A small, dirt-encrusted window usually let in ample light. But the darkness of an oncoming storm left him nearly sightless. He felt around for the droplight, which was little more than a long black electrical cord with a light bulb at one end. He turned it on and waited impatiently for his eyes to adjust; then he took a greasy old towel from the floor and draped it over the window—in case anyone from the house might look out.

Satisfied that he would not be disturbed, he began his preparations. From the bottom drawer of the armoire he removed the guidebook, along with the precious cargo that the falcon had delivered, a small feather the falcon had shed in the crate, his guide to rocks and minerals, the robe from his wizard costume, and last but not least, one of the old books he had found in his father’s office. Getting it all up here hadn’t been so hard once he’d tied a long rope to the plastic crate to haul things up.

A long, low rumble signaled the beginning of the storm. He dabbed at the sweat on his face—the garage was sweltering—and rolled his shoulders uncomfortably as a few drops rolled down the center of his back. It felt like bugs crawling on his skin.

He wasn’t sure exactly what to do, but he hoped that once he got started, something like a Wandmaker’s instinct might guide him. He placed the books side by side and was immediately rewarded for doing so when he saw that the symbols on the cover of each were remarkably similar. Up until that moment, he’d assumed the images on the cover of the guidebook were decorative pictures that looked cool but didn’t mean anything.

BOOM! Thunder rattled the windowpane. The first drops of rain spattered against the roof in wind-driven gusts.

Even the towel over the window could not block the brightness of the next shaft of lightning. Thunder immediately followed, with a crack so loud it made his ears ring. Suddenly Henry felt very alone … and very foolish. This couldn’t be the safest place to weather a storm.

He gathered enough courage to peek out the window and was greeted by a lightning strike that split the top of the tall oak tree in the neighbor’s yard. He screamed and stumbled away from the window, falling entirely too close to the edge. In a panic, he swiped his arms across the floor, sending his neatly organized valuables to every corner of the loft.

Another blast hit too close. Then another! Henry curled into a ball and huddled on the floor. He felt a prickly sensation on his neck and knew exactly what it meant: He was in trouble.

Henry screamed. He was at the mercy of giant bolts of electricity. And he was certain that he was about to die.