A soft wind rustled Stella's dress against Chester's bare arm.

Chester stirred. He turned his head restlessly, searching for a soft patch of bark. Stella lay heavily against his chest, and he could feel her body shift slightly with each breath he took.

The muted clattering of leave-padded branches sounded overhead. Chester felt himself begin to drift off, but a chilly wind brought him again back before he could chase down sleep. His left arm felt uncomfortably numb. For a moment, Chester muzzily wondered whether the sensation was a consequence of two days spent toddler hauling; but then Brian snored softly near Chester's ear, and he noticed a weight pinning his arm against the tree.

Brian's snore was echoed by a low breathy snort. The rustling of the trees raised an octave, but didn't drown out a quiet padding from somewhere close by. Chester's eyes slowly blinked open.

As Chester looked up, he froze. His focus locked onto a pair of large brown eyes staring directly at him. A tall buck stood before him, peering at Chester through a thin veil of gray early-morning mist.

Stunning antlers rose from behind the buck's alert ears. The antlers tilted slightly as the buck cocked his head in an expressive gesture of puppy-like confusion.

Chester had seen deer before: He'd been camping. He'd watched long, drolly-narrated nature videos against his will. He'd helped erect wire fences at Bill McNarys' aunt's farmhouse, only to watch them get effortlessly trampled hours later.

Regardless, he'd honestly never understood the big deal about deer. Why plaster their pictures on shiny wall hangings with Bible verses? Why mount their heads over ski resort fireplaces? Why watch Bambi unless forced to by your five-year-old brother? Why were so many people obsessed with deer?

Seeing this regal beast, standing yards from Chester without a trace of fear, bright eyes taking in every detail, muscles clearly visible under a sleek coat, branching antlers pointing toward the heavens… suddenly Chester got it.

"Are you a sign? A good one?"

The buck snorted. Mist curled up around its chest. Chester chuckled and unsuccessfully attempted to scratch his right heel with the toe of his left shoe. When the buck didn't startle or bolt, Chester amicably continued the one-way conversation: "You'd better be a good sign, 'cause we've already ran out of bad luck. A bad omen would be pretty unoriginal right now. No one likes a copy-cat."

Stella stirred. Chester stroked her curls with his free hand, and she instantly relaxed. The buck stood perfectly still, as though transfixed. "You're pretty daring," Chester informed him. "Maybe you'll be trusting enough to let me catch you. Steak for breakfast. It isn't macaroni and cheese, but it'll do."

At this, the buck took a wary step backward. Chester suppressed a laugh. "Get out of here," he said instead. "I don't want Brian to see you and start obsessively searching for Santa. The fairy thing is bad enough."

The buck let out yet another snort, shook his antlers, and turned to trot away. The clip-clop of his hooves reminded Chester of the horses on Mrs. McNary's farm. For a moment, before disappearing into the underbrush, the buck was silhouetted against the cold, blue waters of the lake. Chester felt an unjustified sense of loss. He shivered, carefully re-positioned Stella, and fell back into a restless sleep.

Loud thrashing woke Chester before he'd rested long. This time, Chester's eyes snapped open instead of slowly blinking. Brian was already awake, scrambling to his feet beside Chester. "I heard voices," he whispered with clearly visible anticipation. Chester didn't know if his expression was one of excitement or fear.

"It's just a deer," Chester muttered, grabbing Brian's arm to keep him from wandering.

As soon as he'd spoken, however, Chester was proven wrong. A heavily accented voice sounded over the crunching of approaching footsteps: "I swear. They were around here somewhere."

"See?" Brian hissed, but he stopped tugging against Chester's hold. Chester also froze, his heart pounding. He bolted up so suddenly that Emma slid off his lap and fell with a cry onto the dewy ground.

At Stella's cry, the trashing halted. A thrill of fear that they'd frightened away their possible saviors caused Chester to throw caution to the wind. "Hey," Chester shouted. "Hey! Who's there?"

'Please,' he mentally added, 'no psychos.'

Chester grabbed up Stella and stumbled toward the sound of loud rustling. He no longer felt cold and hungry, but an unanticipated weakness stole his coordination. Brian grabbed onto his belt from behind, throwing him off balance and causing him to fall heavily against a large oak.

"Where are you?" a second voice called, accent slightly lower than the last's. The question, however, hardly required an answer. As soon as the person had spoken, two boys broke through a bank of bushes and stopped short yards from Chester's right side.

The boys were much older than Chester—seventeen or eighteen, nearly men. They looked remarkable similar: both were tall with dark shaggy hair, both had paper-white skin, both wore jeans and hooded sweaters. Were it not for one boy's wide shoulders and the other's ridiculously thick glasses, Chester would have pegged them for twins.

For a split second, a wave of relief tingled down Chester's spine, but the warm feeling didn't last long. Brian let out a choking sob and pressed himself into Chester's shirt, shaking hard enough for Chester to easily feel the vibrations against his back.

Then Chester saw it: a thin polished stick, held tightly in the fist of the broad-shouldered boy. Chester took a step backward, clutching Emma to his chest. He tripped over Brian and stumbled slightly, grabbed Brian's upper arm with his free hand, and bolted.

Chester's desperate flight lasted only a few seconds. It isn't easy to run with one child in your arms and another dragging behind you. A hand too large to belong to Brian grabbed Chester's shoulder from behind. The bottom dropped out of Chester's stomach and he realized, without coming to terms with the realization, that he was about to die.

Chester swiveled on his heel, yanking Brian around behind him. "Don't touch me," he shouted hysterically. "DON'T TOUCH ME!"

The boy with glasses released Chester and dropped back a step, holding up both hands with feigned innocence. "Calm down," he hastily retreated. "We aren't going to hurt you."

Chester wasn't fooled. "I know what those are," he hollered, waving wildly at the broad-shouldered boy who stood several steps behind them. "I know what those guns do. You're one of the psychos."

"Should I stun them?" The broad-shouldered boy raised the stick and pointed it directly at Chester.

Panic flooded Chester's chest. He turned his back, shielding Emma. On the ground before him lay several thick sticks, moss covered and half-rotted. Without thinking twice, more out of fear and impulse than bravery, Chester dropped Stella onto the ground and grabbed one of the sticks with both hands, wielding it like a sword. In one movement, he turned and slammed the stick against the nearest boy's head.

The soft stick broke. Though the boy's glasses were knocked off his face, he barely faltered. "Don't stun them," he instructed his partner, scanning the ground with squinted eyes and holding up one arm protectively. "They're muggles."

Muggles. Chester had heard that word before. He smashed the remains of his stick against the back of the boy's head just as the boy bent down to retrieve the glasses. The boy went down on one knee, and Chester raised the blunt end of the stick high.

Suddenly, the boy grabbed Chester's legs and tackled him from down low, forcing him to the ground. Chester kicked his legs as hard as he could, pounding and scratching mercilessly. "Let me go," he harshly sobbed. "Just leave us alone."

The boy was breathing hard, grunting as a few of Chester's punches made contact. "A little help here, please," he gasped over his shoulder.

The spectator, however, held back. "I'm not touching them. They're muggles."

There was a thud and a sharp intake of breath. Brian had hurtled himself against Chester's attacker. Chester tried to push Brian clear of the fray, but his moment of distraction was taken advantage of and Chester found himself flat on his stomach, hands held behind his back in a vice-like grip. "LEMME GO," he angrily screamed through a mouthful of moss.

Instead of freeing him, the hands yanked Chester's arms upward, forcing him to his feet. "You scratched my cheek," his captor accused in a slightly stunned voice. "I think I'm bleeding."

At that moment, Chester wanted to do far more to this boy than make his cheek bleed. Brian clutched Chester's shins, and Chester could do nothing to protect him. Stella cried shrilly, scooting back against the base of a tree and pulling her legs up against her chest.

"Come on, serious," the boy sighed with exasperation. Chester was bodily turned until he could see nothing but lake and trees. The hands released him, but his wrists remained tightly bound. They had handcuffed him faster than Cops on fast-forward.

If Chester could have lifted Stella, he'd have made a run for it. But he couldn't lift Stella, both because his hands were secured behind his back and because upon turning he found Stella hiked high in the arms of the boy with glasses. Stella continued to cry, twisting and squirming, pushing against the boy's grip. Brian took one look at his captured sister and joined in on her tears.

The broad shouldered boy, clearly a deadweight partner, continued to hang back. He watched scene with an expression of sickened fascination.

"I'm not going to hurt you." An apologetic voice called Chester's attention back to the boy with glasses. "If we leave you out here, you'll be dead by sundown." Emma yanked the boy's hair, and he snatched her hand away with a sharp hiss. "You're welcome, by the way, for saving your life."

Chester sneered, "You want a thanks? In your dreams. I'll cut your fingers off for this—don't doubt I won't."

The boy in the background took a halting step away from Chester, but the one holding Stella let out a scoffing laugh. "I'm sure. Just wait until we're at school. We've got to get back, or we could be missing more than fingers." Then he turned and began walking calmly, albeit a bit stiffly, away from Chester.

Stella reached over the boy's back, opening her arms wide for Chester. There wasn't anything Chester could do. He had no choice but to follow. Brian looped his hand under Chester's belt and took his place at Chester's side, warily watching the stick hanging loosely at the broad-shouldered boy's side.

"Serious," the boy holding Stella called. "Hurry up." There was a brief pause before the partner joined them reluctantly from behind. "They're okay, serious. I told you; they're just like normal people."

Either this guy seriously liked the word serious, or he'd never sat through an English class on word choice.

"They're filthy, James. I can't believe you're actually touching them."

Chester would have been insulted, had it not been the truth. Even after yesterday's jaunt in the creek, he could smell the three of them, and it wasn't pleasant.

'James' said nothing, ignoring the other boy completely. The group fell into a silent line with Chester and Brian in the middle, led forward like prisoners to the gallows. As they walked, the dizziness from earlier in the morning descended back down upon Chester. The long hours of hiking and carrying Stella without eating began to catch up with him. He focused on keeping his feet steady as he walked, ignoring the rushing in his ears, determined not to let any weakness show.

Black spots appeared in Chester's vision. Suddenly he found himself lying on his back, blinking up at a Brian and James' looming faces.

"Are you okay?" James patted Chester's cheek, even though his eyes were already open. A wet drop splashed on Chester's forehead; Brian still hadn't stopped crying, tears trailing slowly down the pale face.

Chester didn't feel okay. He felt dizzy and weak, and now the sick sensation that follows passing out had been added to his problems. So, naturally, Chester nodded roughly and rolled himself to his knees. "Don't touch me," he hissed, even though James had already backed away. Stella squirmed again, clearly not approving of the distance put between herself and Chester.

James shot a meaningful look over his shoulder, but Chester could hear the non-verbal command be declined: "I'll levitate him, but I'm not touching any of them. Do you have any idea how many diseases muggles carry?"

"No spells," James retorted with a roll of his eyes. The exasperation written across James' face had a dark, serious undertone. Chester was too busy breathing deeply through his nose to bother attempting to decipher the coded conversation.

A hand grabbed Chester's underarm, and Chester flinched. For the hundredth time, he repeated, "Don't touch me."

"Then don't faint. We're under some major time constraints here." Despite the boy's harsh tone, he waited (albeit a bit impatiently) for Chester to regain his equilibrium before continuing.

Chester followed James up a narrow, winding path through thickets of birches and maples. A glittering lake passed in and out of view. Great boulders, not unlike those in the sparse forest from wince they came, occasionally blocked their path. Brian smiled slightly as they clambered over the rocks, but otherwise kept a flat face. Even in the direst of moments, Brian still got a kick out of climbing. Not for the first time, Chester wondered who most deeply felt the gravity of the situation: Stella or Brian.

After nearly half an hour's walk, the woods opened into a sprawling clearing. From the meadow rose a tall hill, crowned with a wide ring of rubble. Chester wondered what store had stood in the site. A restaurant in a city park? A forest ranger station? A Wal-Mart? Probably a Wal-Mart. Why hadn't the prime real estate been snapped up the moment Wal-Mart relocated?

"Do we get to climb those, too?" Brian asked, a tad too eagerly.

"Climb what?" James closely watched Brian and Chester's expressions. Chester turned to look over the lake shining below.

"Don't talk to me," Brian bit back. He'd clearly picked up on Chester's reaction frame.

"You guys aren't… err… surprised?"

"By your choice of location for a pagan ritual? Shed our blood overlooking the crystal abyis?" If anything could surprise Chester at this point, it was the fact that he could quote his sixth grade lit teacher while calmly waiting for death.

Brian clutched one of Chester's bound wrists. "Who's bleeding?"

Chester didn't answer Brian's question. He turned and walked purposefully toward James, ignoring the threatening stance of James' friend. "She's about to be sick."

"What?" James cocked his head.

"Stella. She gets motion sick. Trust me; I speak from experience." Unable to point, Chester looked pointedly down at the stain on his pant leg.

Stella lay against James' shoulder, dopily sucking on her two fingers, eyes blinking shut every three seconds. The motion had lolled her into a half sleep. Nothing calmed Stella more efficiently than a stroller or car ride. Overall, she wasn't putting up a very convincing 'sick' act.

Luckily, either James didn't have any siblings or he was the kind of person who believes 'gulible' isn't in the dictionary. He quickly set Stella down on the ground and took a wary step back.

Immediately, Chester threw himself bodily against James. If blood must be shed, it would come from both sides. Chester wasn't going down without a fight.

Chester's right elbow struck James sharply in the stomach. James barely fought back. 'That's fine,' Chester decided as he kneed the boy ruthlessly. 'If he's a pacifist, he shouldn't have kidnapped us in the first place.'

James let out a strangled gasp. "Serious."

The second boy let out a harsh laugh. "You said no stunning spells." He appeared to be half enjoying the spectacle.

James finally let lose and struck Chester. The punch didn't land right. It glazed Chester's right cheek and threw him off balance, even though both were already on the ground. Chester bolted up, sprinting toward Brian, who stood stalk still facing the summit of the hill. "Run," he hollered.

Brian simply turned and gazed at Chester with round, glossy eyes. "That's a big train station."

'He's lost it.' The gravity of the situation hit Chester like a ton of bricks. He forced his feet to keep moving, but all he wanted at that moment was to bolt—not away from James, as would be expected, but straight back down that hill. 'Okay, we've both lost it.'

Then, suddenly, the apprehension lifted somewhat. Sure, he still feared the dark boy with the stick and the glasses-boy who couldn't throw a punch—but the urgency had somewhat abeited, like realizing one's homework is only overdue by a day instead of a week… except that death is much worse than a C minus.

Then he saw it.

It was Grand Central Station, and it was big.

A mammoth building rose before Chester, standing in place of the ring of rubble. Towers rose up endlessly; huge gates glinted with shining steel; brick walls studded by gargoils stretched in all directions. The shabby grass under Chester morphed into a neatly mancured lawn. A clock chimed, sending long gongs vibrating through the air, but Chester couldn't locate it amongst the overkill of massive gothic architecture.

"That's just the entrance gate."

Chester snapped back into semi-reality. He swirled around to see James eyeing at him with a smug half smile.

A sensation of lightheadedness rushed over Chester and he again felt like passing out. "What's going on here," he asked faintly.

"Magic." The answer was given with more bemusement than sacasim. James' partner began laughing hysterically.

Chester now had no doupt that they were both seriously unhinged. "Magic, my ass. If this is some sort of military technology, you'll all be tried in military court, and then you'll be screwed."

Stella stood up, wobbling on her feet and puckering her lips into a sour expression. She appeared to have just now noticed that she'd been released. "Chesser?" she asked, raising both arms in a bid to be lifted despite the fact that Chester stood yards away.

James snatched her up before Chester could take two steps. He'd clearly realized exactly why Chester had followed him so obediently. Stella began to scream, pulling at James' hair and clawing the exasperated boy's face. "You guys are a pain," he gripped.

Chester felt no sympathy. "Yeah, well, better a pain than a murder."

Immediately, Brian burst into tears. Chester blinked rapidly to clear his own vision. He regretted the comment, but not for his captors' sakes.

"Murder?" The boy paused on his way up the hill. "Who's a murder?"

A shrill voice beat Chester to the punch. "You," Brian cried. "You guys killed my mommy and my daddy, and I'll kill you. I'll cut your fingers off, just like Chester did to that bad man. I hate you bad men with sticks; I hate you all!"

Brain turned and buried his face in Chester's pant legs, sobbing harshly. Chester's jaw dropped for the second time in as many minutes. "Brian," he admonished, half shocked and half sorrowfully proud.

"No," James began, his face twisted painfully. He took a step toward them, reevaluated the gesture, and backed off again. "That was someone else. I'm trying to help you get away from the bad men. I'd never… I swear… I'm not one of them."

The dark boy suddenly stirred. He'd been so uninvolved in the entire affair that Chester had nearly forgotten his existence. The laughter died from his eyes. "We are fighting the men." His heavily accented voice sounded shockingly deep and heavy. "Good people chased them away last night, but there might still be some around. Come with us and hide in the castle. You'll be safe there." He paused, grimaced, and seemed to force himself to add, "I'll keep you safe."

"Castle?" Stella stopped squirming abruptly. She pushed herself away from James with one hand and patted the front of her Cinderella princess dress with the other. "Pincess castle?"

"Er, close enough." James hiked Stella up higher in his arms. She sat still. The promise of a castle had clearly promoted James to her good list.

Once again, handcuffed and helpless Chester was left with no options but to follow.