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turn to his attacker. The chains binding his wrists stopped him. Xander felt tears in his eyes and blinked them away, then lifted his hand to wipe at them, but the chains prevented even that.
    The whip-man spat out some words and gestured for Xander to face forward.
    Xander turned. Rage tightened every muscle in his body. He wanted to rip the chains away, lash the man behind him with them, and run to find David.
    Another man near them barked out a word. Chains rattled at the head of the line of bound children, then the boy in front of Xander began shuffling his feet. The chains drew taut and yanked at Xander. He stumbled forward, turning to look for his brother.
    Run, David , he thought. Hide .
    They were taking them to the ship. It was going to leave— without David! Yes! It was better that he stayed here, as horrible as Atlantis was. Once they set sail, there would be no escap-ing, except into the ocean depths or the arrows of Atlantis’s enemies. Here they knew there was at least one portal home, the one through which they’d followed Phemus from their house in Pinedale, California, to ancient Atlantis. Here David at least had a chance.
    A familiar voice sprang up on Xander’s left. Taksidian— still standing in the square next to the human weapon that was Phemus—was calling to the man leading the chain gang, waving to get his attention. He spoke in the native Atlantian tongue, and the chain gang stopped.
    Taksidian sauntered over to Xander. “Can’t leave without your brother,” he said. “I’m sure he’ll return shortly.”
    Xander focused on keeping hold of his anger, as though it were a dog trying to break its leash. He lunged for Taksidian, snapping to a stop at the end of his short chains. “Wait all you want,” he said through clenched teeth. “David got away. He’s gone. Live with it.”
    Taksidian smiled. He brushed strands of kinky black hair off his face and rolled his head on his neck, as though the boredom of sending the King boys to their death had made his muscles stiff. He leveled his cold green eyes at Xander. “You still don’t get it, do you?” he said. “I won, I always do. You, your family—you were just a speed bump on the highway to my destiny.”
    He took a deep breath of the foul air that filled the square, as though it were as fresh as a sea breeze. “You were just a little annoyance that life threw at me to make things . . . inter-esting . I was getting lazy. Not hard to do with that house.” He held up his hand, pretending to lift something heavy. “Like having the power of God in my hand.”
    Xander stretched toward him. He said, “I’ll tell you what you have in your hand, and it’s not the power of God!” He spat, and a glob of sudsy spit landed in Taksidian’s palm.
    The man flinched. He blinked, then calmly reached out and wiped his hand on Xander’s hair.
    Xander jerked away, but, chained, there was nothing he could do. He growled and shook, frustrated and helpless. He snapped his face back toward Taksidian, who had stepped back and was frowning at his palm.
    “You don’t even know,” Xander said. “Whatever you’re doing—using our house to go back in time, tinker with his-tory— it’s not making something wonderful, for you or anyone else. We’ve seen it: the future. It’s all destroyed. Everything!”
    “You see?” Taksidian said, wiping his hand on his black overcoat. “I win.”

CHAPTER

three

    “Don’t,” David said. “ Please! ”

    But Theseus—who must have known what David meant, even if he couldn’t understand the words—only squinted at his target: David’s left arm. The club rose higher as the boy sucked in a breath to give the swing all he had.
    David tugged at his arm, but the other boy held his wrist like it was the last piece of bread in a hungry world.
    He closed his eyes.
    The sound was deafening—a crashing boom! —and for a moment David thought his brain was screaming. Then he realized the noise was the door