“Thanks to you,” said the Master of Mind, “this kitchen was recorded during your session and is currently being analyzed by a team of my scribes. Notice the unwashed dishes, the dead plants. Notice the refrigerator – devoid of photographs and postcards.” She opened it to show the white shelves, nearly barren except for a few tupperwares. “Notice the lack of culinary effort.”

Tassadu nodded and politely jotted something down on a clipboard. Then, he said, “What do you mean we were already on our way?”

“The Master of Language has initiated the docking procedures,” said the Master of Mind, inspecting the mac and cheese boxes in the pantry. “Notice that the children are content with a monolithic diet and that their parents have done little to rectify this, aside from vitamins.” She held up a bottle of chewables.

“Sorry, what do you mean by docking procedures?” said Tassadu.

“Forgive me,” said the Master of Mind, barely containing impatience behind her mask of beauty. “You are familiar, no doubt, with the fact that the Fortress exists outside of normal space and time, yes?” Aissaba and Tassadu nodded. “And you are familiar enough with the Styx Protocol to know that we occasionally dilate time such that it passes much more slowly on Earth than it does here? Well, the docking procedure is the opposite. It ensures continuity between Fortress-side and Earth-side space and time. In short, walking out of the Fortress gates will take us wherever the Master of Maps decides is an appropriate ingress point in the state of Montana. The Fortress will remain docked until our mission is complete.”

Tassadu nodded politely as he wrote on his clipboard, Shit, this is serious, and tilted his secret message toward Aissaba.

“The Fortress’s ingress point,” said the Master of Mind, “will be somewhere equidistant between the children’s home and school. You may not bring pebbles. This is crucial.” She seemed to be looking quite specifically at Aissaba. “We cannot afford to allow even a single Fortress pebble to fall into the wrong hands. Can you imagine what the United States military would do if they discovered magic?” She shivered in horror. “Any and all Earth-side pebble use must be sanctioned and managed by whichever Master is stationed there. For the time being, that will be me. Understood?”

Aissaba knew that this would be an appropriate time to mention that Cassandra had one. But her mother’s voice in her mind was quite clear: “I’d recommend not mentioning it to the Masters. Tell the truth about everything else – just not that.”

If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

Or perhaps it would be an appropriate time to mention the blinks. “By the way, we’re psychically linked with two twelve year olds. Is that bad?” It would be easy to say. But then again, she hadn’t even told her mother yet. Plus, Tassadu wasn’t spilling, so why should she? Or maybe he was waiting for her to do it?

By the time Aissaba had thought all of these thoughts, she had pondered the matter too long. The Master of Mind had launched into another monologue about how the first phase of their mission was to “secure and obscure” the area around the ingress point.

Maybe it was best to wait and see. Aissaba hadn’t had a blink in the last few hours. Maybe it was over.

“But we cannot afford to waste time. While I am securing and obscuring,” said the Master of Mind, “the two of you will run the first of many recon missions into the Johnson’s home territory. The children will be at school, and Joanne Johnson will be at a yoga class. Only Cody Johnson will be home.”

Bang, bang, bang. Aissaba thought it was her imagination. But no, the Room of Dreams was actually simulating the sound of the handguns. Through the kitchen window, she could see the man, the smoke, the snow. She could see the faraway target, and she could easily imagine herself being the recipient of those bullets.

“What are we looking for?” said Aissaba.

The Master of Mind hesitated, as if searching for the right words. “As you know, we have reason to believe that Cody and Joanne Johnson have prior knowledge of the Fortress. If this is true, then we need to know the extent of their knowledge. The Cult of Rot could be involved.”

Aissaba felt the prickle of goosebumps. She looked through the door to the Johnson’s living room, letting her eyes follow dead vines across dusty bookshelves. What strange literature lay hidden among the spines?

It wasn’t a blink; more like a memory: Joanne sitting beside the bunk beds, cracking open A Fortress of Pebbles and reading aloud. “The Fortress is a prison. The Fortress is a prison. They’ll offer you the world, then they’ll ask for your decision.”

A pebble that had been resting in the Master of Mind’s perfectly proportioned fingers began to blink blue. She held it to her ear for no more than a second, then said, “The docking is complete. Pack your bags and meet me at the Fortress gates in ten minutes. Do not tell anyone you’re leaving. And do not bring pebbles.”