Chapter Five

The Witchbone

After the silence became too oppressive, he glanced up.

They all looked stunned. Miss Grace's face was horrified.

“You said you wouldn’t get mad,” Danny reminded her.

“How often do those kids hit you?” she asked.

“Just sometimes,” Danny said.

“Why did you not tell us?” Mr. Murray asked. “We knew you didn’t like school, precisely, but…” he waved his hands around helplessly. “I mean, I was called some creative names at school, but it wasn’t anything like that.”

“Well,” Miss Grace said. “It’s a good thing we’re moving here, then. I won’t have to file a lawsuit against the school.”

That’s why I didn’t tell you, Danny thought.

“Yeah, it’ll be better here,” Ali said, patting Danny’s shoulder. “We never had any trouble like that at Eddystone Middle, did we?”

Because you had each other, Danny thought. I just have me.

“So,” Miss Grace said, dropping that uncomfortable subject like a razor-sharp brick, “you’re telling us that you can hear Max? Communicate with him somehow?”

“Yes,” said Danny. “It’s like a little voice, but I don’t think he’s speaking English, exactly. I think I’m hearing what he’s thinking, and it’s my brain that’s turning it into words.”

“Interesting,” Mr. Murray said. “And this, uh, moth. The feeling inside that you had that day. That was the first time?”

“I think so,” Danny said. “The first time I can remember.”

The looks were flying around fast, too fast for him to catch them. “You guys don’t look very surprised,” Danny observed.

“Have you felt it since then?” asked Ali.

“Yeah,” said Danny. “When the clock started, only I didn’t notice it as much that time.”

“Is it doing anything now?” Ali asked.

“No,” Danny said. “But…I know it’s there. I can feel it.” He started to panic a little, thoughts of alien chest-bursters in his head. “Is it…I mean, is it bad?”

The blank looks on his Keeper’s faces terrified him.

“Is it?” he demanded. “I told you guys the truth, don’t try to sugarcoat whatever it is.”

Sugarcoat was one of Miss Grace’s favorite words. She smiled at Danny’s usage of it.

“You know your family is a little unusual,” she said. “Both sides. We haven’t hidden that from you.”

“You haven’t told me a whole lot, either.” Danny saw her wince and felt a little bad about it.

“True, but,” she looked to the men for backup, “we honestly thought maybe we’d never have to have this conversation.”

“You were a very weak baby,” Mr. Murray said. “Everyone was just glad you made it, after the others didn’t.”

“Then, you know,” Ali said, “you just had a little, just a little, psychic ability. Your JK.”

“Pretty useless,” Danny said.

“Saved my grill,” Ali reassured him. “The point is, we thought that if you even had a witchbone, and we weren’t sure that you even had one, that it wasn’t very strong.”

“We were hoping it wasn’t very strong,” Miss Grace said.

“Wishbone?” Danny asked. “Like a chicken?”

“Witch-bone,” Mr. Murray said. “It’s a silly old word for something that the Wildwoods take very seriously, since it’s unique to them alone.”

“But what is it?” Danny asked.

His Keepers looked around. More patrons were entering the diner as lunchtime geared up into full swing. They looked at each other and the meaning was obvious. There are too many people around now.

Miss Grace sagged in frustration. “How can it be that we’re so unprepared for this conversation?” she asked. “We need to think about how to talk to you about this, Danny.”

“It is kind of a lot,” Ali said.

Mr. Murray put a hand on Danny's shoulder. “Look,” he said. “Be patient. Let's enjoy the rest of our meal, and then take a quick drive around this old town we haven’t seen in seven years. Then we'll go home and discuss all of this further. I promise, we’ll answer all of your questions.”

“Do you mean,” Danny asked, “home as in Easton, or as in Gnomewood?”

“Gnomewood,” said Mr. Murray. “Gnomewood is our home now. Yes?”

“No choice, I think,” said Miss Grace. “Not now.”

“I'd agree,” said Ali. “You’re a Wildwood, Danny, you need to be at Gnomewood where all Wildwoods belong.”

“Sure,” said Miss Grace, “Now all we have to do is figure out how to maintain twenty acres of land and heat that old beast of a house on the salaries of a chef and a public defense lawyer.”

“Is twenty acres a lot?” asked Danny.

Mr. Murray looked aggrieved. “Maybe the schools here will provide a more comprehensive education,” he muttered. “Yes, it's a lot of land.”

Ali bounced up and down, getting excited. “You’ll like it,” he said. “There's an orchard, and a barn, and some beehives-”

“I'm glad you're so happy,” said Miss Grace. “I volunteer you to mow all the grass, just so you know.”

Danny watched his Keepers as they ate. They looked worried, but they also looked happy, and oddly relieved. As if something they’d been waiting for had finally happened.

They didn’t seem mad at him, anyway.

Danny smiled and enjoyed his french fries, watching people through the window. He kept a hand lightly on his ribcage most of the time.

Witchbone, he pondered.

Once they were warmed with food and drink, they launched themselves back out into the cold. Even Mr. Murray ran to the car, though he needed much assistance to do so. Laughing and slipping on the ice and snow, they piled into the Volvo and cranked up the heat.

Danny sat happily in his third row, face pressed to the window, watching the town go by. His Keepers conversation was background noise, commenting on new apartment buildings and businesses that were gone, how bad the roads had gotten.

Danny liked it. He liked the brick streets, the iron lamp-posts, all of the colorful little awnings and brightly painted buildings contrasting defiantly against the white-gray of winter.

It wasn't a shiny place. Everything was a little worn, shabby around the edges. Cheerfully patched up like a comfortable old pair of jeans. People hurried along, buried in bulky clothes, only their eyes peeking out. They dipped and nodded at each other.

Danny watched his new world go by.

A lady bustled down the sidewalk, her sensible cold-weather attire topped by an incongruous plushy rainbow poop-emoji hat. Two men chatted by a mailbox, stomping their feet and breathing clouds as they spoke. One of them threw his head back and laughed.

A second-hand clothing store advertised “Free Range Shoes & Gluten-Free Pants!” on a beaten sandwich board sign.

A little bookstore called Main Ambers had a full-size skeleton in the window, the kind they use in science class. It was seated in a beach chair with a book in its bony lap, posed with one hand waving at passers-by, a drink with an umbrella in the other. A sign around its neck read, 'Waiting for Summer'.

I think I'm going to like it here, Danny thought.

After their brief spin around downtown, they made their way back up the main road, and down the gravel drive to Gnomewood. This time, Danny didn’t think the trees looked as mean.

Those are my trees, he thought. I’ll need to make friends with them.

As the Home came into sight he felt a funny leap of affection, and when the car came to a stop, he hopped out and ran to the door, anxious to get inside.

Laughing, Miss Grace unlocked the door and Danny bolted in, hanging his coat on Anubis’ hand. He ran into the front hall and straight up to the clock, laying his hands on the smooth wooden sides.

“We’re staying,” he whispered to it.

He turned to see his Keepers giving him a collectively speculative look from the bottom of the stairs.

“I don’t suppose the clock talks to you?” Mr. Murray called.

“No,” Danny said.

“If it does,” Ali said, “let us know what it has to say. It’s almost as old as the house.”

Mr. Murray lowered himself gratefully into his wheelchair and thumped his dreaded canes against the front hall table. He heaved a breath and looked around.

“Let’s make some proper tea,” he said. “I need a hot drink and a think.”

“Yes, let’s all have a drink and a think,” Miss Grace said. “Danny, go check on Max and wash your hands, and try to give us a little headstart on this conversation. Then meet us in the kitchen. All right?”

“All right,” Danny agreed. Truth was, he wanted to hear what they had to say but he also wanted to explore the house, which he had barely seen any of.

His house. HIS house. He smiled.

He bounded all the way to the attic, full of happiness and enthusiasm.

Max was fine, sleeping during the day as he should be. He had a little moth wing hanging out of his mouth, so Danny figured he’d been able to find food.

Realizing he hadn’t given Max any water since last night, he dug around until he found something that would hold liquid, a small plastic container. He washed it and filled it with water in the downstairs bathroom, then took it back to the attic to set it on the floor near Max.

He'd never had a pet. He didn't want to mess it up. He wondered what bats needed besides warmth, food, and water.

Other bats, he thought guiltily. They need other bats.

He checked the far door in the wall again to make sure it was still locked. This is going to bother me, he thought, this space I can't see into. He considered pushing something in front of it for added security and peace of mind but there really wasn’t enough furniture.

He went up to the tower room and looked out over the Amazing View of Eddystone. My town, he thought. My place. This time the idea didn't sound strange. He felt the truth of it to his core. Like the sign says ladies and gentleman, welcome home. He belonged here.

He headed back out of the tower, and this time he noticed that his feet made a different sound somewhere around the middle of the rug. He walked back across it, tramping heavily. Clunk-clunk-BONK-clunk.

Hmmm, he thought, and grabbed the rug by the edges, yanking it backward.

“No way!” he shouted.

There was a secret trapdoor in the floor. It had a recessed metal ring attached to it that could pull up like a handle. Danny grabbed it and yanked the door up on its hinges, flopping it down the opposite way with a big bang. He winced, and then realized that no one probably heard it but him.

A spiral staircase wound down into the dark. He remembered seeing a flashlight by the mother's bed. He ran to grab it, then dashed back to the trapdoor. Clicking on the flashlight, he shone it down into the room below. He couldn't make out very much.

He made his way down the stairs carefully, holding onto the railing. As he walked down he waved the beam all around. He was in a room, a little bigger than the tower room but the same shape, a giant four poster bed over against the wall.

He realized that the room was so dark because heavy velvet drapes were pulled across the windows, windows just like the ones in the room above. He navigated through the gloom and pulled the thick curtains aside, flooding the room with the weak winter light.

This bedroom was all shades of green and blue. It had a desk, and lots of shelves with heavy, serious-looking books behind glass doors. It was dusty and abandoned-looking, and too clear of clutter to be anyone’s real bedroom in Danny’s opinion.

Maybe another guest room, Danny thought. Miss Grace said there were lots of them. This one had a very studious personality that reminded him of Mr. Murray.

There was a large telescope set up on a tripod in front of the windows, which drew his attention. Mr. Murray had borrowed one from the library once, and shown him how to use it. They’d looked at Saturn’s rings and the rough surface of the moon together.

He swung it up and looked through the eyepiece, but everything was black. He impatiently fiddled with it for a few minutes before he realized it had a cover on the big lens.

“Oops, derp,” he muttered to himself and pulled it off.

That’s better, he thought. He aimed it out the window and looked through the eyepiece. The town of Eddystone zoomed into view with disorienting clarity.

He could see the harbor, the boats, the people. He could see the neon lights of the diner where they'd eaten. There was a big park by the water that looked like it might be fun once the snow melted.

Sweeping across the rooftops of the businesses downtown, he spotted a still, dark figure hunched like a gargoyle, head moving back and forth. It was perched on a rooftop, by a steaming, metal vent. Startled, Danny zeroed in on it, anticipating a possible cryptid sighting.

It was a boy, dressed all in black. A bag, also black, was plopped down next to him. The boy had binoculars and he was peering through them intently, sweeping them around like he was scanning for enemy submarines. The boy lowered the spy glasses and Danny could make out longish hair, a scowling face, not much else. He watched as the boy stood and hitched the bag over one shoulder. He walked across the icy roof with the grace of a panther, climbing down the other side, out of Danny's view.

Wow, thought Danny. Going up on a roof was something that had never occurred to him, and probably never would have. He hadn't even known it was a thing you could do. He wondered what the boy had been looking for with his binoculars.

He watched the town for a bit longer, making a mental note to tell Mr. Murray about the telescope. Maybe he could take it downstairs and they could use it to look at the moon when the weather was warmer.

He ran his hand down the optical tube and felt an unevenness. Leaning over to look, he saw the telescope had a small, engraved metal plate screwed onto it. It read, ‘For Atticus- Keep your eyes on the stars’.

Atticus, Danny thought. Wasn’t there a picture of an Atticus in the box his uncle had left him?

Sure, the boy with Mr. Murray, he remembered. He’d have to tell his Keeper he’d found his friend’s telescope. Maybe this had been Atticus’ room.

Getting bored and figuring he must have killed at least twenty minutes by now, he decided to head downstairs. The heavy oak door to the bedroom was closed and locked from the inside. Danny unlocked it and let himself out, wondering why it would be locked at all.

There was a small, round room outside of the door, empty. Then a short flight of steps down, and then a bathroom on the right and another door. Then he came to the upstairs hallway. He breathed in relief to be in familiar territory.

The hallway beyond that door was darkened by curtains, just like the bedroom. He twitched them open as he went by the windows, letting in some light. The floor was carpeted, muffling his footsteps. The air was still and glimmered with dust motes. He watched the motes floating through the air like glitter, hypnotized. Then, with no warning, he sneezed explosively.

Out from under a table shot a living creature, a blur of orange fur as it went racing down the hallway. Danny jumped back and almost fell, catching himself against the wall. The creature stopped and turned halfway down the hall.

Rather than the hideous, snarling visage Danny expected, he saw bright green eyes, upright ears, one white paw. The cat observed Danny with intense curiosity, moving its head from side to side.

Once Danny's heart stopped banging, he called out. “Kitty?” He knelt down. “Kitty, kitty?” He patted the floor. The cat trotted over to a little side table and rubbed against a wooden leg.

“C'mere,” said Danny.

The cat continued to be coy, winding around table legs and pacing. “Prrrrr-ow?” it said.

Danny sat in the middle of the hall and decided to wait. He stayed quiet, tapping his foot until the cat finally got bored of teasing and trotted up to him. He reached out a hand, and it cautiously rubbed its head upward against his fingers.

“Good cat,” he said. The cat purred. “Where'd you come from, anyway?”

Pictures arrived in Danny's head, like a blurry slideshow. A human hand. Flashing lights. Big clomping feet walking by. Dark spaces. A Sheriff’s badge.

No words. Just pictures.

A picture of a green bowl overflowing with food. “Prrrrr-ow?”

“Hungry?” he asked. He thought about it. “Me too.” He got up. “Time to go to the kitchen. You wanna come too?”

The cat stared at him intently.

“Hmmmm,” Danny mused. He pictured the kitchen as clearly as he could, trying to find his way into the cat's mind. The moth in his rib cage stirred.

Something new happened as Danny focused. It was like he could see a path between him and the cat. He could travel along it quickly, showing the cat the picture of the kitchen. The cat trilled, turned, and padded off down the hall, Danny following along.

Neat, he thought. I can talk to cats too. Then he thought of Max and thought of the relationship that cats have with small furry animals, and wondered if he could communicate 'don't eat my bat' in pictures. He'd have to keep the cat out of the attic.

The cat led him down the hallway and to the stairs, ending up by the clock. Danny reached out and touched it. It was warm to the touch, like skin. He felt the need to touch it whenever he was near it and wondered why.

The cat trilled at him as it went down to the entrance hall. It pictured the bowl again. He wondered how long the cat had been without food. His uncle had died, what, three weeks ago? Surely he'd had something to eat in the meantime.

He saw a short reel of the cat crunching cockroaches in a dark, damp space.

“I didn't need to see that,” Danny replied. “Now I’m not so hungry.”

They approached the swinging doors to the kitchen and Danny slowed down instinctively when he heard voices. “We'll worry when there's a reason to worry,” Ali was saying. “Danny's never given us any reason to worry.”

“But there was the…incident… when he was small,” said Mr. Murray. “You know what I mean.”

“Nothing since Anthie left him with us,” said Ali. “He couldn’t possibly have been responsible for that anyway, there was no proof.”

Miss Grace said, “The others will want to know- gracious, where did that cat come from?”

Stupid cat, Danny thought. He followed the cat into the kitchen, which was warm and full of the smells of brewing tea and warm cookies.

“I found him upstairs,” Danny said. “Has anyone seen a green food bowl?”

The cat took matters into his own hands and ran back into a little mudroom at the back of the kitchen. In the mudroom was a small green bowl with the name Marcus written on the side. The cat wound around the empty food bowl, staring at Danny intensely.

Danny pulled open the cabinets along the wall until he found a bag of cat food in one of them. It was nearly empty. He dumped the last of it into the bowl.

The cat crouched over the bowl like a lion over a freshly killed wildebeest. It chomped and purred and made loud gulping sounds. Danny went back into the kitchen.

“We need cat food,” he said, displaying the empty bag.

“Another mouth to feed,” said Miss Grace. “At least Max feeds himself.”

“Oooh,” said Ali. “I wonder if it would like some chicken?” He ran back to put a little leftover chicken in the food bowl. Marcus purred like a tractor engine.

“How did you know about the bowl?” asked Mr. Murray.

“The cat kinda told me about it,” Danny said. He recounted his brief foray through the house. “The telescope was cool, Mr. Murray, can we use it to look at the moon?”

“If it’s the one I’m thinking of, yes, we can.” Mr. Murray had a funny look. Smiling but sad around the eyes.

“It had a thing on it that said it belonged to Atticus,” Danny said. “I have a picture of him in one of the albums. Did he live here, too?”

“A picture survived The Purge,” Miss Grace muttered. “Well, I’ll be.”

“He visited quite often,” Mr. Murray said. “He was your mother’s cousin.”

“Was he your friend, too, Mr. Murray?”

“Yes,” Mr. Murray said. “He was my friend.” He nodded, lost in reverie for a moment and then said, “we were best friends, once.”

“Well, well!” Ali said a little too brightly. “Talking to cats in pictures, that’s a new one, eh?”

“If we'd ever gotten him a pet,” said Mr. Murray, “this ability might have manifested itself earlier.”

“I never even thought about a pet,” said Miss Grace. “It wouldn't have crossed my mind. I never had a pet. My parents weren’t pet people.”

“Your parents weren’t exactly kid people either,” laughed Ali.

“True,” said Miss Grace. “Danny, if you ever wonder why we’re such inept parents, just blame our parents. None of us were raised in what you’d consider to be a supportive atmosphere.”

“You guys do great,” Danny said.

“Except when it comes to teaching you proper grammar, I’m afraid,” said Mr. Murray.

A steaming mug arrived in Danny's hands.

“Thanks, Ali.” Danny sipped his tea, the way Ali always made it- very strong and sweet.

The cat, full of kibble and chicken, settled by the fire. They all sat with mugs and a plate of cookies. Danny tried to wait patiently and failed.

“I gave you like thirty minutes,” he said. “Can you explain some stuff to me now?”

Without further preamble, Mr. Murray pulled a stack of books off of the shelf behind him and set them on the table.

“What are those?” Danny asked.

“Some of your family history.”

“Some?” Danny said, looking at the three thick volumes. “That's a lot of history.”

“Indeed,” Mr. Murray said. “And there are so many more. There’s a case of them in the library, and some more in a room upstairs I believe.”

Danny pulled the book off of the top of the stack and opened it. “It's handwritten,” he said.

“Yes.”

He flipped through a few more pages. There were drawings and sketches in the margins and notations and footnotes everywhere. It appeared as if he had a very disorganized family history. Plus there was another problem.

“It's in cursive,” he said. “That makes it really hard to read.”

Mr. Murray put his head in his hands and started muttering about public schools again. He pulled the book out of Danny's hands.

“Regardless,” he said. “These books have a lot of information you will want, now or eventually.”

He paged through the books, looking for something in particular. Finding it with a quiet, “Aha”, he opened the book wide and turned it around in his hands to show Danny, pointing to one of the drawings.

“This,” he said, “is a witchbone, Danny love.”

Danny leaned in with avid interest. A detailed sketch showed a curved thing, shaped like a fat fish hook, too long on one side. One end of the curve was shaped like a hammer, the other pointed. At the point of curvature, it was shaped like a leaf. It had bits of things hanging off of it like fins. It made him think of a squid, all twisted around.

“But what is it?” he asked.

“That feeling you described,” said Mr. Murray, “what you called a moth in your ribs, just under your heart.” Mr. Murray tapped the sketch. “This is what you're feeling.”

Danny put his hand to his sternum again. “I have one of those,” he said, “inside me?”

“Yes,” Mr. Murray said. “It’s connected to you.”

“But how did it get there?” Danny said. He sat very still, unreasonably afraid to move. “Is it a parasite?”

“Possibly,” Mr. Murray said. “Honestly, we don’t know exactly what it is, but we do know that most Wildwoods are born with them, a tiny little seed at first, then growing as you grow.”

That sounded kind of nice. Danny allowed himself to relax a tiny bit.

“It lives in you and with you,” Ali said. “It’s a part of you.”

“As we understand it, it's just part of your anatomy, like fingers or kidneys,” Miss Grace chimed in. “Their shape, size, and appearance are all unique to the individual.”

“What does it do?” Danny asked. After ‘will it kill me’ this seemed like the most important question.

“That’s the million dollar question,” said Ali. “The truth is, we can’t know for sure. We only know what we’ve been told.”

“So what have you been told?” Danny asked.

“That it’s like a radio,” said Mr. Murray. “It picks up on things other people can’t hear, or see, and then transmits them to your brain.”

“Like the JK,” said Danny. “Or hearing Max?”

“Right,” Mr. Murray said. “But your Grandfather also told me that this symbiotic organism is like an amplifier.”

“What does it amplify?” Danny asked. He pictured himself with music pouring out of his mouth and ears. Very creepy, he thought.

“It amplifies psychic ability,” Miss Grace said. “All of the Wildwoods have some. It’s their birthright, even if they’re of mixed blood. Not all have the symbiont, though.”

“Those who do,” Ali said, “can have very strong extranormal abilities.”

“But I don’t have very strong extranormal abilities,” Danny said.

“So we thought,” said Mr. Murray. “Most of the Wildwood children could do a good deal more than you could by age eleven. You may be different.” He smiled. “Late bloomer.”

“We just thought you didn’t have one,” Miss Grace said. “Your mother and father had a theory that their other children died because the witchbone seed died inside of them.”

“Because of your father’s blood,” Ali said.

“Yes,” said Mr. Murray. “There had been a few cases of Hallows and Wildwoods having children together and losing them very early, because the witchbones were there but couldn’t survive.”

“The symbiont seed became toxic,” Miss Grace said. “Causing crib death, with no warning.”

“And you were small and unwell as a baby,” said Mr. Murray, “but you survived.”

“Can it poison me now?” Danny asked.

“There’s absolutely no case history of anyone dying from that,” Miss Grace said.

“But there are other problems you could have,” Mr. Murray said.

“He doesn’t need to know about that yet,” Miss Grace said, scowling.

“Yes, he does,” Mr. Murray countered. “He needs to know exactly who and what he is.”

Ali shook his head. “Silas, I don’t know if-”

“Excuse me!” Danny said. “You said you’d tell me everything. Everything.”

“We don’t know everything,” said Miss Grace. “We wish we did.”

“Are you sure you want to know what we know?” Mr. Murray asked. “You can’t un-know a thing, Danny. You have to be certain.”

Danny looked from one serious face to another. “I want to know,” he said.

Miss Grace sat back and crossed her arms, biting her lip. “Go ahead,” she said.

“All right then,” said Mr. Murray. He opened the book to a different page, laid it flat, and slid it over to Danny.

Danny leaned forward to look. Across two pages was a beautiful color sketch of a landscape, like nothing he’d ever seen. Two suns shone down on a body of water, three faint moons in the sky. Strange ships floated over the water’s surface, sails translucent and shimmering. Giant trees jutted from the waves, branches reaching for land, long, tufted grass swaying. Danny could almost see it all moving, feel the wind on his face.

Danny felt the strongest sense of deja vu he’d ever had and was moved to grip the table in both hands. It made him dizzy.

“Have you ever seen this place, a world with two suns?” Mr. Murray asked. “This, or something like it?” He raised an eyebrow. “When you were dreaming, perhaps?”

Danny wasn’t sure, so he said, “No. Why?”

Mr. Murray tapped the drawing with his finger.

“Because this,” he said, “is where your family comes from.”