4
Grayson
Three Weeks Later
“Grayson!”
Gah. That’s a nightmare of the Prism Master bugging me in my sleep. I’ll just roll over and ignore him.
“GRAYSON!”
Uh oh. That’s no dream. Opening my right eye, I check out the mini-cuckoo clock beside my bed.
4:31 a.m.
Talk about strange. As a rule, elves are not morning people. The Prism Master has never summoned me before dawn. Half-awake, I slog out of bed and stumble toward the Prism Master’s magic study. The door swings open as I approach.
Once I’m inside, popping noises fill the air. A flash of light follows. Then, a magic mirror appears. For a moment, I see myself in its reflection.
I gasp. I’m wearing my penguin conga line pajamas. The Prism Master hates this design with a passion. He thinks penguins are miniature goblins and I’m so
