Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and ideas that are owned by others. Written for fun, not profit.

Rating: PG

Notes: There will be one final chapter after this. Many thanks to those who have reviewed! I hope you continue to enjoy.

Balance of Power

by Rummi

Chapter 4

The thing that surprised Hank the most was probably the fact that he wasn't surprised. Not at first – not really.

Dungeon Master had appeared suddenly in their midst countless times during their months in the Realm – and often in the strangest of places. Seeing him now, in the middle of Eric's bedroom – even if he did look uncharacteristically serious – almost seemed a natural occurrence.

It was only after the vision settled into Hank's brain that the strangeness of it finally registered: They weren't in the Realm anymore.

"D-Dungeon Master?" he said at last. "What are you doing here?"

"Greetings, my friends," the old mage replied. His voice seemed sad. In it, there was an almost too-obvious attempt at cheerful enthusiasm. It left Hank feeling uneasy.

"It pleases me to see that you are all safe, and finally settled in your home world," Dungeon Master continued. "I am proud of you."

"Um, thanks?" Presto said. He probably hadn't intended for it to sound like a question, but, apparently, the old man's appearance had left them all a little thunderstruck.

"Thank you, Dungeon Master," Sheila said. She seemed the quickest to collect herself after the shock of seeing him there. She stepped forward and got down on her knees to the old man's level. "Thank you for helping us to find Xandora. We couldn't have made it home without you." Her fingers reached toward him in a gentle gesture of gratitude, but they passed right through his shoulder.

For an instant, Dungeon Master faded out and back in again like a faulty movie projection. Sheila pulled her hand away and covered her mouth with it, gasping sharply. Hank joined her on the floor just in time for the Dungeon Master to quickly reappear. Their former guide seemed solid enough, but his presence was, apparently, nothing more than an illusion.

"Forgive me for startling you, my children," he said. "What you see is but an image of my form. As you may have come to realize by now, I cannot physically materialize in your world without risking the loss of my powers."

"Yeah, we noticed," Presto replied. "Too bad Venger didn't know that before he followed us here." He grinned and crossed his arms with an air of triumph.

Dungeon Master nodded in response and smiled. However, it did not reach all the way to his eyes, which usually twinkled when the old mage smiled. To Hank, the expression looked even more grim than a frown.

"Did you come to say goodbye?" Bobby interjected before Hank could say anything. "Did you see Uni? Is she all right?"

The Dungeon Master did smile more genuinely at that as he turned to face Bobby. He gave the boy a low nod. "She is fine, Barbarian," he replied. "She misses you very much, but she is fine."

"And Xandora?" Diana asked, stepping forward. "I don't think we thanked her properly; everything happened so quickly."

"My old friend is also well," Dungeon Master answered. "She is grateful to you for your help, my friends, and she is as happy as I am to know you are safe in your own world."

Hank frowned. Maybe he was imagining things, but the Dungeon Master really didn't . . . look happy.

"Dungeon Master?" he finally said gently. "Is everything all right?"

The old man sighed and cast his eyes downward. The façade of his smile vanished from his face. "Yes," he answered. "And no."

"Give me a break," Eric muttered.

Hank shot an irritated look over his shoulder and saw the former Cavalier cross his arms impatiently, glaring at the Dungeon Master.

"What?" Eric said as he turned his eyes to Hank with an annoyed scowl. "We made it through his little maze of monsters, didn't we? Is it too much to ask for him to give the stupid riddles a rest now?"

Hank only responded with an angry look and turned back to the image of the Dungeon Master. "What happened, Dungeon Master?" he asked.

The mage sighed again. Hank had never seen him look so filled with despair. After a moment the old man raised his eyes and addressed the group of assembled Young Ones. "The Realm has met with difficult times since your departure, my young friends," he said. "Many kingdoms have fallen into ruin."

Diana took a sharp breath. "What do you mean?" she asked. "How could that have happened?"

"Yeah," Presto added. "We all thought that without Venger around to cause so much trouble things would have gotten better."

Dungeon Master nodded grimly. "It is true that Venger's presence no longer troubles the Realm," he said. "When he pursued you into your world, the time allotted for him to return was limited. He may not have been aware of this. Nevertheless, when that time expired, the effect of your world took hold and his powers were forfeit. Much like that of your weapons."

"Yes," Sheila confirmed. "He's trapped here."

"And our weapons don't work either," Bobby added.

Dungeon Master set his lips into a thin line. He continued with a dour expression. "Unfortunately, Venger's accidental confinement in your world was something I had not foreseen. It was a grave error on my part, I fear, because although Venger is gone, his evil forces remain."

Hank's brow knitted with concern. "What does that mean, Dungeon Master?" he asked.

"Yeah," Presto added. "If Venger is gone, wouldn't that mean the people of the Realm are free?"

Dungeon Master shook his head. "I wish it were that simple, Magician," he said sadly. "Venger was a far more powerful sorcerer than you may even realize. The source of his evil, as well as his hold on the Realm, was something even I could not hope to break. You, however, have been fortunate enough to defeat him time and again. This was partially due to the power in your weapons, but in larger part to the strength of your innocence and the purity in your hearts. It created a natural balance, which was necessary to keep Venger's evil in check. Now, however, a destructive force devastates the Realm – one, I fear, even more powerful than Venger himself."

"What is it?" Sheila asked in a small, worried voice.

"Chaos, my children," the Dungeon Master replied gravely. "In Venger's absence, the countless legions of evil, which were once controlled by his power, are overrunning the Realm. Without Venger's magic to control the chaos they are creating, and maintain the universal balance, our world will continue to fall into disorder – until there is nothing left."

"That's terrible!" Sheila exclaimed.

"You've got to be kidding me!" Eric countered. Once again Hank shot him an angry look, but Eric replied with one of his own. "Oh, come on," he insisted to Hank. "We squared off against old Horn-Head dozens of times in the Realm – and always doing something he told us to do." The Cavalier pointed an accusing finger at the image of Dungeon Master. "Then, by some stroke of brilliant luck, we manage to get rid of the guy permanently and listen to him! He's actually complaining about it! Talk about being ungrateful!"

"Eric!" Diana snapped, but he ignored her.

"Why are you here?" he asked Dungeon Master. There was a dark edge to his voice.

The ancient mage cast his eyes downward. Hank thought he looked ashamed.

"My pupils – my friends," he said, "it is not within my power to stop the force that threatens to overtake the Realm – not when that force is a disruption in the very balance of our universe. My power can only counter so much. I am afraid the only thing that can restore order to our world is restoring that which was lost."

"You mean Venger," Presto guessed. "As long as Venger is around to control his troops, nature won't go all out of whack."

Dungeon Master was silent, but Hank got the impression that Presto was right.

"There's more though, isn't there?" Eric said, still hostile. "That's why you're acting so guilty, isn't it?"

Dungeon Master finally looked back up at them. His eyes were very sad. "I do not have the power to correct this on my own," he said. "There is too much flux in the natural balance. Your weapons' presence in the Realm had once enabled me to draw upon more energy as I needed it, but now that power is gone as well."

"That's why you would ask us to leave our weapons behind whenever we found a portal that might take us home," Diana said. "Their power is tied to the Realm."

"And to you," Sheila added.

"I have no right to ask this of you," Dungeon Master murmured, shaking his head slowly. "You have done all that I have ever asked of you, and you have earned your reward: your home, and your peace. However, the fact remains that the only way to save the Realm – the only way to heal the universal balance and restore the power that was lost – is if you bring it here yourselves."

The children were quiet for what felt like a very long time. Finally, Presto spoke.

"You mean," he said in a cracked voice, "we'd have to return to the Realm."

"And we'd have to bring Venger and the weapons with us," Hank concluded. He glanced at Eric out of the corner of his eye. The Cavalier seemed to be fuming silently, but he didn't look as though he was preparing any sort of outburst. At least not yet.

"I am sorry, my children," Dungeon Master replied. "I wish there were some other way. Please know, however, that this is your decision. As Dungeon Master of the Realm, it is my duty to seek out the means by which to save my world. You, however, are under no such obligation. You no longer have ties to this Realm and you have earned the right to live, undisturbed, in your own world. The choice . . . is yours."

After another eternal pause, Hank took a deep breath. "Dungeon Master . . . " he began.

The old man held up his hand. "This is not a decision to be made hastily, Ranger. I shall leave you to do that on your own. But know this: should you decide to return, you must recall a lesson which you have previously learned. Then look to yourselves – for you carry your way with you."

"What does that mean?" Bobby muttered, but Sheila shushed him discreetly.

"If you should decide not to return," Dungeon Master concluded, "know that I understand, and do not begrudge you your just reward. I meant what I said, my children: I am so proud of you."

Each of the children looked from the ancient mage to each other. Silence hung heavy in the room. Finally, Hank shook his head. "Dungeon Master," he said, "we can't just let you—"

But the room in front of them was now empty, as though the old man had never been standing there.

"He's gone," Hank murmured quietly.

Sheila reached tentatively toward the spot where the Dungeon Master had been standing. "And for good this time if we don't do something," she added.

"So what are we going to do?" Diana asked.

"Do?" Eric replied with a bitter laugh. Everyone turned to him. "You mean you guys are actually considering it?"

"Eric," Diana said. Hank could tell she was trying to speak gently, but there was a clear, angry edge to her voice. "Didn't you hear what he said? The Realm is being destroyed. Tell me you're actually considering sitting back and doing nothing?"

"I'm not considering," Eric rounded on her darkly. "I've pretty much decided."

"How can we not help them?" Presto asked his friend.

Eric scowled. "Look, Presto, the way I see it DM said one thing that made sense to me the whole time he was here: After everything we've been through in that place, we earned our trip home. So now he wants to suck us back in because the Dungeon Master can't handle a little orc infestation problem? I don't think so."

"But we know what orcs can do," Sheila said, almost imploring him. "And lizard men and bullywogs . . . and how many other evil things that Venger controlled that we've never even seen! If they're all running rampant through the Realm, and only Venger's power can restrain them—"

"Maybe Eric's right."

Five pairs of eyes turned to Hank as he spoke. A dead silence filled the room. Everyone looked shocked – Eric most of all.

"Hank," Sheila said in a small voice. She took a pleading step toward him and touched his arm. "You can't mean . . . "

Hank offered her a grim smile and placed his hand on hers. "I didn't mean that we shouldn't help," he said. "I just meant that Eric has a point: We don't all need to risk our lives. If the Realm needs Venger and the weapons back, I'll bring them myself."

"What?" Bobby exclaimed. "No way!"

Sheila's eyes were wide with terror. She shook her head mutely. Most of his friends shared the same expression.

"It might work," Hank explained. "I can just take the weapons and—"

"And just how do you plan on using them all?" Diana took a step forward, as Sheila had, but her eyes had become angry. "I understand that you're trying to protect us, Hank, but what you're suggesting is not even an option. We never deserted each other back in the Realm; we're not going to do it here. If you're going, so am I."

"And me!" Bobby drew himself up to his full height, his young face set and determined.

"Bobby, no," Sheila insisted. "You should stay here."

"No way, sis," the young boy countered with a resolute shake of his head. "We've faced loads of scary stuff in the Realm. You think I'm going to let you all go back without me and my club to protect ya?"

Sheila smiled but looked tearful. "Let's do it then," she said quietly to Hank.

"Presto?" Diana asked as she turned to face him.

The young Magician glanced quickly at Eric, then back to the others. He nodded. "I'm in," he said.

The group of five turned to Eric at last, who still stood near the doorway of his room. Hank saw that his fists were clenched.

"Eric?" Presto asked tentatively. "What are you going to do?"

"Me?" he replied. Hank thought he suddenly sounded very calm. Eric glanced down at the broken bottle of champagne that lay in a puddle at his feet. "I'm going to get a mop." He turned toward the door. "I think you all know the way out."

As far as Hank was concerned, the worst part was knowing they didn't have much time to develop a plan. When they had returned from the Realm, only a few short hours had passed here in their world. Who knew how much time had gone by there during the two days they were home. Or how many horrible things may have happened since they saw Dungeon Master last night. The Ranger knew that if they were going to try to save the Realm, they had to act – and they had to do it today.

Hank met with his friends again at lunch. This time, Eric's obvious absence was almost palpable. Bobby, however, had managed to sneak over from the elementary center across campus. He attempted to wedge himself among them, out of sight, as the group of Young Ones huddled around the small courtyard table.

Presto's head was in his hands. "This has got to be the worst idea we've ever come up with," he mumbled.

"I know," Hank agreed. "But what choice do we have?"

"Hank," Diana said, "we need to be very sure about this. We're talking about committing a felony here."

"I know," Hank repeated. He felt exasperated. "Believe me, I know that."

It had been on his mind for hours: how to get Venger back to the Realm. It was, without a doubt, the most difficult task they had ever faced – in this world or any other. Because returning Venger to the Realm also meant getting him out of jail and away from the police. Hank had no idea how they were going to manage that. It had been difficult enough just getting in to see him without raising suspicion. Finding a way for him to leave with them was going to be next to impossible.

There was also the simple fact that Venger hated them. Hank didn't hold a great deal of hope for his cooperation.

"I wish we had more time to be strategic about this," Hank said, "but the fact is we don't. For every minute that goes by here the Realm is losing days, maybe even weeks. If we don't do this now it will be too late. It could be already."

Diana nodded. "I understand," she said. "We all do. We just have to be very sure about this, because breaking Venger out of jail – if we get caught, we may not have a home to come back to."

Hank grunted. He had thought about that as well. In fact, he hadn't slept for thinking about it. There was no denying the fact that what they were planning was a criminal act. If they were caught, even if they somehow managed to get away and return to the Realm, they may never be able to come back home. Not to a home that was welcome and warm, anyway. If they were caught, things here would never be the same.

Hank had tried to talk himself out of going through with this countless times over the past several hours. But the fact of the matter was it was the right thing to do. This world may not understand that, but Hank did. He knew his friends, for all their words of caution, did too.

Or, at least, most of them did.

"It's not a pretty plan, but it might work," Hank said. "Getting to Venger is our biggest concern right now. As for figuring out how Dungeon Master intended for us to get back to the Realm – we'll cross that bridge when we come to it."

"Are you sure we can't do whatever it is we have to do right from the jail cell?" Sheila asked. "Maybe we won't have to get Venger away from the police at all."

"No, I'm not sure," Hank answered. "But for some reason I don't think so. Everything we've done has been tied to that park – and that roller coaster. Whatever we have to do to get back to the Realm, I think it has to be from there."

"Okay," Presto said, sitting up straight, "let's go over this again."

"You and I go into the station," Hank said to Presto. "I didn't notice a keyhole in Venger's cell door when I was there yesterday, so it must be electronic. You may be the only one who can figure out how to get it open.

"Sheila, you and Bobby will be outside by the pay phone. If we need more time, you may have to call in a distraction. If that doesn't work, improvise. We need enough time to get Venger out of there."

Sheila nodded and looked at her brother. Her face seemed extremely nervous.

"Diana . . ." Hank continued.

"I know what you want me to do, Hank, and I don't like it," she said, shaking her head.

"We're going to need a way out of there or the whole thing is blown," Hank replied.

"If you run into trouble, I should be in there to help you," she countered, gently but insistent. "Even without my javelin I can fight. You know I can."

"I know," Hank said. "And the fact that I'm hoping it won't come to that doesn't mean it won't happen. But you're the only one besides me with a car; we're going to need you outside waiting for us. And the cops have already got a record of me visiting Venger. The fewer of us they can actually identify the better."

"I'll do it, but I still don't like it," Diana answered. She shrugged and offered Hank a wan half-smile. "I'm not sure if Tall, Pale, and Gruesome is going to fit into my beetle."

Hank smiled back. It was weary but genuine. "We'll make it work."

Finally, he took a deep breath. "We'll wait as long as we can before going," he said. "I don't know what time visiting hours end at the jail, but we don't want to try this in broad daylight. We'll go as close to sundown as we can. In the meantime, bring anything you think you might need: the weapons definitely, and any supplies you can carry for the trip back to the Realm. We won't be able to bring much, but we can at least try to be more prepared than we were the last time." He looked at each of his friends in turn. "Is there anything we're missing?"

"Eric . . ." Presto said.

Hank clenched his jaw. He hated to have to be the one to drive home the fact that that was probably a lost cause – even if he didn't want to believe it himself. But when he looked at Presto, to try to put it as delicately as possible, he saw that his friend was staring past him.

Hank turned to follow Presto's gaze, and saw Eric standing there.

The former Cavalier stood a short distance away, a sour expression on his face. Over one shoulder, he had slung a backpack, in his opposite hand swung another. He shifted his weight as the group stared at him. "Hey," he said.

"Hey," Hank replied.

Another shift of his weight and Eric hefted the backpack that he had grasped in his hand, then allowed it to swing alongside his leg once more. "So," he muttered, "are you all still planning to do what I think you're going to do?"

Hank nodded grimly. "Yeah," he answered.

Eric nodded in response. "It's a stupid idea," he said dryly. "You know that, right?"

"What do you care?" Bobby spat bitterly.

A flash of anger crossed Eric's face. His brows knitted in a deep scowl and his lips pursed. "I guess I don't," he said. He marched forward and deposited the bag, which had been in his hand, onto the bench beside Hank. "I just figured you'd probably be needing that. It's not like I want it anymore."

He turned on his heel without waiting for a response. He trudged away from the table and back into the school, shifting the weight of the bag on his shoulder as he went.

When he had disappeared into the building, Hank glanced at the bag Eric had left behind.

He reached for the zipper and slid it open. Inside, gleaming in the afternoon sun, was the golden face of the Cavalier's shield.

Hank felt that horrible pressure in his throat again that evening as he said goodbye to his parents. As far as they knew, he was simply meeting with some friends for a few hours, and that was how Hank preferred to leave it. He hugged both of them, saying as little as possible – not because he didn't have a million things to tell them, but because he didn't know how. He had toyed with the idea of leaving a note, just in case, but dismissed it. He felt that doing so would be like admitting they might not make it home again next time.

Besides, how could he even begin to explain what he was about to do? Or why?

It was nearly dusk when he met his friends a short distance from the jail. Each of them had brought their weapon, as well as a bag with some supplies and the clothes they had worn in the Realm. After placing each of these into the trunk of Diana's car, they separated and took their positions around the police station.

A few minutes later, Hank took a deep breath as he stood before the front doors with Presto at his side. He glanced at the corner to his right where Diana waited with her car. She turned around in the driver's seat and gave him an anxious wave through the window. Hank could tell she was still not happy about being left outside. He reciprocated her hand gesture and glanced to his left, where Sheila and Bobby stood. They were peeking around the corner from beside a nearby pay phone. Even from this distance, Hank could see that Sheila was also worried. Nevertheless, she smiled and gave him an encouraging nod.

Hank finally looked down at Presto. "You ready?" he asked.

He could actually see Presto's Adam's apple bob dramatically as the young man swallowed. "Yeah," he answered. His voice cracked noticeably.

Hank placed a steadying hand on his shoulder. "Let's go then," he said. Together they stepped toward the station door. There was no turning back now.

As they walked into the police station, Hank gave the room a cursory glance. The situation was probably the best they could have hoped for: the front office was quiet, there was one cop behind a desk in the far corner, and the phones were silent. There was an overall sense of minor activity and Hank was grateful for it – because in a short time there was going to be a whirlwind of activity. It would be a lot more difficult with a roomful of cops rather than just one.

"Something I can do for you kids?" The policeman sitting at the desk had noticed them. After a moment, Hank realized it was the same cop who had spoken to him and Sheila the day before.

"Uh, hi," Hank began, unsure of how to proceed.

The policeman stood up from his desk and began to make his way toward the front counter. "I know you," he said. "You were here yesterday. Henry, was it?"

Hank's heart sank a little. The cop even remembered his name. "Yes, sir," he replied. "Good to see you again." He groped for something more substantial to say, then remembered Presto at his side. "This is my friend Preston."

"P-Preston Myers, sir." Presto offered his hand and the policeman shook it.

"Work for the school paper too, do you, Preston?" the officer asked.

"I . . . I'm the editor, sir," Presto answered with only minor hesitation. Hank was impressed with his quick thinking.

"So what brings you boys out here?" the cop asked. "Bit late for newspaper work, isn't it?"

"Not when you're on a deadline," Presto grumbled with a roll of his eyes. His voice gained a bit more confidence, but his feet shifted awkwardly on the floor.

"Apparently, there was a problem with the article," Hank said, falling into step with their cover story. He directed his comment sarcastically at Presto, but with encouraging emphasis on certain words.

"Well . . . you know . . . it doesn't look like there's going to be an article," Presto shot back. He crossed his arms and adopted an air of haughty, if a bit nervous, superiority. Hank gave him an encouraging nod that was barely noticeable, and Presto managed to continue. "Anyway . . ." he added, "not with the information you collected. It hardly seemed credible."

"Well, we sure didn't need to come all the way downtown for you to tell me that again," Hank retorted. "I told you: the guy didn't say anything to me. What was I supposed to print?"

Presto shrugged pretentiously. His comfort level seemed to be improving. "According to Sheila, you weren't in there that long," he said. "Doesn't sound to me like you were trying too hard."

"You didn't see him, okay, Preston?" Hank shot back. "The guy was a freak! The sooner I got out of there, the better. Like I told you back at the office: if you think you can get more out of him, you go in there an talk to him."

Presto shook his head. "If I do this interview, I . . . I'm going to have to take over your whole article."

"You think I care?" Hank grumbled. "This whole thing has already caused me more trouble than it's worth. And now this is the second time I've been in this police station in two days."

The cop, who had listened to the volley of words without interrupting, finally let out his breath in a whoosh. "You take this school newspaper thing pretty serious, don't you?"

Presto turned his attention to the policeman and shrugged innocently. "Well, you know . . . if I want to be a real journalist someday, I just can't get my experience covering the chess club and investigating the cafeteria's mystery meat," he replied. He offered the cop a tense grin.

"I hate to do this, officer," Hank said, "but could we get in there one more time?" He glared at Presto. "So we can finally settle this problem?"

The cop checked the clock on the side wall. "It's after hours, boys," he said. "Why don't you come back tomorrow afternoon?"

"We're supposed to go to print tonight, sir," Presto insisted. "If we don't get this now, we're going to have to forget the whole thing. We really need to finish today . . . as long as it's all right with you, that is."

The policeman muttered something unintelligible and dug the log book out from beneath the counter. "Sign here, please," he said. "And remember what I told you yesterday, son." He pointed a warning finger at Hank.

"Yes, sir. Thank you," Hank replied as both he and Presto filled their names into the book. "I promise we'll be as brief as we can."

Hank walked toward the rear hallway with Presto at his heels. His heart was pounding, even as he breathed a sigh of partial relief. The cop hadn't asked to see identification, and Hank couldn't believe that stroke of good luck. Their act must have been very distracting, because Presto wouldn't have been able to fake the fact that he wasn't 18 yet.

As they made their way to the lockup door, Hank put his hand on Presto's shoulder. "I'm impressed, buddy," he said quietly.

"And I think I'm going to throw up," Presto replied. He did look a little green. "I'm not sure I'll ever be able to do anything like that again."

"The hard part's almost over," Hank said as he waited for the droning buzz that would allow them access to the lockup door.

The buzz sounded and the door clicked. Hank curled his fist around the handle. "Ready?" he asked.

"Will it matter if I say no?" Presto replied with a weak grin. Hank returned it and pulled the door open.

The cell room was exactly as Hank had left it the previous day – the color, the lighting, and the single inhabitant of the jail. He was sitting on one of the benches, his long legs at an odd angle due to his unnatural height. It might have been a comical sight if the situation hadn't been so urgent.

Venger raised his head as the two boys made an abrupt entrance and stood at his full height to face them.

Hank ignored him for the time being. His eyes scanned the area until he found what he was looking for: a numbered keypad was on the wall beside a set of levers – one for each cell. A code was probably required to release the lock on the levers and open the cell doors.

"Presto," he said, but the Magician was already making his way toward it.

"On it," Presto replied.

Hank turned back to Venger and saw that the archmage was regarding him suspiciously. He still had that ever-present look of rage, but it seemed mixed with an odd curiosity. "What is the meaning of this?" he rumbled.

"Prison break," Hank replied tersely. He kept his voice carefully neutral.

A distant sound caught Hank's ears. He was able to identify it as the ringing of a telephone in the front room. He could only assume that was Sheila, attempting to buy them some time. At least he hoped it was.

"Four digit access," Presto said as he hovered over the keypad. "This isn't going to be easy. Is there a security camera in here?"

Hank scanned the corners where the walls met the ceiling. "Probably," he answered. Unfortunately, there was nothing to be done about that now. "Just keep working."

"Ranger!" Venger's resonant voice drummed against Hank's panicked brain like a sledgehammer. Venger curled both hands around the bars that held him and glared at Hank. "I demand an explanation."

Hank stepped toward the bars, a little too preoccupied with the situation around them to worry about what Venger might do if he got too close. "Apparently the Realm needs you back," he said through gritted teeth. "Don't ask me why, but we've become the recovery crew."

Venger raised an eyebrow, but maintained his air of suspicion. "You would defy the authority of your world to release me?" he said. "Why?"

Hank got as close to the bars as he dared and met the dark mage's crimson eyes. "I'm not – doing this – for you," he spat darkly.

"Presto," he asked as he turned from Venger back to his friend, whose fingers were flying furiously over the keypad. "How's it going?"

"There are 10,000 possible combinations here, Hank," Presto muttered nervously. "The odds of finding the right one in the next two minutes aren't so good." There was a thin line of sweat trickling down the side of his temple.

"Keep trying," Hank said and he moved back toward the door and strained to listen for anything emanating from the other side. After a few minutes, he heard some vague evidence of movement, then the low sound of conversation. It didn't sound like Sheila and Hank's stomach did a flip-flop.

"Presto," he muttered.

"I know."

"You're going to have to hurry."

"I know."

"We're running out of time."

Presto chewed his bottom lip as the next set of numbers he tried yielded no results.

Soon, Hank heard the sound of approaching footsteps though the door. His stomach leapt, then plummeted. "Someone's coming," he hissed.

Presto shook his head defeatedly, even as his fingers continued to fly. "Nothing," he said. "I'm getting nothing."

Hank heard the footsteps stop right outside the room, followed almost immediately by the telltale buzz overhead, which preceded the release of the door's lock. Hank shot away from the door as though he had been released from his own energy bow. He grabbed Presto by the shoulders and wrenched him away from the keypad. They both spun around and stopped in the center of the room as the door swung open.

The policeman stepped through and Hank tried desperately to hide the fact that he was panting, hard. The cop looked from the two boys to Venger, whose sinister eyes glared balefully at everyone in the room.

"Okay," the cop said with a shake of his head. "This ends right now, kids. I'm going to need you to come with me."

"But—" Hank began.

"But nothing, son," the cop said. "The newspaper thing is all well and good, but don't think I can't see what's really going on here."

Presto gulped hard. "Y-You can?" he asked.

"If you think I can't recognize adolescent curiosity when I see it, you've got another thing coming. I've got kids of my own, you know. But this is a jail, boys, not a circus."

Hank's brain went into a tailspin and his heart sank. This was worse than he could have imagined – the cop didn't think they were felons, he thought they were nosy children. And if that was the case, he'd never let them in there again. They'd never get another chance.

Frantically, Hank wracked his brain, trying to think of a way out of this.

"Besides," the cop said. "I need you kids to clear out of here anyway. I have to get this guy processed for release."

Hank's eyes darted to the policeman's face. "What?" he asked. His voice came out sounding a lot weaker than he'd intended.

The cop took both Hank and Presto by the arm and guided them toward the lockup door. "It seems our friend here made bail," he explained in a slightly irritated tone. "Which means you need to clear out while I do my job." He led them to the hallway beyond the door and released their arms. Before turning back to the cell, he leaned in toward them. "I know things like this are a curiosity, boys," he said in an understanding whisper, "but take my advice: don't go looking for trouble like this." He cocked his head in the direction of the cells, indicating Venger. "Real life isn't like the movies. Guys like that are bad news, and a sure way to get yourselves hurt." He clamped them both firmly on the shoulders and turned back toward the lockup.

Presto turned to Hank. "I . . . I don't get it," he whispered. "They're just letting him go?"

Hank shook his head, bewildered. "Someone paid his bail," he said.

It seemed such a simple solution, and yet it was one that hadn't really been possible. Because to do so not only meant obtaining the necessary money, but also being willing to voluntarily associate themselves with Venger – something they had been very careful to avoid doing from the beginning.

"But that's crazy," Presto said. "Who could have possibly . . ."

His words trailed off at the same moment that Hank looked down the lockup hallway into the main room beyond. The Ranger's breath stilled in his throat.

Standing at the front desk – arms crossed, looking uncharacteristically serious – was Eric.

To be continued . . .