“SHADOW! LIGHT! NOW!” I shout harder and more forcefully than does justice to the enormous relief I feel because she’s still alive! Without any comment or protest, the lights come back on and there they stand, in the middle of the room, Shadow and Slug. I suppress the urge to hug them. No time for dramatic reunions. Gnat is mortally wounded and the noise coming from the hallway is alarming. It’s a genuine war out there, but I don’t care, right now, it’s not my war, I have to save Gnat. I have less than an hour to find Kwant.
Shadow’s eyes meet mine, calm as always, waiting for an explanation. Not the slightest hint of surprise, anxiety, or anger in them. How can she remain so collected, even now? Beside her stands Slug, and, as usual, it’s hard to tell if he’s fully aware of what’s happening around him.
But when she finally notices Gnat hanging limp in my arms, her face turns deathly pale. She opens her mouth, but Slug is first to speak. “What… is… wrong… with…” he trails off when Gnat softly moans as I lay him on the floor.
“No time, Robert. He has only one chance. We have to find Kwant.”
“Here?” Shadow finally regains her voice. “We’ve searched this classroom a hundred times and found nothing.”
“Then we’ll look again, and we’ll keep looking until we find something. A clue, a trace... something. Williams wouldn’t have brought us here if there was no hope at all. We have to... if we don’t, Gnat dies!”
Slug opens his mouth, but I cut him off. No time for slow-motion babbling, Slug. We’re in a hurry. Gnat coughs again. Despite the blood trickling from the corner of his mouth, he smiles. It only enrages me more.
“You stay out of this, you little mosquito. I’m trying to save you here.” The smile on his battered face only broadens until he starts coughing again, his body convulsing with pain.
“Yes, we are going to save you…” I repeat. We will… But mid-sentence, I realize I don’t even know how. Aside from the desk, the low cupboards, and the chalkboard on little wheels, the classroom is empty—exactly as we found it the second time we visited and every time since.
Then, finally, it dawns on my stubborn mind that we don’t have a chance. I was just too angry to see it. I’m like a frog puffing itself up to impress a dangerous attacker when, in truth, I’m utterly defenseless. It’s all bluff and bluster, and now that I’m out of options, I feel my energy drain away.
From the corridor, the sounds of battle and destruction grow louder and louder, occasionally pierced by screams of pain and anger. The entire building seems to be collapsing around this classroom. Maybe I should go outside and join them—go down fighting alongside everyone else. But when I try the door handle, there’s no familiar mechanical click; somehow, the door stays locked, for the first time since we tried it.
I glance at Gnat on the floor, a faint smile lingering on his lips, the color drained from his cheeks. There I stand, leaning against the door, motionless, as if paralyzed by the weight of the magnitude of my failure. Seconds pass, maybe minutes, until suddenly, Gnat’s body jerks violently, jolting me back to reality.
Slug starts talking again. This time, I don’t stop him. Why would I? It’s not like I have any ideas myself.
"Maybe... we... should... write... down... everything... to... see... if... something... stands... out..."
However underwhelming his idea might be, I’m too disillusioned to protest. Doing something is better than doing nothing, I guess. I search my pockets, looking for a pen that I didn’t bring, to write on a piece of paper I don’t have. I feel tired and foolish.
Shadow however seems undeterred. Without saying a word, she walks over to the blackboard and opens the box of crayons beneath it, making me feel even more foolish. Of course, we don’t need paper.
In her round, legible handwriting, she starts listing all the names connected to this mess, organizing them into two rows: “Allies” and “Enemies.” When she’s finished, she begins linking names from the left column to names on the right. Who’s confronted whom? Who has helped whom? After that, she starts jotting down what we know about Kwant, Perkins, Bleach, the wolfman, and all the others. She works quickly and systematically, but eventually, she slows down and turns to me.
"That journalist, Max, your grandmother, and that Balthazar... the other reality... I don’t know anything about that. You’ll need to fill those in."
I’ve been watching Shadow in awe this whole time. She has something I completely lack: perseverance. I’m more like a sprinter—or maybe better… a bomb. I expend all my energy in one big burst and am totally depleted afterward. Shadow is like a train; she just keeps going, never stopping. Maybe it has to do with her history, or maybe it’s just the way she’s wired. Without someone like Shadow by my side, I’d be breaking things half the time and spending the other half uselessly battling my own guilt and failure.
She hands me the piece of chalk, smiling encouragingly. "Alright then," I sigh, deciding to play along. I start writing, at first hesitantly, but gradually faster and with growing enthusiasm. Adding to Shadow’s schemes gives me a tingling sensation in my stomach. Organizing everything reveals more order in the madness than I had expected. Could it really be this simple? Just writing it down?
Ignoring the noise from the corridor and hoping Williams, Gran, and Bleach can hold out a bit longer, I continue. All the information I’ve gathered and stored in my mind spills onto the chalkboard in my undisciplined, chaotic scribble
I begin with my mother, of course I do, everything begins with my mother. And then everything else follows automatically: my youth, my constant anger and frustration, my father, his wheelchair, Gran, the burned-down farmhouse, the police and journalists, the Shadow World, Balthazar, reincarnation, Alice. I start seeing connections I hadn’t noticed before. Like Shadow, I begin drawing lines, linking people and events that once seemed unrelated. When the front of the chalkboard is completely covered, I turn it on its rubber wheels and start writing on the blank side.
I feel like an explorer charting unknown territory. I’m on the verge of discovering something—I can feel it—something that will help us. I’m not sure what yet, but my excitement is building.
“Eh... Max…”
“Not now Masulah. I’m about to…”
"No, Max! NOW!"
Reluctantly, I tear my eyes away from the chalkboard. "What?! I’m about to discover something!" But then I notice the strange, flickering light illuminating Shadow’s and Slug’s faces. I turn around, scanning for the source. The desk behind me is bathed in the same vibrant orange glow, yet I still can’t pinpoint where it’s coming from. Only when I catch the scent of burning wood and finally look down do I see that my entire body, including my clothes, is wrapped in a thin layer of flames. Around my feet, the floorboards are scorched in a perfectly blackened circle.
"Ow…" I stammer.
Gnat, still lying on the ground, laughs a very weak laugh. "Ha... ha... nice... work... Firefly." He's punished with a violent coughing fit that wracks his entire body.
"Keep out of it, spark-brain," I say as bluntly as possible, trying to disguise my worry. When I turn back to Shadow and Slug, I manage a slightly embarrassed smile, struggling to keep the blush to a minimum—without much success, as usual.
“You should have trained Max,” Shadow can’t help but say. I ignore it.
“The... chalk... board...” Slug begins.
“Yes, I know,” I snap back. “Don’t bother me...”
“To... the... right...” Slug insists. Shadow and I turn simultaneously to the only part of the chalkboard that’s still empty—only now, when I look closer, it’s not really empty at all. There is something. Not something written, but something erased. When you dry erase words on a chalkboard, a kind of ghost image lingers, visible only when viewed from precisely the right angle and with exactly the right light. My flames now cast the light that wasn’t there before, and suddenly, we can read the ghost of a big erased word written in all caps: CUPBOARDS.
In a reflex, I turn to the three low cupboards behind me—the ones we’ve searched unsuccessfully so many times and before I realize it, I set them ablaze. Flames flare up. Gnat moans, Shadow looks shocked. Slug’s smile slowly fades. And me? I can only watch as the flames slowly consume the cupboards, unable to stop them. The wood groans and moans in loud protest, but piercing through the noise, we hear three soft, mechanical clicks and without further warning, the cupboards pivot away from the wall into the classroom, dragging the chalkboard with them and smashing it against the opposite wall.
We barely register how unnaturally fast the flames extinguish when we stare at the heavy oak door now exposed in the open space where the cupboards stood only seconds ago, a few stone steps below us. From behind it, a gruff voice growls, “About time, damn it.” Then the heavy wooden door slowly creaks open.