Free The Dominion Key by Lee Bacon Page A

like an easy target; the next she was gone, replaced by a pillar of silver smoke. As the ball flew harmlessly past, the smoke whipped a few feet to the left and re-formed into Cassie.

    “What’s the matter?” Cassie shot a sarcastic grin across the court. “Hair get in your eyes?”
    “Real funny!” Winston growled. “Too bad yer gonna be leaving this court on a stretcher.”
    Winston yanked a ball out of a teammate’s hands and hurled it straight at Cassie. Another near miss. His next shot was aimed at Miranda. But she was ready for the throw before it even left his hand. She leaped sideways, performing a one-handed cartwheel-flip combo. Only Miranda could make dodgeball look like a professional acrobatics display.
    The ball bounced off the bleachers and right into my hands. Before the other team had a chance to react, I took aim and threw. A wave of energy surged through my entire body. The ball burst into flames and shot across the court like a comet. It grazed a kid near the sideline. The kid trudged off the court, wiping his charred sleeve.
    The game raged on. Eventually, the only one left on the other side of the court was Winston. He was hunched over, panting. The best part: all the ammunition was on our side. Everyone on our team had a dodgeball (Sophie had two) and Winston was empty-handed.
    “Let’s give this hairball a taste of rubber,” Cassie said.
    “What’re you wimps waiting for?” Winston screamed. Slobber sprayed all over the free-throw line. “Afraid I’ll bite? You couldn’t hit me with a—”
    The rest of his speech was silenced by a barrage of dodgeballs that knocked him clear out of his gym socks.

    “I could get used to this!”
    Miranda looked like she’d won the lottery. On top of the skills she’d shown with time bombs and dodgeballs, she’d impressed everyone during sixth-period Basics of Antigravity.
    The same couldn’t be said for me and Milton. He’d spent most of the class upside down, and I was still dizzy from head-butting the ceiling.
    “Anyone up for some Ping-Pong?” Sophie asked as we exited the cafeteria.
    “Sure!” Miranda said.
    Milton sized up the competition: one person who could smash the ball into oblivion and another who could predict where Milton would hit his shot before
he
did.
    “All right, but no superpowers.” He glanced at Sophie. “If you start glowing, I quit.” He turned to Miranda. “And if you’re a Senser, you have to play with … uh … with your eyes closed.”
    “Fine with me,” Sophie said.
    “Same here.” Miranda glanced my way. “How about you?”
    “I’ll pass,” I said.
    “You sure?”
    I nodded. My last experience with Ping-Pong had ended with a flaming paddle and lots of apologies.
    “I think I’ll do a little looking around,” I said.
    “Suit yourself.”
    The others rushed off toward the rec room. I went the other way. Past windows that looked out on the dark sea. Outside, sheets of rain pounded the inky-black water. At the end of the hall was a trophy case. I paused long enough to scan the gleaming golden awards.
First Place: Hover Scooter Relay … Sixteenth Annual Zombie Roundup Award … National Champion: 50,000-Yard Dash
.
    My footsteps echoed up the stairway. At the top was the tall wooden door that led into the Alumni Hall, followed by a display of antique superhero uniforms. The sounds of other students had faded. I was completely alone in the dark hallway.
    I walked past a few empty classrooms and then came to a tall, framed portrait of a stern-looking man with a headful of silver hair and a matching mustache. The golden nameplate at the bottom of the frame read HERMAN ALABASTER, FOUNDER AND FIRST HEADMASTER OF ALABASTER ACADEMY .
    So this was the ghost everyone was talking about. Looking at the painting, I remembered what the others had said in the cafeteria yesterday. That you could sometimes hear footsteps through the stone walls. That Herman Alabaster emerged from his painting in the