Their excitement curdled upon hearing a sudden howl from the hallway.

  A demon from the Jenga game—no, several demons and a couple succubi—emerged from around a corner ahead, snarling and scrambling toward the lobby. They were wielding fiery objects in their hands—flaming bottles from the open bar, it looked like.

  Proto and the others stood back in shock as the demoniac band rushed into the lobby, laughing maniacally.

  One of them chucked a blazing bottle at a sofa. The liquor splattered across it, spreading a broad fire instantly.

  “If we can’t build, we’ll destroy!” the thrower vaunted.

  “Oh, my Mercune!” exclaimed Fyrir, clenching his long white beard.

  Another demon grabbed a handful of Jenga blocks from inside his pocket, dark and glimmering like they’d been soaked in something, and hurled them at the couch fire. When they struck, the flames exploded into a torrid geyser, blackening the ceiling.

  “We’ve been driven to this!” the hurler howled.

  “You mephistophelian hooligans!” accused Fyrir, pointing at them.

  The demons turned and fixed their fiendish stares upon the elder. “And who are you?” asked a bald one with a red and black face. “Professor Farnsworth? Egon Spengler?”

  “That’s Doctor to you!” fumed Fyrir.

  The infernal fiends frowned at one another.

  Then, they advanced menacingly, bottles flaming in hand, explosive Jenga blocks at the ready.

  Proto and Astrid shared a glance and stepped in front of the others.

  Mists instantly started swirling up. “Since when do lab interns care so much . . . ?” marveled Fyrir.

  Proto—who had been on the verge of drawing some conjured weapon from his pocket—now hesitated, staring at that rising mist. It was at waist level.

  “I won’t have my interns pushing up daisies for my sake!” declared the labcoated elder, advancing beside them and clenching his fists. “Put ‘em up!”

  Indecision paralyzed Proto as the demons drew near. They bared their teeth and raised their flaming bottles.

  And—what could he do?—he balled his fists and gritted his teeth. Astrid did the same.

  Then, a blue bolt streaked across the room from an adjoining hallway. It struck the foremost demon in the temple. He plopped to the floor, unmoving.

  “What the F?” exclaimed the demons.

  One of them bent down beside their fallen brother and shook him. “Nick! Nick!”

  The fallen demon snored and rolled onto his side.

  “Who the F?” cried another demon, pointing at an adjoining hallway.

  Rushing into the room, barechested with a winged hat and a leafy wand in hand, was Somnus. Behind him came Athena in her Greek helmet, followed by Aphrodite and Hera, their chitons billowing in their wake.

  “Get ‘em!” yelled the red-and-black-faced demon. He charged.

  Somnus leveled his wand at his attacker, and a blue bolt crackled forth. It struck the demon square in the forehead.

  He collapsed smilingly.

  “You bastard!” screamed a succubus. She dove at Somnus with her claws outstretched.

  Athena balled a fist and socked her in the breast.

  The succubus squealed and fell, then started bawling. Mascara blackened her cheeks.

  “Anyone else?” Athena curled her hand beckoningly.

  The other demons backed away warily, clutching their burning bottles.

  But some cackles and howls now came from another corridor. More demons marauded into view, rushing eagerly toward the chaos.

  “Go on!” Somnus urged Proto and Astrid, waving them toward the Organizer’s Office. “I haven’t had such a good row since the Gigantomachy!”

  The mists had swirled up to about belly level. But Somnus waved his wand imperiously, and they dwindled away.

  “On our way!” Astrid darted forward, followed by the others, as Somnus and the three goddesses did battle.

  “I knew I hired you for a reason, Somnus!” Fyrir called behind him.

  “That’s why they call me Lord!” replied Somnus. He loosed a blue bolt at a demon, then disappeared from view as they turned a corner.

  “A bit full of himself, eh?” wheezed Fyrir, hobbling in a jog. “But for good reason.”

  They hastened along the hallway for several minutes. Echoes of distant cackles and shouting swelled and receded. Smoke wafted in from some intersections.

  Proto was beginning to get worried they’d missed a turn when, finally, the end of the corridor came into view. There was an open door with a sign next to it, labeled, “Organizer’s Office.” It showed an arrow pointing down a staircase.

  “About time!” The old man was panting and heaving. “I haven’t run this far since Reagan was an actor!”

  Sighing with relief, they all advanced toward the doorway.

  “There they are!” came a howl from far behind them.

  They looked—and a horde of demons was emerging from around a corner and rushing toward them. The fiends waved their Jenga blocks and brandished their blazing bottles.

  “Quick, inside!” urged Fyrir.

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  They dashed past the doorway and slammed the door shut. But there was no lock.

  Proto quickly scanned the room. It seemed to be a storage area for unused cosplay convention props and displays. In the room’s far corner was a downward staircase.

  “Here, help me!” Proto grabbed what looked like a life-size Iron Throne and, with Astrid’s help, shoved it against the door. Lilac and Dahlia then wedged a DDR dance pad between it and a ceiling support column. Finally, together, they rolled what looked like a molten, red-glowing boulder from Hell on top of the pad.

  And just in time—the door started rattling a couple seconds later, as the demons howled in frustration outside. But the makeshift boundary held.

  “Nicely built,” Astrid complimented Proto.

  “Oh, it’s just a . . . Proto-type,” he modestly noted.

  She swatted his head, mussing up his hair.

  “Well done with that dance pad though,” Proto complimented Dahlia and Lilac, as he vainly tried to fix his hair.

  “You see, I told you it would fit there!” Dahlia nodded happily at Lilac. “Just have to squeeze it in there. And then it’s perfect!”

  “That’s what she—” Lilac began, then rolled her eyes. “I’m not going to give you the satisfaction.”

  “Come on, this is tee ball!” cried Dahlia.

  “Enough of this chickabiddy coquetry!” admonished Fyrir, shuffling toward the staircase. “Come help me find Mercune.”

  They hurried to follow, descending into dim obscurity.

  Meanwhile, the door banged and shuddered behind them, but stayed in place, thanks to the red-glowing boundary they’d built.

  The stairway was bizarrely long, with at least sixty stairs. When they at last reached the bottom, they found a long hallway before them. It looked strangely like Somnus’ Palace, with drifting mists and ornate silvery glow strips. But, instead of blue, the walls were blood-red.

  At the far end of the hallway was a door. Red radiance emanated from beyond it.

  Exchanging a look, they advanced silently to the door. Pressing his lips and readying himself for anything, Proto threw it open.

  There, poised regally and garbed in her radiant raiment of leaves, with long red hair flowing all about her, was Flua-Sahng, the Queen of Heaven.

  Beside her stood Mercune, wearing red and purple butterfly wings and a matching little dress. Her red hair was pinned up with sprigs of mistletoe.

  “Gramps! You came!” cried Fairy Mercune.

  “Hello again, Proto,” hailed Flua-Sahng. “Won’t you introduce your friends?”

  “‘Hello again’ . . . ?” Dahlia stared at Proto.

  “Really, Proto?” asked Lilac.

  “You get around, don’t you, lad!” murmured Fyrir in admiration.

  “Um.” Proto stepped forward. “Astrid, Lilac, Dahlia, Fyrir: Meet the Queen of Heaven, Flua-Sahng.”

  “Indeed.” Flua-Sahng tapped a nametag on her leafy garb. The Organizer, it said. “I should’ve asked for Queen of Heaven! Much nicer ring to it.”

  “And I’m Mercune Mirin!” The teenage girl strode up and gave Fyrir a hug. “But you knew that. Assuming that old memory’s holding up.” She beamed. “How’s it going, Gramps? You playing hooky to hang with me?”

  Clasping her shoulders, Fyrir just stared at her and smiled. Then, he wiped an eye. “Oh, how lucky I am to have you, Mercune.”

  “Aw.” Now, she blinked twice and wiped an eye.

  Then, she threw her arms around the labcoated old man, who clasped her tight.

  Lilac sighed happily at the scene—then blinked and stiffened, facing Flua-Sahng. “I, ah, apologize if we seem distracted, Your Majesty!”

  “Oh, no worries, Madame Bartendress. I’m enjoying this scene,” Flua-Sahng assured her. “It’s awfully rare I get a scene that’s not about me!”

  In the distance, they could hear the faint echoes of howling demons. But here they stood in peace and satisfaction, safe behind the boundary they’d built.

  Proto glanced over his shoulder. Down the hallway, he could see clouds of mirk, slowly burgeoning and bulging toward them.

  “Well. This was nice,” he mused.

  “Mm.” Astrid eyed Mercune’s fairy wings. “Do you think we helped save the world today?”

  “Well.” Proto glanced at her vodka bottle. “One dream at a time, right?”

  Astrid seemed not to have heard. Her eyes were fixed upon the hugging girl and elder.

  Proto smiled away a sigh, waiting for the impending mirk to swallow them up.

  Then, he felt a hand squeeze his. He looked—and there was Astrid, her violet gaze upon him, grinning from behind a few stray strands of silvery blue.

  Then, in a blink, she’d released him and was facing forward again.

  “My oh my.” Fyrir was wiping his eyes again. “I’m afraid I take you for granted, Young Lady!”

  “What?” Fairy Mercune blinked. “What are you talking about?”

  The old man gestured at his puffy cheeks. “A few hours without you, and I go all to pieces! What would I do without you?”

  “Nothing, you old fuddy-duddy!” she retorted warmly. “Like a fireplace with no fire!”

  “Well said, well said.” He hugged her again.

  “I’ll tell you what,” the Mother of All mused, smiling upon Mercune and Fyrir. “A pair like those two—why, you’re lucky to see it once a millennium. Trust me, I know!”

  Proto eyed the red-haired girl. “She reminds me of someone else.”

  “Oh?” Flua-Sahng looked amused. “I would love to hear you tell me whom, Proto.”

  He stared at her a moment. “ . . . have we met? Before recently, I mean?”

  The radiant woman laughed. “Oh, Proto. You’re a rare bird yourself. You rather remind me of . . . ” As she spoke, her finger stretched toward his breast, stopping just shy of his Saturn emblem.

  “What . . . ?” He stared at her.

  “Oh, never mind.” Flua-Sahng smiled wistfully. “Just remember. When you think you’ve exhausted the Possibilities, there’s always one more. Always. And there, the unattainable becomes attainable.”

  Proto tilted his head and regarded the Queen of Heaven in confusion.

  But now the mirk was bulging over him from behind, swallowing him up and hurling him away from this scene. It dwindled into ghostliness before him as it spun to wispy nothing.

  And now he was hurtling through grey obscurity, spangled with distant stars that whirled in parallax. Through the shining void he flew.

  And then he landed mid-stride in a hall of misty blue, momentum carrying him several steps forward.

  Behind him, Astrid arrived gracefully and caught up with him a second later, vodka bottle still in hand.

  “Oof!” came Dahlia and Lilac behind them, bumping into each other.

  “Well!” Somnus strode into sight from around a corner ahead. He was back in his purple and green robe. “I daresay I haven’t had so much fun since Byzantium fell.”

  Proto exchanged a glance with the others. “What exactly were you doing, when you weren’t rescuing us?”

  “Oh, no no no,” waved Somnus. “What happens in Greek goddess dreams, stays in those dreams!” He smoothed his ruffled robe.

  “That was an awfully lighthearted dream,” noted Proto. “Given that the world is being burnt and demolished up there.”

  “Yes, well, enjoy this while it lasts!” urged Somnus. “This was a dream untouched by the pandaemonium. There won’t be many more.”

  “The world up there is broken,” he went on. “Soon, that will be what people dream of—a world rent by quakes and blackened by fire, where man is driven back to Nature. There will be no cosplay conventions. They’ll be mere references in old books that no one understands. And then those books will rot away, and they’ll be gone. Believe me, I’ve seen it happen more than once! Astrid can tell you, she’s seen it.”

  Proto looked at Astrid. But the silvery-blue haired woman just stared at the mists swirling inside that vodka bottle and smiled wistfully.

  “Let this be a lesson,” Somnus continued. “Sometimes, our world seems dull and empty, compared to what it could be. Then, some part of the world goes away forever. And suddenly, you realize what was always there and ready to make your life full, if you’d just made it a part of your life, before it was too late. Learn not to be too late!”

  “So . . . does that mean we saved the world?” inquired Dahlia.

  “We’ve made one dream a fairer place. We’ve thereby made the world a fairer place. Beyond that?” Somnus shrugged. “I’m just the Lord of Dreams. Go ask my mother!”

  “As for me, I’m going to have an armagnac,” he concluded. “Soon, there won’t be many people making armagnac up there. Sad! But maybe some will dream about it still.” He strolled away.

  Disquieted into silence, the others watched him go, feeling like they’d just woken from some drunk dream into a very sober reality. They exchanged a glance—blank and bleary, unsure and wondering.

  That is, all of them except Astrid. She was still gazing on that vodka bottle in her hands, full of swirling mists.

  She suddenly looked at Proto, violet eyes shimmering wide, blinking twice.

  Then, she strode away, her jumpsuited curves swaying into prominence with each step. She was nearly around the corner ahead when her hand reached up to wipe her face.

  Proto stared after her for a moment, then looked back at the others, hoping to find some insight there. But Lilac’s face was as studiously blank as usual. As for Dahlia, there was just a hint of a sad smile.

  Sad . . . or sympathetic?

  He wanted to say something, but nothing seemed right. He wanted to ask something, but he was afraid of the answers he’d get.

  So, instead, he just walked back toward the lounge of Somnus’ Palace. And they came with him, his friends, heading together toward the familiar and the unfamiliar looming just ahead.