A burst of pink lightning shot out from the nautilus’ tentacles and licked the portal. It powered up in a burst of sparks and projected a small holographic screen to the side. Unfamiliar symbols glowed on it.

“Pressure: 15.2 psi,” Sean said. “Atmosphere: nitrogen-oxygen mix, O2 at 21.3%, CO2 is a bit high, but we should be fine. Humidity at 88%, 600 F.”

“You read Tuhl?” I asked.

“Yes.”

I should’ve known. If it had to do with weapons or transportation, Sean could understand it and fix it.

The second burst of lightning struck the portal. The Barsas raised their arms in unison.

“BARSA!”

We ran into the portal.

* * *

My feet landed on something solid. It looked remarkably like a wooden floor. A rotting wooden floor, with boards marked with dark stains and speckled with black mold. Weird gray warts that had to be lichen or fungi sprouted between clumps of toxic-looking yellow sponges.

I looked up. We stood in the entryway of a house. The walls were coated in lichen and mold. Thick blisters the size of my head protruded here and there, caught in a net of plant roots. The liquid inside them glowed with dull phlegmy light. Flesh-colored slime dripped from between the gaps in the crown molding.

Where the hell were we? It was like we had landed in a petri dish with a bacterial colony grown from a swab taken at a truck stop bathroom.

I glanced over my shoulder. Behind us, the portal was a perfectly round, vertical puddle of pale pink on the wall. The holographic readout in the top of my faceplate was green across the board. The atmosphere was safe to breathe and free of contaminants, despite all the bizarre growth.

Magic slid around me, dripping from the walls, creeping just inside the floor, a revolting miasma, like decomposing body fluids.

It didn’t feel right.

The magic sensed me. The nearest stream curved, angling toward me. The entire wall around the portal was covered with it. It poured out like a foul waterfall. I took a few steps away from it.

The revolting magic bubbled up through the gap in the floorboards and touched me.

The world swam. Blood pounded in my ears. I couldn’t catch my breath. I gasped, but there was no air. Black circles crowded at the edge of my vision.

My stomach jerked.

I slapped the side of my helmet. The faceplate and the respirator retracted in a flash, and I vomited onto the floor. A horrible stench bathed me, a cloying, sickening odor of decay, and mold, and rotting wood, like the inside of a grave. I planted my broom into the floor, clung to it, and retched.

The magic spiraled around me, clamping at my feet, trying to get at my soul. I reeled. I had to get out of here. This was wrong, so very wrong. I had to get away! I had to—