Not Uncle Jack if he had lived and matured to be fifty-eight years old. This Uncle Jack was the same kid who stared at me every day from the milk carton photo on our living room shelf: tall for his age, loose blond hair flopping over his forehead, eyes flashing with intelligence and courage. The difference was that this boy was not freshly scrubbed and smirking with confidence. Instead, his frowning face was scored with mud and grime, and he sniffed at the air as if uncomfortable with the smells of dish soap, pine air freshener, and peanut butter.

“Uncle Jack?” I managed.

His eyes were guarded.

He nodded once.

“Get a grip, Jim.” Tub’s voice was shaky. “That’s nobody’s uncle. That’s some kid. Some crazy kid. Some crazy kid with swords who broke into your house and…” Tub leaned forward and the recognition hit him. “Oh, wow. Oh, geez. Jim, you know who that is? That’s Uncle freaking Jack.”

The trolls moved into positions behind Jack. ARRRGH!!! lowered its boulder-sized head so that the straggly hairs of its chin tickled Jack’s ear. Blinky’s tentacles twisted around Jack’s arm while two of the long-stemmed eyes hovered about Jack’s head as if lending him doubled sight. Both trolls made noises back and forth. Jack nodded as if he understood. I gripped the oven door and brought myself to my feet.

Jack stepped toward me, his metal parts jangling, and reached for my neck with one of his tack-edged gloves. I held my breath and wondered if this was it—the premature, and quite weird, death of Jim Sturges Jr. Instead of squeezing, though, Jack looped his finger around my chain and pulled the bronze medallion out from where it hid under my shirt. Jack flashed me an impatient look, then took hold of the sword on the face of the medallion and twisted it. It went from horizontal to vertical.

My ears popped. Suddenly I was hearing Blinky in midrant.

“—a doltish look about the face, doesn’t he? And that slackness of jaw? That hunch of back? Ignominious breeding, I’m afraid. Ignominious! I ask you, what are we to assume from that outrageously bland ceremonial garb? Where is the roguish joie de vivre? The vainglorious family crest? And no battle scarf? No battle scarf? That’s an affront! A direct affront! But hark! I see a spark of intelligence! Why, it’s rather adorable. The little fellow is…Is he…? Oh dear. Oh dear, indeed. He can understand me now, can’t he?”

Though mostly blind, Blinky had extended one of his eyes so that it hovered and squinted from a foot away. His peanut butter–covered appendages dithered a bit at the faux pas. In short order all eight of the eyes were turned in my general direction and blinking rapidly. His bigger companion licked the inside of its cheeks thoughtfully before lowering its head to look at me.