Outside was crazy. The thick, coming storm weighed me down. It could come any minute: thunderous, hurricane rain, followed by all kinds of hell. I dashed across the lawn, into The Lab and up the stairs. The bookcase was locked. Most of our books anyone can look at. Some, we don't think would be wise to let out. I fumbled the key chain, looking for the tiny key that could open the door. I managed to get it near the keyhole when the electricity died. Cara may curse my pipe, but right then, I think she'd have been glad I had a lighter. The lighter helped me again. The deep, old books were a window to the past. We had read few. That would entail things like dying horrible deaths. Instead, we had a collection of "about books," essays written anywhere from last year to a thousand years ago. The one I was looking for was deep red, 'Aichlan's Deimos.' In it I hoped to sort out how to send Xith back to wherever the hell it came from before it ate Lily Dale, or whatever it does.