Gnawing her fingernails, Shelby gazed across a bedroom at a blue emulate which laid atop a desk, and seated on a bed, Francis upturned her palms.
“So,” Francis said. “What’s our move?”
Shelby sighed.
“Or do we just stare at it all night?”
“We don’t know what it does.”
Francis all but fell over. “Yes, we do—our little munchkin friend said, ‘it transports people wherever they want, whenever they want’.”
“And you believed him?”
“Did we not see him disappear into thin air?”
Shelby ambled to a closet door—chewed a fingernail—and then to a dresser. “I’ve got it: tonight, we’ll bike to Briar Park.”
“Back to the moonflower field?”
“Yes, the spot where we’d last seen him. ‘Round there, a lamppost stands, and behind the post, we’ll drop the stone.” She peered at the emulate. “And with it aglow every so often, he’ll find it no problem.”
Francis sprang to her feet. “If someone else doesn’t find it first…”
“Well, if someone else does, it’s their problem.” Shelby watched Francis fold her arms. “Fran, once he realizes it’s missing, he’ll return, and if he finds us with it, who knows what he’d do.”
“Afraid he’ll turn you into a toad or something?”
“Yep—I can’t swim.”
Francis rolled her eyes but then walked Shelby to the bed, sat her down, and sat beside her. “You’re looking at this the wrong way ‘round.”