Rebels of the Lamp, Book 1

Copyright © 2015 by Michael M.B. Galvin and Peter Speakman
Cover design by Tyler Nevins
Cover illustration © Owen Richardson

All rights reserved. Published by Disney • Hyperion, an imprint of Disney Book Group. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means,
electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without written permission from the publisher. For information address Disney •
Hyperion, 125 West End Avenue, New York, New York 10023.

ISBN 978-1-4231-8767-7

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1. Title Page
   
2. Copyright
   
3. Dedication
   
4. Prologue
   
5. Chapter 1
   
6. Vesiroth’s Journal (document B31771)
   
7. Chapter 2
   
8. Vesiroth’s Journal (document B31772)
   
9. Chapter 3
   
10. Vesiroth’s Journal (document B31773)
    
11. Chapter 4
    
12. Vesiroth’s Journal (document B31774)
    
13. Chapter 5
    
14. Vesiroth’s Journal (document B64110)
    
15. Chapter 6
    
16. Vesiroth’s Journal (document B64190)
    
17. Chapter 7
    
18. Vesiroth’s Journal (document B65810)
    
19. Chapter 8
    
20. Vesiroth’s Journal (document B65810, B66015)
    
21. Chapter 9
    
22. Vesiroth’s Journal (document B66002, B66015, B66027)
    
23. Chapter 10
    
24. Vesiroth’s Journal (document B66044, B66051)
    
25. Chapter 11
    
26. Vesiroth’s Journal (document B66056)
    
27. Chapter 12
    
28. Vesiroth’s Journal (document B67008, B67020)
    
29. Chapter 13
    
30. Vesiroth’s Journal (document B67051)
    
31. Chapter 14
    
32. Chapter 15
    
33. Chapter 16
    
34. Chapter 17
    
35. Chapter 18
    
36. Chapter 19
    
37. Chapter 20
    
38. Chapter 21
    
39. Chapter 22
    
40. Chapter 23
    
41. Chapter 24
    
42. Chapter 25
    
43. Chapter 26
    
44. Chapter 27
    
45. Chapter 28
    
46. Chapter 29
    
47. Chapter 30
    
48. Chapter 31
    
49. Chapter 32
    
50. Chapter 33
    
51. Chapter 34
    
52. Chapter 35
    
53. Chapter 36
    
54. Chapter 37
    
55. Chapter 38
    
56. Chapter 39
    
57. Chapter 40
    
58. Chapter 41
    
59. Chapter 42
    
60. Chapter 43
    
61. Chapter 44
    
62. Chapter 45
    
63. Chapter 46
    
64. Chapter 47
    
65. Chapter 48
    
66. Chapter 49
    
67. Chapter 50
    
68. Epilogue
    
69. Acknowledgments
    
70. About the Authors
    

For Laura, Devon, and Zachary: the best
adventurers for the biggest adventures.

—P.S.

For Chelsea, of course.

—M.M.B.G.

PARKER QUARRY HAD NEVER DRIVEN
a car a hundred and fifty miles an hour before.

Actually, if you want to get all technical about it, Parker had never driven a car at all before. Not even once. Not even in a parking lot. They don’t let you drive cars when you’re
twelve years old. He had checked.

He grinned. This was, without a doubt, by almost anybody’s definition, cool.

“Dog!”

Parker heard Reese scream out, but he had already seen the dog in the middle of the road. He had spotted him almost a mile away. What was it, exactly? A Boston terrier? Some kind of a retriever?
A labradoodle? It was hard to say. All of Parker’s senses seemed sharper, but he wasn’t really a dog person.

“Parker!”

“I heard you, Reese. Sheesh,” Parker said.

It would have been impossible for him not to hear her. Reese was wedged into the backseat of the red Porsche 911 Turbo S, and her head was only three inches from Parker’s ear. It was a
backseat designed more for small children or groceries than actual people. Reese wouldn’t have been comfortable back there even if she was alone, and she wasn’t. Parker’s cousin,
Theo, was crammed back there, too, one hand gripping the side of the car so hard his knuckles were turning white, and one hand held up to his mouth in case he got any sicker than he already
was.

The backseat was not suitable for two junior-high kids. It would be perfect for, say, a Boston terrier, or some kind of a retriever, or a labradoodle.

Like the one that the car was hurtling toward.

“Parker!”

Parker thought that Reese might actually have a heart attack. With all the skill of an F1 driver, he downshifted the Porsche and turned the wheel, missing the mystery mutt by a good foot and a
half. The dog was safe to resume his life of barking happily at skateboarders and urinating on things that needed to be urinated on.

The Porsche growled as Parker stabbed the gas again and continued his automotive assault on the winding, tree-lined back roads of Cahill, New Hampshire.

“I think I’m gonna throw up,” said Theo.

“Deep breaths, buddy,” Parker said. “In through your nose and out through your mouth.”

The man in the passenger seat sighed and crossed his arms against his broad chest. He feared that he would never get used to twelve-year-olds or cars. He was tall, with sharp features, and eyes
that never seemed to decide what color they wanted to be. He was dressed in black robes. He might have been twenty or he might have been fifty. It was hard to say.

“Um, Parker?”

“Yes, Theo?”

Theo was too ill to get the words out, so he just pointed. A police car was turning onto the road behind them.

“Oh. Well, maybe they’re not after us,” Parker said.

The cop turned on his flashing lights and sirens and stomped on the gas, his rear tires erupting in smoke as he joined the chase.

“Huh. Well, that’s not a problem.”

Parker shifted again, and the sports car lurched forward as if someone had attached rockets to the back bumper.

“Five hundred and sixty horsepower,” Parker bragged as the police car faded from his rearview mirror. “I don’t think they’re going to catch us.”

“They don’t have to catch us,” said Reese. “They have radios.”

She pointed. Three more police cars were parked sideways, blocking the road about a mile ahead. The cops were standing behind their cars, guns drawn. The officer in charge held up a
bullhorn.

“This is the Cahill police. Stop your vehicle.”

Reese turned pale. “I think he wants us to stop.”

Parker just smiled.

“I mean it, Parker. I can’t get in trouble with the police. My mom’s expecting me to apply to Harvard in four years. My safety school is Stanford!”

“There’s no way out,” said the cop. “Stop the car. Now.”

Parker frowned. On the one hand, it was a beautiful day and he was really enjoying the drive. On the other hand, policemen with badges and shotguns seemed to really, sincerely want him to stop
the car.

It was a no-brainer.

“Guys,” Parker said, “You might want to hang on to something.”

Theo groaned. “I knew this was a bad idea. I just knew it.”

Parker mashed the gas pedal. The Porsche accelerated like it was dropped out of a plane. It was headed straight at the roadblock.

“Are you ready, Fon-Rahm?” Parker asked.

The man in the passenger seat nodded.

“Then do your thing, please.”

Wisps of smoke came from the man’s eyes.

“I just knew it,” said Theo.

The cops saw the car speeding toward them. The officer with the bullhorn shook his head. “I don’t think that guy’s going to stop,” he said.

He was right, too. The Porsche was going to smash into the police cars. At a hundred and fifty miles an hour.

“Um, I’ll be over there,” said one of the officers, pointing toward the side of the road.

“Wait! Stay here!” said the top cop, but it was too late. Every one of his officers had abandoned the roadblock.

The officer in charge thought for a moment. Then he dropped the bullhorn and ran off the road to be with his buddies. His wife was making tacos for dinner, and he liked tacos, and he
wouldn’t be able to eat them if his teeth were scattered all over the highway.

The Porsche charged at the cop cars. This was going to be messy.

“Now!” said Parker.

Fon-Rahm lifted his left hand and waved it through the air, bored. Smoke rose from the ground, and bits of wood, sheets of metal, and street signs leaped up from the sides of the road and
magically shaped themselves into a makeshift ramp.

The cops stared with dropped jaws as the Porsche hit the ramp and sailed over the police cars. It landed with a thud and a storm of sparks past the roadblock, and it didn’t pause for a
second before speeding off.

Reese scrunched up her face. “Well, at least we’re not getting arrested,” she said.

“Please, Parker, please stop the car,” said Theo.

“I will in just a few minutes.” Parker looked the man in black over. “I know we’re the only ones who can see you, but those robes really give me the willies. How about
changing into something a little more contemporary?”

A light mist filled the car. When it cleared, Fon-Rahm’s robes were gone, replaced with a sleek black suit.

“Is this more to your liking?” he asked.

“Very sharp. The color fits your personality.”

“You try my patience, boy. I am Fon-Rahm of the Jinn, not a dress-up toy.”

Parker shook his head and clucked. “Fon-Rahm, I’m surprised at you. Have you not been wearing your seat belt this whole time? Put in on, please. Safety first.”

Fon-Rahm put his seat belt on and continued sulking.

“And cheer up, Rommy, old pal. This is what us humans call fun.”

Parker stepped on the accelerator and grinned. You know what was cool? Having your own personal genie.

That was cool.

TWO WEEKS EARLIER

THE GODS STARED DOWN FROM
the ceiling.

Mercury blasted through space, wings flapping at his ankles. Venus lounged on a cloud, her long, black hair flowing behind her. Jupiter held lightning in his hands as if to warn humans not to
get too close. Atlas held up the world, weary but unbroken. Imagine propping up the entire planet on your shoulders for all eternity. It was a thankless job, but somebody had to do it.

Mr. Ardigo knew the feeling.

“All right, all right, settle down, please. Please. Please.”

He had volunteered—no, he had
begged
to bring his class to the Griffith Observatory. The place was, as the kids would say, sick. It was equipped with massive telescopes and a
planetarium, and it was set smack-dab on the edge of a cliff overlooking the entire city. The view was amazing. From the right angle you could even see the Hollywood sign. “It’ll be
educational!” he had said. “It’ll broaden their horizons! It’ll show them the grandeur of space and how small we are compared to the rest of the universe!”

If it showed them anything, though, it was that one teacher (okay, two, if you count Mrs. Haverkamp, but she was useless. A nice woman, sure, and great with computers, but when faced with
screaming kids she was as handy as a Nerf hammer) could in no way hope to successfully wrangle forty seventh graders through a Los Angeles landmark. There were just too many of them. Mr. Ardigo was
simply outmanned.

The kids were all standing around a circular hole in the floor of the marble rotunda, watching a pendulum swing from the center of the mural of the gods overhead. That was fine, he thought. The
pendulum’s swing was proof that the Earth was rotating, and that was a science lesson in itself. He wanted the kids to learn.

What he didn’t want them to do was act like what they were: twelve-year-olds on a field trip. The boys shoved each other into walls while the girls kept up a regimen of near constant
shrieking. What was there to scream about? The pendulum was neat, in a nerdy way, but really? The second these kids stepped out of school, they lost their minds. He thought they might burn off some
of that extra energy on the bus ride over, but their supply seemed limitless.