name? The life he’d had with his mother? A fresh round of tears threatened.

It came to him in a rush: he had to escape this place.

On the heels of that thought, warmth surrounded him. The hurt eased, though he couldn’t have imagined how.

The Home likes you. Sleep’s eyes narrowed.

It does? The boy thought of the orphanage leaning toward him, the notion it had invited him into its embrace. The guy in charge and the woman with the typewriter. Those boys—

Dulls, I told you. The Home keeps them in their place, but they’ll get their licks in. You have to prove yourself, even if the Home likes you.

It’s alive? The idea terrified and enthralled in equal measure.

Sort of. More all the time as it tries to break its chains.

I don’t understand.

It’ll come. Sleep considered. Or maybe it won’t. Wouldn’t that be my luck? Stuck with a kid who’s thick.

You look younger than me. The boy scowled.

I should. My birth certificate says I’m eleven.

I’ll be thirteen next month. That puts me in charge.

Sleepwalker snickered, as if he’d made a joke. Then he sobered again. Listen newbie, I need to digest the situation and consult with someone who’ll want to know about you. Do your best to not be a pain in my ass. Okay?

The boy blinked, more at the adult manner his companion spoke with than the profanity. Sleepwalker was weird in ways he couldn’t quite grasp but made him uneasy. Yet if it was between this long-haired halfer and Large…

I’ll try.

There was a long stretch of silence between them. The boy wanted to move, but he wasn’t sure where he should go. The bed belonged to Sleep, but if he were to stay, they’d have to share. Wouldn’t they? The boy had a vision of himself huddled in the corner under the clothes that hung from the rack. He’d be a forgotten bit of debris swept out of the way.

Tears threatened. He wanted his mother. He wanted to go home.

Did you bring any belongings? Sleep’s sharp tone roused him.

I left my stuff downstairs. I was supposed to sit and wait. No doubt he was in trouble with the red-faced man already.

Sleep unwound his legs and slid off the bed. The top of his head came to the older youth’s chin. Yet Sleep moved with considered deliberation, unlike a child. He shrugged off the robe and replaced it with a stained sweatshirt.

He unlocked the door and walked out. The boy hesitated before edging to the opening and peered after him. No sign of Large or his minions, but they could be waiting around the corner. Sleep rounded it and disappeared. When he didn’t shout in surprise or pain, the boy followed.

He turned the corner in time to see Sleep vanish behind the next. Trying to catch up, he hurried past a half-opened door on his right, which sported a sign. He noted the first letters R-e-g before it swung wide and Large lunged at him.

His arm numbed from the punch that landed on his bicep. Large clenched a handful of his hair and threw him to the wooden floor. His forehead rapped the planks, sending stars across his vision. He offered a muffled squeak as a kick jabbed his side. Breath exploded from his lungs.

Pain came all at once from various places. The boy curled his body tight in defense as blows hammered him.

When his yells grew loud, Large ended the assault. The boy peered at his tormentor through clumps of black hair that had fallen over his eyes. Large sneered in the yellow light of the bare bulb overhead, the graffiti-strewn wall a dingy backdrop for his triumph.

Stay strong, the wall advised.

Justice can be delayed but not avoided, Large proclaimed. The boys at his back jeered, then hurried into their dorm when he turned to them. He followed, and the door slammed shut behind him.

It took a minute before the boy noted Sleep stood near, watching him. The silver-haired child was silent, his features emotionless.

The boy sat up, brushing filth from his tee shirt. No blood. He swiped his running eyes and nose on his sleeve. He stood and trudged after Sleep, who led him down the crooked hall lit by the naked lightbulbs that weren’t blown dark.

We couldn’t use the stairs next to your room? The boy tried not to sound bitter. After all, what could Sleep have done against the bigger Large? He’d been right to stay clear.

It was best to let Large get that nonsense out of his system. The longer it took for him to catch you, the worse it would’ve been.

The boy’s back, arms, and legs throbbed where the punches and kicks had landed. Sleep had a point, however. He’d been beaten up worse by the kids in his school.

With the attack done, the boy took in the crooked corridor. Doors that had been closed before were wide open, exposing dorms filled with boys and beds. It was quiet in most, not as rowdy as he’d have expected from large groups of kids. Children were busy coloring in one room. Pages of brightly hued scribbles papered its walls.

The Arts, Sleep informed him. Their minds are shattered after taking wrong turns in other places. They aren’t bad enough for Psych. None are particularly violent.

He identified the next dorm as belonging to the Brains. They keep a toehold on the real world with their puzzles and books. Not as far gone as the Arts. They’re a decent bunch, for dulls. Not as fussy as the Elites, who dote on table settings and proper manners.

One dorm displayed the boisterous energy the boy expected from pre-adolescents. Cheers and groans chorused as Sleep and the boy drew level with the Jocks’ dorm, within sight of the front stairs.

Are they gambling? The boy stared at the youths who clustered on their knees in the middle of the floor. Dice clattered across the planks, setting off another round of celebration and disgust.

The Jocks’ favorite pastime. They’ll leave you alone if Large keeps after you. It isn’t sporting to pound on someone else’s designated victim.

Was he marked for further attacks from Large? The urge to stop where he was and cry washed over the boy. The years he was to be stuck in the orphanage stretched long before him. A sense of hopelessness weighed heavy.

He might have given into it, but the scent of woods and a warm flush, similar to his mother’s hug, chased the despair away. Steadied, he sought the source of the pine aroma and enveloping comfort.

The corner of Sleep’s lips twitched. Told you the Home liked you.

The heart-stirring scent and warmth faded as the boy descended the staircase after his companion, but he felt buoyed just the same. If the Home cared, maybe he’d be all right.

They found his trash bag of clothes, still sitting next to the abandoned chair. The red-faced head administrator was waiting to reprimand the boy for wandering off. He went from rosy to pale pink when he saw Sleep. Keeping a nervous eye on the silver-haired halfer, he gave the new boy his dorm assignment (Regimental), work assignment (sweeping the porches and steps for five cents a day), and class assignments. Once he was done, the man retreated to his office, leaving the boys to their own devices.

The boy whispered to Sleepwalker, Do I have to move in with Large’s bunch?

"I said you could stay with me for now.