Chapter Two : Gnomewood Home

Miss Grace looked from Danny to the clock and back again before she said, “Danny, don't you think you'd better go get Max out of the car? It must be getting cold in the wagon by now.” She motioned for him to come down.

“Will the house be warm enough?” asked Danny. His breath was still hanging in the air.

“Ali is managing to build a fire in the kitchen fireplace, and the furnace looks functional. I've got it running, anyway,” she said. “We'll see how well it works. It's ancient, like everything else around here.” Danny hesitated, and she clapped her hands in irritation. “Danny, go get Max! Go get him!”

“Okay!” Danny said, “I’m going.” He trotted down the stairs and past them, heading for the car. The two adults went into a whispering huddle just as he went through the inner door.

He ran outside, shocked by the cold again, hunching convulsively. Crossing his arms like he was in a straitjacket, he sped over to the wagon, slipping on the snow and barely keeping his balance. He jerked open the door and grabbed his backpack out of the car, quickly unzipping it an inch to check on Max. Still sleeping.

Probably dreaming of a nice, warm attic, Danny thought. He felt a twinge of guilt.

Slinging on the pack, he thought to grab Mr. Murray's folding wheelchair out of the back of the car as well, figuring Miss Grace would probably send him back out for it anyway.

Mr. Murray would never admit to how much trouble he had getting around on his canes. His legs were not completely paralyzed but not much good for walking, either. Danny knew how much the man hated his folding wheelchair, but if he got tired, he would need it. They'd left his nice comfy one at home because it was too big to fit in the car.

Fortunately, Danny thought as he lifted it, this one was also a lot lighter than the nice comfy one. He hefted it easily.

Somehow managing to walk carefully on the snow while still hurrying to get out of the cold, he went back in and noticed that it was a tiny bit warmer inside than it had been. The radiators along the walls of the front hall were making pleasant, musical ticking sounds.

Miss Grace and Ali were up on the landing, talking by the clock. They stopped as soon as they saw him.

“Ah!” said Miss Grace, spying the wheelchair. “Very good Danny, that's thinking ahead. Why don't you take that to Silas? I expect you'll find him in the library.” She pointed at an archway over to Danny's left. “It's through there.”

“Just keep going until you get to the alarming suits of armor,” said Ali.

“Okay,” said Danny. He unfolded the chair, set his backpack on it, and rolled it through the archway.

As soon as he was through and out of sight, he backed up quickly and leaned against the wall, flattening himself, leaning toward the archway. He'd become very skilled at eavesdropping. It was the only way he ever found out anything useful.

“Do you really think that's why?” Ali was saying.

“It could be a coincidence, I suppose,” said Miss Grace, “but you agree that seems unlikely, right?”

“What does it mean, though," Ali said. Danny thought he sounded worried. “I mean, for sure? Does it mean…I mean, if the Home has accepted him, can we even-”

“I don't know,” Miss Grace interrupted, “Let’s wait and see what tomorrow brings. I’m too tired to think about it or talk about it.”

Silence fell.

Danny wondered if she knew he was listening. He’d gotten better at spying, but she’d also gotten better at catching him.

Then she said, “You get dinner started, Ali. I'll check the accommodations.”

Yeah, she knows, Danny thought.

“Ten-four,” said Ali.

“Meet you in the kitchen in thirty minutes,” she said. “If I'm not back by then, send out a search party.”

Ali laughed. “Will do,” he said. There was the sound of footsteps going off in different directions.

Danny frowned. Now he had no answers, and even more questions.

He pushed the chair through a dusty, formal sitting room with uncomfortable looking furniture, then through a small glassed-in room with nothing in it at all. After that, he came to a short hallway with faded purple carpet and many windows.

At the end of the hallway, he saw a set of dark, wooden double doors. They were propped open, flanked by two full-sized suits of armor. One was the classic medieval kind from Scooby-Doo cartoons, a long sword in its hands. The other was a Japanese Samurai, curved sword in a scabbard at its side. Both appeared ready for battle.

He'd thought Ali had been joking about suits of armor. He kept an eye on them, keeping a respectful distance. They creeped him out a little bit, with their empty faces. He half expected them to jump to life as he walked by, but they remained still.

“Be cool, boys,” he muttered, and quickly passed between them.

He walked into an airy, high-ceilinged room that rivaled the entrance hall for size. The ceiling swooped high above, painted to look like a baby blue sky with puffy white clouds. Bookshelves lined the walls. A short, winding iron stair led up to a landing which had shelves and tables covered with books and papers. Glass cases and low reading tables were scattered around erratically. A mighty oak desk with a red leather chair loomed over by the far wall.

The sky was black outside the tall windows now, the sun had gone down completely. The room was lit with the soft ambience of a few reading lamps and the roaring fire that was chuckling and snapping in a wide marble fireplace. In front of the fireplace was a seating area with a long sofa, a table and a couple of overstuffed chairs. Mr. Murray was lying contentedly on the sofa with a book.

This is Mr. Murray's idea of heaven, thought Danny. “I have your uncomfy-chair,” he said.

Mr. Murray looked over and sighed. “Ah, the utilitarian chair. Thank you, Danny,” he said, sitting up. “Just roll it on over here.”

Danny parked the chair at the end of the couch and sat opposite Mr. Murray. He sank deep into the winged armchair and looked around. “I didn't know a house could have its own library,” he said. “This is bigger than the public library in Easton.”

Mr. Murray looked around the room with fondness. “I spent a lot of time here as a child, more than in my own home, more than anywhere else. Your Grandfather let me poke through whatever I liked, stay however long I wanted.” He laughed. “Your mother, Enzo, Ali, and Gloria would all run off somewhere, and sometimes I'd stay here instead.” He looked sadly at his crutches propped against the fireplace. “Though I do wish, sometimes, that I'd done a little more running around when I was able to.”

Danny was surprised to hear him bring it up. “When were you… how old were you when you got, um-”

“Crippled?” Mr. Murray said. “In my early twenties.”

“What happened?”

Mr. Murray gave him a long look. Danny got that look from him often and didn't know what it meant. It was a mixed feelings kind of face, Danny thought.

“I'll tell you someday,” he said. “When I think you're ready to hear it.”

This is why I have to be so sneaky all the time, Danny thought. “Okay,” he said. “But why am I not ready to hear it now? Is it graphically gory or something? Was it a car accident? I can handle it. I watched Dawn of the Dead like ten times.”

Mr. Murray put a hand up to silence him. “Not now,” he said. Then, “How is little Max doing?”

Danny checked. Max looked up at him and squeaked. “Awake,” he said.

“You might have more luck finding insects for him to eat here at Gnomewood than back at home, where Gloria annihilates them all with Raid,” said Mr. Murray. “You could go explore.”

“I'm allowed?” asked Danny.

“Danny,” said Mr. Murray, “this house has been in your family for almost four hundred years. I think you may have the run of the place. Go wherever you choose.”

Danny’s eyes lit up.

“Which reminds me,” Mr. Murray said, “did I hear that old clock going off? The one on the landing?”

“Yeah!” said Danny. “It's not a clock though, right? Not a normal one anyway. It doesn't have numbers or hands to tell time, just crooked arrows and pictograms.”

“No, it doesn't tell time,”said Mr. Murray, smiling. “But what it’s true purpose is, Danny, I have never been told. So the old girl woke up, did she?”

“It scared the hell out of me, honestly,” said Danny. “I was standing right in front of it, and it was so loud, I almost fell down the stairs.”

“Oh, don't do that,” said Mr. Murray. “That’s a lot of stairs. You could hurt yourself worse than you think.”

Danny blinked.

Snow, cold, wind. So high up, the mountain’s rocky surface painfully jagged, rocks jutting up like a giant’s teeth.

Mr. Murray had been scared, falling so far. Scared and sad and angry, too. Then hurt, badly hurt, bloody and broken, in a hospital hooked up to machines. Then in a wheelchair, forever, never able to walk properly or run ever again.

“Danny,” Mr. Murray inquired. “Are you alright?”

“I’m, uh…” Danny looked at his Keeper, unsure what to say. “Tired, I think,” he finished.

He'd JK'd something from Mr. Murray, which was a first. His pathetic psychic powers had never picked up anything really personal from his Keepers before, certainly never a memory, or something so strongly visual. How weird.

“I'll be careful,” Danny said. He reached over and gripped Mr. Murray’s hand and gave it a quick squeeze, the way the man always did for him when he was trying to express sympathy. Mr. Murray raised an eyebrow.

Danny got up, lifting the backpack and cradling it in front of him.

“Beware,” said Mr. Murray, shaking a finger, “this house is enormous. You can actually get lost. It has a lot of zigzags and jigjags and such.”

“I'm okay,” said Danny. “I'm eleven. I'm not a baby.”

“I know, I know,” said Mr. Murray. He waved Danny away. “Go find some moths for your hungry bat.”

Danny wandered out of the library, wondering where the best place to find moths was. Probably near lamps. Moths were drawn to light, weren’t they?

He also wondered why Mr. Murray had been way up on a mountain in the first place, and how he'd fallen off of it. The Silas Murray he knew wasn't exactly Mister Adventure.

Maybe he had been, a long time ago, Danny thought. Maybe young Mr. Murray had been a mountain climber, a daredevil. Careful Mr. Murray might have once been careless.

Maybe he didn’t know any of them at all. What did he know about any of them? Really know about them, other than what they did for him?

Danny let that thought wash over him, felt very disturbed by it, and immediately shook it off. He didn't want to think things like that.

That was the trouble with finding stuff out. Sometimes after you knew a thing, you didn't want to know it, and then you couldn’t forget it.

Moths, he thought, distracting himself, wandering back to the entrance hall. Moths for Max. Max is My Responsibility.

He checked around all of the lamps that were lit, looking for bugs, but there were none to be found. He picked up the edges of carpets and looked under chairs, but he couldn’t find anything except dust bunnies.

Dust Jackrabbits, Danny corrected. Looked like it had been the maid’s day off for a long, long time. He sneezed.

The clock clicked and whirred along happily up on the landing. Danny liked the sound of it. It was like music.

Just as he came back into the main hall to orient himself to go properly exploring, he heard Miss Grace calling his name from upstairs. Coming down the staircase, she said, “I have some rooms all set up, Danny. It's a bit dusty around here, but clean. Honestly, I wasn't sure what to expect. Your uncle had been living here alone since your grandparents died.”

It was weird to think about having uncles and grandparents. Danny had never considered relatives, probably because none had ever been mentioned. He’d assumed he was alone, without really thinking about it.

“When did my mom’s parents die?” he asked.

“Before you were born,” Miss Grace said.

“Oh,” Danny said. At least they’d had an excuse not to meet him then, he thought.

“Come along to the kitchen, Danny,” Miss Grace said. “Let's help Ali get some dinner ready.”

“Max needs bugs,” he said.

“Well,” said Miss Grace, running a hand over her hair, “I didn't see any around, but that doesn't mean they're not lurking under something, somewhere.” Noting Danny's worried face, she said, “Remember? We looked it up, and Max should be fine without food for a while, as long as you're giving him water. Has he had water?”

“Not since we left New York,” said Danny.

“Once again, kitchen,” she said. “There's water in the kitchen.” She clapped her hands behind Danny's back to get him moving. “Let's go, let's go.”

Danny was never fast enough for Miss Grace. He could get zapped with powers like The Flash and he’d still be too slow for her.

She headed toward the back of the house, through a fancy dining room big enough to seat fifty of your closest friends. It had the feel of a museum, or a movie set, as if no one ever used it. It was fancy, but impersonal.

At the back of the dining room was a set of swinging doors, which then opened up into a kitchen. Danny could feel the glow and smell the scent of it before he could see it.

The kitchen was glorious. If the library was Mr. Murray's heaven, then this kitchen was Ali's.

It was as big as the kitchen in a restaurant or a hotel, yet it managed to feel cozy and warm. A roughhewn iron light fixture glowed over the wood-topped kitchen island, shiny copper pans hung from the ceiling. The stove and refrigerator were old, with rounded corners, chrome handles, and big knobs. There were lots of colors in the room, yellow cabinets, green counters, blue and red hearthrug by the giant fireplace, which rivaled the one in the library for size. You could park a small car in that fireplace, Danny marveled.

Ali already had pots and pans steaming and bubbling with good smelling things. “With what I brought with us and what's in the cabinets,” Ali said, “we're set for a week at least. Just a trip to the store for milk and fresh produce, maybe.”

“What can we do to help?” asked Miss Grace.

“Set the table, please and thank you,” Ali answered, with a low, elaborate bow.

Miss Grace opened some cabinets and pulled out plates and glasses, examining them for dirt and dust. She knows where things are, thought Danny. They're all so at home here. It gave him a strange feeling, because it hooked back into that thought about not really knowing them. Also, because his whole life had been spent in their little house in Easton, a home they all shared and knew together, and now Danny was a stranger in a place they were familiar with, and he was not. It felt funny.

Miss Grace poured herself some coffee while Danny got a little water in a dropper for Max. The tiny bat opened his mouth eagerly.

“Can I have some coffee too?” he asked.

Miss Grace was tired and feeling snappish, and she snapped at Danny, lecturing him about coffee too close to bedtime, or at all really, and reiterated that his coffee addiction was Ali's fault, and scolded Ali as well. Ali pretended to be very interested in his utensils.

Danny then pointed out there shouldn't be a set bedtime because there was no school the next day.

Miss Grace said, yes, and why is that, eh?

Danny replied, “Because tomorrow is Saturday.”

Then Miss Grace said he was being a smartass, and he knew perfectly well what she meant.

What you meant is I'm being punished for something that wasn't totally my fault, Danny said, and Miss Grace yelled at him to set the table and not say another word until they were all sitting down. Danny crossly set the table, and Miss Grace sternly warned him not to break anything in his fit of pique or he’d go to bed hungry.

Danny then set down every plate and fork with exaggerated care which earned him her worst stare, the one that looked like it could burn the entire Amazon Rainforest to cinders. He decided the wisest response was to just do what he was told and project an Air of Injured Silence.

Once he'd finished, Miss Grace told him to see if he could go and pry Mr. Murray out of the library and get him to come to the table. Danny turned and left without a word, roughly pushing the swinging doors behind him. They swished quietly.

Stupid swinging doors, he thought. You can't slam them. It's so unsatisfying. He settled for stomping through the dining room.

Danny arrived at the library to find Mr. Murray asleep on the couch, snoring gently, a book on his chest. Danny reached out and shook him. “Dinnertime,” he said. “Wake up.”

Mr. Murray blinked at him sleepily. “Nick?” he said.

Danny was startled to hear his father’s name. “No,” he said. “It's me. Danny.”

Mr. Murray rubbed his face with both hands and pushed himself into a seated position. “For heaven's sake,” he said. “I thought you were your father for a second.” He shook his head. “I was having such an odd dream.” He looked around the library as if he hadn’t expected to find himself there. .

“I’ve been sent to inform you,” Danny said in his best imitation of Miss Grace when she was irritable, “that dinner is almost ready, and you are hereby summoned to the kitchen.”

“Oh, dear,” said Mr. Murray. “Have you managed to get on Gloria’s nerves?”

Danny held up thumb and forefinger an inch apart. “Just a little.”

Mr. Murray laughed. “Did she give you the look?”

“My hair is still smoking from her death rays,” Danny said.

Mr. Murray smiled and rubbed his hands together. “Well, of course we’re all a bit cross, we’re hungry. I could eat an armadillo. Two armadillos!” He reached out for Danny. “Help me into my chair, will you, Danny?”

Danny pushed Mr. Murray's travel wheelchair over to him and helped him into it. “I despise this thing,” Mr. Murray said. “Makes me feel like I'm in a hospital, and frankly, it hurts my posterior after just a few minutes.”

He rolled himself forward, picking up a gray cardboard box from a nearby table. He set it in his lap, and then headed for the door. Danny walked alongside, keeping a hand on one of the back handles.

“You look so much like your father,” said Mr. Murray. “More and more every day.”

“Hmmm,” Danny said. Danny had one picture of his father. He was standing by his motorcycle, the one he'd left to Ali after he'd died. Nicodemus Hallow had been confident, rugged, handsome, and tall. Danny wasn't any of those things. The features and coloring were similar, but he was a frail, pale, skinny ghost of the robustly healthy man in the photo.

Therefore Danny said nothing in response. He just smiled politely.

“You remind me mostly of your grandfather, though,” Mr. Murray continued. “Not that you have to be like anyone but yourself, you understand. We all agree, though, that there's something about your way that reminds us of Gaten Wildwood.”

“My 'way'?” asked Danny.

“The way you hold yourself,” said Mr. Murray. “The way you use your voice. The way you hover over your notebooks. The way you tilt your head when you're paying close attention to something or listening to music. Lots of little things. Your ways. The little behaviors that make you who you are.”

Danny considered that. He'd never thought about himself having 'ways' before. “What's that?” he asked, pointing to the box.

“Something I found in the library,” Mr. Murray said. “Something very interesting.” He smiled sideways at Danny. “I assume it's for you since it has your name on it.”

“What?” said Danny.

Mr. Murray pointed to the lid of the box. Written on it in black ink were the words, 'For Danzellan Wildwood Hallow- Very Important'.

“What's in it?” asked Danny. “Is it a present?”

“Let's take it to the kitchen. I think the others would like to see it too.”

As they came through the entrance hall Mr. Murray looked up at the clock. “Well, would you look at that,” he mused. He shook his head in disbelief.

“Was it broken or something?” asked Danny.

“It stopped when your grandfather died,” Mr. Murray said. “No one could get it started again, not your mother, not your Uncle Enoch...no one.”

“And you really don’t know what it does?” asked Danny.

“I have no idea,” said Mr. Murray. “Is that Ali's stew I smell? Wonderful!” He rolled quickly toward the kitchen, and Danny followed along, with the suspicion that Mr. Murray was dodging the question.

Ali was serving dinner as they came into the kitchen. Stew, bread, buttery carrots, and he'd produced a chocolate cake from somewhere for dessert. The crankiness that had wound them up after their long journey slowly dissipated with the comforts of food and fire. Miss Grace relented and gave Danny some coffee without comment, but only half a cup with lots of milk.

After they'd eaten and were enjoying their coffee and cake, Mr. Murray pushed the gray box over to Danny. Danny grabbed it and pulled it closer, dying of curiosity.

“What's that?” asked Miss Grace.

“You'll see,” said Mr. Murray. “Enoch must have put these together for him. That's his handwriting on the top of the box, I'm sure of it. His cursive always looked like spiders stepped in ink and then ran across the page.”

Danny lifted the top off and looked inside. The box was full of books, envelopes, and loose papers. “Books?” he said.

“Not exactly,” said Mr. Murray. “Have a look inside one.”

Danny picked up the topmost volume and opened it. The pages were crinkly and covered in plastic sheets. Protected under the plastic sheets were photographs.

He flipped through the small album. Pages and pages of photographs. He noticed they were carefully labeled underneath in his uncle’s inky-spider cursive. There were also stacks of loose photos in the box, as if the man hadn't finished organizing them into albums before he'd died.

Danny paused at that thought. Did that mean his uncle had meant to see him at some point or, did it mean he knew he was going to die?

“How did he die?” Danny asked. I hadn’t occurred to him to ask until now.

The Keepers exchanged looks.

“Oh,” Mr. Murray said, “some sort of accident.”

Danny flipped to the first picture in the album to have a proper look. It was a picture of a newborn baby. The baby was small and a little sickly looking, with a tuft of dark hair, eyes closed tightly. He looked at the caption. It said, ‘Danzellan’.

“Me?” Danny said. He looked up at his Keepers. “Me?!” He’d never seen a baby picture of himself before.

“If you look at them in order,” said Mr. Murray, “they start with you and work backward.” He looked at Ali and Miss Grace. “I had a glance at the album on the bottom, the photos in there are quite old. Some of the earliest ever taken by a camera, I'd wager.”

“It looks like your Uncle Enoch wanted you to know your family,” said Miss Grace.

“My mom's family,” said Danny. No one ever wanted to discuss his dad or his family. Only Mr. Murray ever talked about him. He turned the page.

These were pictures of him as a baby with his parents. One showed both of his parents standing together, holding a little bundle. The one on the opposite page was just his mom holding him in a rocking chair. She looked happy, with a big smile on her face.

He hated her smile. He flipped to the next set of pages.

Two other baby pictures lay on these. One was Eliphalet Wildwood Hallow, the other Jaxom Wildwood Hallow. There were dates under the names that were only weeks apart in the same years, the years before Danny was born. “Who are they?” he asked, holding out the album.

Miss Grace looked, and paled. “Oh,” she said. That was all she said.

The men leaned forward for a look. "Oh, dear,” said Mr. Murray.

“What?” asked Danny.

Ali stepped up to explain. “Your parents had two children before they had you,” he said. “They both died as infants.”

“Excuse me?” Danny asked.

“Why did Enoch even have pictures of them?” Miss Grace looked dismayed.

“Anthea must have sent them to him,” said Mr. Murray. “They still spoke, you know, they just weren’t close.”

Miss Grace turned to Mr. Murray. “I feel you should have looked a little further into those albums before you just handed them over to Danny,” she said. She reached for the box. “Let's see what else is in there.”

Danny pulled the box closer, putting it in his lap. “Why didn't you ever tell me that?” he demanded.

“What?” Miss Grace asked.

“I had a brother and a sister!” he said. “That’s important!”

“They died, Danny,” said Mr. Murray. “Neither one of them lived more than a couple of weeks.”

“Why did they die?” Danny demanded.

“No one knows for sure,” said Ali.

“Sometimes babies just don't make it,” said Miss Grace. They all shot each other funny looks, the masks they wore when they were colluding, keeping information from Danny under the umbrella of For His Own Protection. They had a silent communication that Danny was excluded from. Sometimes he wondered if he'd developed his JK out of self-defense.

“We're sorry,” said Ali. “It never occurred to us to tell you something like that. I mean…it's depressing.”

“We were too busy trying to teach you long division,” said Mr. Murray.

“And keeping you away from hot burners,” said Miss Grace. “And from running into traffic-”

“And teaching you to tie your shoes,” smiled Ali. “That was me.”

“Teaching you to read,” said Mr. Murray. “That was me.”

“All right,” said Danny, somewhat mollified. “I get it.” He hugged the box. “Is this what he left me? This box of pictures?” Not exactly Atlantean coins, but still cool.

“Maybe,” said Mr. Murray. “Seems doubtful that's what Enoch's lawyer was talking about, though. You wouldn't need a will for that.“

“There's no one else left to want them,” said Miss Grace. “You're the last of the Wildwoods, Danny. Speaking of which,” she said, “the reading of the will is tomorrow morning at eight am, so I suggest we all go and get some sleep.”

“Sounds good,” said Mr. Murray, stretching. “You know, I believe I'll sleep in the library. I'd rather not tackle those stairs, and that sofa is just as comfortable now as it was when I was fourteen.”

“I'll take the guest room I used to stay in,” said Miss Grace. “I always liked it. The wallpaper with the little flowers is still the same. How about you, Ali?”

“I'd never leave this kitchen if it was possible,” he laughed. “But I’m too old to sleep on the table, I guess. I'll take that other guest room, the one with the Narnia Wardrobe.”

Mr. Murray laughed. “Oh, yes, the Narnia Wardrobe!”

Miss Grace smiled.

Danny was getting tired of this memory lane business. “Where am I sleeping?” he asked.

He was suddenly spooked at the idea he had to sleep here, in this big old house. It was neat and everything, but also a little intimidating.

“In your mother's old room, if you’d like,” said Miss Grace. “I had a look, it's just as it was. All it needs is some sheets on the bed, and you’re all set.”

“Okay,” said Danny. He really hoped it wasn’t frilly or pink.

“I think you'll like it,” said Miss Grace, reading his mind. “Come on, I'll show you the way.”

She pushed herself up from the table. Danny said goodnight to Mr. Murray and Ali. Grabbing the box and his backpack, he followed Miss Grace.

Instead of going back through the dining room, she went over to the wall by the pantry. She reached out her hand and hooked her fingers into an indentation that looked like a brass bottle opener. When she pulled it, a door swung open. Behind the door was a flight of stairs.

“Hidden stairs!” said Danny, eyes wide.

“We knew you'd like that,” said Ali, laughing. “Didn't we say?”

“There are hidden stairs all over this house,” said Miss Grace. “You can get where we're going using the main staircase too, but, well...I thought you'd enjoy this.”

She climbed up the stairs, lit by small, amber electric lights along the walls that were made to look like old gaslights. She showed him where the light switches were and told him to mind his step. “I think these are the original stairs from four hundred years ago,” she said.

They were cracked and creaky. Danny tried to walk as lightly as possible.

These back stairs led up to a door, which opened up onto a carpeted landing. “This is the second floor,” said Miss Grace.

Directly to their right was a plain wooden door. Miss Grace opened it, and behind it were more stairs.

Danny followed her up the stairs, which opened up at the top into a profoundly dark space. Danny sensed it was big, judging by the echo. He heard Miss Grace swear. “I should have brought a flashlight,” she grumbled. He heard her fumbling around for several minutes while he stood in the darkness, trying not to be nervous.

A lamp snapped on, and Danny looked around to see what was definitely the attic. The dormer windows he'd seen from the outside lined both sides of the wide room, a big, round stained-glass window gracing the end. The part of the attic they were in was about as long as the house itself, and mostly empty but for the area in which they stood.

This area had been set up as a bedroom, with a wide, low four-poster bed with small tables on each side. Both tables had metal and stained-glass lamps in the shape of dragonflies. Miss Grace had them both on now, bathing the area in a soft glow.

Bookshelves were built into the wall behind the bed, covered with a jumble of books, pens, and papers. There was a desk over by the far wall with a chair and another lamp. Next to that was an old cabinet with plastic egg crates tucked under it. An electric fireplace was set up in a comfortable living area with a beat-up recliner, a little table and the oldest TV Danny had ever seen. It had rabbit ears on top.

The rest of the attic was mostly bare. Down at the other end, a tall basketball hoop was set up, an old bike resting against the curved wall. The lone door in that wall was closed.

“I remember when Anthea set all this up,” said Miss Grace. “She used to have a painfully girly bedroom downstairs that her mother decorated for her, and she wouldn't let poor Anthie change anything.” Miss Grace smiled as she puttered with bed sheets. “When she was twelve years old she moved up here in protest.” She smoothed out the sheets and threw a comforter over the bed. “Made it just the way she wanted it.”

“What's behind the door?” asked Danny, pointing to the wall at the far end.

“It's a connecting door,” she said. “On the other side is the rest of the attic, just another big room. That's where all the old junk is kept. I think it's locked.”

Danny spied a short set of angled steps leading up to another door. “What's up there?”

“The turret room,” said Miss Grace. “You'll like that. We all used to hang out in there, on rainy days.”

“Turret?”

“You saw it from the outside of the house, surely,” she said. "The tower built into the northeast corner. That's the top of it.”

Aha, thought Danny. “Is the door locked?”

“I don't know,” she said.

“Do I really have to sleep up here all by myself?” he asked.

Miss Grace stopped bustling around to look at him. “Are you okay with that?”

Danny looked around. The eaves creaked along with the wind outside. He wasn't used to so much space around him. This house was in the middle of nowhere.

On the other hand, it was a lot bigger than his room back at home. He doubted he could bother anyone by making noise up here. It was almost like having his own apartment. He could run and yell and do whatever he wanted, and no one would care.

“I guess it's all right,” he said and set the box and the backpack down on the bed. “I mean, it's great. Thanks. It's just...” he looked around again. “It's a little creepy.”

She smiled. “I thought you liked creepy things,” she said.

“Yeah, in movies,” he answered. She laughed.

“Your mother lived here in perfect safety until she was eighteen,” she said. “You'll be fine.” She gave the bed one more businesslike pat-down. “Do you want me to tuck you in?”

“No,” said Danny, laughing. “Tuck me in, seriously.”

She lunged forward and messed up his hair with both of her hands. He yelled, ducked and flailed.

“In that case, I'll leave you alone,” she said. “The closest bathroom is right downstairs, directly across from the attic door.”

“Okay,” he said.

“Remember to brush your teeth.”

“Okay!”

“All right then,” she said. She headed for the stairs. “Get right to bed, I'm getting you up early.”

“Miss Grace?” Danny said. She turned. “You know the thing at school wasn't all my fault. Right?”

“Well I don't know for sure, Danny,” she said. “We don't believe you're telling us the whole truth about what happened. We talked about it and figured you’d tell us the rest when you were ready.”

Danny felt a pang of guilt, with a stab of anger. “I just feel like you're a little mad at me all the time now,” he said. “Things don’t feel right.”

Miss Grace came over and gave Danny a rare hug. Hugging was usually Ali's department. “I worry about you, that's all,” she said. “Sometimes that looks like I'm mad, but it's just worry, I promise.” She ruffled his hair more gently this time and smiled. Her hand brushed his face. “Sleep tight.”

“I will,” he said. “You too.”

“Will do,” she said. He heard her retreating footsteps, the door shutting at the base of the stairs.

Ali usually put him to bed at night. Ali would say, sleep tight, and Danny would say, all right night-night, and then Ali would say, roger wilco over and out, whatever that meant. Danny didn’t want to be a baby, but he felt disturbed that no one had said the roger wilco part, and now he was alone.

The silence was deafening. Something creaked in the corner.

Danny ran down the length of the attic and tried the connecting door. It was locked, as Miss Grace had suspected. He held his ear to it and listened for zombie sounds. Nothing. Nada. Zip. He gave it a good yank to make sure it wouldn't open and then ran to the short stair leading up to the tower.

The tower door had a stained-glass window in the top center. He stood on tiptoe trying to see through it, but it was too dark. He tried the door. This one was locked too. He rattled the knob. Definitely locked.

“Dammit,” he said. Maybe tomorrow he could find the key somewhere.

He flopped on the bed and checked on Max. “Hey,” he said.

'hello.' Max's small voice tickled the inside of Danny's mind like cat’s whiskers. The bat stretched and shook its head.

Danny picked up the creature and held it to his chest. He rubbed its head with his thumb. “We're in an attic,” he said. “There has to be food for you here somewhere.”

'hungry.'

“I know,” said Danny. “I'm sorry.”

They searched the attic together, poking around under eaves and in the corners. Danny moved a box and disturbed a nest of something that tried to skitter away. Max managed to grab a few before they disappeared into the cracks and munched happily. They also found one moth, which Max ate for dessert.

Danny felt better now that Max had eaten. “Where do you want to sleep?”

'up,' said the bat.

Danny looked up. He found a warm, low spot under the eaves. He held Max up to the rafters. The little bat climbed up and settled in, upside down.

'better with family,' Max said.

“I know,” said Danny. “I'm really sorry. It was mostly my fault.” He reached up and scritched Max's upside-down head. “I'll take care of you,” he said.

The bat huddled up and tucked his head into his wings. Danny wondered if the bat was sleepy at night because his nocturnal rhythm had been disturbed, or because he was sick. How could you tell if a bat was sick? Did veterinarians even see bats as patients?

Danny went down to the bathroom and washed up for bed. The bathroom was ornate, with fancy tiled floor, brass and glass fittings everywhere. The bath was a stand-alone porcelain tub with a shower attachment and a white curtain, feet that looked like a lion's paws keeping it steady against the floor. The curtain was drawn completely around the tub, obscuring his view of what might lurk inside. He went about his business quickly and ran back up to the attic.

He'd forgotten to bring his suitcase up with him, so he kicked off his shoes, pulled off his sweater, and climbed into the bed in his tee shirt and jeans. Propping himself up, he perused the books on the shelf behind him.

It looked like his mother had been an avid reader of fantasy fiction. The covers of her old paperbacks had lots of dragons, warrior elves, and girls doing something magical on the covers. There were stacks of magazines, too, most of them devoted to something called Monster Hunt.

There was a little plastic box with headphones attached to it sitting next to the magazines. He picked it up. It said Walkman on it, and it had a little door that flipped up. Inside the Walkman was an old cassette tape. It was plain, with a handwritten label that read, 'Anthi's Mix'. He put on the headphones and pressed the play button.

It started right in the middle of a song; one Danny had never heard before. It must be old, he thought. It had an eighties vibe. He liked it.

“This is the day-ay, your life will surely cha-a-ange…”

Nodding his head to the music, he leaned back, pulling the box of photographs to his knees, settling under the covers. The bed was pretty comfortable. After the long car ride, it felt like a fluffy cloud. He snuggled down.

He looked once again at the pictures of the babies. His brother and sister. The boy had a tuft of blonde hair, like his mom. The girl had been totally bald. They both had scrunchy baby faces with no features he could recognize as familiar or familial.

Those pictures made him feel bad-weird, so he turned the page.

This album was full of pictures of his mother and father. Some together, some separately. In one photo his dad had a toddler, presumably Danny with his dark hair, propped up on his motorcycle seat. The man was smiling proudly. Little Danny looked awkward on the giant motorcycle, smiling in a goofy baby way. It was like looking at someone else, not himself at all.

Two loose photos were tucked between the pages here. In one, his parents were sitting on a beach laughing with another couple while two toddlers played in the sand. Danny assumed that he was the pale one with the giant sunhat and the zinc oxide on every inch of exposed skin. The other child had a chubby hand on the rim of the sunhat and was lifting it up, peeking at Danny and laughing. Baby Danny was smiling back.

Danny liked this picture best so far. At least he'd had a friend when he was a baby.

The other loose picture showed two babies together in the same crib, crashed out hard and sound asleep, facing each other. Danny was pretty sure it was him and the other kid from the beach, but he couldn't be positive. Neither of these pictures had anything written on them.

His father disappeared from the albums after the first one. Danny figured this meant his mother hadn't met him yet. The next slim volume mostly consisted of his mother and her family, her friends.

There was one photo of her as a girl, standing outside in dappled summer sun, gathered around a tree with several other kids. There was a brown-haired boy he didn't know, but the others were easy to recognize. Miss Grace, Ali, Mr. Murray. Ali had been skinnier, Miss Grace chubbier. Mr. Murray was a little older than the rest of them, standing farther away from the group, smiling at them. He leaned against the tree, arms crossed. He'd been good looking and confident, the sad quality he'd always had within Danny's memory non-existent in his younger face.

That’s a guy who climbs mountains, thought Danny.

The caption beneath the photo read, “L to R, Angel (Ali) Ramirez (12), Lorenzo Vincent (13), Anthea Wildwood (12), Gloria Grace (12), Silas (Sy) Murray (14)”.

Miss Grace was the strangest one to see as a child because she was such an adult. She was even an adult by adult standards. Other adults turned to her for advice on adulting. It was jolting to see her as a kid, just one year older than he was now. She was round and smiling, hand resting on his mother's shoulder, brown eyes bright.

His Keepers had mentioned a man named Enzo several times recently. He was the one who'd called about his uncle and the will. He wondered if the boy Lorenzo was Enzo. It seemed logical.

He paid especially close attention to the photos of his grandfather, Gaten Wildwood. Gaten had been blue-eyed, blonde, stocky, and broad in the chest. He was always dressed neatly, a knowing smile on his face. I have your ways, thought Danny. He couldn't see any resemblance between them at all.

In many of these pictures was another man the same age identified as Enoch Wildwood. Not Danny's uncle but his great-uncle. Gaten's twin brother, but they looked nothing alike. Gaten’s fraternal twin had been tall and slim, with a long, calm face. From the photographs it looked as if they'd been very close, arms around each other and big smiles on their faces.

So many twins in the family, Danny thought. Too bad I didn’t get one.

His grandmother Eliphalet had been a severe-looking woman, her face pinched, large eyes disappointed and sad. She looked like the kind of grandmother you’d have to call Grandmother instead of Grandma, the kind who would make you take cello lessons and wear stiff clothes. There were a handful of photos of these grandparents, often with Danny's mother and her twin brother, her Enoch, whom he assumed had been named after his father's twin.

He peered at the uncle who had left him some mysterious thing, studying his features. He was an unremarkable looking man of medium build, light hair, a thin cane with a silver knob in his hand most of the time. His face was like his mother’s. Unhappy. Disappointed. Sad.

His attention was drawn to a large photo that took up one whole page of the bigger album he’d moved on to. A group of people all dressed up for a party, gathered on a wide, green lawn, a grand house rising up behind them. Danny assumed it was Gnomewood from the back, which he hadn't seen yet. What caught his attention was a surname in the handwritten captions.

Hallow. His uncle had underlined it. To make sure Danny noticed it, maybe.

There was Gaten and his wife Eliphalet, standing together stiffly, not touching. Next to them was a much happier looking couple, Gaten's brother Enoch and his wife, Saro Hallow-Wildwood. She was pale and had dark chocolate hair like Danny’s. The two of them held hands and looked relaxed.

Next to them stood a familiar figure. Mr. Murray, maybe twelve or thirteen. He was laughing with another boy, captioned as Atticus Wildwood, with a note identifying the other boy as Enoch and Saro's son. Atticus also had dark hair and pale skin, his build athletic, his fine features proud, amused. He and Mr. Murray stood shoulder to shoulder.

Two girls and a boy sat up front. Danny’s mother Anthea, Danny’s uncle Enoch and a girl called Arnica Wildwood, identified as Enoch and Saro's daughter. My mother's cousins, thought Danny, trying to keep them all straight in his head. Atticus and Arnica. Got it.

Anthea and Arnica sat very closely together, holding hands and laughing. Arnica Wildwood's face had blurred in the picture as if she'd turned her head quickly at the time of exposure. Enoch was sitting a few feet away from them, playing with the grass and frowning.

Danny wondered why he'd never met any of these people. How was Danny’s father related to this Saro Hallow? Were any of them still alive? Did he have grandparents on his dad's side?

He took the photo of his parents with the other couple on the beach out of the album and placed it by his bedside, propped up against the lamp. I had a life before the life I have now, he thought. I had a friend. I just can't remember any of it. He lay his head down on the pillow, headphones still on, looking at the picture.

His eyes closed and he drifted off without meaning to, leaving all the lights on. After a few more minutes the Walkman snapped off at the end of the tape. Max the bat slept silently under the eaves.

Gentle snow fell against the windows. Down in the kitchen, Ali finished up the dishes. Mr. Murray slept in the library, a book clutched to his chest like a teddy bear. Miss Grace washed up in the small bathroom in the guest quarters, a distracted frown on her face.

The clock ticked on the landing, the heartbeat of the house, made to keep secrets instead of time. The hands moved gently from one symbol to another, the face glowing ghostly blue in the dark.

Gnomewood Home stretched and rolled over in its sleep. Eaves creaked. Carpets shook off dust. Pipes vibrated.

It felt the presence of the boy in the attic and sighed, before settling in for the night.

Danny Hallow slept restlessly, troubled by strange and confusing dreams, dark and sticky as mud. His father was there, and his mother, and a boy with silver eyes.

The attic was still and quiet. At the top of the small stair the lock to the tower room clicked. The handle turned, and the door swung silently open. A light breeze swept down the stairs, across the floor, over the carpet, and then over the bed.

Max stirred, feeling the presence. Be still, little bat, the presence said. You need to rest. Max resettled into his wings and went back to sleep.

It swept across Danny, brushing his face, ruffling his hair. Danny turned over, snuggling under the covers. His face cleared of concerns, a small smile on his lips. The dream changed to a sunny beach, playing with a friend. He slept soundly for the rest of the night.

***

Ellie opened the back door, letting Daisy the Dachshund out into the small yard. The cold air hit the little girl like a bucket of ice water.

“Yikes,” she said, inhaling the word rather than exhaling. She grabbed her coat from the hook and threw it on, following the little dog into the yard.

She stood, shivering, while Daisy sniffed around. Her teeth chattered. Stupid dog, she thought.

“Hurry up, Daisy,” she said. “You had to pee so bad you woke me up, so pee already!”

She'd thought about waking her mother but decided to suck it up and do it herself. Her mother had worked hard all day and wouldn't be happy about being woken up in the middle of the night. Also, she'd surely lecture Ellie about the responsibilities of owning a dog. Ellie'd had to beg and prove herself worthy of dog ownership at the age of nine, done a million chores to show she was ready. She knew the first time she didn't want to do something for Daisy her mom would just say, “I knew you were too young for a dog.”

Ellie didn't want to hear it. So here she was. Being responsible, in the face of her backyard being relocated to the South Pole.

She saw Daisy squat and get the serious expression on her face she always got when she was peeing. Ellie giggled.

“Finally,” she said. "Okay. Back inside.”

Ellie ran for the steps, but Daisy didn't follow her. Ellie turned at the door. Daisy was staring at the bushes by their back gate, whining.

“Come on,” said Ellie.

Daisy growled. She wasn't a growler habitually. Ellie was startled. “Daisy?”

Daisy started to bark. She barked wildly at the bush, her voice high and tense. Ellie stood frozen to the spot. What if there's a mean animal in there? She wondered. What do I do then?

Daisy barked even louder and started jumping around on her short legs. Ellie called to her again, her voice shaking. “Daisy! Daisy, come here!”

Daisy dashed into the bushes. All Ellie could hear was growling, snarling- not her dog, but something else- and then Daisy let out an ear-piercing squeal of pain and terror.

“Daisy!” Ellie cried. She unfroze, her limbs unlocking, fear of being hurt being eclipsed by anger at something hurting her dog. She ran for the bushes. Frantic, she called Daisy's name over and over.

She pushed the branches aside, reaching around. She touched something fuzzy. “Daisy?”

Painful needles sank into her hand. She screamed.

Something pulled, yanked her further into the bushes. The branches scratched her face, her arms. Something strong had her by the wrist, pulling her in, closer to it.

She scrabbled at the bush, the ground, anything to try and pull herself back.

She heard a growl, not Daisy. Not a dog-like growl. Something low, phlegmy, hissy. She started crying, snot running down her face, hot tears of anger and terror.

Then she heard another growl, and a yip, and then that hissing sound again, and the thing let go of her. She tumbled backward and looked up to see Daisy dragging herself out from under the bush.

Ellie reached out to get her, grabbing her around the front. She could see something (A HAND A TINY HAND WITH CLAWS) wrapped around her dog’s back paw. Daisy was warm and slippery and whining, but Ellie wouldn't let go. She pulled.

“Leggom-m-myDOG!” she yelled furiously. Abruptly, she fell backward, Daisy in her arms.

Ellie clambered to her feet, not sparing one look behind her. She ran up the stairs and into the house, the little dog shaking and wet with blood in her arms, screaming blue murder for her mother to wake up.