“Guess it runs in the family. I wasn’t much cut out for sports at your age either. I think I was referred to as a late bloomer. I had a great rock collection, though.”

Henry perked up. His own rock collection was very much a work in progress.

“Want to see one of my most prized specimens?”

“Yeah, I do!” He crossed the room, approaching the desk. What had he been thinking? Was he really afraid of his own father? On the outside, he smiled. On the inside, he laughed himself silly for being cursed with an out-of-control imagination.

“Ow!” From out of nowhere a pain erupted in Henry’s leg. The wand in his pocket was zapping his thigh with jolts of current.

He lurched forward, reaching out to his father for help.

The smiling, concerned parent of moments earlier flickered like a bad piece of film, replaced briefly by a scowling face he hardly recognized. He recoiled from Henry’s outstretched arm with a hiss.

The pain had become a hot iron branding his side. Henry watched his father back away slowly from the desk. He no longer looked angry. Instead, he had the detached look of a scientist observing an experiment gone awry.

Henry could not take the pain any longer. With all the effort he could muster, he heaved away from the desk and landed flat on his behind, gasping for breath. He grabbed frantically at his shirt, hoping there wasn’t a bloody, gaping wound.

There was nothing. Not a mark. Not a welt. Not even a slight discoloration.

The Coralis wand! He needed to put some distance between himself and the wand. He got as far as taking it out of his pocket.

“Where did you get that?” his father hissed, and lunged toward him like a cobra.

“Henry!” His mother’s voice hit the room with a life-force of its own.

Young and old Henry snapped their heads toward her. “Mom!” young Henry cried with relief.

“Lois.”

Henry’s eyes widened. He had never heard his father address his mother with such contempt.

“Henry, get up to your room,” she ordered. “Now.”

He didn’t have to be told twice. He scampered around the corner and flew up the stairs. Behind him, a door slammed and angry voices rose. Henry flung himself on the bed, covering his head with his pillow.

Eventually, the voices receded. Hours later Henry finally fell asleep, but his dreams were not pleasant.

Chapter Seven

On the way down the stairs the following morning, Henry began to wonder what the world’s record for longest yawn might be. He seriously thought he’d topped it—he even had to rub his jaw to pop it back into place.