Divide and Conquer (22 page)

Enemy troops want to kidnap the First Lady! Play as Dak, Sera, and Riq as they race to save her — and the entire United States.

Log on now to join the fight for freedom.

Fix the past. Save the future.

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A civil war is brewing in the United States, and the SQ wants to fan the flames by taking over the Underground Railroad. In a nation divided, how can Dak, Sera, and Riq tell friend from foe?

Includes an all-new, top secret Hystorian’s Guide — which unlocks the next episode of the Infinity Ring game.

Turn the page for a sneak peek!

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Below is a sneak peek from Infinity Ring Book 3:
The Trap Door
by Lisa McMann.

T
HE FLOOR
moved up a few inches, and then a few inches more. “Run!” Dak whispered. He quickly took his own advice, and it didn’t take Sera or Riq any time at all to follow him out the door. They ran wildly for a minute or two, Sera hobbling through the sticks and mud on one bare foot, until they were a good distance away and hidden in a copse of evergreens.

“Why are we running?” Riq asked Dak between breaths.

“Dude, the floor moved. There was something down there!”

“Yeah, well, all we had to do was stand on it if we didn’t want the person to come out.”

“How do you know it was a person?” Dak asked.

“Right,” Sera said. “It could have been a monster.” She smirked.

“Hey, you never know. The way our luck has gone, it could have been Sasquatch,” Riq said.

Dak shook his head and sighed, annoyed. “You obviously know nothing about Sasquatch. He wasn’t sighted anywhere around here in 1850. Strictly northwest in the early years — he didn’t even have a name back then.”

“
Anywaaay
,” Sera prompted. “This is serious — what if they heard us? Riq, you totally said we were time travelers!”

Riq opened his mouth as if to protest, but then he closed it again. “I did?” he asked weakly.

“Riq!” Dak said. “You blew it.”

“Oh, please. I did not,” Riq scoffed. He glanced over his shoulder nervously. “But if either of you has an idea of where to go next, I’m all ears.”

Dak began muttering. “Eighteen-fifty. Maryland. A bowl something ist.” He scratched his head, and then mumbled, “There was a lantern by that shed. . . .”

After a second, he looked up. A sopping brown oak leaf flew through the wind and stuck to his cheek. “Duh,” he said. “Abolitionist. Come on, before we get struck by lightning.” He started walking, pulling the leaf from his cheek. Riq followed him.

Sera hesitated. “Guys,” she called. “I don’t understand. Where are we going? We didn’t solve the whole clue.” She ducked as a branch came flying through the wind at her.

“Because the answer is obvious. We’re supposed to join the abolitionists,” Dak said. “Seems likely that our Hystorian would be against slavery, right? So we need to find one to figure out how to help them.” He was getting cranky, slogging through the wet underbrush.

Sera followed along behind the boys, limping. “So where do we find an abolitionist in a hurricane?” she asked.

Dak frowned. “Technically, with a temperature this low, it’s not a —”

“Well, der,” Sera said, “I
know
that. It’s a nor’easter, but I didn’t feel like explaining —”

Riq looked up to the sky as if pleading for help, shook his head, and started trudging toward the nearest house.

Sera and Dak looked at each other and then turned to follow Riq.

“We look out of place, don’t forget,” Sera said, catching up to the older boy. “People might get suspicious.”

He looked down at his outfit. “I’m quite aware. But we can’t do anything in the way of Cataclysm prevention if we have to amputate your foot.”

“Aw,” Sera said. “You care about my foot.” She smiled.

Riq’s face was stern. “I care about the Hystorian quest.”

That was enough to silence everyone for the remainder of the walk.

The first house they came to was dark. The curtains were drawn, and there was nothing in the windows or on the porch. Dak shook his head. “This one doesn’t seem right.” They continued to the next one, which also didn’t look right to Dak.

“What are you looking for?” Riq asked.

“I’ll let you know when I find it,” Dak said.

Sera just bent her head into the wind and trudged after them.

Several minutes later, they approached the third house, the wind and rain slapping their faces raw.

Noticing a lit lantern in the window, Dak cautiously climbed the first porch step. “This might be it. They used lanterns as a signal.” He glanced out over the cornfield, identified the shed in the distance, and wondered if the field and that shed belonged to this homeowner. If so, the trap door made a bit more sense.

Riq stopped short of the steps and frowned.
Not that there’s anything unusual about Riq frowning
, thought Dak.

Sera looked at the older boy. “Do you think it’s safe?” she asked.

But Riq didn’t respond. Instead he groaned, pitched forward, grabbed the porch railing, and closed his eyes.

Sera reached out and held his arm. It took Dak a moment to figure out what was happening — Riq was having a Remnant.

“Is it a bad one?” Sera whispered.

There was no time to answer.

The door opened a crack, and then a bit more, and a woman in a black, warm-looking woolen dress and a bonnet on her head peered out. “Come in,” she said, and then she hesitated, taking in their strange appearances. But after a moment she smiled and repeated herself, more urgently this time. “
Ooh
, interesting. Come in, come in.” She waved them toward her as if to hurry them, and they didn’t hesitate.

Inside, a fire crackled in the fireplace. Riq, Sera, and Dak stood in the entryway, shivering and dripping all over the floor, but the woman didn’t seem to mind. She handed them each a towel so they could dry off.

“Well now,” she said, looking at Sera. “Your clothes are mighty unusual.”

Sera looked her in the eye. “We were at a party at the, um . . .”

“Plantation up the road,” Dak continued. “It was a post-Revolutionary theme. On the way home, one of our horses, uh” — he glanced downward and saw Sera’s bare foot — “lost a shoe, and we’ve walked quite a long way in the storm, looking for a place to stay the night.”

Sera looked like she wanted to kick Dak.

Riq said nothing.

The woman smiled broadly. “There’s no need to invent stories here. I’m Hester Beeson and I’m a Friend. I imagine you were looking for me.” She looked at Dak and Sera when she spoke, but tilted her head toward Riq.

Dak lifted his shoulders just slightly in a shrug, and then nodded his head once.

“Right,” Dak said. “Wow, so you’re a . . .” He hesitated on purpose.

“Oh yes, I’m on your side,” she said with a grin. “It’s a joy to be of service to you.” Dak’s face lit up. Hystorian?
Bingo!

Mrs. Beeson wasted no time. “Well, come along, then. We’ve got a safe room here — you just never know who might be about on a night like this. . . .” She led them through the house.

Dak flashed Riq a puzzled look, but Riq stared straight ahead, stone-faced.

“Can I,” she said, turning back toward them with her hands outstretched, “take anything for you? Put it in the safe?”

Sera raised an eyebrow. “N-no, thank you. We prefer to hold on to everything.”

“All right, then.” The woman didn’t seem to notice Riq’s odd expression, but Dak did. And he didn’t know quite what to make of it.

The woman pulled aside a plain wooden chair and a rug to reveal a square door in the floor. She turned the inset lock and pulled it open, and then stood aside and pointed proudly at the opening. “Like magic,” she said with a grin. “You two and your slave will be comfortable down here.”

Dak and Sera stared at each other, jaws dropped. Then Dak looked at Riq, who was bristling.

“Mrs. Beeson,” Sera began, her cheeks blazing, “Riq is
not
our —”

A swift kick to her shin shut her up just in time.

“I’m glad you made it safely.” Mrs. Beeson began to hum as the three climbed down a ladder into a small, cool cellar, lit by lanterns. “You’ll find dry clothes to change into, and some water and soap for those cuts on your foot, miss. I’ll bring some food down in a bit.”

“Okay . . . thank you,” Sera said, but her voice was unsure. She shot questioning glances at Dak and Riq, and they returned them. Sera leaned toward them and whispered, “She’s a weird one. Do you really think she’s the local Hystorian?”

Dak nodded. But something sure seemed off.

“Excuse me,” he called up the ladder. “You know who Aristotle is, right?”

“No, dear,” Mrs. Beeson answered. “I’ve never met anyone by that name.”

A moment later the door overhead closed.

And then the lock clicked.

They heard the chair scraping the floor above to cover it.

The three incredibly smart, self-proclaimed geniuses had just willingly gotten themselves locked in a drafty cellar. All three turned to one another as Dak said, “Wait. What just happened?”