Heart Of Atlantis

them—Ptolemy ripped open a jagged tear in reality and shoved her into his profane version of the Atlantean portal. She screamed Alaric’s name and heard him roaring behind her, but it was too late. The opening closed behind Ptolemy and sent the two of them spinning away from Alaric, New York, and probably even Earth itself.
    Despair swallowed her whole and spat her back out, after another nausea-inducing trip, into a pretty good approximation of hell.
    Sulfuric fumes assaulted her nose and mouth, making it difficult to breathe. Nothing in sight lived: no trees or plants, animals or birds. For miles and miles, she could only see desert and rock and the rubble of a collapsed civilization. The sky was the worst, though. Three low-hanging moons shone a sullen orange over a blasted apocalyptic landscape.
    “Where are we?” she demanded, but she was afraid she knew, and terror rose up in her, flailing around like a gibbering creature strung up in a noose. Her heart pounded so hard that she was sure Ptolemy must be able to hear it.
    “We’re in my dimension now, Quinn, where you can’t play games with me, because here there are no rules but mine.” He grabbed her arm with one newly claw-tipped hand and started dragging her down a narrow path between two tumbled stone columns. “Isn’t it just what you imagined, when you dreamed of a house with a white picket fence?”
    He leered at her and started laughing, but his teeth were changing and growing sharper, and his face was contorting right there in front of her. If she’d ever doubted his claim to be demon kin, she didn’t any longer.
    “You know nothing about my dreams, buddy.” She reached deep inside herself to where the light of Alaric’s magic and the battered but unbroken foundation of her own courage still burned. She’d pretended to go along with one despicable monster before. She could do it again, until she’d achieved her goal. She’d be so convincing that she’d deserve an Academy Freaking Award.
    “You have no idea what a joyous day this is about to become,” Ptolemy said, dragging her along. His laughter grew more and more shrill, until it didn’t sound anything close to human, but that wasn’t the worst part of it. Not at all. The worst part was the twisted, grayish-orange creatures that had started crawling up out of the rubble and following them. They didn’t have any recognizable limbs or appendages at all. Mostly, all they had was teeth. Lots and lots of teeth.

    Hours or minutes later—Quinn couldn’t be sure which, since time seemed to run sideways here—they reached their destination. The building, built in a twisted approximation of a Greek—or maybe Atlantean—temple, was at least partially still standing. Ptolemy dragged her inside an open stone doorway and then finally released his grip on her arm.
    She rubbed her wrist and looked around warily, mostly to avoid looking at him. He’d become more and more bestial as they marched across the hideous terrain of his world, until now he was almost impossible to look at without flinching. There was something simply
wrong
about him. Dark and hideously twisted; just like his magic. She cast a glance back over her shoulder to see if the grotesque creatures following them were anywhere near the building, but the doorway remained empty.
    The room they’d entered, though—the room was incredible. She couldn’t believe what she was seeing. It was as beautifully ornate as any of the rooms she’d seen in the Atlantean palace. Vividly blue marble mosaics lined the walls, which were decorated with images of ocean waves, fish, mermaids, and fantastical flowers portrayed by ancient craftspeople with amazing artistic sensibility. The floor was cool tile in jade green—or maybe it really was jade—and it, too, was beautifully designed.
    “Well,” Ptolemy said, his voice gravelly, as though his tongue no longer worked quite right. “What do you think?”
    “It’s magnificent,” she said honestly.
    He whirled around and snarled at her, and she took a prudent step back.
    “You mock me?”
    “No. Trust me, when I’m mocking you, you’ll know it,” she said bitterly. “Like ‘Hey, troll face, nice teeth.’ Or ‘Hey, way to show your courage by
murdering helpless old people
.’”
    A flash of an indefinable emotion crossed his face, and if he’d been anyone else, she’d almost have said it was shame.
    “It was my mother’s room,” he finally said, turning away from