"Sam!" He was glomped on by the running girl. It was the type of hug Wes and Kyle used to give to their older brother Easton all the time.
Tucker joined their hug, which stretched on. For minutes. Wes looked away.
He had never been to the Penitentiary. It was all dark brick and spooky shadow. By the entrance were two people, standing guard. One was an angry-looking dark-skinned teen, and the other-
"Yooo, Weston!" he whooped, rushing from the doors. Danny, Sam, and Tucker separated, red in the faces, Wes saw. "Haven't heard from you in a while."
"Hey, Dash," Wes said to his fellow basketball player. "I'm gone for a minute and the world's gone to crap." Dash slapped Wes on the back (like bros do? That hurt).
"Let's get inside." Sam suggested. "Never know when Undergrowth or Vortex will strike."
Inside wasn't as scary as the outside, what with the storm clouds and monstrous plants. The entry area was empty: Chairs were overturned and papers strewn about behind the reception desk.
Sam led them down the empty halls, lined with cell doors. They stopped at one and she knocked a pattern upon it. It opened to reveal a group of adults and students. Chief among them was Vlad Masters.
Bile rose in Wes' throat. His father worked for Masters; Wes knew who - or rather - what he was. Vlad Plasmius. (He didn't even change his first name! Neither did Danny! Of course, no one believed him about Phantom, and no one will believe him about their precious Mayor Masters).
"Young Daniel, returned from the dead, I see," Vlad said magnanimously. "And Young Weston, too." It was almost an afterthought. Wes swallowed the foul taste in his mouth.
And then the foulness came back up. And out. Glitter and stomach acid and pain and burn splattered all over his front and the floor.
Behind him, Danny's lips released the same concoction of fairy dust puke.
"Oh my god!" cried one of the adults.
"Get them to Doctor Todd," ordered another.
Wes and Danny were carted down a hole in the floor in the corner of the cell. The tunnels below were a maze of honeycombed corridors branching in every direction. Wes hoped Sam knew where she was going. He was feeling faint, like vomiting had taken something of more substance than sparkly bile.
Wes's vision went; he keeled over.