Chapter 1

"Two thousand gold pieces?"

"And a Ring of Regeneration."

"I think we should just go up to the table and get them."

"No! You know there's going to be a trap."

"OK, OK. Can we cast a detect traps spell?"

"Sure. Let's see..."

"Remember I'm plus two for detecting traps."

"I got it, I got it ... OK, you don't detect any traps."

"Does that mean the spell failed, or it worked but there aren't any traps?"

"You don't know."

"OK, then I'll go over towards the table."

"No, wait! Don't do that yet. Let's figure this out. Be logical: if you had two thousand gold pieces and a Ring of Regeneration, would you just leave them on a table in the middle of an empty room?"

"I guess not."

"So there's some reason for this. That stuff is the bait in some kind of a trap. Maybe it's real. But that's pretty expensive bait." A pause. "Can I cast a Detect Illusion?"

"Sure." Soft rolling of dice from behind the screen. "And you can now see that the table and the gold and the Ring don't exist. The illusion covers a large hole in the floor, with sharp spikes in the bottom."

"Hey, why didn't my Detect Traps spell catch that?"

"Because it's not a trap. There's nothing mechanical or spelled that will trigger or spring. It's just an illusion covering a large hole. Both yours and Keith's spell worked, but there no traps to find."

A female voice from upstairs: "Keith, you turkey! You have to take the trash out before Mom and Dad get home!"

Keith sighed. "Shut up, Melanie!" he yelled. "I'll get it when I get it!"

Ben raised his hands. "Actually, you know what? This is probably a good place to stop. I have to do my paper route anyway."

Keith looked around the table at the rest of the group, trying to gauge their mood. He wanted to keep the game going long enough to figure out what tricks the Dungeon Master had created to protect the real treasure that was undoubtedly still to be found here. This was the part of Dungeons and Dragons he liked best; he wasn't obsessed with the fantasy medieval motif or the chance to role-play a half-elf thief, but he immensely enjoyed matching wits with the "DM" who created the adventures in the fantasy world that the characters moved through. Today, though, he sensed that pushing for a continuation would be a losing battle. Ben played Givalent the Brave, a paladin fighter that was the unofficial leader of their group, and no one would be interested in moving the group adventure forward without him.

A few moments later the group was packed up, character sheets and multi-faced dice stowed in their respective locations, and Alvin's carefully drawn maps, DM's Handbook, Monster Manual, and the other tools of a DM's trade were in his backpack. The rest of the group was pedaling off down the street, but Alvin paused for a minute to offer Ben a crooked smile. "Better be ready on Friday," he said. "This is a good one. You guys won't get by as easy as before."

Keith grinned in return. "Dream on, man. I'm ready."

Alvin gave him an appraising look. "You just might be. You're good." He paused, and then flashed another quick smile. "Looo-king good!" he said in a passable Freddie Prinze voice. "I gotta book. See ya on the flipside!" And he was off, pedaling away on his red tenspeed.

Keith sighed, turning towards the back of the house to pull the two trash cans around to the front for trash pickup tomorrow. Despite his aloof tone with his sister minutes before, he did want to get it handled before his parents brought it up. Lately, things around the Porte household had been tense, for reasons he didn't fully understand. His dad had been recently laid off from the plant, was gone a lot of the time job-hunting, and when he was home, his parents had been having a series of intense, whispered conversations that ended abruptly whenever he or Melanie came into earshot. At fifteen, Keith wasn't prone to too much in the way of childish worries about things like divorce; his parents had, for his entire life, been a rock-solid example of togetherness, and the very thought of them and divorce was so alien that it had little traction on his conscious mind. Still, whatever was occupying their minds lately was worrisome enough that he didn't want to be the cause of any additional tension in the air, even for something as minor as not having the trash cans to the curb the night before trash pickup.

He was outside the kitchen window and had just hoisted the first silver can up when he froze.

"I'm supposed to apologize for worrying?"

It was his mom's voice, low and intense, carried out the slightly opened window by a trick of acoustics. Keith flushed, knowing he shouldn't eavesdrop. But he didn't move, either.

"No, of course not." His father. "But it's perfectly safe." A pause. "OK, not perfectly, but I know what I'm doing."

"How can you say that? None of this makes any sense. I feel like I'm going crazy!"

"You saw it, though. You saw me go there and you saw me come back."

"Jim, I don't know what I saw. I saw something like a magic trick. It's like you just walked through a hole in the air. I'm supposed to feel good about that?"

"The stones, honey. You saw the stones!"

"Yes, but ... I don't know! Why? Why do you have to keep going?"

"Because if I can bring the stones back, who knows what else I could find there? We could be rich!"

"Or I could be a widow."

"Honey, please. I know it. I'm meant to do this. I can feel it."

Keith's arms were trembling, and faced with a choice of setting the can back down and potentially making noise, or moving, he backed away noiselessly until he was over grass before setting his burden down. When he stole back under the window a moment later, there was only silence from within.

He tried to not think about what he'd heard, especially since he didn't really understand it. But the conversation preyed on his mind that night, especially as the family sat through another mostly silent and mildly tense dinner — a silence broken only his sister's incessant chattering about cheerleader summer camp and the fact that if she could not go, she would just die, die right there at the table, and even if she somehow managed to live, the family would be forced to immediately move to another state, change their names, and somehow hope the ignominy did not follow. She was not the least bit mollified by her mother's careful comment that money was a bit tight now and they'd just have to see. Keith didn't fail to notice his father giving his mother a sharp look, but he didn't say anything more.

Melanie was somewhat prone to drama.

After the required sniping about whose turn it was to clear the table (Keith's) and whose to load the dishwasher (Melanie's, despite her solemn oaths that she had completed her obligations in this area last week), Keith retired to the basement to watch TV. "CHiPS" had just moved from Saturday to Thursday nights, and he let his mind wander as he watched officers Ponch and John fight highway traffic crime in California, surrounded by beautiful babes.

I saw something like a magic trick.

What did that even mean?

Melanie came in and sat down on the sofa about halfway through the show, and spent fifteen seconds of careful judgment on the plot before announcing, "This show is stupid."

Keith was usually immune to his sister's verbal sparring, but for some reason tonight he let himself respond testily, "And of course that's a cheerleader's expert analysis, so it must be right."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing. Just suggesting that maybe cheerleaders aren't noted for being the world's biggest brains."

"That's a lie! Cheerleading isn't just ... just ... shaking pom-poms, you know! Why do you think we need summer camp training?"

"OK, OK. You've convinced me. Scientists the world over admire cheerleaders for their vast stores of knowledge." He paused. "And I wouldn't count on that camp this year, sis. You heard Mom."

"Daddy told me already that we'd have the money and I could go," she replied.

Keith paused, surprised. "He did? When?"

"Just now, before I came downstairs."

The conversation was cut short by the phone ringing, and their mother's voice from upstairs calling Melanie. She bounded up to take the call and Keith was left to finish CHiPs alone.

The events of the evening must have troubled him more than his conscious mind knew, because that night, for the first time since he was a little kid, Keith came awake from a nightmare.