He wondered if this was hell, the place reserved for the Horde. Maybe the books were a gateway straight to hell itself. Maybe that’s why Teeleh was so interested in them.

“Please, Elyon, forgive me for my hot head. I shouldn’t have used the book, and I swear never to use it again if you’ll save me.”

But he prayed this a hundred times to no avail.

Billos pushed himself to his feet and walked around DELL again. He pushed the buttons for a few minutes, mumbling his disgust at anything so intricate and so dumb at once.

“Argh!” He slammed his hand on the lettered buttons. The glass surfaces glared black. The buggy sat like a lump. He looked around, trying his best to keep his mind but failing.

How long had it been? A day? And already he was going mad. There was nothing to do . . . but sleep.

Billos climbed into one of the seats, lay back on the cushion, and faced the glowing squares on the ceiling. Night didn’t seem to come here. Not that he longed for darkness.

A shudder passed through his body. He shoved his hands into the gloves that were attached by black cords to the bed. Best he could tell, the ropes were the reins that steered the buggy, and these gloves were some kind of armor.

He pulled the battle helmet over his head and snapped the latch. Darkness swallowed him. His breathing sounded loud in his ears. The experience was rather frightful, but it was a change from the white room, and at the moment it was what he needed.

“Let’s go, you haggard old beast. Do something!”

Nothing, of course.

Claustrophobia began to set in. He yanked the helmet and gloves off, rolled from the bed, and stood undecided.

He crossed to the door, kicked it with his boot, and screamed his frustration. “Open! Just open, for the love of . . .”

The door swung lazily inward.

Open?

Billos was so astonished that he stood still, unable to move. What had he done? He was free?

He threw the door open wide and stepped into a dark hallway. The door at the other end was open. He ran down the passage, feet slapping the smooth floor with each stride.

The hall opened to a larger room with a cushioned floor, unlike any he’d seen. Stuffed chairs were situated around the room in neat groupings. Against one wall stood the room’s only door, this one with some letters stamped above it: EXIT.

Billos crossed to the door, heart hammering. He was free; he was going to make it. To where, he had no clue—but out. Out was what he’d needed, and out was where he was going!

He put his hand on the door and twisted. It swung easily into a dim interior. Cool air flooded his face.