“We’re stopping at the park,” I told Scrap. He crouched in the back window watching for signs of pursuit.

Is that wise? he asked. We don’t want to get caught in a deserted spot of green when the Nörglein comes looking for you. They can manipulate green, if you remember the blackberry vine that tripped you.

“We’ll be safe enough at Lewis and Clark State Park. It’s a block from the freeway. The guys fishing the Sandy River always fill the parking lot with their pickups.”

Fishermen in this weather? Scrap flitted to the dashboard. He waggled his thinning boa at me.

“Fishermen fish in any weather, any day of the week.”

He harrumphed and grumbled. Don’t forget you promised me a trip to the mall.

“I won’t.” I pulled into a narrow space between a giant SUV and a rusting pickup that had seen better days about thirty years ago. My little hybrid looked out of place here, but it wasn’t readily visible to the casual glance either.

We sat in the car in silence for many long moments. The crystal ball almost burned, begging me to take it in my hands, gaze in wonder at the miracles it could reveal. “You ready for this, Scrap?”

As ready as I’ll ever be. He crawled to my shoulder and wrapped his tail around my neck in a choke hold worthy of a professional cage fighter on steroids.

I cupped my hands around the ball. But I watched a drop of rain caught on a sword fern reflect a rainbow in a tentative beam of light. I hoped its invitation proved stronger than the clouds threatening to fill in the pockets of blue sky.

Look at it, Tess. We’ll never know for sure what it is, what it can do, if we don’t look. Scrap leaned forward, nearly falling off his perch, eyes glued to the crystal sphere. He was totally entranced.

“Okay.” I drew in a deep breath and shifted my gaze to the milky swirls. I traced them, learned them, followed them in, deep, deep, deeper.

I caught a tendril of floating minerals and rode the trail with the power of a celestial wind in our light sail.

The strange mineral deposits inside the ball twine around us and drag us around and around. My head spins faster than my senses can keep up.

I need to close my eyes. The real estate inside the ball passes by so fast I’m getting dizzy.

But If I don’t watch and memorize it, I may not be able to get us home.

“Where are we?” I ask Tess as we slide around and around.

“I’m not sure. In a way it smells a bit like the mutant faeries. A bit of rot overlaying something that used to be sweet and pure.

“Yeah, it does smell like that.”

Strange that her nose is more sensitive than mine in here.

We come to a stop with a thump that jars my neck and gives me a headache. At least we have solid ground beneath our feet.

We turn around and around taking in the landscape. I recognize the winding creek as it chuckles over a three-foot waterfall. The spreading, patriarchal oak with mistletoe in the upper branches looks familiar too. But it’s bassackwards.

“Am I still dizzy or is everything fuzzy around the edges, like it’s not fully formed yet?” Tess asks.

“Fuzzy. That’s what’s wrong!”

“You sound happy, is that a good thing?”

“I have a theory. Close your eyes and think about what that tree should be like.”

She does. “You mean like the oak in the front yard at home—in Cape Cod home, not Portland.”

“The one with the swing,” I remind her.

Sure enough, as her mind re-creates the beloved image of happy summer days lazing on the simple board swing dangling from a stout branch ten feet up, the tree firms up. The vague smudges of green resolve into sprays of broad leaves. Clumps of acorns tip the ends. The bark ripples and mottles into the appropriate shades of brown.

When the swing drops down from the upper branches, complete with the thick splice in the rope about five feet above the board, I nearly fall off Tess’ shoulder.

While I flail for balance I notice the creek. The water takes on definition. It loses the artificial feel and smell of a computer generated painting where only a few things move.

A breeze springs up, completing the picture.

But it’s still upside down or twisted right to left.

Left to right.

I hang upside down on Tess’ shoulder and view it all from a different perspective.

“Um, babe?”

“Yes?” Tess is gazing around in wonder. As her eyes light upon a too-bright blue jay in the tree, it begins to move as if released from a spell that froze it in place. It scolds us angrily, then flies off.

Sounds begin to form, insects, birdsong in the distance, wind in the tree canopy.

“Tess, dahling, I think we need to go home. Like now. Right now, before we do any more damage.”

“Damage? It’s like we are creating the place just by being here.”

“That’s what I mean. We shouldn’t be here. This dimension isn’t ready for us yet.”

“You mean it’s a brand-new dimension?”

“Still forming.”

“How?”

“Don’t know yet. But I got a theory.”

“Care to share it?”

“Not yet. I need to do a little research.”

“You aren’t going back to the chat room by yourself! Remember what happened last time.”

“All too well, babe. There are other methods of research closer to home.” Like Gollum. I owe him an email. Good thing I figured out how to invade the innards of a computer.

“As long as you don’t endanger yourself and therefore us.” She sighs in resignation.

“Hang on tight, babe. We’re going to ride the crystal ball home, the same way we came in.”

I close my eyes, grab hold of an imaginary trail of swirling minerals, and slide down a sunbeam right into the driver’s seat of Tess’ car.

“Whew, what a ride.” I wipe imaginary sweat off my brow.”

“Yeah. Quite a ride. I’m exhausted. Let’s go home.” She turns the key in the ignition and engages the clutch.

“Remember, you promised a stop at the mall,” I whine.

“One stop. And only one stop. You may buy one feather boa and nothing else.”

“You’re no fun.”

“I work at it.”