Marco’s heart was beating fast after yanking the plug on Mrs. Neel and escaping through the backstage door.

  He’d never done anything like that before.

  Oh no. What did I do?

  If they got caught, he couldn’t catch the cat.

  And if he couldn’t catch the cat, there’d be no money for Lucky’s surgery.

  Stupid. So stupid.

  He closed his eyes and rubbed the bridge of his nose.

  Squinting against the sudden burst of sunlight, Carly hobbled toward a battered golf cart, its front bumper barely hanging on, and ordered, “Get in! I’ll drive!”

  Really? I’d rather face that sabertooth from my dream again.

  …Shit.

  Resigned, Marco jumped in with the others.

  Okay. No seatbelt. Crap.

  “Uh, where’s the seatbelt?” he asked nervously.

  Carly didn’t answer and sped down the paved concrete path toward the front of the giant clubhouse.

  Two yellow golf carts were guarding the entrance.

  “Uh oh! The fuzz!” muttered Carly.

  She hastily spun the cart around with a loud screech, catching the attention of one of the Rayzors.

  “Halt!” he barked, flipping on his siren as he peeled out after her.

  “Uh oh! The fuzz!” Lemon repeated gleefully.

  “We can’t get caught!” Marco yelled at Marbles. “If we do, we can’t help Lucky!”

  Carly veered off the paved path, barreling down a steep grassy slope, tearing across the fairway like a rogue lawnmower.

  Marco held on tightly to his seat.

  Crap! Does this old lady even know how to drive?

  “Pull over!” the Rayzor bellowed through a bright yellow megaphone. “Rules Section 5W-P and 3G: No tire screeching, and no golf course access unless you check in at the main gate!”

  Carly zoomed across the lush green golf course lawn, ignoring him completely.

  Marbles spotted a yellow sun hat. It was the same elderly woman she’d waved to earlier, when Anton was taking them to the Golden Rays Clubhouse.

  She waved again, cheerfully, as if they weren’t fleeing security.

  The nice lady golfer waved back—

  then screamed as she and her friends dove into a swampy water hazard to avoid Carly’s careening golf cart.

  “Sorry about that!” Marbles yelled as they blew past.

  “You’re going to kill someone! Pull over, lady!” yelled the Rayzor.

  Carly cranked the steering wheel and stomped the brakes.

  The forward inertia, combined with the sharp right turn, sent the cart spinning sideways, drifting in a long, graceful arc across the pristine fairway.

  “Halt! 3G! 3G…! Aaaaaaaah!” shouted the panicked Rayzor as he attempted the same sharp turn at full speed.

  From the back seat, Lemon cried out, “The wall! The wall!”

  The great yellow wall of Golden Rays was closing in fast.

  CRAAAP!!!

  Marco’s stomach clenched.

  He really didn’t want to die rescuing cats like some old cat lady.

  The obituary would be all wrong.

  “Local boy dies in cat?related tragedy.”

  No! Not like this! Not cats! Nooo!

  The roar of tires on turf filled his ears.

  He crouched in the backseat like a passenger bracing for a plane crash.

  This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.

  Everyone screamed.

  The side of the cart bumped the wall, but only slightly.

  They’d stopped just in time.

  Shaken but alive, Marco was relieved that his tragic death notice would no longer have anything to do with cats and cautiously peered out from his awkward safety position between his legs.

  Lemon frowned. She looked down at Marco, then up at the huge lumpy stone wall just inches from her face.

  Marbles broke the silence. “Whew! I’m glad that’s ov—AHHH!”

  Her head whipped back mid-sentence, and her eyes bulged as Carly slammed the gas pedal hard.

  Marco twisted around in the back seat.

  The Rayzor was standing beside his tipped?over golf cart, angrily kicking it.

  “They stopped! Their golf cart fell over!” he called to the front.

  Carly nodded. “All right then!”

  She kept going at full throttle until she reached a cluster of tall, narrow hedges.

  Then wedged the vehicle between them and parked.

  Steam billowed from under the hood.

  “Everybody out!” she shouted, turning and waving her arms. “Up! Up!”

  “Way ahead of you!” said Old Lady Marbles.

  She sprang up and launched into a surprisingly athletic cartwheel. Fanny pack and all.

  Marco leapt out too, but not nearly as gracefully.

  This year, his feet had been growing larger but not the rest of him. And he kept tripping over himself.

  Dang it. She’s literally doing cartwheels, and I can’t even walk straight.

  “Follow the wall,” said Carly, waving them along.

  She pointed with her old walking stick. “Over there. Do you see a door?”

  They stood near a tall cylindrical tower that rose far above the top of the wall. At its base was a large, dark brown door.

  “I see it!” said Marco.

  Carly smiled. “Good! That’s where we’re going. Run ahead—I’ll catch up.”

  “This way!” he shouted.

  The arched door was built from heavy wood planks, bound with ornate black iron straps.

  There was no doorknob or handle, only a brass-lined keyhole.

  Marbles quickly caught up with him and together they pushed and pulled, but the door wouldn't budge.

  “It’s locked!” he called out, pounding on it with his fist.

  Carly tapped him on the shoulder. “Hold off—we open it with this.”

  She held up a golden key dangling from a thin rope around her neck.

  It twinkled brilliantly in the clear morning sunlight.

  Marco smiled and shook his head. Who was this lady?

  He remembered the old black?and?white photo of a girl swinging on a trapeze, the one propped up on her flea?market table.

  Was that her?

  With a turn of the key, the door unlocked with a heavy click.

  Marbles pushed on the old, creaky door. It swung inward into the dark.

  “Come on now, don’t dillydally,” said Carly, boldly striding through the doorway into the warm, dark room.

  Marco and Marbles followed close behind.

  Suddenly, the old woman spun around. “Close that door!” she shouted, making them both jump.

  Her voice echoed up through the tower.

  Marbles obliged, pushing the creaky door closed once more.

  The warm air inside seemed to thicken as the big door slowly groaned shut behind them.

  The room felt like a place of importance.

  Busy once, but no longer.

  Like an old restaurant on Route 66 bypassed by the freeway, frozen in time and forgotten.

  “Wait for me! Wait!” Lemon called from outside.

  She was dragging the cat trap across the lawn by herself, determined not to leave it behind.

  “You forgot about me!” she cried, breathless and indignant.

  When she reached them, Lemon glared at Marbles and especially at Marco.

  “Oops,” he replied dryly.

  Marco shrugged as he blew a string dangling from his hat out of his face.

  Then helped Lemon carry the trap the rest of the way in. Marbles quietly closed the door behind them.

  The inside of the tower was remarkably quiet and still compared to the golf cart chaos outside.

  Thin, dusty sunbeams poured in through the tower windows, illuminating a grand spiral staircase.

  Its golden handrail gleamed magnificently.

  “What is this place?” asked Lemon, her voice full of wonder.

  She ran over to examine a cushioned mechanical chair nestled at the base of the stairs.

  “And what’s this for?”

  Carly grinned. “That’s how lazy old ladies get up the stairs!”

  She plopped into the seat and slapped the big gold button.

  “Weeeeee!”

  The chair spun its way upward in several winding loops and vanished from sight.

  What the…?

  Where is she going now?

  This place is nuts!

  “Hey, wait for us!” Marco called after her.

  The children raced up the spiral staircase, occasionally leaning on the enormous golden handrail to peek through the tower’s narrow windows.

  Outside, treetops swayed and clouds drifted past.

  Their footsteps echoed softly against the curved walls.

  Marbles puffed as she climbed. “Lazy old lady’s got the right idea,” she muttered.

  The climb gave Marco too much time to think. The spiral stairs even reminded him of DNA strands.

  When his father messaged last, he said he’d used DNA from the oldest samples of the Olympic forest fungal mat to triangulate a new search area — his best lead yet to find the lost mushroom species whose chemicals could cure Marco’s mother’s cancer.

  Dad’s going to save you, Mom.

  The spiral stairs wound all the way to the top, but the kids stopped when they found Carly waiting on one of the landings.

  She stood strong and impatient. The lonesome gatekeeper to a lost kingdom.

  “We’ll go this way. Those Rayzors are so stupid. They’ll never figure out where we went,” she said, flashing her wry smile.

  Marco imagined Carly as a young circus performer letting go of the trapeze and falling confidently into a net.

  Bet she hit her head more than once.

  He stared out, amazed.

  A broad brick pathway, as wide as a small street, wound along the top of the great Golden Rays wall.

  It had clearly seen better days—windblown trash and tumbleweeds piled up in the corners, and the bricks beneath their feet were cracked and dusted with sand.

  Marbles glanced around with a dry smirk. “Golden Rays, huh? More like Golden Ruins.”

  Carly waved the comment off. She lifted her head up and marched down the path as if it belonged to her and her alone.

  The wall stretched on forever.

  Marco wondered if they were going to trap that mysterious orange cat or if Golden Rays was going to trap them.

  Another golf cart chase, another crazy old lady, broken rules, broken people…

  Whatever. Bring it on.